115Columbine ran. Across the boardwalk streets of the village, through the tops of the trees, past huts-some familiar most not-he just ran; far and fast. It didn't matter where he ended up. As long as he was nowhere near them: the pale, sick boy; the tall, secretive boy; and, most of all, her-the long-haired, winged girl. He didn't ever wish to set his cold eyes upon them again. Ever.
While he ran, he wasn't watching where he was going. Used to the serene atmosphere of the village, its inhabitants weren't on their watch for someone disrupting the peace. As he careened around a corner, Columbine hit straight into a faery, sending them both flailing to the ground.
On instinct, he jumped up and held his spidery-armored gauntlet out in front of him defensively-but he lowered it when he realized it was no foe, but just a young girl. Columbine was about to turn and run, but her voice made him stop:
"W-who are you?"
He said nothing, and just glared at her. She had a nice, round face, sparkling eyes, and salmon-colored hair. Columbine looked away when he saw her wings. Like a butterflies'-twirling and swirling, dancing upon the high currents, dodging limbs and weaving through flowers, flittering and fluttering ever so high, unimaginably high. always out of reach! It made him ashamed of his bare, bony back, hidden by his heavy, black cloak.
"Are you a faery?"
Still, Columbine spoke not a word. He didn't want to disclose a single detail about himself to some nosy, ditsy girl! For all he knew, the second she would figure out his 'race', she'd scream in horror and send armed adults upon him to beat him dead and limp like a snake, then throw him off the boardwalk and watch him fall forever to the ground, his lifeless body ripped and torn by the trees' groping arms.
"Where are your wings?"
"They haven't grown in yet." He didn't know why he said it, but the thought of death scared him. There was no afterlife-no 'Otherwhere'. Once you were dead, you were dead, and that's the end. No one would cry for the death of a filthy mononoke.
"At your age? You must be the same as me, by looks."
"Maybe I'm not."
"There's not even one sign of you getting your wings soon?"
Columbine nodded. "But they'll come; I know it." He'd recited this conversation. how many times, now? All the villages he'd been to when he was younger-when he didn't know what he was, when he didn't know that people would hate him for something beyond his fault-he'd had that conversation. Someone would notice something suspicious-usually about his lack of wings-and they would report him to the Village Elders. He'd be questioned, and he'd tell them what he told the girl: that he was just late in growing his wings. At first he believed it himself, and so did they. But as he grew older and older, the story turned more fantasy than real, and then. and then.
The girl giggled. "You're so strange!"
"Why?!" he demanded to know. He didn't like people staring at him in fright-in horror-and he liked people mocking him no more.
"Oh, just how you look," she smiled. "Those black marks over your eyes are so funny!"
Columbine glared and was silent.
"Why do you have them?"
Still, silence.
"Are they merely affectations, or... something else?" her tone wasn't with suspicion-she was just curious. She didn't realize what he was. She just thought he was an immature faery.
"They're the marks of my sins, black as night, as my clothes, as my soul."
"...Really?"
"No."
"Then what are they?"
"Tattoos."
"Oh. I think they're kinda' cool," she giggled again. Her giggling annoyed him-it reminded Columbine of him, that thin, blonde boy; one of them. "What's your name?"
"Columbine." Before he could stop himself, he found the word coming from his small, pouty mouth.
"I'm Albesia Magnolia-Violet," she smiled. "Do you have a family name?"
"Rose."
"'Columbine Rose'? That's so pretty!" she squealed. "But don't you have two family names?"
"No."
"I thought all faeries did." She mused upon it for a bit, and then let it go.
"Well, I don't." Columbine looked away. She'd probably really suspect him now. "Your name's pretty, too."
"Really? Thank you!" he couldn't see her face, but Columbine suspected that she was beaming. "I never liked it before, but I guess that if someone else thinks it's pretty, maybe I was just too harsh?"
Columbine didn't know what to say to that. He started walking away.
"Don't go!" she called. "We've only just met. Do you want to come with me? I'm trying to catch a bird."
"Why?"
"Because I want one," she said. "They're so pretty, the ones with the golden feathers. They sing such a lovely song."
"But birds like to fly," he said. "If you capture it, it won't be able to fly anymore."
"But."
"I need to go," he lied. "Sorry." Columbine quickly bolted away from her, and scampered down the boardwalk. He didn't know why he ran so fast, or why he was leaving. Where could he go? She'd probably figure out he was nothing buy a filthy mononoke, and tell on him.
He tried to avoid the villagers, so as to not bring death upon himself. But, even when he was near them, no one seemed to notice him. Surely, it was obvious he was no faery, right?! Why did no one care? For a few golden minutes, Columbine let his guard down, and just wandered around, taking in the scene around him.
It seemed like it had been forever since he had last been in a peaceful town. He stared at the shops and the houses, the children playing and the people talking. Musicians performed, and he listened. Even when they saw him, they continued on, as if he were only another commoner there. Some people invited him to join their groups-whether playing sports, talking, or other such activities-but he declined their offers.
Everything would go well, and he'd get absorbed into whatever they were doing-then they'd notice. Then they'd realize what he was, and they'd scream, acting like he was a thing; as if he were a non-sentient animal-he, who they had been talking to or playing with, just seconds before.
And Columbine hated it.
He didn't want that to happen.
So he declined all offers.
***
The sun was beginning to set upon the Forests of Shika-not that it meant anything to the villagers. They went on with their lives, uncaring of the passing days. Time had no meaning! Shika would never die-not now when the Savior of Ages had come and banished the Evil-and the threat of the Prophecy was over. For all eternity, they would live. The 'Barrier' around the Heart of the Forest could be taken down, and the full power of the Childlike Forest Spirit would flow once again. Even though it was still sealed into Seven Realms, and even with the 'Barrier' gone, the world would not return to what it had been: the Great Forest Lian. For, the Great Spirit had not the power to grow forests on the now-bare lands of the Continent, but the power to sustain Shika as it was in the Ancient Times.
Eternity.
Immortality.
Such beautiful words, foreign for the past few centuries to the Shikan elves, would once again grow meaning!
And for Columbine, that meant an eternity of wandering around in a world that hated him, cursed him, and resented him. Never would he find a place that welcomed him, and never would he die. Not now. Not now that the Savior had sealed away Seing-the threat, the Destroyer.
"Columbine!"
He turned around when he heard his name called. Not for many years had anyone addressed him as more than 'mononoke' or 'halfling'. Could it be- No. When he turned around, it was just the girl. Just Albesia. He turned his face away.
"Columbine!" she said again, stopping to catch her breath. "I found you."
He still looked away. Her glassy eyes-he knew they stared right at him. But he could not bear to meet her pure face with his own pale, moon-colored eyes, his tiny pupils, his tightly-closed mouth hiding his fangs.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
"Are you leaving?" she inquired.
"Maybe," he stared down at the grassy ground, then at the village far above his head in the treetops.
"You can't leave now," she said, "not right before the festival begins."
"'Festival'?"
"Of course!" she said. "Didn't you know? The Savior-he's alive! Though only days ago it was deducted that he died, he came back!"
Columbine stared straight ahead, and didn't move. It couldn't be true! He'd seen it for himself-that boy, the pale, scrawny, blonde boy-had been lying feverish for nearly a month in bed. His two comrades-the green-haired mage and the black-haired faery-had awoken after a few days, but as for him. he had just kept sleeping. All the healers in the village had tended to him, puzzled over him, and given up. He had a dangerously-high fever, then suddenly, his body was ice-cold and he was dead. After saving Shika, the Savior had died.
...And now he was back to life? What sort of magic-miracle or curse-had happened?
"The festival will start when he awakens," she said. "Don't you want any part in it?"
"No."
"Is it because." she seemed to stumble for words, ".you're a halfling?"
Columbine looked at her now, and she cringed slightly at his eyes-his pale, shining eyes!-at first, but then smiled. "I'm a cursed mononoke. A filthy mononoke. You have me, all alone. I'm an open target, and I'm unarmed. Just kill me right now, damnit!"
She looked at him with question on her face. "Why would I kill you?"
"Because I'm one of the Damned!" he screamed.
"A halfling?" She asked. "I told my older sister about you, and she told me you were a halfling. A mononoke. But only the mononoke... only the mononoke weep for the forest, and only the mononoke can light the candles atop the soldier's graves! Only they feel the pain that-"
She stopped when she saw Columbine's face. His expression of anger was gone, replaced with wonder. What was she saying? He'd never heard any of that before. Only that halflings were 'damned, cursed, filthy mononoke'!
"I'm none of that," he said. "I'm just a wanderer, unwanted by even the dirt I set foot upon."
"No, that's not true," she whispered. "That's not true. Here, I've never heard anyone talk badly of your kind. Ever."
"It's because of resent. They don't even want to think about the stupid, horrid creatures they've carelessly spawned!"
"No, it's not," she told him. "It's because they don't believe there's anything wrong with halflings."
Columbine said nothing. He didn't want to argue.
"Do you want to fly?" she asked.
He glared at her.
"When I told you about capturing a bird, you told me that I shouldn't because then it couldn't fly," she explained. "Do you want to fly because you have no wings?"
He said nothing, and continued glaring.
"If you wish to fly," she stumbled for words once more, "I could help you."
"What could you do to help?"
"I could hold you while I fly," she said. "I could be your wings."
"I don't want your pity," he shouted.
"It's not pity," she said. "I thought about what you said, about the bird, and I realized that it's bad to keep something from flying. If you want to fly, I'll be your wings."
"I don't want it."
"But you want to fly so badly! You must! After what you said..." the girl stuttered, ".it's not the faeries that resent you, it's yourself-you resent your being a halfling more than anyone does! Because you look at them, and they can fly and you can't. Because they're everything you aren't... You hate that."
"Don't tell me what I think!" he fumed. "I know what I think, not you!"
"But I'm right, aren't I?" she inquired. "I know I'm right."
Columbine didn't answer.
"Follow me," she said. "I know a place we can begin. There's a hill a few meters that way. I know I couldn't fly with you from the ground, but if I jumped off something."
"I don't want it!"
"Please," she said. "I know you do. Please?"
He said nothing, but followed as she walked through the forest. He couldn't help it. he had to stare at her wings. They were so beautiful-each colored dust particle shimmering. each black vein like the filler in a stained-glass window, or in a mosaic. And each time he looked, he couldn't help feel bad about himself. If he had had wings, what color would they have been? What shape? What would they have looked like? He'd pondered those questions for most of his early years. He remembered when he was very young, talking with some of the other faery children, about their wings; about whose wings would be prettiest, whose would be bigger, what color they would be, what shape, who'd get them first. And as they'd grown up, they'd all sprouted wings-marvelous, beautiful wings-and he'd had none.
"Here," she said, leading him up a small hill. "Stand here, at the end. Take off your cloak, so I can hold you."
Hesitantly, he slipped it over his head, not bothering to undo the heavy, bronze chains across the front keeping it together. He set it down on the ground, and waited.
Albesia grabbed him under his arms, and jumped off the side of the hill. Columbine closed his eyes tight. She spread her wings, and beat them furiously, but the two of them tumbled downwards into a bed of small, blue flowers. Columbine frowned, but the girl was laughing.
"I guess we'll have to try something higher," she said at last, between laughs. "We weren't in the air long enough for my wings to get a current. When I get older, they'll get bigger, and then I'll be able to fly better. but for now, we're just going to have to get higher."
"How about that tree over there?" Columbine pointed straight in front of them, and they got up.
He was better at climbing than she was, for he hadn't any wings to get caught in branches. He shimmied up the trunk, weaving in and out of outstretched limps, curving vines, and intruding ferns as easily as if he were running through barren ground. Albesia, however, had to stop and be sure that she wouldn't rip her thin, frail, butterflies' wings.
When they finally reached a decent spot-not high enough to hurt them if they fell, but higher than the hill-she held his arms, and they walked off.
Columbine closed his eyes again. He felt the wind rush through his hair, through her hair, and expected to feel his stomach lurch as they fell-but instead, they were still. He opened his eyes, and saw the trees around them, the ground far below. They were flying-!
But only for a few seconds. The air seemed to push them down, scolding them for letting a mononoke fly. Columbine rolled to the side and got up, leaning against a tree, but Albesia lay still on the ground.
"If only I were better at flying," she said, looking up at the limbs they'd fallen from, "if only I were better, we could have flown. But I just can't do it. I can barely hold myself up when I fly. I don't know why I thought I could hold someone else, too."
"It's okay," Columbine wanted to reassure her. Something in her voice seemed so sad, so lost... So like himself. He didn't want her to feel that way. "At least you tried. It's better-"
"To love and have lost, than to never have loved at all," she finished. "I know. I've heard it before."
Columbine said nothing. "Do you want to try again?"
"I don't think I'll be able to do it."
"You were so persistent in getting me to agree to this, and now you're giving up? I don't get it."
Albesia smiled, rubbed her eyes, and stood up. "You're right, silly. Shall we try that tree again, or something higher?"
"I think that tree's fine," he said. Columbine felt strange. He'd never talked to anyone this much before. No one had ever wanted to talk to him, and he'd never wanted to talk to them. But now. "But we should try a little higher."
Before he realized it, they were up in the branches again twice as high, taking in the breeze, gazing around themselves at the beauty of the forest. Columbine looked down at his bare feet, walking across the broad, moss- covered branch. He felt the little plants between his toes, tickling his feet. He stepped over an extravagant orchid, and was about to land his foot on a fern instead, but he decided against it. Even though there were so many in the forest, he didn't want to take away the beauty of even one.
He stepped on a large clump of moss, but instead of reaching a hard, secure section of the wood, his foot went right through and he slipped off. Columbine saw the sharp branches underneath, and the forest floor looming meters below. He watched as it grew suddenly closer, the wind pushing him down towards it. He closed his eyes, and prayed with all his might that by some strange miracle, he'd sprout wings and be able to fly back to safety-or at least be able to slow down his fall so he'd make it safely to the ground.
He braced himself for the impact.
But none came.
He opened his eyes, and saw around him what looked to be a snapshot of the forest, suspended in the middle of his fall. He felt the beating of his heart and the beating of. something else against his back. Instead of falling downwards, he was slowly being pulled up, shakily, towards the sanctity of the large branches he'd fallen from.
He was flying.
No.
Albesia was flying. She had jumped off after him when he'd slipped from the tree, and she was taking him-them both-back to safety. He could feel her arms grasped around his shoulders, and the beating of her wings.
Even though it was her flying, the feeling was so real for him.
He could almost tell what it was to be a bird, a nightbug, a butterfly, twirling and swirling, dancing upon the high currents, dodging limbs and weaving through flowers, flittering and fluttering ever so high, unimaginably high.
No longer out of reach.
Note: Remember to check out my website for a BUNCH of pics of Columbine! He's so fun to draw! You can find the url in my bio here at fictionpress.