I haven’t really read a whole lot of modern urban fantasy. “Valiant” and “Tithe” by Holly Black were both great books, and I certainly loved “The Good Fairies of New York” by Martin Millar. In fact “Fairies” was so good I even picked up Millar’s “Lonely Werewolf Girl” though I don’t really read much in the way of werewolf fiction. I’m going to stop right there, if I say much more about Millar, you might think I’m in love with him. I’m not. Just his voice.
Anyways, this was just a little bit of flash fiction I started this morning, and finished this evening. It might be a prologue to another story I’m kind of percolating right now, but that will have to wait a while, if it ever appears at all. This is really my first attempt at a modern, urban fairytale.
The failing light of day lay across the great park, losing its futile battle through the thick summer leaves of the various oaks, elms, and cypress trees, casting great pools of shadows over the nondescript barrow mound that formed around one of the side entrances to the Seelie Court’s stronghold. Occasionally when some of that same failing light found its way between the leaves it struck the unmoving gossamer wings of a pixie, approaching that side gate on foot. She kept her wings folded and against her back, some of the light scattering prismatically and sending warm pastel lights dancing on the rich trimmed grass, and the trunks of the old guardians.
Her nerves would not allow her to fly with any certainty that afternoon.
Two figures pulled themselves from the shadows of the entrance, not more than a hole in the side of the mound, and stood abreast, blocking her way. One was a brag, a short, maybe two and a half feet tall, fat, pitiful example of a goblin. His skin was brown like the earth he defended, and rubbery looking. A hulking hook of a nose, speckled with pimples thrust out of a squished face, small black eyes set like bits of coal in a valley formed by his bald, splotchy forehead, and hanging jowly cheeks. Skinny arms stuck out from his pudgy body, and he stood with his hands planted firmly on his hips, a dry stick held like a club in his right hand was his only evidential weapon. A loose dirty loincloth the only thing covering what was probably the most disgusting part of the loathsome creature.
The appearance of a goblin, even one as pathetic as a brag, for a guard gave Chyrelle a moment of pause. Technically the goblins were greater fey, a sort of upper class among the courts. But, being as gross as they were, and their stupidity was legendary, they certainly represented the lowest of the upper echelons of fairy culture.
What was left of it.
The other creature wasn’t too different than Chyrelle. A duster, he was slight, and approached a foot and a half tall, and clad all in dark colors. His jeans were black denim, which he tucked militaristically into his black combat boots. A simple dark brown tee shirt covered his skinny upper body. It had holes cut in the back to accommodate his own wings, which were a pale translucent brown, and twitched slightly at the pixie’s approach. His jet hair was cropped close, and spiked slightly, and small black sunglasses prevent her from seeing his eyes.
Many of the more intelligent fey had long adopted more human choices in clothing and weapons. His was a miniature AK-47, with a collapsible wire stock.
“Halt!” the duster called out, “Who approaches the seat of the Seelie Court of New York?”
The authority and seriousness of his speech caused her to pause a moment in her mission. The lesser fey were very rarely official in their demeanor, even the ones taking full part of the war of succession.
She clenched her tiny fists, and hoped her own sobriety of manner didn’t give her mission away. “Wot?” her old accent came out in full force as a result of her nerves, “I am the Seelie Court.” She skipped and used a quick flick of her wings to cover the distance and plant herself directly in front of the two guardians.
The brag took an anxious step back, gripping his club tight.
The duster examined her thoroughly through his dark glasses. Her scruffy short hair was a bright orange, the color of the Free Alliance, but the hair color of an air sprite could change easily, and had little bearing on their politics in that time. She wore tight green pleather pants, and a halter vest of black lace. The bright green of her eyes was typical of her kind, and though it could change as easily as her hair, like most air sprites she often forgot her control over her eye color. So they simply appeared naturally.
The duster tensed up a touch, bringing his weapon in front of his body, intent on blocking her entrance until he was convinced she belonged. “What do you mean, you are the Seelie Court?”
The brag took inspiration from his partner’s certainty of action, and stepped closer, his beady eyes flitting from sprite to sprite, trying desperately to comprehend what was going on.
“How do we know you’re not a spy?” the duster added.
She took a deep breath. The time to try Rialle’s trick had, come. What sounded like a great trick of words when she heard them suddenly seemed a thin excuse, and one that might end her mission quickly.
“I bleed green,” she said, simply.
The duster stood fast for a moment, and then removed his glasses, and inflicted upon her a squinty eyed glare that convinced her for the moment that she had not only failed, but failed enormously.
“You may pass.”
Relief flooded through her, as the eyes on the brag looked as though they were going to burst out of his skull.
The duster dashed him cruelly on the chest, and stood aside himself, “Welcome home cousin, you will have to leave your piece here, the King is in court.”
She almost corrected his misstatement, but decided against it, and reached behind her back. She pulled her Gloc from the waistline of her pants, cleared it, and handed it to the duster with the slide locked back, “I will be wanting this back when I return cousin, it is my favorite.”
He flashed her a quick smile, and offered a wink as he took the weapon, “Of course, it will be very safe with me.” He allowed the slide to go forward, and gently tucked it in his own waistline. “How long will you be home?”
She placed a hand on his cheek as she slipped past him, ignoring the antics of the brag, who was horrified she was being allowed to pass, and for just a moment she felt like a pixie again, “Just a few hours, see you soon cousin.” She returned his wink.
And she was in.
Her mission took her almost immediately to the throne room. It was difficult for her pixie nature to ignore the goings on around her. All around her many of the lesser fey of the Seelie Court were playing games, telling stories, making out, reveling in the delights and debauchery of their kind.
“I have a mission to accomplish,” became a mantra, repeated in her head to keep her from lighting off to frolic with her enemies.
The throne room was a great burrowed space under the earth, chandeliers hung from the crossbeams of the ceiling, casting dull yellow light on the goings on in the court. Very few of the lesser fey could be found there, the room mostly filled with elves, and dwarves. A few goblins, much less loathsome ones than the brag outside, but disgusting none the less, and even a troll or two.
For just a second she faltered, and almost turned to leave, but a loud chortling, followed by a belly laughed that irked her to the core echoed through the dark chamber, many of the other attendees of the Seelie Court faked a laugh along with the loud one.
She whispered the beginnings of a soft spell under her breath and took flight, launching herself into the throne room, and landed a few paces before the Seelie prince. He was a great fat elf in fancy clothes of royal purple, and regal reds, stained with food and drink. His fat cheeks puffed with rage at her appearance, and he bellowed, “Who allowed this creature in my presence, this enemy of mine?”
The dwarves, and other elves of the court, along with a goblin or two started to move menacingly towards the pixie, who stood proud before the angry prince, and defiantly ignored the others’ existence.
“Has something changed? Are the lesser fey no longer allowed to petition their royalty?” her voice chimed through the room.
Even though the greater fey had much clearer thinking heads than their lesser cousins, they were still often victims of the same intense curiosity, and an honestly asked question could not go unanswered. The room filled with a vile tension, the fairies wanted to both honor their fealty to the prince by attacking the enemy who so skillfully infiltrated their court, and hear the answer to her query.
The prince glared, hatred of the pixie and all she represented seethed from his drunk eyes, but he laughed cruelly, and uttered, “You claim no allegiance to me, but regardless of your rebellion, you are still my subject.” The prince was not so easily fooled as the guardians outside, and Chyrelle’s nature as a member of the Unseelie Court was immediately evident to him. “What would you ask of your King?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she gritted her teeth in anger, “Prince, Sire, prince. The war of succession in New York has not been decided yet. Until today.” With that she uttered the last few phrases of her spell, and a silver sword, barely bigger than a dagger, appeared in her tiny hand. She leaped valiantly at the shocked prince, as the rest of the court closed in on her.
What they removed from the court many minutes later could hardly be recognized as the pixie Chyrelle Binkbottom.