The Underland

The walk back to Thrushsong’s nest had been silent. Martin stewed in his own nerves and embarrassment. He’d made a braying ass of himself in front of the council of elders and he knew it. But it was shocking, and, Martin hadn’t fully decided how he felt about it, but probably inexcusable for the faeries to keep a human being as a slave. And if he was not a slave, if he was merely a hired servant, why parade him in front of Martin like that? Were they meaning to intimidate him, to give him a glimpse of what was to become of him if he made a wrong step? Martin grumbled, frightened and appalled. Thrushsong walked along a few paces ahead, leaving Martin to his own internal discourse.

News, apparently, traveled fast in Ciltandoor. Every window and doorway of every nest Martin passed, a pair of faerie eyes stared out at him. Martin was still embarrassed by his outburst in the elders’ nest, but even though he knew he didn’t know all the facts, allowed his outrage to boil over his shame and he glared back at as many faces as he could as he and Thrushsong made their way home. Thrushsong remained oblivious to the stares and Martin’s reaction to them, or at least, he pretended to remain oblivious. There was no way to tell.

When they arrived at Thrushsong’s nest, the faerie seemed almost relieved, as if a difficult ordeal had been surmounted. He stood to the side of the entrance and let Martin go in ahead of him. Thrushsong followed quickly, and once they were both inside, took a deep breath and began, “Martin, I –”

“What kind of people are you?” Martin rounded on Thrushsong almost as soon as they were both through the doorway. “You keep humans as slaves? Is that it? Was that man a slave? What did he do to your people? Is that what will happen to me?” Martin stopped when the look of bewilderment on Thrushsong’s face finally registered with him. “What? What’s the matter?”

“Martin, I do not know what to tell you, except that,” Thrushsong fumbled with his thoughts for a moment, something faeries rarely do, “the servant you saw was not a human being.”

Martin stared for a moment. “What do you mean ‘not a human being’? He certainly looked nothing like a faerie, from what I’ve seen of you people. He was pale and dark-haired and he looked nearly ill, with sunken eyes. Every faerie I’ve met has looked tan and fair-haired and the picture of health. Oh yes, and let’s not forget the complete and utter lack of wings!” Martin’s passion was picking up again, “how do you explain that?”

Thrushsong furrowed his brow and blew some air from his lungs, as if he were confronting a tricky puzzle. “You really saw no wings?”

“Don’t patronize me, Thrushsong, you know he hasn’t got any wings. What is he then if he’s not human?”

“He is a pixie.”

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