The Quest
Down in a valley where the North meets West, where the Great River starts and the mountains end, there stood a town. Not a large town by comparison, but one with a square and a school full of Scholars, women that gossiped and a Mayor who watched over it all.
It was the forest by the town though that was truly awe-inspiring. It ran for miles, as far as the eye could see in fact, and carried on all the way to the ocean. To the youth of the town it was a great unknown; the mists that rolled in from the trees every night were the source of many ghost stories and fairy tales that children would use to scare and enchant one another. Even the adults would only venture into the very edges of the forest for their firewood and hunting.
Every year though the challenge would be set. On the first full moon of Spring any of the children in their last year of primary study could enter their names for The Quest; a daring journey through the forest, one that involved perseverance of character and wit, as well as strength and cunning. The nature of The Quest varied from year to year, and to win was considered to be one of the greatest honours the town had to offer.
Christian Marsdon knew this all too well.
He was a rather ordinary boy was Christian. His build and height were average for his age, his hair and eyes were both a soft chocolate brown and the scholars at school said his grasp of maths and literature was on the whole sound. But for Christian, this was the problem.
He sat on the morning of The Quest looking at his oldest brother, David. They were both eating their mother’s slightly burnt home-made porridge at the large oak table in the kitchen. James, the baby of the family, entered yawning; his blanket was trailing on the floor behind him, his thumb was in his mouth. “Good luck!” he chirped at Christian. He grabbed a piece of toast and marmalade off the table, placed his thumb back in his mouth, and went outside to check the pet rabbits.
David was gazing out of the window sipping thornberry tea. He was a good few years older than Christian, and a great deal taller too. He smiled, noticing Christian was watching him;
“You’ll be alright y’know,” he told him, “there’s nothing to it.” Christian was grateful for the confidence his brother showed in him, but it didn’t really help with the queasy feeling at the base of his stomach.
“Huh,” was the announcement as Mark and Kirsty, Christian’s remaining brother and sister, came into the room. “Everyone would win if there was nothing to it,” muttered Mark as he went through the cupboards looking for some jam. Kirsty, who was only a year older than Christian and therefore the middle child, sat down at the table and glared at Mark.
Their mother bustled in, carrying a half-knitted lumpy jumper in one arm (complete with the knitting needles) and a bottle of milk in the other. “How are you feeling, do you want some more toast?” she directed at Christian. Knowing there was little hope of getting toast that wasn’t char-grilled, Christian just replied he was fine, and excused himself from the table for fear of anyone else asking him how he felt.
***
All the children who were competing in The Quest met every year in the Town Square at 11 O' Clock by tradition. Here, they would receive their instructions for the task.
Christian arrived with the rest of his family a little before eleven, so he had plenty of time to realise that most of his classmates had entered the competition. At 11 O' Clock sharp the mayor entered the square, stepped up onto the specially made platform, and beamed at the crowd.
"Good morning all," cried the mayor, "and welcome to The Quest!" This was met with great, enthusiastic applause; most of the town seemed to have gathered for the event. The mayor waited patiently a moment or two for the noise to die down. He then proceeded to give out details of the coming task with great flourish and mystery, naturally trying to get the competitors excited, but Christian found his concentration wandering. He wasn't particularly interested in winning The Quest, though he'd never admit to as much. The thing was, the rest of Christian’s family had all competed in previous years, and he felt a compelling sense of duty to do the same. But still, his heart just wasn’t in it.
"How are you doing, are you nervous?" whispered his sister Kirsty, obviously taking his disinterest as anxiety. "Don't be," she said before Christian had had time to reply, "it's all perfectly safe and they never make it so hard that you can't do it."
Mark replied to this with another sceptical "huh" from Christian's left shoulder; Mark had taken the fact that he hadn't won The Quest three years ago very personally indeed. Christian didn’t know why he was so touchy about it though, after all, what were the chances of winning when you really thought about it?
Before long the instructions were finished, and everyone was making their way up to the entrance of the forest. The competitors were heading the procession, encouraged by a great deal of whopping and cheering from the crowd; Christian felt he had better join them - so he said goodbye to his family (with a hug from his mother) and made his way to the front. By the time he got there, they had arrived at the forest. The Mayor proceeded to make another grand speech (something to with fulfilling their destiny, or maybe avoiding bear traps - Christian lost the meaning about half way through.)
Finally, each of the children was presented with a compass, a whistle in case of emergencies and a flask of water. They were reminded one last time of the rules, and then at precisely a quarter to twelve by the Town Hall clock the competitors set off. To begin with, they all followed the one and only path, but soon many started branching off left and right. Christian looked down at his compass. For the task this year they had been given a riddle - the answer to which gave them a location. The first to get to that location would be this year’s winner. Simple enough, but Christian wasn't feeling too hopeful; he was never very good at riddles and he kept losing which way was North.
Looking up, Christian suddenly realised that he was totally on his own, the other children presumably having chosen their own alternate routes. Feeling he had probably at least try to make some sort of start, Christian began reciting the riddle out loud in hope of some revelation.
“Follow my tail, I’ll show you the way…”
Hang on? Was it tail or trail? “Oh, I can’t have forgotten it already!” moaned Christian to the trees. He was so busy looking down at his compass and trying to piece together the riddle, Christian wasn’t paying attention to which paths he was taking, or to the fact that he was straying deeper and deeper into the forest…
Suddenly, something pelted into Christian’s stomach with such force it bowled him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. “Wha…?” was all he managed to utter before someone hissed “Shhh!” into his ear, and pushed him off the path and into the tangled bushes.
A soft blue light domed the area where he had landed, and Christian got his first glimpse of the mysterious assailant. Apparently, the whatever-it-was had been invisible until now, but seemed to feel safe enough in the blue dome to reveal itself. Herself actually, for what was hovering a number of feet away from Christian was an impossibly small, impossibly blue…fairy.
Christian felt stupid even thinking the word, but there she was; looking back out onto the path intently, only a few inches high and a minute wand raised in her hand.
Not surprisingly, Christian had never seen a fairy before, but the one hovering in front of him wasn’t exactly what he would have pictured all the same. He’d always assumed that fairies would be like normal people, girls actually, tiny, with fancy dresses and pinkish gossamer wings; but the one that had knocked him to the ground had a definite lacking in anything remotely pink or girly.
From head to toe her skin was icy blue, the hair he could see poking out from under her hat was a contrasting cosmic blue; her wings, again, were soft pastel blue, frosted towards the edges She wore a navy tunic (complete with miniature buckle) and her hat and boots appeared to be made from bluebell petals. Her entire outfit looked worn and slightly shabby, there was even a tear at the top of her left boot, hardly the appearance Christian had expected. Also, the fairies in books were always described as ‘delicate’ or ‘fragile’, but this one currently had a look on her face that clearly said; “I’m mad and I have a pointy wand, any questions?”
Christian did have questions though. For a start, how could something so small have the strength to knock someone like him to the ground? It defied everything he’d ever learnt in physics, which admittedly wasn’t all that much, but still, he hadn’t spent hours listening to Professor Grinter drone on and on about the laws of nature to have them so bluntly refuted by an over zealous fire-fly, had he?
Another point that should have been concerning Christian was why the fairy had knocked him to the ground in the first place - she obviously had her reasons - but he wasn’t really worried about that right now as he was still stuck on the whole ‘fairy’ part of the issue.
“What…?” Christian began to ask, but the fairy interrupted venomously.
“Will you be quiet! ” she hissed at him, her eyes not leaving the path. Just then, a figure came striding into view. Christian had never seen anyone like him before, certainly not in the town. He looked young, but his long hair shone silver in the afternoon sun; he was wearing flowing black robes and had a fabulous jewelled sword attached to his belt. As he walked he made no sound, in fact he almost seemed to be gliding, but what was apparent was that he was looking for something. Or maybe someone.
For a moment his eyes rested on the area where Christian and the fairy were hiding. But then it passed, and the man carried on his way.
After a while Christian found his voice; “Who was that?” he whispered. This time she turned to face him when she spoke, though the tone of her voice was just the same.
“Rowanver; a truly evil creature - something you would do well to remember, human.”
Christian couldn’t really think of a reply to this statement, especially after she’d spat out the word ‘human’ like that. Eventually he said the first thing that came into his head:
“Fairies aren’t really real, are they?”
“Yes they are,” she told him, annoyance creeping into her voice, like she’d had this conversation hundreds of times before, “you just wouldn’t want to meet them; they’re total air-heads the lot.” She began to melt the blue dome around them. “I am not a fairy,” she announced with grandeur, throwing her shoulders back and making the point clear. This was obviously important to her. “I am a pixie.”
Of course, thought Christian, because that’s so much less weird than being a fairy.