My head feels woozy, and a sudden wave of nausea overcomes me. I fall to my knees, cutting them once more, surely
bruising them, and my chest dry heaves a few times, my stomach too empty to oblige. It’s painful, and exhausting. My body crumbles
to the rocky floor. I’m so tired. And my wings hurt.
But I have to get out. Where ever I am, I have to get out. I extend my arms and try to push myself up but the dizziness triumphs over
me once more. I collapse again, this time smacking my head on a jagged protuberance from the rocky ground. I moan weakly as
sharp, piercing pains radiate from the side of my head.
My body aches and releases a long groan as I rise off my stomach. It’s still black. And cold. My wings still hurt but not as bad as last
time…whenever that was. My face isn’t wet so I guess the pain wasn’t as excruciating while I was passed out this time. My stomach
really hurts though. Like really hurts. It’s roaring and ripping me a new one for forgetting about it. I didn’t eat much the day I was taken
and nothing since.
I shuffle my body backwards inch by inch until I’m leaning against the wall. As rocky as it is, I’ve found a niche that doesn’t dig into
my aching spine. As my head lay sideways along the wall, my ears pick up a slight humming noise. It’s constant and almost
soothing, but it’s not enough to deter my thoughts. A few tears descend because I’m not sure what to do. I suspect I’ve been
dumped in a hole somewhere with damaged wings. No, not just damaged. I fear they’ve been broken. Or maybe the metal strapped
to their base adds enough weight to make them feel broken. Either way, the slightest movement is painful. I never found my satchel
so I have no pixie dust to help me. I suppose I could keep calling out, but I have serious doubts I’ll find a friendly creature within
earshot. And I suppose I could try to climb, but without the tiniest smidgen of light, I have no idea how to scale the wall, or how far up I
’ll have to go. And if I fall…
I shake my head of the thought and instead, I try to assess my injuries in the dark. Injured wings, obviously. There’s a tender spot
near my left temple that definitely has a nasty bruise. So much of my skin is burning from an infinite number of scratches, but none
feel too serious. Except this one spot on my neck where I think that stinger pierced me, or most likely, a dart.
A dart. Someone actually did this to me. Was it a pixie? A faery? A sprite? I just don’t understand who. Or why. What did I do to
deserve this? I’ve never hurt or angered anyone. I may be a little more free-spirited than my fellow pixies, but I always obey the
elders and do what is expected of me. So what I have done wrong that karma put me here?
I sit alone in the darkness shivering, arms wrapped tightly around my waist, with tears burning behind my eyes as they fight to
escape my tense, aching body.
Everything hurts. Just the slightest touch on my skin makes me wince. My mouth is dry and sticky, and my lips are crusting over. I try
to lick them with my tongue, but the effect is like rubbing sandpaper on rock. I’m nauseous but I’m not sure if it’s because I haven’t
eaten in a few days, or if it’s from the fecal matter I had to leave unburied in this rock prison.
I had hopes that my eyes would adjust to the darkness, but even after the days I know I’ve spent here, I still see nothing. Absolutely
nothing. I’ve been staring upwards for about an hour now – and I’ve got the kink in my neck to prove it – hoping that the tiniest sliver
of light would give me an indication of how high these walls are. I’ve decided to climb. I know it’s stupid, what with my weakened
state of mind and body. I’ll probably fall and damage myself beyond repair, or worse, to my death. But I fear I’ve been left here to rot
until I’m ashes and bones, so I’m starting to think I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. Even if it means suffering from a fall.
It’s a slow climb to my feet. Slow and steady wins the race, Rosalie. I stumble along the wall feeling for peaks large enough to
support my feet and hands. There aren’t many to choose from. Whoever chose this hole did so for a reason. It’s practically
inescapable. My head is pounding and I feel my eyes go in and out of focus even though there’s nothing to focus on. I decide on a
spot and inhale a deep breath to calm my nerves, because I’m pretty sure this won’t end positively. But I can’t leave this world
thinking I did nothing to save myself. I can’t be the pixie that just waits in a hole to die.
I reach up and pull on a rocky protuberance. I’m quick to find support for my foot because I know I don’t have the strength to hold my
body up with my arms alone. Quite frankly, I don’t even trust my legs at this point. I hold my body flush against the wall as best I can
and slowly extend my right arm up, feeling for the next rock to grasp. There isn’t one. I sigh and rest my forehead against the wall as
my right arm comes down and my left goes up. It’s not until my arm is extended above me that I find one. I don’t like the idea of
pulling with my weak arm at such a great distance, but I have no choice. I reach down and pat the wall for something to step on that’s
within reach of my feet. I only find one spot that may work, so I propel my body upwards and step on the rock before I can talk myself
out of going. My movement is shaky at best, and there’s only room for my left foot on the bump, so my right is left dangling lifelessly
along the wall. I manage to climb about three feet up the wall before I get stuck. There’s nothing within reach for my hands and the
only step available for my feet is quite a stretch. I’ll have to go back a step and try to climb sideways.
I sigh my disappointment. My support leg is really shaking. I’m not sure how much longer it can hold. My right leg is scanning the wall
for a place to stand when a huge muscle spasm attacks my left calf. I scream and try to switch my left out for my right, but there isn’t
enough room on the rock. My right foot slips trying to find ground and I can’t stop gravity from taking me.
As hard as I try, I can’t get my body to turn in the air. The steel attached to my back is determined to beat me to the ground, and the
weight of my body lands heavily upon my wings, which crunch upon impact. The pain is instantaneous and radiates throughout my
body in quick waves, but I’m so stunned my lungs have yet to expand and allow me to scream in agony. My entire body shakes
violently, then spasms. I scream, but my throat is so dry the only audible sound I make is a dire whisper. I’m so exhausted and
damaged all I can really produce is a pathetic whimper for this massive amount of pain. But even in this painful state, I’m still able to
cry. Of course nothing comes out anymore, but I cry nonetheless, because I know I’m going to die here. In a dark hole. All alone.
My body lay askew on the ground sideways, my wings a broken twisted mess. I’m not sure if they’ll ever fully heal, but I doubt they’ll
be given the chance anyway.“Until then, just swing on the willowy tree.” I’ve been singing this over and over again for the past few
hours. I use the term singing pretty loosely, as it’s more of a hum since my throat is so parched. I can’t seem to remember the rest of
the song, or what it’s even about. But I keep singing.
My singing has finally stopped, but that doesn’t keep the humming from continuing on inside my head. My body has gone numb and
refuses to move at this point. My stomach has long since given up on me so it doesn’t bother me with hunger requests anymore. My
ear is flush with the ground so all I hear is that strange humming noise inside the cave, which incidentally, now seems to hum along
with the tune repeating in my head. It soothes me in a strange way, and I know it’ll probably be the last sound I ever hear. As if that
realization isn’t dreadful enough, my eyes begin playing tricks on me. It’s a cruel hallucination to show me a faint yellowish glow now
that I’m knocking on Father Time’s door. My head won’t budge, and looking out the corner of my eye gives me an intense headache.
To add insult to injury, the glow grows larger and larger as it descends into my prison, blinding me, finally its metal canister clinking
on the rock beside me. Like a moth to a flame, it’s all I can focus on, and I fear the end has come. “Father Time?” I try to ask, but it
comes out as a garbled whisper. Has the last grain of sand in my personal hour glass finally fallen?
I feel a rough, pointed nudge in my side and hear the words, “We may have left this one too long. Maybe we should just leave it.”
I know I should care what the voices above me are saying, but I can’t stop admiring the flame before me, tumbling around in its glass
lantern, as much a prisoner as I am. I desperately want to reach out and touch it, to free it, and my fingers begin to twitch with
anticipation.
A second voice huffs heavily and grunts, “I’m not going back for another. Let’s see if it survives first.”“Fine.”
Two pairs of hands grab me and lift me off the ground, their mitts so large they practically wrap completely around my arms. Sadly,
all I seem to care about is that they’re moving me farther away from the flame. I never appreciated the ability of making fire before I
got thrown into this hellhole. I groan with disappointment because I’m too weak to protest any other way. My head hangs low as I feel
our ascent up the prison. When I feel my body shift sideways, my heart jumps with excitement. I’m free! Oh, Mother Nature, I’m free!
With the flame’s light I’m now able to see the rocky floor just inches below us. It’s black with a hint of silvery sparkle twinkling at me
as we fly over. I find solace in knowing my captors don’t intend on killing me, but I’m still left with zero sense of what’s going on and
who they are, and more importantly, where I fit into this equation.
My skin shivers as a refreshing rush of wind tumbles past us through the tunnel, invigorating my sense of touch. I’m able to lift my
aching neck for just a moment and spot the entrance to the cave that imprisoned me these past few days: foreboding with rocky
peaks dropping down like canines in a wolf’s mouth. I certainly feel like I’ve been in the belly of the beast, but what an odd feeling to
be going the opposite way in the maw, like I’m disgusting to taste, and the monster’s spiting me back out. Water showers down the
other side and explains the constant hum I heard during my involuntary stay. My captors pause before the entrance and I wonder if
they’re inexperienced flyers when it comes to wet wings. Had I the strength to escape their grasps and fly away, I’m sure I could have
burst through the water with no problem. But then I remember the condition of my wings and I hang my head in reluctant defeat.
My captor with the gruff voice bellows, “Open up ya’ friggin’ sprig!”
A spriggan? Is that what holds me up? It makes sense. Spriggans are the largest of the faeries, coming in around fourteen inches
tall, whereas faeries max out about nine and pixies seven. Barbarians at best, if you find a group of spriggans, they’re typically
acting as mercenaries or bodyguards for someone. So this can’t be good.
I hear a thunderous clunk, like wood slapping against wood, and I lift my head enough to see the shower before me turn into a
trickling rain. As my captors fly us out of the cave and over a tiny stream, I’m sprinkled with water droplets. I quickly lick the ones on
my shoulders and feel the instant gratification, but my body yearns for so much more. I rub my lips together, desperately trying to
spread a single drop between them. My eyes widen at the stream just inches below my feet and my body instinctively squirms to
reach for it. The hands upon my arms squeeze tighter and my body weakens into submission.
It’s night and all is dark. The full moon must have passed while I was imprisoned because it’s hard to see beyond the light of the
flame. My head still hangs limply so I have no idea where I am, or how far I am from home.
After flying for a few minutes, I am unceremoniously dumped on the ground. The hardened clay beneath me is as uncomfortable as
the rock prison I just left, but at least it doesn’t cut my skin. My captors up and leave me, but not alone. Once their light fades to
nothing, I hear soft whispers and the pattering of feet approaching. Gentle hands embrace me and lift my upper body.“Drink this,” a
mature female says softly. I feel smoothed wood against my lips followed by a slosh of water. I’m eager but my mouth is slow to
react, so my handler tilts the bowl, allowing the water to flow gently into my mouth. The relief is instantaneous, but my mouth is so dry
and lifeless I gag on the small amount pooling within. Water trickles down the wrong part of my throat and I involuntarily heave,
thrusting air upward to expel it. I choke for several seconds, and more than one pair of hands tries to cradle and comfort my body.
“Try again,” the voice says, and I do, this time properly sipping at the water until the bowl runs dry. The water cools the burn I just
caused, leaving my lips, mouth and throat refreshed, but not really satisfied. I sigh and lean back, releasing my weight to the hands
supporting my back.
My eyes open and I immediately see the moon, just a tiny sliver amongst the bright specks in the midnight blue sky. It’s off to the
side in the sky, early in its nightly journey, but the lack of trees around me make it easy to see. Behind me I hear the mature voice
say, “Willow, dear, hand me one of the bowls of mash.”
I hear an annoyed huff, followed by a younger female voice answer, “We weren’t given any provisions for her. You know we don’t
have enough to feed her too. And by the looks of her, she’s gonna die any moment anyway.”“Willow!” the older female barks. “I wasn
’t asking for permission. Hand me one of the bowls.” The sternness of her voice makes my body tense and I’m relieved she’s on my
side at this moment. I can’t see Willow, but in my mind I picture her cowering before what must be a beast of a female.“Here dear,
try this.” I finally see the face that goes with this mature voice and it’s nothing like I expect. Sure, the pixie is several decades older
and her poor face is weathered and wrinkled, but it’s the other attributes I didn’t expect. She’s not beastly but pathetically thin. Her
cheeks are concave, her eye cavities hollow and the area under her eyes look almost bruised they’re so dark. And all this I can tell
under the night’s sky. Come morning – if I survive – I’m sure it’ll look ten times more emaciated.
I’m not sure who’s supporting me from behind, but I appreciate the steady hold as the old pixie gets ready to feed me some type of
dark mash in a wooden bowl. My stomach has no interest but my eyes sure do, and they widen with anticipation. She uses a
wooden spoon to scoop it up and my lips envelop it, sweeping the substance off the smoothed curvature and into my mouth. My lips
are so chapped even the smooth edges of the spoon feel as sharp as a shard of slate. The mash is gritty and mushy at the same
time. My taste buds aren’t telling me what I’m eating, but just the texture alone gets my face to wince.“It’s alright. It’s just some seeds
and local berries. Really chew on this. I don’t want you choking.” I obey her command but my mouth is extremely sensitive, and each
crack of the seeds on my teeth causes an explosion of pain in my gums. Despite being slicked down with mashed berries, the
seeds are hard to go down and pieces get stuck in my throat, scratching like fingernails as they slowly descend with each swallow.“
Water, please.” It’s the first time I’ve been able to speak clearly for days and the please comes off as begging. The old pixie obliges
and I tilt my head back a little to allow an easy pour into my mouth. The water sweeps through my mouth and rushes down my throat,
cleansing as it goes. I sigh with satisfaction, truly feeling refreshed for the first time, and my lips curl into what smile my crusty lips
can produce without splitting and drawing blood. She continues alternating the mash and water until the bowl runs empty. I never
really taste what I’m eating but my stomach roars to life now that something resides in it. The pixie holding me up gently lays me
back and I see her for the first time. She’s not much older than me but her body seems as thin as the older pixie, and what I fear will
shortly be my fate as well. No wonder Willow didn’t want to share the food with me.
The young pixie abandons me for the night, leaving me with the older one, who’s gently caressing my cheek, perhaps even envying
the plumpness of it. “What’s your name, dear?”“Rosalie,” I whisper.
She nods her head and replies, “I’m Juniper.”
I think she can sense the many questions about to roll off my tongue because she immediately cuts in with, “Tomorrow, Rosalie.
They’ll demand you work tomorrow despite your condition, and you’re going to need every minute of sleep you can get. Now relax
your body and rest.”
My body takes to her words as if commanded. I have so many questions but I’m so exhausted. And knowing I’m out of that cave and
surrounded by other pixies makes me feel comfort even though I’m still imprisoned. The anxiety within relents and for the first time in
days I fall peacefully to sleep.
The next morning I’m awakened by gentle shaking. A layer of crust has formed over my eyes through the night, and when I reach up
to rub them free, I feel the intense tightness of my muscles. I groan as I pry my eyes open. It takes a moment to adjust to the bright
shade of lavender that fills the sky. A streak of hot pink as rich as the water lilies that flow through my Hollow’s stream encroaches
over the horizon, announcing the sun’s approach.“Good morning, Rosalie,” Juniper says. Like I expect, she’s even thinner than I saw
in the moonlight, and her poor skin is incredibly raw-looking, dried out almost. Surprisingly, the hue of her skin isn’t salmon like mine
either. It’s a deeper shade of red, like the dark red dahlia, and similar to the material I’m wearing wrapped around my body. I know
she must have been beautiful at one point in her life, with dark brown hair as rich as the cocoa bean and eyes as gold as the sun.
But she’s a withered pixie now with dry, wrinkled skin and dull strands of hair wrapped tightly in a bun on the top of her crown. Her
wings are paper thin and dried out like the parchment our ancient stories are written upon. And they have zero luminescence.
Without that shimmer, I know the magic has left her wings and makes her incapable of flying, even without the clamp. “I know it’s
early but it’ll take longer for you to get ready this morning, and you mustn’t lag behind.”
It hurts, but with Juniper’s help I’m able to sit up. I gasp at the number of cuts and bruises I’ve incurred over the past several days. My
dirt-coated skin is covered head to toe with bright red scratches. “Do you know how long I’ve been here?”“You were isolated for four
days. When they didn’t bring you out after three, I figured you died on them. They always leave the incoming pixies for three days.”
I shake my head in confusion. “Incoming? Where are we? Why did they throw me in that hole?”“To weaken you, my dear. The males
they actually leave in there longer. As for where we are, your guess is as good as mine. Someplace no pixie has ever escaped
from, or ever been found by others. Every pixie you see here was stolen from her Hollow just like you.”
I scan the bodies spread across the hard tan dirt. Like Juniper, they too have different shades of skin tones. There are a few similar
to the red in our skin, but quite a few are shades of green and some even blue, which I didn’t even know existed. And off to the far
end of the pit is a pixie similar to a powder-blue hydrangea with the most alluring violet-shaded hair. Luckily she has her back to me
because I couldn’t withdraw my gaze. Her colors are so mesmerizing, and as inappropriate as it is considering our situation, a
twinge of envy stirs in my stomach.
But there’s one thing all the pixies do have in common. There’s no magic left in any of their wings. No shimmer. No luminescence.
And I have this awful feeling that my wings look no different.“Come,” she says, pulling me gently to my feet to avoid hurting my sore
muscles. “I know you have questions and I promise we’ll answer them, but we need to cleanse your skin before the sun rises.”“Why
before the sun rises?”“Because we work sunrise to sunset, no exceptions.”
I rise and follow her, noting her attire. Unlike the two pieces of fabric covering my body, Juniper’s clothing is a one-piece that’s been
tied together by random strips of worn-out, faded fabrics of all colors. She’s done her best to cover up but there are gaping holes
regardless. Juniper leads me to the far end of what I think is a pit, which seems to be no more than a couple hundred inches in
diameter. I realize pixies are pretty short, but still, there has to be at least twenty to thirty residing in this pit. And even though most of
their bodies are pretty well spaced apart, it still seems a little crowded.
We stop at a hole in the ground, no more than one foot square. As I lean over, I catch a glimpse of myself in the water it contains. A
steady drip creates concentric rings in the pool and makes it difficult to focus, but I can tell something dark is on my forehead. I
reach up to touch the spot in question. It feels dry and crusty, and tiny dark flakes break off and float aimlessly towards the ground.
How I desperately wish I was light enough for the wind to take me…not that it’s flowing at this very moment in time.“Here,” Juniper
says. “Let me refresh the water so we can clean you up.” She grunts as she tugs on a rope with both hands. Above us a slab of
wood lifts upward and the steady drip turns into a heavy flow that rushes over the pit’s edge and into the hole. The flow hits with
enough force to expel the pooled water in one large wave. The wasted water rages along the edge of the pit, where the ground
slopes downward, and disappears over the horizon. I begin to wonder if our so-called pit was once part of the river where the water
pooled and produced a waterfall.“Jump in, but be mindful of your wings. Those sprig jerks make it habit to keep them broken and
you don’t want them to get infected.” With the excruciating pain from day one fresh on my mind, I do as she suggests and sit in the
water as gently as possible. The clamp angles my wings downward, so their tips are forced to submerge. The water laps against
the wings, applying pressure to the outer, broken structure at the base of my spine, and I hold my breath until the stinging fades.
The fresh clear water clouds and turns a sickening shade of brown. Together we rub down my skin and wash four days worth of cave
grime off my wounds. It’s odd having someone else wash me, but I can’t deny there are places my stiff muscles just can’t reach right
now, and I welcome the extra set of hands. When she asks me to stand and reaches for the rope again, I panic and reach to stop
her. Remembering the food shortage last night and how that one pixie was vehemently vocal against sharing, I immediately worry
about water usage.“Is there enough water for me?” I ask, my hand shaking as it lightly grabs her arm. “I don’t want to upset anyone.”
Sensing the source of my true fear, a soft smile spreads across Juniper’s face. For a moment her cheeks appear healthy and full. “
Don’t you worry about Willow. You’re not the one she’s really mad at. And as for the water, yes, there’s enough. They do restrict the
amount of food they give us, but they’ve always allowed us as much fresh water as we’ve needed.”
My tense muscles relax and I step out of the way so Juniper can refresh the bath. Now mostly dirt-free, I can enjoy the refreshing cool
water against my smooth skin. As I go to rewash my left arm, I immediately notice something that wasn’t there before. There, on the
outside of my left wrist is the number eighty-nine. I rub with my hand but the number stays put. I rub harder, and when it fails to
disappear again, I ask, “Juniper? Eighty-nine?”
I hear her moan before she answers. “You’re reading it wrong. It’s sixty-eight.” Her wrist swings to my line of sight and I see the
number forty-one. It’s more faded because her skin has stretched and thinned through the years.“It’s permanent?” I ask fearfully, but I
already know the answer. I can’t believe those flippin’ sprigs marked me!“Yes. It’s some type of permanent ink. I suspect they keep
a list of certain things about us, but I really don’t know.”
Juniper returns to cleansing my back. I pay closer attention to my wounds this time, particularly the areas where scabs are forming
over dirty particles. My arms and legs, and probably every centimeter I can’t see, is covered with pink scratches. A few are bright
red and more sensitive, but the pain from all those infections combined doesn’t rival the pain I’m feeling as Juniper washes the base
of my wings. I know she’s doing her best to be careful, working delicately around the steel clamp, but the water stings as she angles
my wings. I feel an internal burn travel the length of my spine. I hunch as she washes, and desperately fight the tears by holding my
breath and wincing the muscles in my face.
She squeezes my shoulder and whispers, “All done.” Several quick breaths force their way into my lungs. I try to comfort myself,
thinking the pain can only lessen here on out. If I can just endure today, tomorrow will be better. Still, I’d kill to have the ingredients to
make Healer’s herb and aloe vera salve from home to calm the burn and ease my pain.
I’m a little shaky but I manage to stand myself upright and walk back to the center of the pit. Most of the others are awake and
moving about, and those that aren’t are stirring on the ground. Some are able to look me in the eyes, but most seem defeated and
stare at the ground instead. I’ll admit, after the past few days, I too feel weak and a bit defeated. But I’m also incredibly angry inside;
I’m just too tired to express it. I’m furious that someone ripped me from my sacred home and dumped me in a hole to rot. No, not to
rot. To weaken me into submission so I can…so I can… What, exactly?
As Juniper hands me my morning bowl full of berry and seed mash, I ask, “Juniper, you still haven’t told me why I’m here. Why any of
us are here.” She sighs and diverts her attention to the mash, which looks to be black wildflower seeds mixed with strawberries.
She forces a bite and gums it. I imagine as hungry as she probably is, she no longer craves to eat the same thing day-in day-out
anymore. “Juniper?”
She looks to me with those electric golden eyes and sadness overcomes her face. Two pixies standing beside us depart with their
heads held a little lower than the moment before. She sighs and then says, “We females are here to powderize hallucinogenic
mushrooms. There are also male pixies imprisoned nearby that mine and pulverize diamonds.”
My eyes widen and I gasp, so startled my heart skips a beat. “Pixie dust!” I burst. I’m immediately shushed by several pixies who
turn to the sky in terror, expecting my outburst to draw unwanted attention from our captors. I throw my hand over my mouth, but when
no spriggans appear, I slowly lower it.
Unbelievable. General pixie dust isn’t that difficult to make, just time-consuming. The crushed diamonds go into every batch and
make up the very essence of pixie dust, but the mushrooms are only used in batches that are used in creating illusions. My fellow
pixies are guilty of using it on unsuspecting animals, convincing them all sorts of horrible things are happening to them that don’t
really exist. “Pixie dust?” I whisper this time. “Is that what the spriggans are making?”“Yes, or at least that’s what we assume. Our
two groups are independently making two very important ingredients for it. And it’s not the spriggans. It’s the faeries they work for
that want it.”“Faeries? They can make this stuff themselves. We shared the recipe ages ago. What do they need us for?”
Juniper shrugs. “A lot of work goes into making a dust this powerful. Why make it yourself when you can force slaves to make it for
you?”
Slaves. Just the thought causes anger to boil ferociously within me. It must show on my face because Juniper is quick to add, “Don’t
do anything foolish, Rosalie. If you want to survive here, you keep your head down and your mouth shut anytime a spriggan is near.” I
want to ask what happens to those that don’t, but she’s determined to bring our conversation to a close when she adds, “Now eat
quickly. You have a long day before you and you won’t be fed again until nightfall. Today you’ll be working with Holly, so please do as
she says and you’ll make it through alright.”