The Green Pool

In a misty glade deep in the forest called The Grimwood, a young female faerie darted between the shafts of shadow and sunlight that played over a round-topped knoll in the center of the clearing. Her delicate wings thrummed in agitation, glowing iridescent in brief shots of sunlight as she circled the knoll, her small pointed ears directed toward its heart. Silence answered her. Hovering over the center of the grass-covered knoll, a frown drew her peaked brows together and her little mouth twisted in consternation. Giving a sigh, she darted off, only a little dot of light to eyes not accustomed to spotting faeries. Reaching the edge of the glade, the faerie hovered for a moment. Still suspended, the tiny figure shimmered and coalesced into the full-sized form of a young female clad in a flowing rose-colored dress tied beneath her small breasts with a cord of gold. The young faerie glanced behind her back and nodded at the absence of her wings. She closed her eyes in concentration and clapped her hands together. On the ground next to her feet a silver tray laden with food appeared. She expelled a satisfied breath, gathered up the tray and walked to the base of the knoll. She didn't have to look for the small round entrance beneath the mound that human eyes would never have found as it was concealed by tall grass. She knew it was there. With one fluid movement, she turned and backed into the opening, drawing the tray behind her. Immediately enveloped in darkness, her eyes adjusted with little pause. The tunnel she faced inclined gradually in a gentle descent. Her feet took it with tiny mincing steps, apprehension visible in the fixed downturn of her mouth. Shortly after the tunnel bottomed out to a level walk she saw the door ahead. She stepped up to the door and studied it intently. It was a heavy wooden door made of rough oak slabs banded together with wide brass strips. Only the trained eye of the faerie (or maybe that of a wizard) could discern the faint quiver in the air around the door that told her the spell placed on it was still holding strong. Cocking her head, she leaned a pointed ear close to the wooden surface. All was quiet within. She whispered one word, grasped the curved brass handle, while still balancing the tray in her other hand, and pulled it down. The door released and swung easily outward as if commanded by another silent hand leaving just enough space for her slim body to slide into the room. As soon as she stepped over the threshold the door slid silently shut behind her. She didn’t have to turn to look behind to know that no sign of a door in the mortar would show. No crack would give away its presence nor hint at the section of the wall in that room from which it would appear the next time she entered or exited. The room was oddly in contrast to its outward appearance, as if she's stepped through a barrier of time and space. Created to give the illusion of a room in some fine castle, its walls had the texture of smoothed mortar that rose to an eight foot ceiling braced by heavy wooden crossbeams. From the far wall a fire glowed in a large stone hearth before which a comfortable stuffed high-back chair and table were placed. The table held a glowing oil lamp. Against another wall was a bed with clean linens, a woolen coverlet and pillow. To her right sat a polished oak table and two chairs. Stepping to the table, she set down the tray and turned to the chair before the fire. She could see the man's bronzed arm draped along the chair arm, though the rest of his body was hidden from sight. His hand held the stem of a delicate glass shaped like an open flower which he twisted slowly with his strong fingers. The golden liquid in the glass caught the light from the fire in the hearth. The young faerie stepped forward, her bare feet making no sound on the soft grass-green carpet that covered the center of the room. "And what sweet things do you bring for my mid-meal this day, Tillie?" The man's rich baritone voice broke the silence. "Sweet fruits and nut bread, with butter and honey,” Tillie answered softly, moving around the table and looking down at him. A tentative smile touched her mouth. Rolf Andelar cocked his head slightly sideways and looked up at her, his strong fingers still turning the glass slowly. His long dark hair drifted over his shoulders. Wisps of curls framed his face, still bronzed from the sun though he'd surely been in this place for months, maybe years, if faeries counted them. Tillie stared into his eyes, green, like the waters of the pool beneath the Glaistig’s falls. His muscular body, browned by the sun and the coloring of his hair and eyes would probably fool a human, as long as they didn't spot the pointed ears that lay beneath that wavy hair. This elf was unlike the delicately statuesque Florian elves that inhabited The Grimwood. Had she not seen others of the Ileana clan on occasion, still haunting The Grimwood in search of their leader, she would have thought him a mutant. But she knew better now. She also knew that the heavier, muscular bodies of the Ileana concealed their ability to move with a lithe grace, just as the Florians could exhibit strength incredible for their slim, delicate-looking bodies. He doesn't look as old as Nortenaine, Tillie thought, but she knew he was actually older. His beautiful face (she thought the word beautiful, rather than masculine, even though the angles of his face were sharper than most elfin men) was unlined as if worry hadn't touched him. Yet, she knew the news she carried would change that look forever. As if reading her mind, Rolf's brows drew together and he placed the glass carefully upon the table. "You look pensive, my young friend,” Rolf reached out and took Tillie's hand. "I expected someone other than you this day. Have you news for me? I have not seen Lilliana in months. But she had promised she would come back to me with the first breath of spring. Though I can’t feel it, my senses tell me the season is upon us." Tillie felt his hand grow cold in hers and knew he had sensed what was in her mind. His fingers tightened as he drew her down next to him. Tillie turned her face away from the darkness that drew across his face. "No time for games, little faerie. Why didn't Lilliana come?" "I have news of her, lord,” Tillie mumbled, unable to control the trembling of her frail body. Rolf released her hand and stood abruptly, gazing down at her. His voice rasped with barely held control, “They've found us out?" "Oh, no, sir!" "Well, what then, girl? Don't quiver and mutter, just tell me!" "She – Miss Lilliana-- told me..." Tillie burst into tears, covering her face with her hands, her small body shaking. Rolf grabbed her shoulder with two strong hands and shook her roughly. "What is it? Tell me, damn it!" "Oh, lord! Lilliana means to throw herself from the falls above the green pool!" "What?" Rolf shoved Tillie back, his face glowing red. "They've discovered us and threaten to banish her? We knew this might come. But, when -- how long ago did you speak with her?" Tillie stammered, tears streaming down her pale face. She tried to speak, but only a high-pitched squeak was expelled. Rolf stared at her, bursting in frustration, his fists clenched, then threw his body forward and slammed a fist into the nearest wall. "Blessed Queleastor! I must know!"