My Life as a Butterfly

Second Encounter: Is There Something in my Teeth?

Beautiful music reaches my ears, causing me to pause in my work in the garden and raise my head to regard the forests edge just beyond my property. It is a tiny voice, I think, like a child’s, but who can it be? I hadn’t known any of the local children could sing so well. I stand and walk into the shady atmosphere beneath the leafy boughs, squinting as my eyes adjust to the diminished light. Ferns cover the forest floor, and vines with shiny, dark green leaves. The air is still and quiet but for the voice, as though all listen.
I see nothing as I scan the surrounding area, so I move further under the trees, hoping to soon discern the source of the unearthly tones. To the right of me stands a tall, proud oak, boasting a huge girth that none of the other trees could hope to match. It rises high into the air, breaking the canopy and continuing ever upwards, it seems. The music travels the winds to my ears, from behind the giant, I think. I move closer, rustling the undergrowth, and as I am about to come round the side of the tree the music stops. Not as in a natural end to the melody, it cuts off as if the creator has been startled. In haste I peer about the trunk, hoping that nothing has harmed the child, but when I gaze upon the other side there is no one there. Nor on closer inspection is there even any sign that another living being was standing or sitting by the tree. The ferns and the vines sway lightly, un-trampled and unharmed.
Rather than be alarmed by the event, I tell myself I have spent too much time in the sun today, toiled too long for my health. A little heat exhaustion is all. When I am back within the cool spaces of my cottage I deem it prudent to take a nap, only for a few hours, just enough to recover my strength before preparing myself diner. A fine idea.

Something is rousing me from my slumber. A voice…a familiar melody. Why does it sound so near? And why is it here, when I have already convinced myself it was imagined? But the music is persistent and refuses to leave me to my dreams, forcing me to realize that real or not, I am most definitely not within the midnight realm. I rise from the soft sheets covering my bed with a faint trepidation, having already failed once to discern the source of the angelic song. I reach the window situated at the back of the cottage, looking out over my modest garden. But in place of the expected sight of it full and brimming with life, all I see is a snow covered patch, the bare skeletal remains of the taller vegetables poking up through the crust. I fall back from the window in horror. It was the height of the summer season when I had retired, so what sorcery held the power to change seasons in the passing of mere hours?
Having again persuaded myself that my imagination is in overdrive today, I inch closer to the window until I may peer from its panes. Nothing has changed, and I force myself to muffle a helpless sob. My mind is going to pieces all around me, and there is nothing I can do but look on.
I begin to turn away from the window, but as I do something in the barren and unnatural scene spread out before me catches my eye: a red trail winding through the snow, wide and dark scarlet, the exact color of blood…it meanders the entire length of the yard until it disappears under the stark trees, not long after becoming lost beneath the twilight realm holding court in their shadows. And as I continue to stare, a fragment of color flutters down from the overcast sky to alight softly upon the blood soaked ground. A butterfly…? Blue and vibrant in the still air, luminous wings moving gently, up and down, up and down.
The voice reaches my ears faintly, the same as before. Only now in place of the happy tune which had previously lifted my spirits is a melancholy dirge, befitting only a funeral or a lament sung from the barren top of a mountain. Too much….it is all too much. I withdraw into the shadows of my numbingly frigid home, hoping that sleep will grant me freedom from this nightmare. ADD ANOTHER LINE FOR BETTER TRANSITION!!!!!

I am awake, though I lay still contemplating the mysteries of visions visited upon me during my sojourn. So strange, surreal even. And from the depths of nothing.
I avoid opening my eyes, wishing to ignore the demands of the surely empty fire grate if only a little longer. Though it seems that this morning the cottage is colder than it should be, for the fire could not have died out more than an hour or two ago. Actually, it is positively arctic, the cold seeping further into my bones even as I lay here. My mind goes back to the dream, and an intense panic threatens to overcome my conscious, but it calms as I reassure myself that it is indeed the middle of the winter season, so there is nothing to concern myself with.
Fully awake now I open my eyes, ready to face another wearying day. Fear rises within my breast, greater even than that which resulted from the torment of my hallucination. For this time I am certain that I am awake, and that what I see around me is reality, chilling and paralyzing reality.
I do not see the dull and rough walls of my home, but those of a smooth and glistening whitish-blue. Which are soon eclipsed by the emergence of a face I have once before seen: the fae, all lines and angles and planes of taut skin. His inquisitive countenance is again mere inches from my own, obscuring my focus. Then he speaks even as my mind reels, slithering away from the admittance of his existence.
“Good evening, sir!” Blue eyes large and unblinking as he stares into my own, waiting, I suppose. But how does he expect me to respond? There is not much to say other than who the hell are you and what am I doing here? Or why am I not dead yet? Am I dead? Is this heaven or hell? After a short passage of time he poses another question, this one utterly ridiculous in light of the situation.
“Might I ask, my good man, if there is a particle of an earlier repast lodged within the space between my teeth?” I shake my head warily. He seems a tad loose in the head. “Oh, marvelous, my dear, I must say. For a moment I worried that I had in some way embarrassed myself, committing a social blunder. Thanks for your gracious aid in the rectifying of this concern.” Suddenly he pulls back, giving me much desired space, though I wonder at his motives for doing so, and why he so suddenly sports a sheepish grin and hangs his head. My answer is soon forthcoming as another presence comes within my field of vision.
This new presence is that of a woman, more beautiful than any I have ever seen. Her face displays the similar hues to that of the man, but her eyes are not as deeply blue. Rather they are more blue green, each color warring for dominance. Unable to bear being towered over by the two creatures I sit up in the pallet furs and lean against the cool wall behind me. At last I may see both in their entirety.
The male is shorter in stature than the female, as well as being more lithe. The woman is much taller than her companion, nearly seven feet, the man closer to six. Both dwarf my diminutive height. Their garb is also strange to look upon. The woman is clothed in a simple blue gown made of shimmering cloth, with a white, fur trimmed cloak draped across her shoulders. The garment shows off her curved hour glass figure, and though she is not sleek and trim I find her to be the more lovely because of it.
The man on the other hand is clad in barely anything at all. His thin chest is covered only by a black shirt and dark green leather vest, the laces of the shirt undone and hanging down his front, the vest clasp also not in use. A pair of thin cotton pants cloth his long legs, dragging very slightly on the floor under his bare feet.
The regal woman brushes a bit of pale hair behind one ear, revealing the pointed tip. Her mellifluous voice pours forth into the chamber, wrapping itself about me, caressing my senses.
“Hello, child. Allow me to welcome you to our domain, and to introduce ourselves, as my errant son has so clearly neglected to do.” She casts the other a reproachful look before continuing. “My name is Rishka, and I am the spirit of the river into which you found yourself…disposed of.” I am slightly insulted by her hesitance over the phrasing of what had happened to me. I was dumped, thrown away. Not cleanly ‘disposed’ of as she said. Now I go back over the rest of what she had said. The spirit of the river? Does she expect me to believe that elementals truly exist?
“And yes, I do expect you to believe we exist, because I am standing directly before you.” She arched a finely shaped brow at my incredulous expression. “Do not underestimate our abilities, child. My son may not be fully in control of his own yet, but allow me to assure you that I am capable of skimming the thoughts of a human brain.” The sardonic note in her voice cuts me, rendering me further incapable of speaking. Luckily the aforementioned son chooses to interrupt her before she may continue lashing me with her tongue.
“Mother, please be patient with the man. He has only just awoken and might I be the first to express my intense feelings of relief and adoration….” He glances at his mother uncertainly, and she utters one word. “Admiration.”
“Yes, admiration at the considerable strength you possess to have recovered so well in the span of only two days.” Two days then, since the tragic attempt on my life. I am surprised it has taken such a brief amount of time for such a wound to heal enough for movement and no pain at all. They must have given me a mightily potent concoction to numb the injury to that extent.
“Oh no, sir. You are not numb.” His face reclaims that look of bemusement until his mother clarifies, only this time she uses no words, only maintains steady eye contact until he nods, then returns his sapphire eyes to my face. “You are healed wholly, made good as you were. When I found you death had very nearly taken hold of your soul and carted it off to the Doorstep to await judgment. But my mother mended the broken places by knitting the flesh back together and dousing you in water collected from the far away rapids, so now you have not only human blood in your miniscule body, but that of the river at its strongest, giving you new strength and vitality.”
I finally gather the courage to speak. “So you mean to tell me that your mother has completely healed my wound?”
“And made you even better than you were previously…before?”
A nod from the matron, allowing him to continue with his grisly explanation. “You are as one of us now, able to exist within the hidden places of the earth, unreachable by the scum that terrorizes the magical creatures. You will be safe within these halls, growing strong and full of amazing skills, until you are ready to fight--”
“SON!” His mother admonishes, a stern visage marring her unearthly aura. “Do not tax the young man with your ramblings, he has only just awoken as you so benevolently reminded me. Let’s allow him to get some more rest before detailing his healing process.”
“Oh, but mother, madam, I am most certain he is famished. May we not feed him?”
Now that the fae has brought the matter up, I find I am rather famished. The woman--Rishka--nods her snowy head in acquiescence, at the same time giving her son a warm smile, full of love and affection. Jealousy flashes briefly through me, a blend of burning pain and humiliation. The emotion is strong, though the duration is barely that of five seconds, and apparently makes itself known among others in the room, for the younger of the creatures looks upon me in bemusement, while the older gives me the same smile as the son unknowingly received, though this one is laced with pity and compassion. As though she knows anything of human emotion.
She speaks to her offspring in the calm voice that is very probably second nature. Deep for a woman, and yet not impossibly so, not unseemly. It calls to mind dark waters and thick silences in the dead of night, muffled words and resonating sentiments. The soft brush of a hand, pads of the fingers lingering, softening the sharp daylight edges of love into something smoother and not as burning, smoldering passions and knowing eyes.
“Here.” I fall back onto the pallet with a start. I heard nothing of what Rishka said to the boy, having been consumed by the sultriness of her voice. His chiming tones rip me from my reverie, and I take the proffered water skin in a trembling hand, working hard to focus my attention on anything but the visions caused by her tones. Too much pain, held close to my heart for so long, then re-awaked by the vicious attack upon my person during the midnight hours.
“Th-thank you.” I stutter, unable to meet his gaze, instead focusing my attention upon the furs piled over top of me.
“It is no great service that I have rendered, sir, and please allow me the pleasure of procuring a meal for your most esteemed presence.” He departs with a bow laden with much flourishing and waving of the hands, exiting the chamber through a circular opening cut into the wall of ice, and is soon lost from my line of vision. I raise my eyes to Rishka, standing there so serene. With a nod of her head and one last look of reassurance she also leaves, the hem of her gown barely brushing the floor. I am left alone, the gravity of my situation finally sinking in to my addled senses.
Thankfully the young man soon returns with a wooden tray, which he places in my lap, then settles himself beside me and watches with an expectant air upon his open features. To my delight I find that the tray holds an assortment of wholesome foods, from thick slices of bread to a steaming bowl of porridge mixed with berries of some sort. It smells heavenly, and before my host even invites me to partake of the alluring spread I grab the spoon next to the bread and devour the contents of the bowl, then scavenge a path to the ripe and decadent fruits for which I have no name, and finish with the bread.
Now that my most pressing need has been seen to, I lean back against the wall and allow my body time to digest these newly consumed delights. My companion seems to feel it is time to get to know each other better, for he reaches out a long-fingered hand, introducing himself in his own odd manner. “Ah, hello, sir, and welcome to the realm of the Elementals. My mother, as you surely remember from your previous colloquy, is the Matron Rishka. And I, being her eldest son and only offspring to date, am the humble Wyldren of the watery realm of this river in which we currently reside. Might I inquire as to the name of such an exulted guest?”
He arches a delicate brow, and with a sigh of resignation--these visions refuse to disperse, so I might as well treat them as reality--I take the proffered hand, gasping in shock at the frigid temperature of the digits. Before he can voice his concern I make good on my return of the introduction.
“I am Luspin Bortrecht, from the port village of Grotchel. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and may I express my gratitude to you for--” For what? Saving me from certain doom so that I might wile away the hours contemplating my uncertain fate? Forcing me to ponder the likelihood of my very existence? “For preserving me from an untimely end.”
He smiles, his teeth white as new fallen snow, drawing one’s eye despite the pallor of his features. So white, this glittering place under the sluggish water. So frightfully cold and empty, ethereal and disturbing.