2 Chapter 1: First Encounter

It always started the same. A long, lone note floated through the air and into her ears. It was low, deep with feeling. The chords that followed brought a solemnity to her heart. Today's song was different.

Every evening was the same. She was allowed to play among the trees near the North Ridge, but she wasn't allowed to get too close. Beyond the Ridge was the Forbidden Meadow, a place she wasn't even allowed to think about. And yet somehow, she always found herself crouched at the edge of the tree line, gazing out at the Meadow.

On the very far side of the Meadow was a thing. She wasn't sure what it was, but part of her was frightened of it. Another part of her was curious. But more than the big thing, what really drew her there, were the sounds.

She'd never heard anything quite like it. She'd grown up with the songs of the birds and the melodies of the leaves skittering to the wind. She was used to the rhythms of the insects and the harmonies of the forest animals. She even knew every rise and fall of her people's voices. But this was very different.

The songs that came from the big, white thing from the other side of the Forbidden Meadow weren't like the birds or the trees or the voices of her people. She couldn't describe it, but she could feel it, and she could see it. They were like colors swirling around her, colors that brought feelings.

Different songs painted with different colors and gave her different feelings. Sometimes they were bright yellow and joyful, sometimes they were pale blue and sad. Other times they were light pink and playful, and yet other times they seemed white, quiet, still. But the song now, it was very different from all of those.

She stared out at the tall grass of the Meadow. It was peppered with blue and purple flowers and swooning cattails. Beyond them lay the picturesque peaks of the South Mountains and their dipping valleys. The sun hung low, nestled among the slopes.

She kneeled against a nearby tree. She was so close to the Meadow, if she reached out her hand, she would touch a swaying blue blossom. She swatted away warnings echoing in her memories about the Meadow. She focused instead on the song, closing her eyes to let the notes seep into her body, to let the song pull her forward.

Soon she was crawling among the blue and purple buds, the spiky cattails and the green blades of wild grass. She wanted to get closer, she wanted to hear more. The song was like air to her; she breathed it in even as she inched closer and closer to its origin.

When she sensed she was in the middle of the vast field, she lay down. She closed her eyes and let the colors of the song wash over her. Blues, grays, browns. Usually the songs had some lighter colors, like yellows and reds. But today there weren't any of those.

The song was beyond sad. Some other emotion dripped through every note, every chord. Dark purples and deep greens and near black blues swirled in her mind's eye. But near the edge was a yawning black, darker than night and poised to swallow her whole.

Her heart raced, her breathing was shallow. The colors were slowly dying as the black engulfed them. She almost couldn't stand it. Again she began crawling. She'd never gone beyond the middle of the Meadow, but this was so different, this song was so wrong. She had to get closer.

The song was maddening, the notes each sadder and more morose than the last, until there was only a deep, suffocating black.

Somewhere inside her, a familiar feeling stirred. Tears sprung in her eyes as she remembered her grandmother. The way the song was making her feel, it was the same feeling she'd had months ago when her grandmother had died.

Grief.

Closer and closer she got to the thing, her fear all but gone. How could a song remind her of that feeling? How could these sounds convey such deep grief and sorrow? Who or what could be making these colors and feelings?

Sooner than she thought, she was at the edge of the big, white thing. It was even bigger now that she was this close. Some of it seemed to touch the sky, it was so tall. But it was also wide. The edge she was close to was open and not closed off like the rest of it seemed to be. The ground was not made of the Meadow grass; instead, it was covered in a shiny, smooth white rock. A short wall of shiny, white stones circled the rock ground.

She recalled stories her grandmother had secretly shared with her over the years before her death.

"The Stiff-Clothed built large homes for themselves. But the largest of all was called a castle. The stories say the King of the Stiff-Clothed and his family live there…"

Not for the first time, she wondered if the thing was the infamous castle her grandmother had taught her about.

She was very close to the sounds now. A shiver of excitement ran down her spine; she would finally see what made all those songs!

Carefully, quietly, she crouched and lifted her head to glance over the short wall. Only one thing sat in the middle of the large opened expanse: A boy on a lone stone step, holding something strange in his arms.

She cocked her head to the side as she took him in. He seemed about her age, but that was all they had in common. His hair was as dark as the song's color that had brought her here; his skin was like peaches, yellowish and pinkish and reddish. He wore stiff, tight clothes with white frills around the cuffs of his wrists. They were dull and boring and looked positively uncomfortable.

Stiff-Clothed, the name her grandmother had told her came to mind. She understood then where it had come from. What he wore was nothing compared to the light, bright dresses and robes she was used to seeing back home. Even her own lilac dress was soft and full of breezy tulle layers. How could he run with those restricting clothes?

And what was he holding in his arms? It looked like wood. She knew lots about wood, but she had never seen anything like what he was holding. It was shaped like a circle with a long neck sticking out of one side. His hands held the wood, one at the circle, and the other on the neck. He moved his fingers, and the song played out! His fingers on that wooden thing were making the sounds she had become so obsessed with all this time. It was him! Well, him and that wooden thing.

She watched in awe and disbelief. How could wood make those sounds? She needed a closer look. Before thinking things through, she stood up to her full height and peered at the object. Aha! It wasn't just wood; there were strings, too!

Without warning, the song stopped. She looked bewildered at the paused fingers and wondered why they had ceased moving. Her eyes flickered to the boy and she froze. He was looking right at her.

For what felt like eons, they stared at each other. Perhaps it was the absurdity of the situation, that neither had seen someone like the other ever before and therefore the moment seemed like a dream. Or maybe the stillness at such an important, fateful encounter, that even nature around them seemed to quiet down. Whatever it was, neither of them reacted at first. They just stared.

The boy broke the spell first as he slowly stood up, leaving the strange wooden object on the chair behind him, never taking his black eyes off her. He took a step towards her and she winced. Somehow, she was stuck in place, his eyes holding her still even as he came closer and closer to the wall that separated them.

Her breathing again shallow, she wondered what would happen next. Would he scream? Call for help? Would others come and seize her? Would she ever see her family again? She remembered her earlier observation, that perhaps he couldn't run well with those clothes. She wondered if she could outrun him and anyone else who gave chase to her.

Just as she made her mind up to run, the boy reached the wall. She looked into his eyes once more before turning away. But he was faster. He reached out his hand and yanked her arm back, forcing her to face him again.

Pressed up against the wall, face-to-face with the Stiff-Clothed boy, she noticed the reddened puffiness around his eyes. He'd been crying.

"What's your name?" He demanded, his words lilting slightly with a different accent. His face had gone stiff, just like his clothes, and his eyes held no kindness.

She shook her head. "Why are you crying?" She hadn't meant to question him aloud.

"That doesn't matter! What is your name?" His voice rose in volume, frustrated. "I must have your name!"

"You're hurting me! Let me go!" She yanked against his grasp, but it was useless. His grip only tightened.

"No!" He cried, "You're supposed to grant me my wish before I let you go! Now tell me your name, fae!"

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Tell me or I'll never let you go!" He threatened, choking back a sob.

"Lala," she whispered unwittingly.

"Lala, fae of the forests, grant me my wish." He pulled her closer, tears raining from his desperate eyes. "Please," he whispered, "please bring my mother back to life."

Lala's heart felt like it had been shattered. Finally, she understood his distress and the lonely song. How tragic it must be, she thought, to lose one's mother. She remembered her grandmother, and how awful her loss had been.

"I," she began, her voice breaking as she saw the plea in the boy's eyes. "I cannot grant you your wish."

"Why not?" He yelled, his sobs racking through his body. "Why?"

Lala's hand rested on the inconsolable boy's cheek. "Because even faeries have their limits."

The boy's arms slackened at his sides as he let his tears and grief wash over him completely. Lala couldn't bear to see him this way, so she slid over the wall and did the one thing that always made her feel better when Nita had died: she hugged the boy.

He was only a little taller than her, and as she embraced him, he wound his arms around her, too. And though she was the one giving him comfort, the hug made her feel a little better, too.

She wasn't sure how long they stayed there, but it was long enough that the boy had started calming down.

Suddenly, a loud boom echoed out of the forest, sending several birds flying out of their homes. The boom sounded through the Meadow, and to Lala. It shook her from the hug, her eyes wide as she looked towards the sound.

"What was that?" The boy's cries had ebbed, and now he looked just as shocked as Lala.

"I have to go," Lala said, knowing exactly what that sound meant. "My family, they're looking for me."

The boy's eyes widened. "Your family? You have a family?"

Lala nodded as she took a step away from the boy, getting ready to run back home.

"Wait!" He said frantic, grabbing her arm again, though this time not as harshly.

The boom sounded again. "I must go!"

"But you didn't grant my wish—"

"I told you I can't!" The sun was almost gone and Lala had to go!

"I know! But you still owe me a wish!"

Lala slid over the wall, pulling the boy with her, though he stayed on his side. "Fine! Then maybe—"

"Come back tomorrow!" He rushed through the words as Lala tugged at his grip. "Lala, fae of the forest, I wish that you come back tomorrow!"

Lala stared at him quizzically. But she didn't have time to argue as another boom sounded through the forest. She nodded, "See you tomorrow!"

Lala ran through the Meadow. It was something she had never done before and it was thrilling. Halfway through, she thought of something and turned around.

"What's your name?" She yelled to the boy still perched near the wall.

"Michael!" He yelled back.

Lala smiled as she waved goodbye to him, and he waved back. She turned around and headed towards the booming sound. She knew an angry Papa would be waiting for her.