Fairy Dust and the Quest for the Egg Read online

  But the decor fairies hadn’t known what to do for Prilla. As a result, they gave her plain, ordinary everything. Her bedposts were ho-hum reinforced daisy stems. The canopy was a fanned cabbage leaf in the same pale sea foam that everyone but the textile talents got. The lacy bedspread was boring triple-ply spiderweb. The night table was toadstool with snail-shell inlay in a geometric pattern. And so on—a profusion of commonplace fairy furnishings.

  Prilla didn’t see any of it. What she did see were the dresses and ensembles laid out on the bed, and the footwear spread out below.

  She started toward the bed just as the wind outside made the Home Tree sway. She stumbled back against her door.

  The gust passed. She went to the bed and picked up one thing after another. She rubbed fabrics against her cheek and held dresses up against herself. At least some fairy cared enough about her to make such beautiful things.

  She tried on the violet wrap dress first. It had short sleeves, three pearl buttons, and a scalloped hemline.

  Prilla was on the floor of a Clumsy girl’s bedroom. The girl was attempting to dress her in a similar wrap dress, only this one was paisley, and the hem was frilly, not scalloped.

  The girl couldn’t get Prilla’s wings into the dress’s wing slits. “Hold still,” she said, lifting Prilla and holding her by one wing.

  It didn’t hurt. Never fairy wings don’t feel pain. Prilla didn’t move a muscle.

  The girl couldn’t push the wings through.

  “The wing slits are too short,” Prilla said.

  “No, they’re not.”

  Prilla grinned. “Are too.”

  “Are not!”

  “Are too!”

  “Are not!” The girl let go of Prilla, and she fell to the floor, her wings tangled up in the dress.

  The real wrap dress fit perfectly, the wing slits exactly the right length. And when Prilla whirled, the scalloped skirt fluttered deliciously against her bare legs.

  Next, she put on a gold dress and had trouble tying the wide sash in the back. She wished she had a friend. A friend could tie your sash for you.

  The friend could be her same size and could try on the dresses, too, like the blue tulip with the tight skirt that flared at the knees.

  Prilla put on a pair of baggy pants and a loose-fitting scoop-necked pullover, both made of felt as soft as mist. She wondered what the other fairies would be wearing. Was the celebration a dressy affair?

  A friend who knew the ropes could tell her.

  Well, she didn’t have a friend, and that was that. She crouched to examine the shoes and slippers and boots.

  Fairy footwear is nowhere near as sturdy as Clumsy footwear.

  The heels on a pair of dressy shoes were as thin as needles. A pair of sandals had toe-weaving, and there were boots with spaghetti laces. The bedroom slippers were mouse-shaped, with long blue tails.

  The shoes fit as perfectly as everything else. Prilla wondered how they’d done it, then guessed it was talent again. Probably a measuring-talent fairy had seen her for a split second and had divined the circumference of her elbows, the length of her kneecaps, and the precise distance from her ankle to her big toe.

  She sighed and considered what to wear. She decided she’d better dress up, and chose the green-and-white dotted organdy with puffed sleeves and tiny pleats. Looking in the mirror, she was pretty sure the dots went well with her freckles, but she wished a friend were there to say she was right.

  For shoes she chose the white open-toes with the roll-back heels.

  She brushed her hair and pinned up one side with the abalone-shell barrette she found in the top dressing-table drawer. Then she looked in the full-length mirror.

  I look nice, she thought, and burst into tears.

  If only she had a friend.

  If only she had a talent.

  Then she’d have a friend.

  ELEVEN

  PRILLA THREW herself on the bed, sobbing. She felt sure there would be no place for her at the celebration. The only one who wanted her was Mother Dove, who was probably busy celebrating and getting ready to molt. Prilla cried so hard she didn’t notice the Home Tree swaying in the wind again.

  She wept until she fell asleep.

  But not simply asleep.

  She was perched atop the head of a Clumsy girl who was following a path through a forest. A light glinted ahead. Soon they reached a farmhouse. The farmhouse door opened, and three cornstalks hopped out.

  Prilla didn’t find out what happened next because—

  She was falling out of a skyscraper with a different Clumsy girl. The ground was coming close when Prilla shook some fairy dust on the girl. They both began to fly.

  She was in a rainstorm with half a dozen green-skinned Clumsy children who were jumping like frogs from one puddle to another.

  She was passing from one Clumsy child’s dream to another. The scenes changed more and more quickly. A platter of meatballs, each with an eyeball peering out. A whale with elephant tusks, a Clumsy baby with a curly red beard, a mountain, a castle, a sea of silver spoons.

  At the fairy circle, the celebration was getting under way. Night had fallen. Lanterns were flaring and guttering in the rising wind, but fairy glow made everything festive.

  The cooking talents were still unpacking, but the serving-talent fairies were already passing around barley crackers topped with mouse Brie. The servers had to back into the wind to protect their offerings.

  Bess, the renowned painter, had brought her new portrait of Mother Dove, which was to be unveiled later on. Terence and the other dust fairies were weighing down their Molt sacks with stones to keep them from blowing away. The light-talent fairies were preparing for their show, which was always the first event, even before Queen Ree’s speech.

  Vidia was lurking in the upper branches of the hawthorn. She’d been banned from the celebration, but she intended to fly in the fast-flier race anyway. No one would be able to stop her once the race began.

  She’d brought along a few grains of dust from the feathers she’d plucked, fresh dust, as she called it. When she’d done the plucking, Vidia hadn’t enjoyed hurting Mother Dove. She’d cringed every time Mother Dove had groaned. But she’d persuaded herself that Mother Dove was exaggerating the pain. Since each plucking lasted only a second, Vidia had decided it couldn’t be so terrible.

  And now, the fresh dust would guarantee her victory in the race.

  Beck tied a ribbon around Mother Dove’s neck. “How is your tingle?”

  “Coming along.” The pre-Molt tingle would gain strength during the night, until the celebration would fade and there would be only tingle. Then feathers would begin to drop off. The tingle would stop, and there would be blessed peace.

  “Can I do anything?” Beck always asked, although she knew there was nothing to do.

  “No, thank you. Where do you think Prilla is?” It would be a shame if the child missed her first celebration.

  Beck didn’t know, and Moth, the most talented of the light talents, came over to say they were ready to begin.

  Everyone settled on branches or on the ground around Mother Dove’s nest. They lowered their glows.

  Moth positioned herself a foot from Mother Dove’s head. The other light fairies took their places closer to Mother Dove, surrounding her. They brightened their glows, brighter, brighter, as bright as they could make them.

  It was Moth’s turn.

  She squinted and clenched her teeth. She made the glows around Mother Dove’s tail flare even brighter, ten times brighter, twenty times brighter.

  The watching fairies sighed. Ah.

  Moth moved the extra brightness from Mother Dove’s tail to Mother Dove’s head, and then onto her wings, her belly, and back to her tail. It was hard to keep up the extra brilliance, hard to move it. But Moth squeezed herself tight and made her mind into a needle-sharp point of power.

  She nodded, and the light fairies jumped up and down in place, varying the height of their jum
ps. Mother Dove seemed to be aflame. The wind added to the realism, blowing the fire this way and that.

  The flame symbolized Mother Dove’s origin as a magic bird.

  She’d begun as an ordinary dove back when Never Land was an ordinary island. Then the volcano on Torth Mountain had erupted.

  Grasslands burned. Forests burned. Animals died.

  And Never Land woke up.

  The dove’s tree was the last to catch fire. Never Land noticed the tree and the dove, and decided that the dove could help the island.

  The bird burned along with her tree. She burned, but she wasn’t hurt. Her feathers weren’t even singed.

  She was changed, nonetheless. She became Mother Dove, and gained wisdom she’d had no inkling of before. A day later she laid her egg. A week later she molted, and the next day the fairies came, flying in short hops and glowing no brighter than a stone in sunlight.

  Mother Dove loved them straight off, and she told them how to use the Molt. That had been the beginning, too many years ago to count.

  Moth relaxed. The light fairies stopped jumping and lowered their glow. Fairies crowded around, congratulating them.

  Mother Dove saw Tink and cooed to her. The coo was carried away by the wind, but Tink noticed Mother Dove’s eye on her and came over.

  When Tink said she didn’t know where Prilla was, Mother Dove asked her to look for the child. “And if she isn’t here, try the Home Tree. I’d hate for her to miss everything.”

  Tink was furious. Prilla could be anywhere, and Tink wanted to monitor how the repaired ladle was performing. She pushed through the revelers, wondering how she’d gotten saddled with Prilla.

  The next event was Queen Ree’s speech. Mother Dove sat up her tallest, and Ree perched on her head, just as she always did.

  “Fairies,” she began, shouting over the wind. “Sparrow men!”

  “Louder!” several fairies yelled.

  “Fairies, sparrow men, it has been…” She hesitated. She wanted to say, as usual, that it had been a spectacular year. But it hadn’t been. Too many fairies had died of disbelief. “It has been a good year.”

  “Louder!”

  A raindrop fell on Ree’s head, pushing her tiara down on her forehead and soaking her hair. A drop fell into Tink’s ladle and sloshed purple punch on a fairy’s chartreuse sleeve. Seven raindrops landed on Rani, drenching her completely. She laughed, loving it.

  Thunder rumbled.

  Everyone heard it. Rani stopped laughing. Mother Dove’s pre-Molt tingle faded away.

  There hadn’t been a thunderstorm since before Mother Dove laid her egg.

  There had never been a hurricane.

  TWELVE

  QUEEN REE flew to face Mother Dove, who said, “Send everyone home while they can still fly.”

  Ree had no intention of obeying. Mother Dove was in danger, and her fairies wouldn’t desert her. Ree turned and found Tink at her side. The queen issued instructions.

  Tink picked a dozen of the fairies who were pressing in toward Mother Dove. They stationed themselves at intervals around the nest. After shaking a little fairy dust onto the nest, they began to lift it off its branch. The plan was to lower the nest and place it under a log, out of the wind.

  But before they had raised it an inch, a gust rolled through and blew away Tink, her helpers, and the nest’s outermost twigs. Beck saved herself by hugging Mother Dove’s neck. Ree was above the wind, but her shoes were blown off.

  A second squad of fairies surrounded the nest. But a bigger gust got them, and Ree and Beck as well. Only Mother Dove herself, who was three times the weight of a fairy, kept her place.

  In the fairy circle, a lantern went over and set off a small blaze. Two fairies doused it with pitcher after pitcher of punch.

  Meanwhile, the cooking-talent fairies began wrapping up their things as fast as they could. Bess hugged her painting close and tried to battle the wind. A nursing-talent sparrow man tended a fairy who’d been slammed into a tree.

  More fairies surged toward Mother Dove, but before they reached her, a fresh wind barreled through, a wind that made the others seem gentle. In a wink it swept away every last fairy.

  The hurricane had arrived.

  Mother Dove cried for the fairies and begged for mercy for her egg.

  The hurricane tossed giant boulders about as though they were Ping-Pong balls. It slammed Tink into a birch tree at the edge of the fairy circle. She slid down the trunk, the breath knocked out of her.

  Not far from the fairy circle, Rani was caught by an updraft and borne above the canopy of trees. Then the wind veered, and she fell.

  It would have been the end of her if a branch hadn’t caught one of the wing slits of her dress. She was saved, but she couldn’t free herself. She dangled, lurching this way and that in the wind, praying that her branch would hold.

  The wind carried Queen Ree a mile beyond Fairy Haven. It blew her into a tree hole and stopped up the opening with a lost boy’s leather shoe. Ree squirmed into the shoe and pushed against the sole. It didn’t budge. She rammed it with her shoulder. It still didn’t budge.

  She pushed aside the laces. Then she sat on the edge of the shoe and tried to ignore the smell. She wondered if the shoe was being held in place by the wind, or if it was wedged in so tight she’d never get out.

  The hurricane tore a mast off the pirate ship and blew the ship out to sea. A mermaid was catapulted fifty feet up the beach, and her friends had to dive to the ocean floor for safety. Inland, even the dragon Kyto cowered in his prison cave.

  Beck skimmed along the ground. She tried to stop, but she was less than an eyelash in the storm. She could feel Mother Dove’s distress and was desperate to help her.

  The wind blew Beck into a burrow. She sat up, bruised and scraped, and faced a clutch of terrified baby moles. Her mind reached out to them. There, there, she thought. It’s all right.

  She couldn’t leave them.

  There, there. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.

  She wondered, But will we?

  Terence found himself rolling down a slope, along with grass and stones. Below surged a river of mud. If he kept going he’d be swallowed up. He thrust himself toward a tree root and was able to grab it with one arm. He got the other arm around it and hung on, trying to keep his head up, trying to breathe in air and not mud.

  And all the while he worried about Tink.

  At the birch tree, Tink got her breath back. She was too wet to fly, so she ran, hunched over, trying to get below the wind. She couldn’t see Mother Dove’s hawthorn, but she knew where it was.

  She was halfway across the fairy circle when the hurricane sent another wind. This wind picked up a copper saucepan and thwacked her on the head with it. She passed out and was whisked out of the circle along with the fairy-dust sacks, the tablecloths, and Bess’s portrait of Mother Dove.

  THIRTEEN

  PRILLA WAS AWAKENED by a deep groan. The Home Tree was swaying like an upside-down pendulum and groaning while it swayed. She flew to her window, but the wind had plastered a wet leaf across it.

  The celebration!

  She hurried down to the Home Tree’s lobby and pulled open the door.

  Her glow illuminated just a few inches, and she saw only rain, sheets of rain, almost no space between the drops. Lightning flashed. She gasped. The oak tree was gone! Gone! A hole where the roots had been.

  She thought, Mother Dove! Tink! Rani! Terence! How could they be safe when the oak had been uprooted?

  The world went dark again. Prilla knew she couldn’t fly in this weather, and she knew she was probably safest where she was. She waited for another lightning flash.

  It came, with a crack that nearly deafened her. She saw, off to her right, a path toward Mother Dove, a long distance on foot. She started out, and the wind shoved her back in.

  She waited, then put her hand out. The wind had lessened, but as soon as it rose again she’d be blown away. She waited for more lightning.

/>   It came, and she saw, not far off, a rock to shelter under. She left the lobby and was drenched instantly. She almost slipped and kicked off her roll-back shoes as she raced for the rock.

  She made it, just ahead of the wind. She crouched and waited for light and less wind. The lightning flashed. She saw raised tree roots that she might reach on her next sprint. The wind weakened, and she ran.

  Mother Dove’s hawthorn had been stripped of its leaves, but Mother Dove remained untouched. At first she’d been terrified. If she died, her beloved fairies would lose their fairy dust. If her beloved egg cracked, the animals and people would age and die, and she would, too.

  But as the hours passed, and the wind whipped above and below her, she relaxed, believing that Never Land was protecting her.

  She was right. The island was protecting her, but it was a struggle. The hurricane was determined to do its worst, and the worst would be wiping out Mother Dove and her egg.

  The hurricane sent its fiercest winds and its heaviest rain at the nest, without a moment for rest. The island held out bravely, pressing back the storm, determined not to give way.

  But when the frontal assault failed, the hurricane changed its strategy. It moved its strongest winds out to sea and stirred up a wave big enough to drown the entire island.

  Of course, Never Land had to dodge the wave. It marshaled its forces.

  The moment Never Land’s attention was diverted, the hurricane dispatched a vicious gale that scooped Mother Dove off her nest.

  She battled the wind to get back to her egg. She beat her wings against it, pecked it, butted it with her head. But she was only blown farther away. She exhausted herself and had no strength left when the storm lifted her high above the island and slammed her down on the shore.

  She lay on the beach, her chest caved in, both wings broken.

  At least her egg was still unharmed. She was sure she’d know if anything happened to it, no matter how far away she was.

  In fact, the wind that had taken her had whistled by the egg without cracking it. It still rested serenely in the nest, as smooth as ever, as peacefully blue as ever. A full minute passed. Then lightning snaked down, splitting the shell, and incinerating the egg.