This continues the post, Homework for the Faerie Princess
II. Wherein Fee swims and certain matters of authorship are discussed
Before we continue with the tale of Fee, I would like to make a brief comment to you fine readers about an oddity I have noted. It seems to me that incredulity is the fashion of the day, and that this sort of skepticism, as in vogue as it is, has crept into even the most liberal thinking of the fantasy world. This causes some very odd moments indeed. For example, I was once criticized by a gentleman of the satirical persuasion for having a winged elf dressed in armor. He noted that armor, as it stands, is rather heavy, and that my lack of explanation for how he could still fly struck him as a break down in the believability of the world. I found this extremely peculiar, that one could note the presence of a flying elf and pass over it, and then beat down over the issue of his armor. Honestly, I think that it takes a much greater stretch of the imagination to suppose such a creature, than it does to suppose that such a creature could fly while wearing armor; don’t you agree? Certainly, one might grant that there was some magical aspect to the armor (presumably of elven craft), or an exception to the strength of elves who fly or some effect of magical beings on gravity; whatever explanation one could consider, they could all be very valid and very convincing. But instead of saying “Elves who fly have magical armor so that they can still fly,” I am inclined to simply say “there was a flying elf wearing armor” in general points of the novel.
Similarly, it may strike the reader as impossible to believe that a minute creature like Fee could possibly have any success at swimming in something so very large as the ocean. I might mention that creatures of Faerie have a different constitution than other small creatures, like, say, a june bug, and so can interact with it differently. But I won’t; I will tackle the problems of a small Faerie encountering the large ocean, certainly, but I would hope that the reader would have faith in my imagination to know that if it could conceive the stretch of a little person with wings and magic, that it could also account for a little person with wings and magic swimming in the ocean, and grant me such credit in similar cases elsewhere. Now, I shall be quiet, or try to be, and let the story continue from here.
* * * * * * *
Fee felt the exhiliration, the rush of the salty, bubbled ocean waters enveloping her, the speed of their familiar caresses towing her into a world of possibility. She loved to fly with her own gossamar wings, but now she had them tucked tightly against her smooth, gold-toned back to keep them from being damaged. Bouyed and surrounded by the embrace of the ocean, she did not need to work to swim as she needed to work to fly. To fly took a responsibility, a weight of skill, that it did not take to swim. In the ocean, the laws of nature were not so insistent, at least it seemed so to her, and as the sort of creature which generally prefered casual disregard of the rules, she thought that the ocean was a bit more on her side than other places in the world.
Tendrils of seaweed flickered in the shivering light that filtered from above, like hundreds of smooth, flat fingers greeting Fee as she entered their domain. Between this submerged forest darted all manners of life, glistening and free in a way that its earth-bound counterparts could never be. Minnows, the squirrels of this forest, frolicked beneath Fee, their scales supple and ever-clean. Other fish abounded as well, and a few crabs stalked about with an air of gravity. Crabs, you see, are the old men of the ocean, wielding their pincers with impunity and self-important wrath, but certainly never admitting to the softness within their hard, worldly shells. Fee ducked close to one and it attempted a swipe at her, closing its pincers barely a second as her feet passed them, and she spun around and giggled at it as she continued on her path. It shook one claw in a demand for respect, and then hobbled away, likely complaining about its backpain.
Fee saw ahead a formation of rocks, made to look like something of a castle, albeit a rough one, with lichen and corals and such dotted about it. It was really very beautiful, with several colors adorning its stratified walls and parapets, and pockmarks that were the windows of any manner of residence. Not only was this the home of many creatures, the underwater city was a sort of demarkation. Immediately past it was precisely where Fee was not to go, and therefore, of course, precisely where she designed to head.
Several young fish tried to greet her, but their mothers interceded, insisting that they head to school. They waved then amiably to the passing Faerie, but with a certain aloofness. Fish didn’t hold any sort of grudge against ground-dwelling faeries, but with mischevious neighbors like kelpies, one could certainly understand that any fish would be suspicious of even their distant relatives.
Swimming past and over the natural palace of prudent marine life, Fee felt the shift in water as she neared Kelpie River. It might not be evidently realized by unfortunate earth-dwellers or those deprived of watching rather adorable films concerning lost clown fish, but rivers are not actually confined to land. It is the unfortunate aspect of humans to think that what looks mostly the same must be largely the same, when in fact the ocean is quite riddled with a magnificent array of inlets, seas, lakes and bodies of water which are quite distinct to creatures that look for much subtler things than mere sight.
Fee found very soon Kelpie River, one of the first currents in the ocean nearby. She felt the odd sensation as her body broke through what one might call the skin of the current. If you were to consider a river, think of placing a leaf atop it, and realize that while being carried by the current, the leaf would sort of sit atop, as a matter of the water’s surface tension. Well, certainly, being that this sort of river has no rockbed, but only a sort of waterbed, then the skin would stretch all about. To ride the current most comfortably, one could break through that skin, and let it take you where you wanted.
This could seem like a fairly straightforward affair, but it isn’t as easy as it sounds. The current is quite strong and fast, and in fact very huge to someone like Fee (indeed, its size would be notable even to you or I), and so riding it properly took a measure of skill and caution. Being a nimble and talented Faerie, Fee certainly had such skill, balancing her tiny frame just so, lest she would fall away from the current and perhaps be injured in an impromptu discharge.
She had no trouble this day, and from within the hazed vision of the current’s walls, so to speak, she saw beneath her the brilliant glitter of a magnificent city. Tucking herself expertly and diving with grace, Fee cut downwards and shot out from Kelpie River, shooting towards the glittering place below with her arms and feet extended.
The buildings here were made of a sort of white coral, and decorated with a number of strange plants that looked very much like jeweled lamps. The surface of the coral was riddled with tiny, consistent ridges and scratches, and was laid out in such a way to allow for several layers of windows and doors along the rock outcropping it grew upon. It should come as no surprise to my sophisticated reader that the creatures moving about this other city were kelpies.
The bustle of the kelpies was not altogether unlike that of a human city . . . that is, ignoring the fact that they were exponentially smaller than humans, dwelt underwater and were, well, kelpies. They stood a bit taller than Fee, sporting spikey red or green hair and having many fishlike qualities on their vaguely human shape, including minute, sinuous scales that glittered in various shades of blue or green. Rather than wings, they had fins that could be fanned to reveal a multitude of color, and webbing that connected their fingers and toes. All about they went, selling and buying and cajoling, busy at their lives as happy creatures stay. Fee thought kelpies were among the most beautiful of creatures, though her father and Sindri would certainly frown upon such thoughts. Faeries do not, like humans, tend to harbor ill will against others for being different, but much like them, do tend to think their own habit of nature to be the superior one, and it would be rather hypocritical to judge them therein.
“Fee!” cried one of those kelpies, dropping whatever he had been doing before and swimming out to meet her as she neared the city. This kelpie was a young one, in Faerie years, not yet reached his first millenium, with the roguish charm and inclination to mischeif of his species apparent in his bright, cheerful eyes.
Immediately Fee threw her arms around the rascal, saying, “Nix! I’ve missed you terribly!”
He returned the embrace immediately, and then let his long, thin fingers twitch a little, tickling her bare skin. She squirmed and broke away, and he gave her his impish grin. “I’ve been waiting for you. There’s something I want to show you.”
Fee crossed her arms and assumed a knowing smirk. “Every time you say that, we end up in trouble, and you end up laughing at my expense.”
His grin widened, the sort of grin that said, ‘Yes, that’s true, and you’re apt to come with me anyway.’ All he said, however, was, “Oh, come on, you know it will be fun! It’s at Orkney’s house.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Oh, yes, there’s an idea. Because Orkney will be so happy to see us working together to bring havoc to his home.”
“Yes, he will! That stuffy old crab needs to have some kind of fun in his life once in a while, and we’re the only chance he gets. Come on then, you don’t want to miss this, I’m telling you!”
And so, the little Faerie girl found herself in the tow of the little Faerie boy, to go visit Orkney. He was in truth a stuffy old crab, for he was old, and stuffy, and crabby. He also had an exoskeleton and the pincers of the crabs mentioned before, but unlike the crabs nearer to the shoreline, Orkney had a beard and a pointed hat, and we all know what a man with a beard and a pointed hat is about, whether or not he’s a crab.
