B. Larson - Amber Magic

The night was moonless and still. Underneath the dark sky sat a tranquil farmhouse. A soft orange light glowed from the farmhouse windows.

A tiny manling parted the leafy hedge with delicate, thin-boned hands. He watched the farmhouse and barnyard for several minutes, but there was no sign of the River Folk, or their beasts. The creature leered hungrily at his goal: a clay pot set out upon the back porch that brimmed with fresh, creamy milk.

A dark, overly-long tongue snaked out, swept across the creature's lipless mouth and snapped back from whence it had come.

Crouching for the sprint, the tiny thief pushed his cap down squarely upon his head and gripped his walking stick. He burst from the cover of the hedge and dashed across the barnyard. His coattails fluttered as he ran. He shoved his face into the pot and greedily slurped up the feast, pausing only for quick wheezes of breath. Although the clay pot was nearly as big as he was, the milk was gone in a thrice.

Face dripping and belly distended, he cast about for more solid fare. His candle-stick nose wrinkled and twitched in the evening air. He caught an enticing scent-that of fresh fur, fresh life, fresh meat.

Bounding from the porch, he followed the scent to the barn, where cows lowed fearfully at his approach. An old carthorse nickered and kicked once in its stall.

A pile of loose straw obscured a wooden crate. From inside came mewling sounds. Grinning at his good fortune, the manling dug furtively at the straw and poked his face inside. Six gray-furred kittens squirmed deliciously. Their eyes were not yet open. The manling grinned more widely.

Some moments later, a great ruckus brought Aunt Suzenna to the back porch. She noted the absent milk.

The screeching sounds from the barn continued. She called to her husband over her shoulder, “Mama-cat has caught something in the barn!”

The screeching and commotion grew in intensity.

“Here, puss, puss,” Suzenna called, looking with concern toward the dark hulking building.

Suddenly, a tiny figure bounded out into the yard. It wore clothes like a man but was no bigger than a doll. It took incredible leaps, despite its swollen belly, each stride carrying it a dozen feet or more. Right behind it was Mama-cat, ears flat, eyes blazing.

The chase went around the farmhouse once and then off into the woods.

“Wee Folk!” gasped Suzenna, eyes wide with wonder and fear. Trembling on her feet, she looked in on the newborn kittens in the barn. She counted all six, although she had to scoop up two of them and put them back in their wooden crate. She stepped back into the house and pulled the door shut.

Soon after that, the shutters slammed and the house fell dark. None inside dared speak above a whisper for the rest of the night.

The final reddening rays of sunlight streamed down from the heavens to touch mountains, sea, leafy treetops and thatched roofs. Near the western border of the River Haven, at the foot of the Black Mountains, the dying light illuminated a rain cloud. Silvery-gray droplets fell from the cloud's belly and shimmered into arcs of crimson, orange, amber, green, blue and violet. Together, the arcs formed a brilliant rainbow. Everyone in the Haven who saw it knew that somewhere, at the impossible foot of the rainbow, danced a ring of the elusive Faerie.

To the east of the rainbow lay the Berrywine River. There the sunlight fell upon the backs of Brand and his older brother Jak. The warmth of the sun was slight, but it felt good on Brand's bare head and helped keep him from shivering beneath his cloak of gray, homespun wool. Brand glanced to the west and shivered at the sight of the rainbow, its presence chilled him anew. He hunched over his pole and worked harder.

He and Jak were speaking little now, saving their energies for punting the loaded skiff quickly to safety before the light failed completely. The short mast at the center of the skiff was unadorned by a sail as the wind was blowing upriver and into their faces. They had only the current and the power of their limbs to move them down the river.

Their hardwood poles glinted wetly. A dragonfly landed on the tip of Brand's pole, making him smile and pause briefly before it flittered away with a shimmering movement of its translucent wings.

They rounded the last of the Thorn Rocks and entered the deep, slow-moving eddies on the far side. Brand was forced to shove his pole down to where his hands touched the inky river in order to reach the bottom. Soon, they were able to do little more than drift between the spots where they knew the bottom was in range of their long poles.

So busy were the two young men with their task that at first Brand ignored the movement of a shadow in the white-barked birch trees on the west side of the river. The second time, however, the water seemed disturbed, and he looked up. What he saw amongst the trees left his mouth open wide, gaping.

The shadowy figure of a man on horseback stood there-at least it was man-shaped-on the shore, but still hidden somewhat by the long afternoon shadows of the trees. His surprise was not in the sight so much, although it was strange to see a man in the River Haven all clad in black and staring silently, but rather in the feeling that overcame him. Later, he could only describe it as dread-the feeling of a cornered rabbit that turns to face the fox's teeth. Instinctively, he hunkered down, losing his grip momentarily on his pole as it slipped from his fear-numbed fingers.

Then he saw a silvery glint of something in the shadow's hands. Something long and bright.

“You're losing your pole!” shouted Jak, turning back to see what the matter was.

Sure enough, it had slipped completely from his hands and was sinking fast. Brand made a grab for it, caught it, and nearly fell in. After a precarious moment, he regained his feet, years of boating experience coming in to save him. He turned back to the shore, ignoring Jak's perplexed frown.

“What's gotten into…” began Jak, but he halted, following Brand's wide-eyed stare.

They looked together at the trees along the western shore. There was nothing there.

“What was it?” hissed Jak, stowing his pole and unlashing the crossbow. “Was it a merling?”

Brand shook his head. “It's gone.”

“That's the edge of the Deepwood and the Deepwood is full of merling dens. It probably slipped into the water. You get the boathook. If I see its froggy eyes pop up, I'll chance a shot at it,” said Jak, hurriedly putting his foot into the stirrup of his crossbow and cocking it.

“No, no merling…” said Brand. “It was a man-maybe.” He quickly described what he had seen, leaving out only his feeling of cold dread.

Jak stared at him for a long moment, and Brand feared that even his brother was not going to believe him. It did seem very odd, even to him. But finally, Jak nodded, placing a bolt into the slot of the crossbow.

“It's been a strange autumn,” was all that he said.

They watched the water and the trees for a time, but nothing else happened.

“We must get our offering to the village before dark,” said Jak when it seemed clear that the shadowy figure would not return. “The Harvest Moon is almost full tonight.”

Brand quietly agreed.

They spent the rest of the trip tensely watching the western shore. The river moved below them, carrying the skiff rapidly downstream in the narrow portions, barely creeping or swirling backwards in the wide slow parts. They knew every mile of the river, every deep, backwashing eddy and pole-catching snag. More importantly, since the river changed somewhat with the seasons and the years, they knew how to tell a new snag just by the way the current wavered as the water passed over it. Like all the folk that lived in the River Haven, they felt most at home when near running water, or preferably on running water.