Etheria
Darkness settled on the Great Forest, dimming the bright colors of day and painting everything with the palette of night. Shadows deepened, between roots and along branches, within canopies and under leafy boughs. Many creatures, active all day until dusk, withdrew to the safety of their dens and nests—while just as many, invisible after sunrise, began to roam and fly on silent wings.
This darkness surrounded Atlanta as she walked home on pathways so familiar she didn’t need to see them. Even in the thickening night, her bare feet knew exactly where to go. She turned corners without any visible signs, stepped over a cluster of orange-speckled mushrooms now hidden in shadow, and heard the quiet breathing of baby falcons in their nest above her head.
Dark as the forest was, though, it wasn’t nearly as dark as her thoughts. In the day since she and Promi had parted so bitterly, those thoughts had multiplied, growing into a shadowy forest that filled her mind. And in those woods so thick and impenetrable, she felt completely lost.
What an idiot he is! she railed. And what an idiot I was to let him into my life.
She turned into a dark corridor lined with spruce boughs. But she hardly noticed the sweet scent of those needles as they brushed against her face. He’s acting so selfish, so ignorant. Imagine disregarding his father’s command to protect the veil! He’s endangering us all—and he just doesn’t care.
Losing her concentration, Atlanta stubbed her toe on a sharp rock. She yelped, frightening away an owl in the tree beside her and a family of river otters on a nearby stream bank. The throbbing of her toe only worsened her mood.
So he’d like to be free, would he? she grumbled. Well, I’ve set him free! No more time wasted with him. Now he’s free to steal pies—or other people’s time—as much as he likes!
A faint whirring of wings told her that Quiggley had returned from his early evening travels in the forest. The faery circled her once, releasing a wave of compassion, then settled lightly on her shoulder.
Even in the darkness, she knew just where to stretch out her finger to touch his antennae. They tapped her finger gently, and that subtle drumming deepened her feeling that the faery truly cared.
You’re someone I can trust, little friend. She chuckled sadly. Guess you’re going to be the only man in my life.
As she entered a different grove of trees—mostly acacias, with a few monkey puzzles and cedars—her thoughts, too, changed terrain. They entered a darker and fiercer part of her mind.
Promi is a selfish dolt. Losing him won’t be nearly as bad as the other losses I’ve had.
A new wave of compassion flowed into her, and she knew Quiggley understood. Yet even his constant, loyal presence wasn’t enough to heal the open wound in her heart.
Fortunately, she told herself, I still have Etheria in my life. Whatever happens, I can always depend on her!
She crossed a meadow of sweetstalk fern, the soft fronds brushing against her feet. The ferns’ aroma wafted up to her nose, mixing with the scent of the lilac vines she’d woven into her gown. Then, in the trees ahead, she saw the golden glow she’d been expecting.
Following a well-worn path into the trees, Atlanta watched the glow steadily brighten. At last, she ducked under a mesh of branches and stood before her forest home—the comfy little place where she was always welcome, regardless of her mood.
As always, when she returned after dark, the home radiated light. Atlanta knew that the same golden glow shining through those small square windows also filled each room inside. And that a warm pot of mint tea, with plenty of wildflower honey on the side, would be waiting to greet her—timed to the exact moment she arrived.
All thanks to Etheria, she thought gratefully. Already the welcoming light and the smell of her favorite tea were helping to brighten her mood. Quiggley, noticing the difference, nodded his tiny head vigorously, making his cotton hat slip to the side.
Approaching her home, Atlanta marveled at its simple, symmetrical shape. That hadn’t been difficult to accomplish, mind you. For the whole structure was really a hollowed-out acorn that had grown to enormous size—at least three times the height of a fully grown person. The acorn, from one of the magical oaks near Highmage Hill, just happened to have been dropped by an unsuspecting squirrel very near to the Starstone, whose power greatly magnified the acorn’s size, as well as its own magic. As a result, the acorn was already almost a house when Atlanta had found it. All it took was the help of a few friends to do the rest—beavers to hollow it out, woodpeckers and termites to carve the windows and door, and a sturdy team of centaurs to haul it to this spot.
Even as Atlanta reached for the latch, it lifted and the door swung open. Grinning at Etheria’s affection for a dramatic entrance, Atlanta stood in the doorway and bowed deeply. The faery on her shoulder fluttered over to the teapot that sat waiting on the small pinewood table in the kitchen.
“Etheria,” called Atlanta, “I’m home.” Then, with genuine appreciation, she added, “And I’m so very glad you are in my life.”
Without waiting for any response, she strolled over to the table. Eagerly, she poured herself some tea into her favorite mug, carved from the burl of a fallen oak by Honya, the most skilled woodcarver among the chimpanzees who lived in the Spirit Hills at the southern end of the forest. After stirring in some honey, she leaned back in her chair and took the first sip.
Fresh mint and honey truly tasted like relaxation in liquid form. And this particular tea always soothed her mind. So did the sight of all the beeswax candles in the house, which Etheria had lit only moments before. All in all, Atlanta felt better than she had all day.
She winked at Quiggley, who had stretched out on the tea cozy she’d made from strips of moss. “Well, little friend . . . it’s good to be home.”
Raising her voice, she called, “Did you hear that, Etheria? I hope so!” Taking another sip, she added, “I never should have let that pie thief into my life—but now that’s over and done. And I’m back here with you.”
At that instant, all the candles glowed brighter. In the cupboard, plates and bowls clinked against each other merrily. And in the bedroom, the downy cover fluffed up with satisfaction. It was almost as if the house itself was celebrating Atlanta’s return.
Which, in fact, it was. Because the house itself was Etheria.
The acorn’s magic, magnified enormously by the Starstone, had given Atlanta a home with plenty of intelligence. As well as plenty of personality. And a highly independent streak.
Now, sometimes that worked well—as it did this very evening. When Atlanta had returned home and needed a warm, comfortable welcome, she got it. However, sometimes Etheria’s independent ways made life truly uncomfortable.
Atlanta was still, months after the incident, trying to apologize to the family of centaurs (including a pregnant mother) who had stopped by for a friendly visit. Before they even knocked on the door, Etheria sprouted thorns all over her outside walls and produced an odor of horse manure so strong it was practically suffocating. Not only that, when the centaurs didn’t take the hint and go away, Etheria suddenly shrank herself down to the size of a boulder—which nearly crushed Atlanta, who was baking bread in the kitchen.
Though the centaurs did finally gallop off, the poor mother was so upset that she gave birth several weeks early. And while the young centaur was basically healthy, he developed a terrible allergy to manure. (This is rather inconvenient for someone who is half horse.) To this day, the sight of manure makes him sneeze violently. And the smell of the stuff causes him to break out in hives—and, even worse, to feel an overwhelming urge to defecate.
While Atlanta had tried to talk with Etheria about this kind of thing, she hadn’t made much progress. After all, if a house doesn’t want to talk with you, it will simply shut all its windows and doors tight and lock every cupboard drawer. Even though Atlanta guessed that Etheria really hadn’t wanted to feel like a barn, with all the cleaning that would have been necessary after the centaurs’ visit, that didn’t justify such behavior. Yet so far, Etheria hadn’t allowed any discussion of the incident. If Atlanta even so much as mentioned the word centaur, the whole house started shaking as if there had been a sudden earthquake.
On this evening, though, such troubles—house problems, as Atlanta called them—seemed very far away. She relaxed into her chair (which was padded with soft bubblereeds she’d gathered from the ponds near the Waterfall of the Giants), sipped her mint tea, and enjoyed the quiet of home.
Just then, the top drawer of the cupboard popped open. A furry brown head emerged, followed by a plump body and a truly massive tail. The squirrel, Atlanta’s longtime housemate, peered at her with beady black eyes.
“I don’t suppose you brought any food for me,” he grumbled. “I’m nothing but a lowly squirrel, after all.”
From his resting place on the tea cozy, Quiggley shook his antennae scoldingly.
“What’s up with you, Babywings?” snorted the squirrel. “You don’t have to eat anything but dewdrops.”
Quiggley scowled and jumped to his feet. His antennae waved vigorously, and he seemed ready to fly right into the squirrel’s face if Atlanta hadn’t intervened.
“Now, now, Grumps.” Atlanta set her mug down on the table and glared at the squirrel. “If you’re going to share this house with us, you’ve got to be nice to everybody.”
Looking like he’d just swallowed a rotten acorn, Grumps frowned. “Even Babywings?”
“Even him. And his name is Quiggley.”
“Oh, all right then.” The squirrel waved his bushy tail like a flag of surrender. “I will call him by his proper name.”
The faery relaxed and started to sit down again.
Then the squirrel added, “Is that all right with you, Babywings?”
Quiggley jumped up again, his wings whirring angrily.
“Fine, fine,” grumbled the squirrel. “If you don’t have any sense of humor, Quiggley, then I can’t help you.”
Atlanta traded glances with the faery, who shrugged his little shoulders. Both of them knew that they weren’t going to get any better manners out of the cantankerous squirrel. Maybe his sour disposition had something to do with having to live inside an acorn that he could never eat. Or maybe he’d fallen out of a tree as a youngster and struck his head. In any case, Grumps had always lived up to his name.
Turning back to the squirrel, Atlanta said, “That’s an improvement. As a reward, I just happen to have something for you.”
“Better be good,” he muttered.
She reached into her robe’s hip pocket—the very same pocket where she’d carried Quiggley during those days when he’d been so badly injured that he nearly died. And she smiled to know that the faery had so fully recovered that he was completely ready to fly into battle to defend his honor from such rudeness. Then, from the pocket, she pulled three fresh acorns and tossed them into Grumps’s drawer.
Without a word of thanks, he dived down after them. But the satisfied wave of his tail, protruding above the lip of the drawer, told Atlanta that her gift had been gladly accepted.
Suddenly—a harsh knock struck the door. The whole house started to shake. Atlanta jumped off her chair, but the quaking grew so strong she could barely stand.