Author's Note: I hope you all liked the preface. Oh well, it's going to take a while to get to this part of the story. For the time being, let's start from the beginning, shall we? Let's move like... half a year back, during early August, when Althea was still a simple Nymph, cut away from the magical world. This chapter is written to help you get a glimpse of her world, before she gets pulled away from it; so enjoy it while you can! *grins*
Hugs!
Nessie
The sun crept from behind the edges of the mountains, painting them a soft shade between cerise and orange. Above my head, colors were visible everywhere I looked. Greens and yellows and whites surrounded me, so garish I felt I was drowning in them. The sensation was magical. The tall damp grass tickled my cheeks as I lay on the ground, trying to catch a glimpse of the sky’s blue behind the sea of leaves and branches up high. I stretched my bare toes and felt water drops on my feet.
A voice reached me from afar, “Althea! Althea!” I recognized my name being called and quickly stood up, smoothing my dress and hurrying back, to the direction I knew home was.
A smile spread across my face as I looked at my mom. Her light aqua blue-green eyes shone in the morning light. The wavy hair falling past her waist was curling and uncurling, responding to the wind’s light touch. A not so happy expression was plastered on her face though. Her brows here furrowed together, causing her typical worry wrinkle to show.
Uh huh… What did I do this time?
“Did you need anything, mom?” I asked innocently.
“I’ve told you not to go too far away from home,” she said in a deceptively calm tone. I was beginning to wonder if I should consider the possibility of a storm following right after it… It wasn’t the most common thing for mom, but it did happen.
“Sorry…” I murmured and toyed with my own hair, twirling my finger around a curl; a nervous habit I picked way back, when I was little.
“Could you please come? I need some of your help inside.” She beckoned me and I followed her to the inside of the house, moving through the door she held open for me. My little sister, Ginger, was right in front of the door, spinning around in small circles, daisies stuck in her long braid. Margaret, her best friend, was standing next to her, giggling and making a small bouquet of flowers herself. She waved at me as I passed in front of her, and I smiled back kindly. Ginger and she were joined to the hip, so I was used to having Margaret around whenever my sister was around. Which was almost always.
“Did anything happen?” I inquired as my mom closed the door and I hurried to pull the curtains open. Our house, like most houses over here, was like a big rabbit hole, a room into a small slope in the earth with furniture in it. I really liked my house, but I had to admit, the way it was, didn’t let much of the sun come in. My parents had tried to create as many openings as they could, but when it came to holes, no matter how many they made, the light was never enough. And being in the middle of a deep forest, where sunlight rarely reached the ground anyway, wasn’t very helpful. Luckily, we only had to stay inside when the weather was bad, and it was going to take a while for it to show. It was late summer and everything was warm and sunny… Perfect time to lie in the grass and look pointlessly at the sky just like I was a few minutes ago.
Mom didn’t respond to my answer, so I decided to repeat my question, just in case she was too distracted to have noticed me. “Mom? Did something happen?”
“No, honey, why would you think that?” she answered in a voice that inspired anything but coyness and distress to me.
I shrugged and pulled a mass of leaves that had gotten tangled in my hair and inspected it carefully, as if it was the most fascinating thing in the whole world. “You just seemed a little… I’m not sure really… Guarded maybe.”
“No,” she said, a bit too fast. “I mean… You know I get like that when your father’s away.”
I smiled knowingly. “Yeah. So I’ve noticed.”
Dad had merely gone to the village to do some shopping… Get some things it wasn’t easy to find in the forest at this time of the year. The Muggle village was an easy solution. And it’s not like dad didn’t know how to blend in… He grew up like a Muggle. He practically was one. He just had been tangled in a very magical world for Muggle standards.
“Come on, mom. It’s not like a wizard is going to show up just like that, at random, here. None has found us for decades and today isn’t going to different. We both know that dad being or not here doesn’t matter when it comes to them. He’s not the most intimidating man in the world,” I teased.
My mom smiled gloomily and lit a candle that stood on the round table by the widest window. She then took a seat to the nearest chair, trailing circular patterns on the wood with the tip of her fingers. “I have to agree on that. He is many things… But intimidating… He’s not that one.” She chuckled silently but I could see it hardly made her mood. A grim smile was all she let on.
Dad was a sweet man with a broad smile and constantly red, freckled cheeks. His eyes were a washed out shade of hazel, turning completely green in the sun and his hair was always tussled and was very dark brown, almost black. The only color our people’s hair couldn’t be. He really stood out around here.
I sat opposite mom quietly. As she remained silent and showed no signs of intending to talk again anytime soon, I decided to bolt up and to keep my hands occupied, I started making the beds. I finished very quickly though and was again left with nothing to do. Mom’s anxiousness was obvious; the small pot with gardenias on the table was growing with rapidly, just like the ivy which had begun creeping up the walls. I knew her emotional state was messing with her magic, but I couldn’t do anything but look as the leaves grew and turned greener, stretching across the table and the walls, creating a mosaic of leafage across the inside of the room.
“Mom…? If you keep this up, I think we’re gonna need some big pruning hook to get rid of all this,” I warned, a humorous tone on my voice.
She looked around and nodded. The ivy stopped growing, although it didn’t really matter anymore. The little sprout that had been peeking shyly from a shady corner, just where the wall and the floor met, was now a fully grown patch of ivy, covering the biggest part of the house’s internal. It didn’t look too bad now that I thought about it. It was actually lighting the place up. Little buds, tightly closed, adorned the vines, and concentrating on them, I made some bloom, revealing little white flowers. It was a gift of our kind to do such things. It was part of being a Nymph.
“On second thought… It doesn’t look bad,” I assured her.
I could hear Ginger’s laughter from outside and the splashing of water. Our house stood closer to the river than the others and Ginger used to play with Margaret by the riverbank a lot. After all, the waters were calm at this season of the year.
Mom was still uneasy; the animated tattoo-like shapes of vines on her arms danced nervously, constantly moving in anticipation. Sometimes like this, I wished I was a witch and could make a sleeping potion for my mother. She really had no reason to panic like that.
It was known that Nymphs had pulled away from the wizarding community many centuries ago; almost since the middle ages. When the Ministry of Magic decided to create a Department of Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures and included us… As if all we were was Magical Creatures! For a while we were placed at the same category with Jarveys, overgrown talking ferret like creatures! It was ridiculous. An open offence to our race. This was the main reason a wide gap, a chasm even, had emerged, dividing the two communities.
With the recent events – the wars between wizards, the so-called dark and light ones – and the way Magical Creatures such as Dementors and Giants were used for the wizards’ benefit, maybe it was for the best that we didn’t participate in all this madness. I was barely four when the darkest of all wizards was killed, once and for all, but this doesn’t mean I am not aware of what kind of darkness almost took over the wizarding world. While they were trying to put their pieces back together though, we lived in peace, safely tucked away. Being a pacific race and not fighters, we remained hidden, knowing this war was not ours and wouldn’t affect us on any level, no matter what the outcome.
My family and I lived in one of the oldest Nymph societies; one of those which first had cut all threads binding them to wizards and witches. Still, this little thought, that we would be discovered again, remained, spreading panic and fear among most of our people. Like my mom. Someone would think she was one of the most progressive or our kind, marrying a Squib and living happily with him, but she was not; she was worried just like everyone else and feared exposure more than anything in the world. Dad was indeed son of a pair of wizards, but he had no powers himself. He and mom met accidentally once that mom went to the village nearby and thinking he was a Muggle, she started meeting with him secretly, getting to know him better. In the end, his wizarding heritance didn’t matter anyway. My sister and I were Nymphs, just like mom, and had same powers with her, making plants grow and bloom. She had also some little control over water, but neither Ginger or I had shown such signs of sharing this part of her heritage. Not yet at least.
I giggled, looking at the bloomed gardenias having covered the whole table and hanging from the edges of it, like a tablecloth. The door opened and dad walked in, a smile on his flushed face as usual. He placed the brown paper bags on the floor by the door, stroked mom’s hair affectionately and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips.
“How’s my girl doing?” he asked me then. He seemed overly excited today, more than usually.
“Good,” I said smiling and stretching my hands over my head, yawning.
“Still sleepy?” he teased. It was noon already, but being lazy all morning, I still felt as if I had just gotten out of bed.
“No,” I lied and laughed. I was the worst liar in the world. I couldn’t keep a straight face after lying even if it would save my life.
“Reaaaaally?” he asked and came towards me, tickling me until I couldn’t hold myself upright and almost fell on the floor, still giggling.
“Okay, okay! I surrender!” I managed between giggles and he gave me his hand to help me up.
After barely a few seconds had passed, Ginger rushed in, a blur of brown-reddish hair and hugged dad. Margaret stood by the porch, peeking shyly. Shy after all these years… It was funny. We were practically a second family to her. Her golden hair shone in the sun, like a wheat-filled meadow in the summer. Her flamboyant blue eyes stood out on her tanned skin, just like her pale blue dress. As fast as Ginger came in, she left, bolting out the door and pulling Margaret along.
“I see you did some decorating while I was gone,” dad commented, looking at the intricate patterns of climbing ivy and gardenias around the room.
“The blame’s on mom,” I said, grinning. “I’m going for a walk, alright? Promise I won’t go too far.”
The sun was still high in the sky, but as usual nothing but greenish light reached the ground at this part of the woods. The river’s water flowed noisily next to me, as I made my way to where I knew my grandparents were. They were some of the oldest Nymphs in the area, grandpa being two hundred and fifty years old and grandma being two hundred and thirty two. Nymphs lived usually much longer than humans, at least one to two hundred years.
The thick underbrush was getting damper as I went closer and I knew I was getting closer. They lived really close to a small cliff, where the river fell abruptly, creating a waterfall. Between the oaks, which resembled old humans, figures trapped in wood, long forgotten by the world, stretching their arms lazily, stood grandpa. He was one of the Elders of our tribe, well respected among our people and the younger Nymphs always came to him seeking advice.
Another thing that made Nymphs so different than humans, wizards and Muggles alike, was that we could turn themselves into trees. Not all of us did it though. It needed years of practice and meditation, complete dedication to nature and determination. Not many chose it, mostly because the change was permanent. My grandpa for instance, had decided to do it.
Ever since I knew him, my grandpa was a peculiar man, with lively leaf-green eyes and a toothy grin. His skin wasn’t exactly looking like human skin anymore. It had a green-brownish tint in it, the color of green olives. It seemed like an old, gnarled tree’s trunk from place to place, with knots here and there. A few branches grew out of his back and one behind his ear – I always teased him about this one – and leaves sprouted from it, as if he were a real tree. Once, a few springs back, a robin had made its nest on some branches and it took us a while to remove it, being careful not to break the bird’s eggs. He didn’t move around much anymore, and he had told me he was probably going to root on the ground soon. Literally. I thought he was kidding at first, but my grandpa isn’t much of the joking kind.
“Hi, gramps,” I said, waving and approaching him.
He slowly turned his gaze from the river towards me and waved back. His hand seemed more branch than skin, even more than it did the last time I’d seen him. “What brings you here, Althea?” he asked me.
I shrugged. “Nothing in particular. Just taking a walk.”
“Ah, I see. So you did not get into some trouble and are trying to hide, are you?”
I smiled that smile only grandpa and I shared, but then shook my head. “I didn’t do anything this time. Honestly, just wanted to go somewhere quiet.”
He nodded. “Well, in that case, stay as long as you wish. This place really helps you find peace, I assure you of that.”
“I know,” I agreed. “Going to greet grandma and I’ll come outside and sit with you.”
Grandma, unlike grandpa, was a whole different story. She was… well, more ordinary. A simple Nymph, with no intents of turning into a tree. Her skin had darkened a few shades with the passing of the years, but there was nothing woodsy on it, it was simply tan. Her eyes were more bluish, unlike grandpa’s, and her hair had that bronze tint that was rare among Nymphs. Most of us had brown or dirty blond hair, and orange or bronze were colors more than unusual. She still was holding on well, not too wrinkled or bending forward. Nymphs aged at a much slower pace than humans, at least after their twentieth birthday. If grandma could be compared to a Muggle for example, she would look like a sixty year old.
My grandparents’ house was smaller, similar to appearance to ours; a hole in a small cliff, but a soft layer of moss had covered most of the floor and any part of the walls that wasn’t already covered in white and yellow jasmine. Grandma was sitting on the bed, a wooden bowl on her lap as she cut strawberries in half. I greeted her and sat on her right, offering to help her with the strawberries, but she refused. She kept talking about how sweet those strawberries were and I took the chance to pick up a piece and try it. I loved wild strawberries, especially when they were sweet like these ones. I took a few more, but grandma stopped me eventually, reminding me that there would be any left if I kept bolting them down.
A light tapping on the window made us turn, and we saw a pigeon standing on the sill. In the past, we used owls, just like wizards did; after we cut any kind of contact with them though, we found other ways to communicate, such as sending letters with pigeons when the distance wasn’t too long, and with bigger birds such as falcons when the recipient was too far or we wanted to send a package. Many Nymphs believed that the owl post was controlled by wizards, each letter monitored and read. Therefore, our people avoided using owls as if they were cursed.
I jumped up and hurried to open the window for the pigeon. Just like I expected, there was a wrapped piece of parchment tied on its leg. It sat on my forearm, its small talons tickling my skin, as I untied the knot and took the letter in my hands. The pigeon flew a few inches away, sitting at the back of a chair, waiting for a replying letter.
“Let me see what it says,” grandma said and reached for the letter.
“What is it?” I asked, peeking impatiently over her shoulder.
She smiled. “The Elders. There are going to be some festivities tonight. Dancing and sitting around the fire. I was expecting it for a week now. Wonder why they delayed it so much.”
I shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Well, let me write a quick letter back. Go tell it to your grandfather,” she suggested and I went outside.
A few seconds later, I saw the pigeon flying out the window, with grandma’s letter tied on its leg. Grandpa was of course still at the same spot, standing quietly, watching the sky. “There’s gonna be a bonfire tonight,” I informed him.
“Good, good. This one took them too long to plan out. They must be preparing something big,” he murmured. A smile crept on his face. “You will come and tell me how it went afterwards, won’t you?” he asked me.
“You won’t come?” I asked, feeling a little disappointed.
He chuckled and his whole body shook, leaves and branches included. “I highly doubt I will be able to go anywhere from now on, dear. I have to admit this place has grown on me. I’m literally beginning to root on the ground.” He laughed a little more at his own joke.
I tried to smile, managing just a crooked half-smile. “Fine… I’ll come. I always do, don’t I?” It was a fact that for the last months, I was the one coming and telling grandpa about everything that happened at the bonfires, but I still hoped things would be different the next time.
“Yes, you are,” gramps agreed. “You’re the best granddaughter a grandfather could wish for, Althea…” I felt something light and tickly patting my back and I realized that instead of his hand, grandpa was moving the branch that had grown from behind his ear.
“Cool trick,” I said, grinning.
“Ooooh, trust me, there’s more.” He winked.
I sat with my back placed against the bark of a fallen tree nearby, closing my eyes and enjoying the whooshing of the water flowing and the humming of the grass under my feet. Grandpa remained silent as well, for many hours. Eventually, grandma came out of the house, saying it had begun getting dark and that I’d better go home and get ready for tonight.
On my way back, I passed the clearing where the bonfire was going to be lit. I could see Nymphs, some whom I knew, and some whom I’d never seen before, men and women, bringing seeds to life, making flower buds bloom and open their petals even though they were not night flowers. Everything looked fantastic. Some men near the center were piling logs of wood, placing stones around them in a circular pattern, where the fire was going to be. A few logs, knocked on the ground by the bad winter weather of the previous months, were pushed in a very big circle around the bonfire spot, in order to create space for the dancers near the center. Moss enfolded the old logs and stones, dressing them in green.
“Althea!” Ginger called, waving her hands high in the air and bouncing impatiently from the other side of the clearing. “Come, come!”
I hurried to her side and her little fingers locked around my wrist, pulling her towards the house. The vines on her hands were moving restlessly, mirroring her excitement. Small buds of yellow flowers were making their appearance on her skin, but hadn’t opened yet; she was too young. Ginger was almost seven now.
All Nymphs had tattoo like patterns on the skin of their arms and legs, which grew, just like the Nymphs themselves. The children had only leaves and slowly buds emerged and sometimes, like in Ginger’s case, it was obvious what color the flowers would be when they would open their petals. Usually flowers were yellow, white or a pale shade of pink or purple. Around puberty, the flowers would begin to open and then they’d remain the same way until a Nymph’d grow very old, where the flowers vanished and only leaves were left again. My own flowers were a soft purple, like lavender, but the shape reminded of jasmines.
“What’s the hurry for?” I asked, observing her braid. Flowers of all colors and shapes were still tangled in her hair from this morning.
“Nothing!” she said. “Just taking you home to get ready!”
I never understood my sister’s constant excitement about everything, things really non-exciting included. Like I had something too much to do. I’d just wear a different dress and would pull my hair back, that would be all. It wouldn’t take too long.
The scene we faced when we entered the house was a pretty unusual for our family. Mom was clutching the edges of the table hard, almost towering over dad who was sitting opposite her at the table; they seemed to be having a fight. And we showed up in the middle of it. Mom crumbled a piece of paper in her fist, hiding it from view and both of us turned to look at us instantly. Their faces began to soften, the creases of anger and the tension of the fight evaporating into thin air.
“Hi,” I said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“Hey, honey,” dad said and Ginger seated herself on his lap. He tickled the sensitive spot behind her pointy ears and Ginger giggled in response.
Jee… Things were weird lately.
Oh well; hopefully, this was gonna be an interesting night and I’d have a lot to tell gramps.
If you want to read the next chapter... Stay tuned, I will update very soon!
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