Arrival

Serendipity129

~The story of the day Jimin arrived on Fairy Island.~

An outburst of pure joy crawled into the fireplace, drifted into the chimney, and climbed into the open air. The sunrise was late, casting a long shadow of timber over the cottage. The laugh became a graceful cyclone and wandered into the woods to socialize with the trees and mingle in the ferns. It happened upon a grove of bushes that wilted only in color, floored by wet earth strewn with shining leaves of silver. And with its power, the noise came like a torrent through one shrub to tear away its white petals toned with sweet pink, sweeping them along in its breeze. It spiraled into the wind again until the air became neighbors with the salty sea.

"Look!" said Wila, spotting a pair of petals in the sky. "Do you hear that?"

"That's it!" said the light talent fairy with a hand to his ear.

"I got it. Hang on!" The wind fairy zipped up to meet with the fleeting energy. The second, in yellow, set off at wing-breaking speed to send word to the rest of Fairy Island. "Everyone! To the Pixie Dust Tree!" he cried. "A new arrival has come!"

As well as they could, each fairy who could hear finished their tasks and gathered up to fly home. A moontree arched over the tiny islets like a great mother, with its curling limbs draped with raspberry-shaped lanterns tethered by vines. Mosses and flowers sprouted from inside the bark here and there, some large enough to provide seats for fairies. The lifeblood of the island coursed through its fibers, golden, bright, plentiful, and trickled in a healthy stream down its trunk until it pooled in light at its base. In this spot, fairies of old had carved out a wooden floor from the roots, where all seated themselves. Faires, wearing shades of mahogany and gold, waved fingers of pixie dust out of the pool and scattered the stuff onto the floor. Some of it seeped into the intricate engravings in the wood.

Wila captured the petals in his swirling wind magic, kindly guiding them down to their bed of sparkling dust.

The two settled together, and the powder came alive. It gathered with the petals until it coated them thickly in gold and formed them into a bubble. The spectators could spot the faint image of someone stirring inside. Before he was able to open his eyes fully, the fairy sat up from his side and touched, causing the orb to pop and give him a wholesome dusting of gold in his hair. He heard the gentle voices of wonder, focusing blinking eyes on those around him.

"Good morning," some of them chirped.

"Hello," smiled more.

The sparrowman wasn't sure what to say.

He knew, somehow, he was small, especially under all those watchful eyes. At first, he knew the strength to move. He rose to his knees and pushed with his arms, stumbling a little to stand. The petals had formed themselves into clothes over his blushing skin: a dainty vest of white and snug pants woven from scarlet-tipped leaves of gray.

Tall fairies in a rainbow of different ensembles gathered around as well.

"Born of laughter, clothed in cheer," said a fairy wearing a pink rose petal gown. "Happiness has brought you here."

The small one only blinked, and his lips hung open slightly.

"What is your name, little one?" asked another. He wore golden robes and mahogany leaf spines snug around his thin neck.

"I..." he mumbled, "I don’t…"

"Not to worry," grinned the one in pale yellow. “Welcome to Fairy Island.” The rest of the fairies gave their warm applause.

"Welcome to Fairy Island," echoed the one in a voice contrasting his vibrant red vestments. "This is where we work together to keep nature's glow and the balance of all its inhabitants."

"We maintain what is all around you," said a sunken sparrowman in plum-colored leaves. "It is up to you to find what part of it you will make."

The new fairy wavered as the elders stepped away, conjuring offerings they left in a circle around him. One of the towering sparrowmen left a leaf that matched his red clothes, and the tall pink fairy left a blossom of her likeness. Surrounding him were a droplet of water, a feather, a spinning cloud, a ball of light, a leaf pouch, a cotton brush, and a mortar.

"Choose?" the sparrowman found the flower especially attractive while curious about the contents of the drawstring bag. Too many choices at once! He barely knew what any of them meant. He wouldn't choose the water bubble; he shied from the mortar and apprehensively passed the little cyclone. He almost approached the paintbrush, then examined the dual colors of the feather. Light? Leaf? No. The symbols of nature seemed to wilt around him until all that seemed to be left were tools. He found that the pouch would not open, and the mortar turned to ashes when he held it. From the remnants, he chose the brush, and the wood seemed to catch fire in his hands. And despite the searing of his whole body, he could not let go. He could not look away from the blinding light, unable to hear the loudest cheers coming from fairies in white and pastels.

"The greenwing has chosen the talent of the arts," announced the shortest of the elders, smiling the brightest.

The remaining symbols dissolved, and the fairies continued to clap for him. This time, the noise was not daunting, and it made him smile at them all. The elder in white took his shoulder, and musicians began to play on their woodwinds and drums. The paintbrush must have burned up and gone, he thought.

"Hold a moment, there," the sparrowman in gold petals stopped him from leaving. Asara grasped his green wings so as not to bruise them and ran his fingers over their swirling veins until their tips stood high. "There you are. On with you."

The little one beamed at his new wings, watching them flutter and sparkle with the magic dust that coursed through them.

"Are you excited?" the elder of the art fairies didn't bend to him for long, for the young one was not patient about his wings. She held his hand, helping him rise into the air. "You like them, I see," she laughed, watching him climb higher.

"Oh, yes!" he giggled, spiraling down to follow her. She led him toward the trodden path in the tree's roots. "This is amazing!"

Her blushing cheeks never stopped smiling. "Welcome. My name is Chella, and I am the leader of the art fairies. I'll be around just in case you need any help." she clasped her hands together and rose on her wings, clear silver in the shape of a butterfly's, inviting the newcomer to follow suit on his sharp ones. "Granted, we art fairies do not all do the same thing. We have many sub-talents, you could say." she led him down the hill from the pixie dust tree, over the arched sea glass bridge, and onto a wide beach of pink and blue sand. "This is where we gather to create. We make music, write, and paint."

"We do all this?" the greenwing asked, waving quietly at the creators they passed who welcomed him.

"It's no requirement," Chella said. "Many of us find proficiencies in design. I enjoy acting and performing, but there are many practices outside the theater for you to excel in." the elder conducted him throughout the hamlet as the risen sun painted the world white-gold.

They passed through quiet sunrooms filled with lounges, cozy workspaces for writers and illustrators, and buzzing studios where flower paint sloshed to and fro. The greenwing felt exhilaration while standing on the stage in the empty theater, where actors, musicians, and dancers would perform. The smells of fresh scones and fruits filled him to the brim when Chella introduced him to the kitchens, and he took note to visit them often. In a studio with high glass walls, fairies talked and sewed and tried new clothes hewn from petals on each other.

"You've come a treacherous way here. I think you'll be relieved to find your new place to rest your wings." Chella fluttered him into a shaded meadow in bloom with pink geraniums. "While our carpenters and stoneworking fairies build many of our houses, some can find homes in places forgotten by humans. Like yours~!" she sang as they arrived at a white, six-sided birdhouse. Its wooden shingles were freshly painted the color of terracotta, and its windows were round lenses. The circular door was banded with silver, with a tiny seashell as its handle. A lantern made of a chain and locket dangled from its overhang and creeping vines kept the house rooted firmly in the soil.

"It's so quaint," his eyes sparkled at the sight of his place, so perfect and just for him. He flew up to the house's wooden peg and opened the door.

"You'll find it decorated by our interior designers," Chella said, this time following him.

The floor was a cushiony maroon jacquard, and the dark fireplace was once a ceramic pipe. His table was dried-up sunflower, and his overhead lamp was a daffodil.

"We art fairies make all our furniture, so you'll take it up with our makers if you find anything missing, I trust."

"Uh-huh?" he replied absentmindedly, his cheeks tired from grinning.

"I hope you enjoy it here." her voice went short of a whisper in his little home. "You've made it a special day." Chella retracted toward the door. "At sunset, there will be a festival with dessert on the beach, and we'd love to see you. And before I go, you know who to find for a tour of Fairy Island, right?"

"Y...you?" he replied, taking an acorn cap for a bowl.

"That's right. We look forward to seeing you."

"Thank you."

"It’s my pleasure!" Chella called, bringing her flowing, flower-painted skirts and billowing brown curls with her.

The greenwing closed the door behind her. He padded through his house, bereft of food, save a cinnamon muffin in the cupboard that was iced with the word, "Welcome!" Despite the careful selection, he found just a bit of decorating to do later. He hummed for the first time as he crossed to an ovular mirror that stood near his bed, checking his clothes, running fingers through his caramel curls and leafy locks of pink and green that sprouted here and there. He admired his teal-tipped wings and thought, cute. His aimless tune ended when he found a second cupboard. The toy rowboat was empty if not for the neatly folded outfit on its middle shelf.

He changed into it for the festival: a loosely-fitting shirt of speckled lily petals with sleeves that came over his hands, shorts made of brown leaves that reached just above his mid-thighs, and a woven belt with an ovular rose quartz fastening. He stood akimbo in the mirror, proud to dress for the first time.

The greenwing crawled out of his dim house and into the sunlight, zipping into the sky as fast as he could. He flew in circles and spirals and loops, closing his eyes to feel the cold on his cheeks as it blew his hair away from his forehead. The rushing winds felt like the feeling he had missed all his life, although none of it had yet occurred.

From a few feet up, he could see all of Fairy Island: gardens, nooks, shops, and streams, and as long as he didn't look straight down, his hands and feet would not feel tingly. He sat on his roof, tangling his bare feet in the thick rope that his birdhouse may have once hung by, and as he did, he had only one thought,

"I can't wait!"

~The End~

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