Fabledom of Fae-wrought Stone, Part 3,

by J. W. Cassandra

"Fabledom of Fae-wrought Stone" - the story emerging from the mists of time, straight from Bluebell Pixie's Enchanting Bag, is now continuing. Now I am bringing you the third part, for a grand lore needs time to unfold.

The world within the well unfolds: the widow's son walks along the winding path of the fluttering flight of butterflies and the Lay of the Fae-wrought stone in the Netherworld.

The Mountain-Wreath Enchantment surely will help; if only he could recall it!

In the sequel, three trials await True-hearted Mick: the Ant Queen, the magpie, and the Capricorn Beetle. Should the trials not help, then would the Giants do so. How? If you read the sequel, you will find out.

True-hearted Mick could not have even dreamt what an adventurous journey he would walk along in the world of the deep, casting into it the Fae-wrought stone. Immerse yourself in the enchanting Netherworld with the stone and enjoy the adventures.

[He believed in his soul he would never see them again, or anyone else, for his life was at an end!]

He opened his eyes to a great jolt. As he looked around, the world within the well unfolded before him: forests and meadows, mountains, rivers stretched out, beckoning. The fluttering flight of butterflies shimmered in the air, just as in the Over-world. And the enchanted stone cast into the well began to gleam, and the Lay of the Fae-wrought Stone soared forth from it, lifting the stout-hearted lad and carrying him toward a winding path. There it set him down, luring him onward with its melodic arcs, along which the lad walked on in the Netherworld.

By some miracle, he foresaw that he must find the enchanted stone of the deep—a perfect twin of the one from the Over-world that he had cast into the well. He walked and walked along the winding path, and the Fae-lay, which sang now softly, now with a resonant voice, led him. Beside the Lay of the Fae-wrought Stone, the fluttering flight of butterflies also came to his aid, leading him through meadows, fields, paths, and True-hearted Mick could scarcely keep pace.

He sensed by some ancient instinct that the enchanted stone of the Netherworld could also lie upon a mountain, hidden in a forest bower. But where? The path opened into a glade, where a spring murmured at the forest's edge; yet a great wreath of mountains hemmed in the glade itself! On the hillsides and peaks, forests and trees loomed upon the slopes and summits: the enchanted stone of the Netherworld could be hidden anywhere. He recalled the Fae-lore he had heard in his childhood and the old, withered grandame who knew those tales better than any soul alive. He racked his brain: what had she said about the Mountain-Wreath Enchantment?

For a long time, nothing came to his mind; he merely gazed at the looming mountains that towered in a great circle around him, watching the fluttering arcs of the butterflies. All at once, he saw it clearly: the fluttering flight of butterflies and the melody of the Fae-lay were weaving a pattern together. Blending from the sway of colourful wings, drifting melodies, and playful air, the enchantment formed a glimmering enchanted stone that flickered now here, now there. This gleaming, enchanted stone set its course toward the summit of the farthest, azure mountain. Without delay, the lad turned his steps that way, and following the winsome Fae-light, he scaled to the peak. Yet there, beneath the shadowy boughs, he found only a stump of a mushroom, half-gnawed by ants. There was no trace of any stone, let alone the enchanted one! The tiny ants were toiling to carry morsels of the mushroom to the ant-hill, chopping and carrying their heavy burdens. The lad took pity on them and helped: with his axe-head, he crumbled the mushroom into tiny bits and scattered them at the very gate of the ant-hill.

Then the Ant Queen, sovereign of all her kind, spoke thus to him:

"Accept our thanks! In gratitude, we shall come to your aid whenever you need us! Take this tiny morsel, and keep it safe; should you ever require our help, merely draw it forth, and we shall be at your side at an instant!"

True-hearted Mick half believed her, half doubted, yet he stowed the crumb away nonetheless. He tied it with care on the corner of the handkerchief given to him by the orphan girl.

Then he set out among the trees upon the summit, hoping that somewhere the gleaming white crest of the Netherworld Fae-wrought stone might catch his eye. He wandered in circles for a long while, but found only a magpie fledgling upon the ground. Its mother hovered above, urging the little one to beat its wings and try to soar into the sky. The little fledgling strove with all its might, but in vain: time and again, it tumbled back to the earth. The stout-hearted lad paused to see what was amiss. High atop the tree, the magpie's nest hung precariously askew, battered by a foul storm. Without a word, he hewed steps into the tree trunk with his axe and scaled the height. He set the nest aright, then descended once more to gather the fledgling and carry it up to its nest. The mother magpie fluttered about him, and when the lad set foot upon the ground again, she spoke thus to him:

"Here is a pinion of mine, take it, and should you fall into peril, give it a swift twist! Then I shall fly to your side and aid you!"

True-hearted Mick half-believed, half-doubted, yet he gave his thanks for the feather and stowed it away.

Then he set out to descend the mountain ridge, for the sun was already veering toward twilight, and he had yet to find shelter for the night. As soon as he reached the foot of the mountain, the winding path curled forth once more, beckoning him onward. But the stout-hearted lad sent the path away, bidding it return at the first light of dawn, for now he needed a restorative slumber.

Then a path opened before him across the field, leading toward a glimmering light in the distance. When at last he arrived, weary and spent, he beheld a tiny cottage. There, a Long-Horn Beetle stood in his way:

"Before you lay your head to nightly rest, young lad, I pray you, give me your aid!"

True-hearted Mick was filled with wonder; he could scarcely see in the ever-thickening gloom, but in the light spilling from the cottage window, he saw a rivulet gleaming nearby. This stream had washed away the hollow that was the beetle's home, leaving the poor creature with nowhere to dwell. Well, the lad used his axe to hew a new channel for the water, leading it far from the dwelling, and then he restored the Capricorn Beetle's burrow.

The Capricorn Beetle began to dance for joy and spoke thus:

"One good turn deserves another! Should you need me, only call:

Capricorn Beetle, dweller of the deep,
Hearken to my call, your promise keep!
The elf and butterfly wait for thee:
Come, and set the wanderer free!

If you cry this thrice aloud, I shall be at your side in an instant to aid you!"

True-hearted Mick laughed, but the Capricorn Beetle drew itself proudly and made the lad recite the rhyme. The lad did as he was bidden, then bid the beetle farewell. What else could he do?

Then the Capricorn Beetle vanished into its hollow, and True-hearted Mick went to lay his head to rest within the cottage.

Or so he thought; for a whole host of Netherworld Fae awaited him there, the perfect twins of the Overworld Fae. The fire flared up in the hearth of its own accord, casting sparks and crackling a spark-lay, and the Fae began to dance their roundelay. They drew the lad into the centre of the dancing ring, dancing faster and faster, until —whoosh!— the lad was swept off his feet and into the air.

Flying, he feared, he would never find peace again: that the Netherworld Fae-wrought stone would stay hidden forever, and he would never return home, to his ailing mother or his orphan betrothed.

But the flight slowed, and as he descended, the first light of dawn touched the earth. He found himself upon a mountain peak. There, something gleamed white amidst the roots of the trees, and his heart skipped a beat in a trice: the Fae-wrought stone of the Netherworld was found!

Yes, truly! He rubbed the moss off around it, and the Fae-lay rose from the carving that resembled the braided glyphs of the Fae:

"Wandering lad, come, lift me high,
To the mystic Fae Spring, let me fly!
Turn me thrice to the right, don't delay,
Turn me thrice to the left in the spray:
Learn the Fae-charm, let no folly remain!"

With that, the stone almost of its own accord nestled into True-hearted Mick's palm and began to rise. Following the fluttering arcs of the butterflies, he was borne away with the stone to a glade, where the spring murmured at the forest's edge. As he alighted beside the spring water, the stone continued its Fae-lay:

"Lay me in the spring, glyphs to the deep!
Lay me in the spring, glyphs to the peak!
Spin me thrice to the right!
Spin me thrice to the left!
The Fae-charm is yours, no folly left!"

Then the lad rolled the Netherworld Fae-wrought stone into the spring water with the braided glyphs facing downward and sought to turn it over. But the enchanting stone became as heavy as hardship itself; he could not budge it, not even a hair's breadth! Moreover, the moss had overrun it in the blink of an eye.

Alas, what was he to do? He racked his brain, and all of a sudden, he remembered the Ant Queen.

He sought out the handkerchief he had received from Heartsease, took forth the tiny morsel, and in a trice, the ants came flocking: they gnawed the moss from the Netherworld Fae-wrought stone! Then the lad thanked them for their aid and strained once more to turn the stone over. Yet, it budged not. Then he drew out the magpie's pinion, giving it a swift twist, and the magpie was already hovering over his head.

"How may I aid you, lad?" She chattered.

"I cannot turn the Fae-stone over!" He sighed. "And I scarcely believe that you could fare any better!"

"Wait but a while! I will bring succour, one who can master it, behold! Until then, take your rest!"

And with that, she flew away, heaven knows where. True-hearted Mick had no inkling about it either, for he had never trodden the paths of the Netherworld before, nor did he know its hidden reaches. As he was waiting, all of a sudden, the very earth began to tremble; it shook and quaked in rhythmic beat, and the thrum of thundering footsteps filled the air. Then the authors of the earthquake appeared: mighty giants drew near. Chattering away, the magpie announced that they were her friends and she had summoned them to his aid.

The giants set to work to turn the Netherworld Fae-wrought stone, seeking to bring the braided Fae-glyphs upward. But in vain they strained and hauled; in vain they linked their arms in a great chain to overturn it, and then roll it thrice to the right, then thrice to the left: the Netherworld Fae-wrought stone did not budge. Then they tried their might from both sides: half of the giants tugged at the stone, while the other half pushed and heaved. Yet, nothing changed!

Or so it seemed; for at the twelfth tug and heave, the Netherworld Fae-wrought stone suddenly shrank, plunged into the water, and vanished from sight!

Alas, the lad was truly stricken with grief!

The Netherworld Fae-wrought stone is dead and gone! No other stone could take its place, and the Fae-enchantment in the Overworld would remain as it had ever been; there was nothing to be done!

But then he remembered the little Capricorn Beetle. Not that he truly believed such little beetles could conjure forth Fae-wrought stones, but since the aid of the ants and the magpie had proven true, he thought he had nothing to lose. He cried out the rhyme aloud thrice:

"Capricorn Beetle, dweller of the deep,
Hearken to my call, your promise keep!
The elf and butterfly wait for thee:
Come, and set the wanderer free!"

And just as it crossed his mind that he was no elf, but a man, the Capricorn Beetle appeared. The lad recounted his woe, and the Long-Horn Beetle shook himself and sang a melody into the spring. At his song, the rainbow fish emerged, frolicking so playfully that they wove a shimmering rainbow upon the water; then they dived deep to seek the Netherworld Fae-wrought stone, which, by the power of the Fae enchantment, had shrunk to the size of a cherry stone. It had turned into a tiny diamond stone lurking in the depths of the spring. The rainbow fish found it at last, and formed a circle around one of their kind, who took the gem into its mouth. Together they all swam to the surface of the spring, and proffered it to the Capricorn Beetle, who in turn handed it to the lad.

To be continued.

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