Chapter Three

Over at the hill, Queen Illianna taught the young fairies to prepare the site for the celebration. Standing in command, overlooking the preparations, she embodied royalty. Her silver tresses were plaited down her back, and a simple white gown shot with silver accented her willowy height. “Trissa , Lilli-- join your sisters in the trees. Scatter dust and call the spiders to work.”

Once Illianna sent them on their way, she turned to Cillia. “I need your help with the blessings. Have you been practicing?”

“My queen, you’ll find me a blessing fool. Put me to work and you’ll see.
Well and blessed this place will be.” Cillia bowed mid-air and waited for Illianna’s orders.

Illianna smiled at the sincere supplicant before her. “I’m sure it will be lovely, Cillia. I thank you. Let me know if you need assistance.” Cillia beamed, and flew to her work with joy.

There were blessings to say and wards to set around the large clearing. Extra fairy dust and dewdrops must grace the webs in the dark blue spruce and ancient oaks ringing the site. And always, always, the magic melodies of wind and wave, of love and life, must beguile between trees and meadows, hills and dales. Many fairies joined the song and the air reverberated. For Illianna, preparing for the solstice celebrations was a responsibility played out twice a year every year for over eight centuries. It was a responsibility she expected would be hers for many ages to come. The decorating, the enchanting, would be done tonight, the night before the summer solstice. Then, to protect their work, she wove an invisible tent over all. It was a spell to lead any misplaced humans away and beyond, around and around, so that the Holy Hill would be, for them, not--not seen, not accessible, simply not there.

The fairy queen’s magic was the life blood and primary protection the Otherlings depended on. Veils allowed the Otherlings free rein in the city; among and beside humans, but unseen. Without them, the Otherlings would have been in constant danger. They would have been forced to hide and run, fighting to exist. This protection was her main job, but she could not have done it without Rowan. Between her and the wizard lay the leadership of this widely varied tribe. They were a loosely bound bunch, held by the needs of the veils; surviving jointly where they could not stand alone.          
The young fairies were full of light and play. They danced to scatter more sparkles and loved the chore. The lucky workers below them had easier loads with such frolic above them. Krohn, a mountain man turned urbanite, carted loads of firewood and laid them beside the bonfire for easy feeding. Seven foot three and broad as a bear, the giant shape changer hoisted cords of wood like matchsticks, making quick work of his preparations.  On the far side of the fire,  Frog helped his mother and Old Lady Lyman set up tables for tomorrow night’s feast.

“Freddie, put that table on the far side of the fire to hold the libations, will you dear? There’s my sweet boy.” Mother Nash, round and motherly in a gingham apron, wheedled and nagged, pushing her son to his limits.

“Mother, I am moving as fast as I can! And please call me ‘Frog’ here, okay? Not ‘Freddie’!” Frog was sweating and winded. The young troll had yet to develop the full rotundity of a mature troll, but he was proud of his healthy green hide and growing fast. He’d missed his afternoon snack, so he was a little testy.

Mrs. Lyman, hands on her ample hips, watched the exchange between Frog and his mother. Trolls have little patience for hunger, and Mrs. Lyman, a true troll, solved all problems with food. As proprietor of The Red Lantern, all the Otherlings knew her as the best cook in the community. She decided now would be just the moment for a little snack for all.

“Frog, would you get my bag? I left it down by the creek,” Mrs. Lyman said. Frog shrugged his shoulders and headed down the hill, looking misused. Turning to his mother, she said, “I think  Freddie needs a break, don’t you? Let’s all take a break. I’ve brought a wee treat that should be just the thing.”

Frog returned, lugging an enormous satchel, huffing and puffing up the hill to drop it at Mrs. Lyman’s feet.

“Thank  you, dear Frog! Now, for being such a gentleman, you may have first pick of the goodies.” From her bag, she pulled boxes of biscuits, cheese puffs, chicken wings, jars of pickles and jam and chocolate chip cookies and other yummy goodies.

Suddenly, Frog looked renewed. He filled his pockets and retired to lean on a nearby tree trunk. All the Otherlings gathered for an early light supper, and to celebrate the work well done. The clearing was laced with summer daisies and grasses. Fairy dust sparkled the air and the trees were lush green and spangled with dew-kissed webs. The fire circle and feast tables were set. As the light faded from the summer sky, the Otherlings headed home, one by one or two by two,  until the Holy Hill stood silent, alone, and resplendent in readiness for Midsummer’s eve.

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Jessie tossed and turned, trying to sleep. The house felt still and close despite the fan beating a rhythmic hush, hush above her. Rowan intruded on her thoughts. She pictured him climbing the old library ladder, switching hats at each shelf, making silly faces to match each. The smell of him, of herbs and smoke and dust, seemed still fresh in her nostrils, tickling and tantalizing.

Finally, she fell into a troubled sleep and dreamed herself back in the bookshop, only it was changed. The walls were trees, very ancient and very large. Jessie could smell the rich green of deep woods, and the light flickered as leaves rustled in a breeze. Butterflies flew everywhere, butterflies of every size, from smaller than her hand to almost as large as she was. Opalescent butterflies, with wings trailing. But wait, these weren’t butterflies at all—they were fairies! They were unaware of her, playing, flying through the trees, scattering stardust until the whole world glittered. Rowan was walking among them, chatting as though they were long time friends. Jessie called to him, but he didn’t hear her. She woke suddenly as the radio alarm played “Stardust Memories.”

On the bus going to work she reached into her raincoat pocket and found the brass doorknob. She rubbed it on her sleeve to bring up the shine, and bumped it into the railing. A clear high ring filled the bus, causing people to turn, searching for the sound. Jessie held it in the light, thinking of bells.