Unpleasant Encounters with Fairies – Episode 9
When you want to reverse a spell, you say it backwards. Simple.
But the problem with transmogrification spells is that it’s a little tricky to say anything at all, never mind backwards, when the creature you’ve turned yourself into isn’t capable of speaking.
That was exactly the problem I had at that moment, cornered by a knife-wielding cook, a large fairy who’d wring my neck if she got to me before the cook did, and an enraged bunch of nasty fairies buzzing towards me.
And, despite for once actually remembering the words of the transmogrification spell, all I had was a damned, non-vocalising beak.
I know you’re thinking parrot have beaks and they’re pretty good at talking, but I can tell you from personal experience, that while a chicken’s beak is great for picking up worms, it isn’t worth a pinch of salt when it comes to casting spells, or telling a ferocious, cleaver-waving kitchen worker you aren’t who they think you are.
Maybe turning myself into a wordless potential dinner hadn’t been such a great idea.
“Caaaaaaaaaaaaaar!” I shrieked, paralysed, unsure which way to dodge.
The airborne fairies reached me first, but I’d pecked one of them earlier and they were wary of me. They buzzed around my head, but kept their distance.
A glint caught my eye. I screeched, dropped flat on my front, my head whacking on the table in a most un-chicken-like way. Cook’s cleaver skimmed through the feathers sticking up on my back.
With my heart hammering, I lifted my head to see Trewla’s hands swooping in. My beak clamped shut, my eyes bulged, and my legs, torso and wings refused to move.
Cook yelled, “Get out of the way!” She whipped her cleaver around for another blow.
An instant before the blade fell, Trewla’s hands gripped my body and my breath whooshed out as she yanked me up and held me against her chest.
At that moment, two things happened.
The cleaver thudded into the tabletop.
Trewla’s wings fell off.
Apart from Cook’s grunts a she wrestled to free her cleaver embedded in the table, the kitchen fell silent. All but one of the fairies shot up to the ceiling. Queen Amabilis hovered in front of Trewla’s face.
“Who are you?”
“Er… A fairy?” said Trewla. I could feel her heart thudding, pressed as I was by her hands against her body. “Um, Trewla Thistledown. Remember?”
“You told me your name was Trewla Buttercup.” The queen folded her arms and glanced at the wings lying on the floor at Trewla’s feet. “Fairy’s wings don’t tend to fall off. So, who are you?”
Grimmon chose that moment to wander up, wiping grease from his face. He bent down and picked up one of the fallen wings. Broken strings dangled from the ends.
“It’s cardboard,” he said, bending the wing and flicking it with a talon-like fingernail.
“All right! I admit it. I’m not a fairy,” said Trewla. She held her head high, and tightened her grip on my feathered form. “I’m an elf.”
“An elf?” Queen Amabilis glared at Trewla. “Why were you pretending to be a fairy?”
“It’s a complicated story.”
“Try me.”
“Well… The thing is, we elves were curious about this castle. I mean, it appeared out of nowhere one night, but looks like it’s always been there. We wanted to find out why it was here, and where it had come from, so I volunteered to check it out. The trouble is, there’s no bridge across the moat, and I don’t swim, and elves aren’t keen on boats, so the most logical thing was to shrink me to the size of a fairy, and persuade you to go to the castle and carry me with you. I didn’t expect you to turn me back to my normal height and force me to hunt an annoying miniature human.”
“Outrageous!” said Queen Amabilis. “If you think because you’re an elf I’ll treat you kindly, think again. You deceived us! On top of that, impersonating a fairy is a capital offence.” She held her arms out from her sides. Red, pulsating orbs formed in each of her outstretched hands. “It’s not just that pathetic toadstool-destroyer you’re holding who will die. You are going to perish with him!”
“Awk!” I clucked. I closed my eyes, and buried my head in Trewla’s armpit.
“Wait!” shouted Cook.
I opened one eye.
The burning orbs dimmed, and the queen turned her head to look at Cook. “What?”
“Before you blast the elf, give me the chicken. It’ll make a fine supper for the lord of the castle.”
Grimmon shook his head. “The chicken is the lord of the castle. I reckon you’ll have a hard time feeding him to himself.”
Cook frowned. “Eh?”
“Magic. He transmogrified himself into a Polish rooster.”
“Tsk.” Cook shook her head, then waved her hand at Queen Amabilis. “Fair enough. Carry on.”
The queen faced us. The burning orbs reappeared in her hands. I screwed my eye shut, and trembled.
A roar, like a thousand distant waterfalls, erupted from the castle’s stones. The atmosphere vibrated with the sensation you get when you step into a field and see an enraged bull thundering towards you.
I dared to open my eye.
Queen Amabilis’ eyebrows leaped to the top of her head, and her arms dropped. More importantly, from my point of view, her hands were devoid of fireballs. The rest of the fairies muttered and hissed, fluttering around near the ceiling, their necks twisting as their gazes darted nervously around the kitchen.
Grimmon sniffed, sidled closer, and peered through half-closed eyes at the fairy queen. “If I were you, I’d make a dash back across the moat right now. That sound you just heard happens when the castle is about to move. You’ve got a minute to get away before you get trapped here with us forever.”
“No!” Amabilis thrust her arm out towards me and spread out her fingers. A bright red spot formed in her palm. “If I kill the rooster quickly, the castle will stay where it is.”
“Too late, Your Majesty.” Grimmon gave her a wry smile. “Once you hear that sound, the castle’s started the process. It won’t stop until it’s moved to a new world, no matter what you do.”
The roaring from the stones grew louder.
“Less than a minute to go, now,” added Grimmon. “You’d better get going.”
I could see the queen’s face going from puzzlement, to suspicion, to panic. She yelled, and the fairy host streaked out of the window, shrieking their heads off. With a snarl, Amabilis flew after them, yelling at them to slow down so she could catch up.
Trewla let out the breath she’d been holding, dropped me and I flapped my wings to stop myself crashing into the floor. With a snarl, she sprang away, wrenched open the door that led into the kitchen’s courtyard, and hurtled outside.
Grimmon scratched his head. “How does she think she’s going to get across the moat in time?”
Then the walls, floor, ceiling, tables, people and all warped, twisted, shimmered, and blurred. It was like being inside a cosmic washing machine’s spin cycle.
When everything became solid once more, I jumped to my feet and went out into the courtyard.
A frozen landscape under seething grey skies greeted my eyes.
I couldn’t see the fairies. They must have got away safely.
But Trewla hadn’t. She was stalking towards me, her hands clenched into fists, her face twisted in a dark scowl.
***
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