The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There(31)

“As big as Fairyland. It must be—they are twins, mirrors, each country with its mate up above and down below. But Walghvogel is hidden well, in the center of the Forgetful Sea, on a sweet island full of juicy grasses and gnarled, spindly tambalacoque trees that bear good berries and fat seeds. In the center of the island stands a small mountain of which we are very proud, with many caves for hiding in. When the wind goes howling through Walghvogel, the mountain sings. Sweet September, Dodos are extinct everywhere, or very nearly. Only on Walghvogel do we live and squawk and waddle as we will. Everywhere else, men hunted us most fierce, for our eggs.”

“Are they marvelous in some fashion?” said Ell’s shadow, eager to add to his knowledge of things that began with D.

“I will not say, Mr. Wyvern, for that very thing was so desired by all that they drove us into the sea to get at our nests, shot us from our beloved tambalacoque trees, cracked the shells of our young and fried them in skillets. No, I cannot tell the secret now. But it happened that Wuff, the Great Ancestor, for whom my mother was named, fled from a boisterous hunt and came upon a cleft in the mountains where he lived. Standing in the cleft was a most beautiful lady, so beautiful that even though Wuff knew to fear people, he did not run from her. She wore a silver soldier’s coat, and a silver pith helmet, and a silver sash, and silver snowshoes. She had long silver hair and silver skin and sat upon a great tiger, who, strangely enough, did not terrify bold Wuff either. And she said, ‘You seem a poor and beset little beast. How would you like to come away with me and be safe forever?’ Well, Wuff squawked his most secret and alarming squawk, which would call his flock even from the highest crags, and they came running. The lot of them squeezed through the cleft after the tiger’s tail just as the first shots of the hunting party spattered the side of the mountain. And that is how Dodos came to Fairyland.”

“It must have been the Silver Wind!” said September joyfully. Again, the passengers behind her burst into applause and cheering, as if they shared her glee. Again, the horse-headed boys merely stared. September remembered all the colored Winds from Westerly, not only Green but Blue and Black and Silver and Red and Gold. Silver had gotten into some sort of trouble, if she recalled it right. Oh! But hadn’t the lady in the rowboat had silver skin and silver hair? Perhaps she had come by Wind the second time, too, and not even known it!

“Really, they’re so excited to be Eeling along they’d cheer at anything,” groused Saturday.

“Oh, I wonder if the Green Wind has a shadow I might meet here in Fairyland-Below?” said September. “I do so miss him, and he has been nowhere to see me, which I think is a bit rude, but Wind manners are like that I suppose. Come to think of it, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a billow of wind cast a shadow, so I oughtn’t get my hopes up. Still, how wonderful that we both came into Fairyland by Wind!”

Aubergine clucked mournfully. “Oh, but upsider-child, it was worse in Fairyland! For Fairies do love to gamble. They cozened Wuff and just about all the rest into becoming mounts for their Oathorn Races, which used to be held every full moon round a great track that ran the border of Fairyland. That is how fast Dodos could run, once upon a time. Racing Dodos was all the rage in Fairy society. Such saddles they made, dripping with fringe and lace and boughs of cherries, piled up so high with magic carpets and cushions and chairs enchanted for every kind of advantage that the Fairy Jockey and her Dodo never had to formally meet. They raced poor Wuff until, on the last lap of the Creamclot Derby, his heart just burst. His Jockey, a blackthorn Oread who flaunted her one-sixteenth Mabish blood to anyone who asked and most who didn’t, came tumbling down off her high seat and broke her neck. The Fairies howled for Dodo blood, for vengeance is also a great hobby of Fairies, even if they didn’t care much for the dead maid in question. In the stables that night, Wuff’s sister Scuff called all the flock together, and they made their desperate choice: They flew south for Asphodel and disappeared under the world forever, carrying their magnificent saddles with them, mercifully empty.

The saddles still rest in Walghvogel, a little orchard of Fairy furniture where we bring our chicks to tell them the tale. So that they know they must keep silent and secret in the center of the Forgetful Sea, the only safe place in all the worlds.”

“The Fairies don’t hold Races anymore,” began Ell quietly.

“Good,” finished Aubergine for him. She had no interest in the strange mystery of the Fairies’ disappearance—as far as she was concerned, they could disappear forever.

“But if it is so secret and safe, how did you end up traded to a Goblin?” asked Saturday. The gentle darkness flew by outside the light of the Eel’s Electricks. The great beast swayed lightly from side to side.

“Well, that’s the trouble with Goblin Markets and Bones’ Desires.” The frosty blush crept up Aubergine’s throat again. “They can find you anywhere. Scruff and her band, their legs still powerful but awfully sore and broken from use, had hardly roosted in Fairyland-Below before the Markets scented them and came running. Well, we didn’t want any dresses or spinning wheels or magic shoes or philtres or powders or even fruit—well, we did want fruit, really, but we had learned a little of Fairy food by then. The Markets howled and whined, but cleared off. Leaving only Glasswort Groof and her Bone’s Desire.”

September held her breath. “What did she offer you?”