Irene Radford: Thistle Down

The first book in the Pixie Chronicles series, 2011

I may write in isolation, but even before The Glass Dragon , I relied upon a cadre of critique partners and beta readers. The list grows longer every year and with every book. Sara, Lizzy, Maggie, Jessica, and Bob top the current list. I couldn’t do this without you.

DUSTY WATCHED A GLIMMER of light creep under the wooden mini blinds of her bedroom. The pink ballerinas on her curtains began to take form. A tiny bit of breeze crawling through the open window on this hot August morning made them flutter as if they truly danced. Like the way Dusty imagined herself dancing in the recital last spring. Only, all she and the other preschool girls got to do was bourrée and turn a bit. In her mind, she had flown around the stage like a fairy.

Dusty was five now. Next spring she’d get to really dance in the recital. And she’d let her sandy blonde hair grow long enough to pull back into a proper ballerina bun.

The floorboard in the hallway groaned, right outside her doorway. She held her breath and scrunched her eyes shut, pretending to sleep. Her brother Dick wanted to wake her on this most important day.

“Dusty?” he whispered as he scratched on the white-painted door.

She put her hand over her mouth so he wouldn’t hear her giggle.

The door inched open and almost eleven-year-old (he took pains to remind everyone he was not ten or ten and a half, but almost eleven) Dick peeked around the edge. “You awake, Dusty?”

She held still, playing the game all the way to the end, like he’d told her she had to.

The door creaked a bit on its hinges. Dusty watched Dick cringe at the noise. He froze in place, peeking over his shoulder to see if Mom and Dad woke up.

No shouted warning from Dad. No whining scold from Mom. Dick came farther into the room and shook Dusty’s shoulder. She stirred and opened her eyes. A smile already spread across her face and made her tummy glow. “Is it time?”

“Shush.” Dick held a finger to his lips. Early as it was, he’d combed his dark hair and put on clean shorts and a plain T-shirt the same color as his blue eyes. He looked very handsome.

“I’m ready,” Dusty whispered and climbed out of bed already wearing her pink shorts and a T-shirt with Tinker Bell on the front. She stuffed her feet into her sandals, not caring that the heel strap got twisted.

“You can’t wear that!” Dick said, too loudly.

“Why not?” Dusty dropped her voice to a barely breathing whisper.

“Because Tink’s a Faery. We’re going to visit Pixies. It’s an insult.”

“Oh.” Dusty looked down at her favorite shirt and wondered if she’d ever wear it again. Dashing tears from her eyes at her mistake, a big, bad mistake, she ripped a purple shirt from her drawer. This one had a bouquet of lavender roses with clear glitter on the petals.

“I guess that one’s okay. But hurry. We may be too late as it is. Girls. They’re stupid.”

“I am not stupid. I already know how to read almost as good as you. And I know my pluses up to ten and my minuses.”

“Okay, okay. You’re smart. About some things. Now hurry. We have to go now.”

Dusty pulled off the horrible pink faery T and dragged the purple one on as she and Dick tiptoed down the back stairs to the kitchen. Once outside, Dusty adjusted her sandals before the rubbing raised a blister. She had to run to catch up with Dick who was already through the gate. Then he took her hand and ran with her down the block, around the corner, across another block, past the big old log cabin that had grown up and down and sideways and was now a museum. A little light shone from the basement window. Someone was working very early. Or very late.

Then they were at the edge of The Ten Acre Wood. All she could see were tall trees, sword ferns, and the beginning of a path. The barkdust on the path had been beaten down and pushed aside so it looked like dirt; like a real game trail entering the wilderness.

Her heart did a bit of a flip in fear and excitement at the adventure that lay before her. The sun was just peeking over the ridge to her right, coming at the trees from the side and sending the long shadows along the museum lawn. The trees looked like a very tall fence with no gate, just that narrow path that suddenly looked like a pirate’s gangplank, or the trail to a dragon lair, or…

Dick grabbed her hand and forced her to face him. “You’re going into kindergarten next week, Dusty. It’s time you found out about The Ten Acre Wood. All the other kids will have been here and they’ll expect you to know all about it.” He looked old and wise.

Dusty nodded her head to make sure he knew she understood how important this outing was.

“Now keep hold of my hand and walk only where I walk. There are traps in the woods. Pixies love to play tricks on humans. If you wander off, you could get lost forever and drown in the pond because the nasty old Faery who refused to go underground and who rules everything can make it look like solid ground.”

Dusty gulped and bit her lip, but nodded again.

Together they stepped onto the path. Dick looked right and left and up ahead and behind, making sure they never strayed away from the trail. His hand got sweaty. Dusty tried pulling her fingers free of his to wipe them on her shorts. But he just held her tighter. She could no longer see the lawn behind them, or where the twisted path led them.

Frightened, she clung to him and watched her feet to make sure she stepped only where he stepped. After a bit, that felt like all morning, she could see more than just her feet and the bracken ferns that waved over the path. The fronds bounced as if someone very tiny jumped up and down on the spines.

She giggled, less afraid.

Then there was more light. The trees took on distinct shapes, less fuzzy from shadow. Suddenly the trees spread farther apart, stood straighter, became less frightening.

Dusty looked up and saw the pond. Ugly brownishgreenish water in the center with a broad muddy bank that showed how big the pond was in winter when it rained all the time. But now in summer, when they hadn’t had any rain in weeks, the mud sprouted grass and weeds and tall wildflowers.

Off to one side, just above the mud line stood the biggest oak tree she’d ever seen, or imagined. Its gnarled bark looked like it hid a face-just like the Grandmother tree in that cartoon movie about an Indian girl. Only this face frowned and disapproved of human intruders.

Flitting from flower to flower were flying things. Bigger than any bugs she’d seen, and more colorful; blues and purples, pinks and greens, tipped in gold and silver like the jewelry in the store window downtown.

“Hold out your hand,” Dick said quietly. He dropped his clutch on her and showed her how to offer her palm.

A flock of the flying jewels separated from the flowers and circled them. Dusty thought she heard them singing.

She smiled in delight, and hummed back at them. Dum dee dee do dum dum .

As if a mist blew away from her eyes, she saw that the flying bugs looked like tiny people with wings. They had pointed ears and slightly slanted eyes like Tinker Bell, and they wore flower petals and cobwebs instead of clothes, but their skin and hair were colored to match their clothes. And their wings! Oh, those pretty wings looked like the jeweler had carved leaves out of precious gems and set them in the sun to catch the light and wink it back at her.