Fiction "A Wind-Tossed Spell"

Fiction.

"A Wind-Tossed Spell".

In a tower on a rocky island lived a wizard whose enchantments centered on the four winds. He made a modest income selling bags of fair breezes to sailors. One day, a sailor brought him a letter from a faraway faerie king. Two scant lines, it requested a difficult windspell. With a thankful heart, the wizard accepted the silver sent in payment, delighting in thoughts of the intricate spellwork ahead of him.

That afternoon, he searched beaches and scrubby fields, collecting feathers lost by sea birds: strong fliers. Using the feathers as quill pens, and colorful potions as ink, he created 12 squares of illustrated script on parchment. Next, the wizard donned ragged half-gloves to wrap thread in wisps of icy wind and stitch the pages together to make a book.

Then he climbed to the tower's roof and tossed the book to an enchanted whirlwind that tore it to scraps. Countless bits of bright parchment swirled in glorious patterns until magic knit them together, forming one lovely page. Graceful as a well-handled kite, it soared and dived. A north wind whisked it across the ocean. Finally, it settled written-side down on a stony beach backed by a blue granite cliff. And if words can be said to wait, the parchment's words waited.

Hours later, Pegeen came strolling along the beach. Fourteen years old, she lived with her grandfather nearby. They'd had years of lean harvests on their small farm. Pegeen loved to walk beside the sea: breathing in the cool salt air felt like a tonic for her troubles.

She loved to read, too, but owned only three books, so she ran to the mysterious parchment. Unhappily, she didn't seize it because it rested upon a certain green stone. Flat and oval, veined in white, the stone lay flush to the cliff's face.

When Pegeen was a child, walking with her grandfather, she'd seen a spiral shell on the stone. As she reached to scoop it up, Granda swung her into his strong arms. "The pretty shell belongs to the faeries, love. That's their doorstep, like the flagstone in front of our cottage."

"Where's their door?"

"We can't see it."

"Have you ever seen a faerie?"

Granda shook his head. "In the old times, they used to visit our world more often."