Breaking with recent traditions, this week’s story prompt image is relatively recent. It was taken in July this year in the walled garden at Culzean castle. Yes, I go there a lot. I know it isn’t the only place worth going. It’s still a favourite, so I don’t see us breaking the habit any time soon.
When I took the photo, it wasn’t with a view to a story prompt. My intent was to egg us on with turning our front garden into a wildflower meadow. A few years ago, we formed an optimistic plan to cut the grass back hard and scatter a variety of seeds. It turns out it isn’t as easy as that. When is it ever?
Anyway. Enough witter. Story time. While this one is set at some point after book 2 (which is due out at the end of next month!) I don’t think it has much in the way of spoilers. Certainly, it is at best plot adjacent. Nothing in this relates to any of the story-arcs in the series except involving a couple of the characters.
Faltha closed her eyes and lifted her face into the afternoon sunlight. A gentle breeze rocked the dandelion head that was her starting block. She loved this time of year. Not just because this was when the Tower Court Games happened, though she enjoyed that too. The liminal time between true summer and actual autumn was her absolute favourite. The baking heat of a full summer sun had given way to a cosy, residual warmth. (When you’re twenty centimetres tall these things matter.) The air carried a delicious scent that she could taste with her whole body. It tasted of change. Of poised readiness. And it was ephemeral — lasting only a couple of weeks on a good year. To Faltha that elevated it to true beauty.
Also, there was the chance to show off for the Court. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy that. After all, what was the point of being the best if no one else knew it?
To her left Nuff limbered up on his poppy starting block. He was captain of the Tower Scout Squadron and a formidable flyer. Beyond him Elanor was adjusting her goggles for the fifteenth time. She was the wildcard in this race. Faltha hadn’t even met her before the start of the Games. From what she’d seen, Elanor was quick. Not as fast as Nuff in a straight line but, dear goodness, that lass could swerve.
That was the name of the game here. A race below the flower canopy through dense meadow. At the core was a single thistle-seed wish that had to be collected and delivered to the wish-seer judge at the far end. That was where Faltha’s strength came in. She’d spent years as a wish-gatherer. Quite simply, she was better at finding wishes.
Well, also there was the matter of sheer power. As a member of the Court’s High Council, she had more blood-oaths to her name than the other finalists. To a faery that meant power. Of course, with great power comes great potential for embarrassment if she didn’t win. No. That was no way to think. Faltha gathered her focus, shrugged her shoulders loose and flicked her wings into readiness.
The judges flag went up. Any second—
Now!
Faltha launched herself from her starting block and dove for the meadow floor. She jinked past the thick flower stems following the tell-tale whisper of the hidden wish. She banked off to the left. It was not far ahead. Sneaky, putting it so close to the start.
Behind her the characteristic crash of Nuff charging through the undergrowth closed in. His main tactic seemed to be to trust to Faltha’s sense of where the wish was and then batter a path to get there first. Clever, but with one key fault.
She banked right, heading away from the wall. Nuff followed, cutting the corner in the hope of arriving first. Perfect.
Faltha grabbed a foxglove stem and hauled herself back on track. One down. For now, at least. The question was, where had Elanor gone?
Not as deep turned out to be the answer. The newcomer was flying near the canopy. Perilously close to disqualification. It gave her a good view. One which she was using to her advantage. She’d clearly seen Faltha’s ruse with Nuff and had worked out Faltha’s destination. Elanor put on a burst of speed. Would she get there first? It would be close.
The two faeries swerved desperately around stems and low hanging petals. Faltha reached the wish a blink ahead of her competition. As she grasped the fluffy fronds some instinct made her fold her wings and drop to the loose soil floor. She rolled on impact and recovered in time to see Elanor slam through the space where Faltha would have been and crash to a stop against a nettle stem. Faltha’s blood chilled.
“Are you alright?” she called.
No response.
Faltha darted over to her courtier’s unmoving form. “Do you need help?” she asked.
Still no reply.
As Faltha drew near Elanor suddenly burst into the air. She grabbed the thistle-seed and shot away.
“You absolute goblin!” yelled Faltha. Which was not fair, and she shouldn’t say such things. She’d apologise to both Elanor and the handful of goblins who were watching after the race. Thinking of which, Faltha threw herself after the younger faery.
She caught up with only a metre to go. Desperation drove her to simply grab at the thistle-seed’s fluff. Faltha had the strength to simply pull it from Elanor’s grasp. But did she have the time? She pulled. Elanor pulled back.
They shot out of the undergrowth at eyewatering speed and Faltha still hadn’t claimed the seed.
Then the unexpected happened. Elanor let go. She shifted her wings and halted, mid-air, and saluted Faltha. The sudden change in forces launched Faltha through the air to land at the judge’s feet. The bell sounded. The race ended. She’d won.
Elanor flitted over, breathing heavily. “I didn’t want to win that way,” she said through gulps of air.
The judge pressed the trophy into Faltha’s hand. She smiled and pressed the other side into Elanor’s. Faltha lifted both their arms triumphantly and smiled. The spectators cheered. Faltha didn’t care for whom.
“And I don’t want to win this way.” Faltha turned her smile encouragingly toward Elanor. “Not on my own anyway. You show promise. And respect. Neither will go unnoticed.”
Brandon Lim 