The Underland

“Martin!” Thrushsong said for the third time, raising his voice a little to see if that would have any effect. His wings fluttered in agitation. “What is wrong?”

Martin was staring out the window at the ruin of the castle, his castle, the one he’d rented out for the previous night. It had been in pretty good condition then; a long way from the jumble of fallen stones and creeper vines that it was now. Something tugged at Martin’s brain and the last minute or so of auditory information (which had been stored in some sort of memory buffer) came streaming in. He realized that Thrushsong was practically shouting at him. His trance was broken and he turned to the faerie, embarrassed and more than a little worried.

“That castle wasn’t a ruin last night. It wasn’t brand new, but at least it was in full form. What happens when a person comes to the Underland? Do they travel forwards in time?” Martin’s voice shrank, “can they go back?”

Thrushsong sighed. “I do not know the answers to your questions, Martin. I am sorry. No one has visited us from your world in my lifetime. I am but a youngster, you see. Perhaps the elders will have better answers.” Thrushsong put a hand on Martin’s shoulder and turned him away from the window. It was an awkward gesture for the faerie, as if he did not know how to handle a human, though he was slightly more comfortable now that the sword had been put away safely. “I am sorry that the view disturbed you so greatly. But put aside your fears, there is great power in the Underland. I am sure all will be set to the curves of the flow.”

Martin’s brow furrowed. “You mean ’set to rights’, don’t you, as in right angles, plumb and level, like in a house?”

“No! To wish such a thing would be to go against nature.” Thrushsong shook his head, horrified at the thought. He led Martin back toward the door. Martin glanced around the room again, and noticed that there wasn’t a single right angle in the place. It truly looked as though it had been grown on the side of the tree.

“Of course,” Martin muttered, it was his turn to shake his head, he’d once again reminded himself of how alien he was in this place.

Thrushsong leaned out the doorway and placed his palms on the bark of the tree once more. The creaking sound returned, and so did the stairs. Martin waited for Thrushsong to lead the way, but instead the faerie took flight. “I must go ahead and prepare the elders to receive you,” he said. “Go, now, follow the steps, they lead only to one place.” And with that he fluttered off.

This time, the journey was a more lateral one. Martin followed the stairs around one of the tree’s trunks and on to a branch. He tried very hard not to look down. Thrushsong was not there to catch him if he fell this time and although Martin was a fairly sure-footed man, the utter lack of any railing made him a little uneasy. He settled on a steady pace, and noticed that the stairs disappeared behind him at the same slow rate. He slowed down even more, and so did the stairs. Martin shook his head ruefully, Thrushsong had played a joke on him. Payback, Martin thought, for creeping out the locals with my “iron”.

In a few short minutes, Martin saw that the stairs ahead of him had reached their destination, which Martin hoped was his destination as well. After the stunt Thrushsong had pulled with the magic stairs, Martin didn’t trust him not to send him on a direct path into some woman’s bathroom while she was bathing. As Martin approached the nest (he’d decided to call them that) – it was a large nest, larger than most of the others – to faeries came out of the main entrance. One of them was Thrushsong, who looked a little bit uncomfortable and nervous, and the other appeared to be some sort of guard. Whoever he was, he wore a short weapon at his side. It looked to Martin like it might be a sword, but it was wrapped, rather than sheathed, so it was impossible for him to be certain. The armed faerie glared at Thrushsong, then at Martin, then back at Thrushsong. Thrushsong seemed to shrink a bit where he stood. Martin, however, squared his shoulders and kept walking toward the nest. He knew he would have to walk right by that guard, but he had done nothing wrong. He let that fact spread confidence through his mind and body. He had very little idea of what to expect.

As Martin stepped up to the entrance, the guard shifted one step sideways, to block Martin’s path. He eyed Martin up and down, then grunted dismissively and moved aside, clearly unimpressed with the idea that Martin might pose a threat. The guard’s last intimidation tactic didn’t shake Martin, however. He took a breath, squared his shoulders again, and marched into the nest.

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