The pixies begin to segregate to their spots in the pit. Why didn’t they ever speak to one another? It’s bad enough I’m stuck here for the moment, a prisoner in some desolate wasteland. Must I go through this alone even with two dozen pixies by my side?
As if she can read my thoughts, Juniper brings me my dinner. She presses her hand to my forehead to check my temperature and asks, “How are you holding up, dear?”
“I don’t know, Juniper. It’s not right. Us being here. We shouldn’t be prisoners. We’ve done nothing wrong to deserve this. I want to…I want to…I don’t know. I want to go to sleep tonight and wake up tomorrow morning in my tree house and breathe a sigh of relief because it was all just a dream. And rest easy because I know this kind of thing doesn’t happen in the real world. I mean, how did this happen, Juniper? How can all of these pixies go missing and no one comes looking?”
“I don’t know.” Great. As if it were even possible, I think I just made her feel worse. But she lifts her head and curves her lips enough to smile, albeit forced. “Maybe you’ll be the pixie someone comes looking for.”
“It only takes one. Right?”
She pats me softly on the shoulder. “Right.”
I wish I could believe she meant that. Juniper lifts my chin with her finger and says, “Goodnight, Rosalie. I sincerely do hope you wake up in your tree house tomorrow morning and find this was all just a very bad dream.”
“Goodnight, Juniper.”
On my own again, I devour my food in five heaping spoonfuls and fill my stomach with three cups of water. Since I didn’t work the line today, I decide to wait for all the pixies to take their shower first, including Holly, who goes right before me. She offers a small wave and forces a smile as she passes, sweeping the lingering drops off her skin. Now finally my turn, I take my sweet time dumping waves of water onto my head, washing away the sweat and dirt that clings to me.
I choose a spot by the edge overlooking the drop off to make my own and gaze up at the night sky. How can the stars do this to me? Just a few nights ago they performed their show for me from the safety of my Hollow. Now, they twinkle and soar, carrying on above me in rhythmic fashion, like nothing’s different. But I’m not in my Hollow. And I’m certainly not safe.
Day 6
The next morning I eat my mash, fill my stomach with water and hold my tongue as the spriggan’s sweaty hands remove me from the pit. I fall in line once again and observe my surroundings from the corners of my eyes. Still nothing. No birds, no insects, no signs of life. Feeling defeated, I take one last breath of fresh air before entering the cave and beginning my first (and hopefully last) day of slave labor.
I meet Holly at the back and place my lantern on the table. Two other lanterns are there and I take a peek at the pixie lying against the wall. The darkness makes it difficult, but I believe she’s got a bluish tint to her skin. I jump when a fourth lantern clunks on the table beside me, and I turn to meet the pixie with the gorgeous violet hair. Unfortunately, her grey eyes are ice cold and diminish the beauty of her other facial features.
“I’m a heavy sleeper. Don’t fail me, newbie,” she snaps, shocking me with her rudeness.
Willow. Of course the pixie with the alluring features is the one pixie who suggested I be left to die so I wouldn’t diminish her share of mash. Of all the pixies to be responsible for… She’s quick to turn her back and settle on the floor. I look to Holly with disbelief, wondering what it is I’ve done to offend this pixie, but she just shrugs it off.
Holly whispers, “Forget it. She’s…dramatic.”
You think?
“Alright. All we do at this station is sort the dirt from the dried mushroom powder.”
“What’s the difference?”
“No idea. Quite frankly, we don’t give a crap about the purity of their pixie dust.” My eyebrows lift and my forehead creases in amusement. Way to go pixies. “We just make it look like we’re meticulous.” The only table without a conveyer belt, Holly takes the pile of powder at the beginning and sweeps her forearm over it, spreading it into a thin layer before us. “If you see anything obvious, great. Otherwise, I don’t care which particles make it to your good and bad piles.”
I laugh internally, thinking the faeries deserve as much. “The sprigs don’t ask or check?”
“They wouldn’t know the difference either way. And the faeries obviously haven’t noticed the pixie dust isn’t as strong as it should be. Even if they did, these mushrooms are just one component they’d have to look in to.”
“That’s what they get for slave labor,” I add bitterly.
“Exactly. Anyways, the good will go into the sacks beneath the table. The bad will go into a bucket that we’ll dump on our way out of here.”
Holly begins sifting through the powder and I soon follow her lead. Taking a quick peek at the two against the back wall, I note that Willow and the other pixie, whose name I don’t know, are already asleep. The sleeping version of Willow is far more likeable, with features that aren’t taut with stress and anger.
“Holly?” I ask, waiting for her to murmur in acknowledgement. “Do you still believe you’ll be rescued?”
“No.” An invisible weight suddenly suffocates my chest. “I hope I’ll be rescued one day but I no longer believe anyone’s looking for me. I’m sure my family has come to terms with my death by now.”
“What’s a family?” I ask curiously.
She pauses to give me the weirdest look. “Seriously? Mother and father? Sometimes siblings, either a brother or a sister?” Now it’s my turn to give the weird look. I’ve never heard these terms before. “Wow. Okay. Your mother and father would be the female and male that came together to make your egg. That makes you their pixling. If they had any other pixlings, the females would be called your sisters and the males your brothers. Together they make up your family and they’re the ones that are there for you, no matter what. You take care of each other, have each other’s backs.”
“Oh. Interesting.” Weird, actually. I play with the pile of dirt before me, pinching bits here and there and letting them float carelessly to the ground.
“So you didn’t have a mother and a father raising you?”
“No. We’re raised by our village. When the eggs are laid, they’re taken to the nursery to be housed. When they’re born, the entire village raises the pixlings.”
Holly’s looking at me with this really confused look upon her face. “So do you know which male and female are responsible for laying each egg?”
I casually shake my head. “No. Several are born within a season and we’re all given the same birthday.” I sweep a random part of the powder into a good pile and a smaller portion into the bad. “I suppose your right. I never really thought about the fact that two of those pixies were responsible for my being alive. We’re just not raised to think that way. The entire village is responsible for our upbringing.”
“Come to think of it, I think Elm Hollow does that whole village raising thing. Is that where you’re from?”
I shrug. “We just call our home the Hollow.”
“We all do. What type of tree do you live in?”
“The Lauralyn.”
“Then you’re from Lauralyn Hollow. I’m from Ash.”
“Is there anyone else here from my Hollow?” I ask excitedly, peeking down the line, examining the pixies with a reddish hue.
“Um, I don’t know. No one since I’ve been here, but maybe one of the older ones. You’d have to ask Juniper.”
Oh, my Mother Nature! Someone here might be from home! I’m pretty sure I passed Juniper somewhere in the middle when I came in earlier. I pivot and take two steps in her direction when Holly snaps, “No!” I jump and freeze in place. Willow stirs on the ground but doesn’t wake. “You can’t ask her now. Tonight.” My spirit dampens and I return to my post with my head hung low. “Don’t forget where you are, Rosalie. We don’t have freedom anymore.”
Annoyed, I reply, “You mean, right now.”
“What?”
“You mean, we don’t have that freedom right now. Anymore means you have no faith you’ll ever get it back.”
“Whatever,” she gripes, clearly frustrated. She closes her eyes and sighs extra loud. “Just sort, Rosalie.”
I let out an exaggerated huff. What is it with these pixies? Don’t they want to be free? Don’t they want to go home again? Will it kill them to keep a little faith and believe that someday someone’s going to come looking for one of them and set this nightmare straight? Why is that so hard to flippin’ believe? There’s no way this prison is impenetrable. It’s run by a bunch of stupid sprigs for crying out loud!
I decide not to engage Holly anymore. Clearly, we’re both a little moody and I don’t want to tick off one of the few pixies still willing to talk. I focus on the task before me, but basically I just move the powder around in circles. At one point I even spit in it. Holly pauses long enough to c**k her eyebrow, then returns to her pile, not caring if I contaminate the powder any further.
I begin to think on Holly’s whole family idea. I mean, I’m used to what I grew up with, and I’m not knocking it. But when I really think about it, there weren’t too many individuals that truly cared about me the way Holly described. I guess I can consider Maple, the pixie that headed up the pixling home, as my mother. She was responsible for me, in a way. Truthfully, Poppy’s the only the pixie I would consider a sister, and that’s because we’ve been roommates all our lives. She’s always been there for me, even though we seem to like different things. Our friendship was easy because we accepted each other’s quirks. Me being total nature girl, always covered with dirt and constantly sneaking out to sleep under the stars directly, and she being very primped and proper, a hair never out of place. I wonder what it would have been like for us to grow up as real sisters, with a mother and father watching over us directly, loving us and caring for us, actually taking responsibility for us.
Someone up front coughs a few times. Those poor pixies up front with the fires. I’m not looking forward to that station in the least, even if Holly and I are on speaking terms those days. Holly rushes over to the pixie against the wall beside her and begins shaking her.
Oh! Coughing!
I rush to Willow and shake her shoulders like crazy, remembering what she said about being a heavy sleeper, yet she doesn’t stir. I look down the path and see a light growing brighter as it progresses our way. I shake harder and yell, “Willow!” in a hushed voice. Still nothing, and I can almost make out the form of the thick spriggan as it nears. Desperation takes over and I throw the bucket of water at her face. Willow gasps and spits, slinging the water off her face. Her eyes pinch with anger but I cut her off before she can add the threatening commentary. “Move!”
She jumps to her feet without hesitation. Holly and the fourth pixie move the extra lanterns to light up the entire table and the four of us bend over and sort through the particles in our respective areas.
My heart panics, pounding so hard I’m sure it’ll burst from my chest any second. When the spriggan arrives, he lingers on Willow longer than usual, even moving the lantern closer to her head for examination. I feel awful for putting her under this scrutiny. What if they punish her for wasting water or something? What if she’s beaten and it’s all my fault? Can I take the punishment myself? Will I even step up and take the blame in that instant?
If Willow’s panicking, she hides it well. She keeps her head down and her hands sorting, as if her appearance wasn’t unusual at all. The spriggan’s lantern jerks back and he slowly returns from where he came. A collective sigh releases at our table.
“Sorry,” I say as soon as possible. Willow is T-I-C-K-E-D. She glares at me and chews on her lower lip, and I’m wondering how long I have left to live. The spare pixie doesn’t care either way and goes back to sleep. Willow drops her head back and sighs really loudly. Pleading my case, I add, “I was out of time and it was all I could do to wake you.”
“Next time,” she says in a calm but firm voice, lowering her eyes to glare at mine, “just bring the light to my face and I’ll wake up.”
“Okay,” I whisper, a slight tremble of fear coursing through my veins.
Willow rolls her eyes but returns to the floor, slicking her hair back out of her face. Is that it? She’s not going to kill me, or she’s not going to kill me right now? I turn to Holly for confirmation but all I get is a smile she’s trying hard to fight. I can’t help but release a small one myself before we return to our pointless task.
I manage to finish the day without Willow using me as her personal punching bag, and by the looks of her glares, it’s exactly what she’d like to do. I leave Holly alone, deciding any questions I think of aren’t worth ticking her off any further. Juniper comes to visit with me before bedtime again and lifts my mood from bleak to moderate. I like Juniper. She’s what I imagine this motherly figure I’ve just learned about should be. Loving, caring, giving, protective. All these motherly traits I wish were offered to me growing up. Sure, the village took care of me and protected me, but I always felt like something was missing. And now I know what that thing was. A real mother. And perhaps this father Holly spoke of. One or two individuals that really step up and have an interest in your well-being. Someone who makes me feel safer, makes sure I eat and bathe, tucks me in at night and tells me everything will be alright. Someone like Juniper.