The Pixie War: Archives of Faerie

By John Brushaber

Faerie goes to war to save the dwarf pink pixies from extinction. It has chosen a very unusual but charismatic king and wins the war with truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483554389

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PROLOGUE

It was easy to see where Hercules and his Greek contingent were fighting. Bodies were flying in all directions, heaved by the mighty arm. Hercules refused all our pleas to use weapons, protesting that the world was already too violent; he was going to reduce the level of violence personally by setting the example of laying aside his sword. I noticed few he threw got up again and wondered what they thought of this reduced level of violence.

John, you've got to do something or a lot of creatures are going to be hurt.

Most of the stuff Ebon sent is pretty rough, but I have my own idea, he said as he sat cross-legged as if in meditation.

A whooshing sound to the south caught my ear. Something was taking shape in the sky. In the clouds appeared faces with mop-top haircuts that looked like the reincarnation of some early British rock group. My first thought was that they were too clean-cut; a later, weird, stringy-haired version would have been more frightening to parents on the enemy side. But they had a different strategy. Their mouths each formed a ring and blew out heavy gray smoke over the opposing army, which completely disappeared in the cloud.

John, the smokescreen will only make the job harder for our archers.

We won't need any archers, Bill; those troops will be higher than a kite.

What is it, some sort of levitation spell?

No, those troops are submerged in a cloud of first-rate Kentucky pot smoke. I had several big loads of Kentucky's # 1 crop flown in just for this. Snuff's back there giving it the torch, and I simply directed the smoke at the enemy with a flair.

Did Ebon approve of this?

No, I didn't tell him.

John, you violated the Geneva Convention prohibiting poison gas. You could be tried at The Hague as a war criminal for crimes against humanity.

You mean it's okay to shoot, stab, spear, dismember, bomb, burn, mow down and otherwise kill your fellow man, but you can't overcome him with a relatively harmless cloud of mind-altering smoke.

Something like that; it's a crazy world.

One. First Encounters of a Fairy Kind

As I sit in our cabin finishing my memoirs of the Pixie War, the unpleasant memories of death and destruction have begun to fade. I am thankful for all the new friends: some unlikely friends because most people considered them dead or imaginary. Some of the events, both large and small, seem like they happened yesterday: the little copperhead at our wedding, our first meeting with Snuff the dragon, the Detroit Salvation Army Center, the Elvis Impersonator Contest in Memphis, the faery folk watching Wheel of Fortune, John in the magical reenactment of David and Goliath, the countless quotations from Wordy the little gnome, and so much more. We should be grateful to all those who have helped us and whose compassion and sacrifice have made the world a better place.

Did you ever wonder how there could be a name for the same thing in so many different cultures if it had no foundation in reality? Were dragons real? Is there such a thing as true love? Do phenomena exist beyond the narrow reach of our own personal experience? Are they all around us, and yet we can't see them? Can we be sure that Big Foot doesn't exist just because we haven't seen it? Whether or not you believe in any supernatural or mythological beings, you will learn many things from this strange tale.

But it was just another mundane day in my life as an ordinary college student as I walked into Dr. Reznik's chemistry class at the start of the winter semester. Most of the class had already arrived so I took one of the seats toward the back of the classroom. The mood of the students was cheerful and animated as they renewed acquaintances and shared experiences from the Christmas holiday. Sarah Talbridge arrived just before the bell rang. Sarah was a beautiful young woman with flowing red hair which reached her shoulders, ivory skin, and green eyes. She reminded me a lot of Molly Ringwald. Sarah always seemed so self-assured, sultry and unobtainable, the sort of woman who is often lonely because men find her beauty intimidating. Sarah was everything I had ever dreamed about. I stared too long and made eye contact; embarrassed, I quickly averted my gaze.

I said, Hi, as she took the last remaining seat next to mine.

She turned with a who are you? look and managed a weak Hi in a minimally civil tone.

The next day I arrived late for lab. Maybe it was fate, but again the last remaining seat was next to Sarah. She said nothing overtly, but her look said it all, You again.

Sarah was my lab partner for the rest of the semester. She replied when I addressed her, but never showed the least interest in learning anything about me. Sarah had been popular in high school: a cheerleader, vice-president of the student council and homecoming queen. I had little experience in dating, and to me young women seemed like mysterious creatures. Why would she be interested in an ordinary guy like me, who if I wore glasses could have passed for a nerd? Fearing rejection, I repeatedly dismissed the thought of asking her for a date. Suddenly on the spur of the moment over a beaker of boiling sulfuric acid, I asked her for a date before my fear overwhelmed me.

Sarah, would you like to go for a drive with me on Sunday? We could go out to the old covered bridge over the Beech Fork. There are a lot of neat wild flowers out this time in the spring… I said as I spilled out the fearful words as rapidly as possible.

She looked at me and hesitated for about thirty seconds, presumably thinking of some excuse. She did owe me a good excuse because my help in lab was largely responsible for her passing grade in chemistry. Sarah managed a faint smile and with resignation said, Yes.

Sunday dawned as bright and clear as my expectations. It was one of those mild days that make spring such a pleasant season. My car was vacuumed and polished with loving care, and I changed the oil. There were butterflies in my stomach as I pulled up next to the sidewalk at Kresge Dorm to get Sarah. Sarah wasn't in the lounge area so the attendant rang her room. Five minutes later she came downstairs into the lounge looking gorgeous in a green dress tightly drawn around her slim waist with a black belt.

Hi, Sarah, you really look nice in that dress.

Hello, Bill, she said with a hint of genuine warmth.

My car is right outside.

I opened the door and she gracefully slipped into the front seat. I couldn't help but notice the shapely ankle as she drew her leg into the car. She obviously was experienced in displaying her best attributes. As I put the gear shift lever into drive, I glanced over and she met my gaze. Bill, I am truly thankful for how much you helped me in chemistry this year. I just don't know how to thank you. Having said that, she leaned over and gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek. This was a total surprise: I didn't even expect a kiss a the end of this date. Her touch set off a fire in my soul that burned white hot like a magnesium flare. What do you say to a beautiful woman? This was probably my only chance with Sarah, and I didn't know what to do.

She continued, My father, as I told you, is a businessman in Hazard Kentucky, and all my brothers went into some lucrative profession. One is a trial lawyer, and the other is a plastic surgeon who builds his bank account by reshaping the bodies of the rich. Daddy expected me to continue the family tradition as a medical doctor, but as you know I could hardly pass chemistry without your help. That's why I am going to switch to an art major in the fall. I don't look forward to telling Daddy though.

Always feeling awkward about accepting compliments, I could only mutter, I really didn't do much. I had never thought about her being vulnerable before.

I plan to go to graduate school and study biochemical genetics. I considered medical school, but medical schools want compulsive perfectionists. I just can't get focused enough to make A's in everything.

By the turn onto State Road 1268, I still hadn't thought of anything else to say. In desperation I lamely tried a perennial favorite topic of students, the food in the cafeteria.

What did you think of the food we had for lunch today in the cafeteria?

Oh, I thought the roast beef and potatoes were pretty good.

This rather surprised me because I thought she probably ate mostly salads and pasta.

Sarah, would you like to listen to the radio? Anything special? Is the oldies' station okay?

At that moment the Buffalo Springfield were singing about the world being on the verge of destruction. Sarah remarked, It must have been terrible living at a time when people worried about a nuclear holocaust—that there might be no tomorrow, ever again.

But I don't think the human race is out of the woods yet. We face a lot of real problems. … My thinking tends toward the negative side: on all that could go wrong. Informing, perhaps boring, people with all the world's problems was one of the consequences.

By the time we reached the intersection of Highway 555 and the Bluegrass Parkway, I was pleasantly surprised. Sarah had opinions and fairly intelligent ones at that on many issues, and I told her so.

Bill, I really do much better in my other classes; believe it or not.

I guess I sort of assumed that pretty girls like you didn't need to learn anything.

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Sarah's cheeks appeared slightly flushed, and I feared the worst: some sort of comment about being a male chauvinist. But she actually smiled.

Do you really think I'm pretty? I like the way you are so honest and open about things.

We turned off Highway 555 onto County Road 1323. About a half mile down the road the engine stumbled and nearly stalled. But my mechanic had just given it a tune-up last weekend so I thought to myself that it should be running fine. At that moment it shifted smoothly and ran like a charm. Then I noticed a number of cars and pickups parked haphazardly along the road and remarked to Sarah, Some of those people are going to have trouble getting their cars out of that ditch.

A mile down 1323 the road was blocked by construction work. This seemed a bit strange: road work on a Sunday afternoon. A group of highway workers behind orange reflectors and dark glasses were removing the pavement with pickaxes. At that moment I noticed the faint odor of cucumbers. I began to feel that something was very wrong, particularly when I noticed that some of these highway workers were seven or eight feet tall and had protruding fangs. Their broad shoulders narrowed down to a surprisingly thin waist, and they had long gangly arms which reached down to their knees. Their bodies were covered with shaggy hair. They reminded me of a picture I had seen of Big Foot in the National Enquirer.

Sarah, look at those guys!

Why Bill, they are just highway workers.

But Sarah, they are eight feet tall and covered with shaggy hair.

She stared at them and began to speak, but her face took on an ashen hue as she whispered to no one in particular, What are they?

The biggest one came over to the car as I rolled down the window. He placed his hand on my door. Golly Moses! The back of his hand must have been ten inches across!

Get out! he said in a loud voice. Almost as an afterthought, I reached under the seat and pulled out my pepper spray dispenser. One squirt would take this guy out. But by then there were four or five of them around the car; there was no way to get them all. Reflexively, I put the dispenser into my shirt pocket. The guy on the other side didn't wait for Sarah to roll down her window. He smashed it and broke off the door handle. Sarah winced with pain as he grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her from the car. Just when I was convinced that we were about to be victims of violent crime, a smaller man with a goatee approached.

How did they get their car this far? he asked. Most of them cut out within 200 meters of the main road.

The big guy replied, I don't know boss.

I thought to myself that this can't be real, and instantly the image of the one with the goatee began to fade. What appeared now was a man of slight build with white skin and greenish hair. He was attired in a camouflage suit with some strange pattern, long tight leggings, black boots and a pointed hat topped with what looked like a turkey feather. His camouflage was truly amazing. As he moved, the pattern on his clothing changed to match the background. If it weren't for the shadows and the three dimensional aspects of his appearance, you would hardly notice he was even there.

He said, You fellows be careful with that girl. We don't want to hurt them unnecessarily, and added, I want to find out how his car got so far.

In the strongest voice I could manage under the circumstances I said, You people don't look like highway workers.

He sees through our disguise. Just what do you think we look like?

Those guys are big and ugly enough to be trolls, and you look like some sort of Robin Hood in a camouflage suit.

Take them over there with the other prisoners. I'll question him more later; we've got another pickup truck coming.

We were led behind a grove of trees to a group of rather frightened looking country folk. I noticed Sarah's shapely calf; there was water running down it. I didn't say anything because I had wet my pants too. The guard, another green guy with an especially long nose, motioned for us to sit down on the ground with the others. I was fascinated by the barbed wire camouflage markings on his clothing as he walked in front of the adjacent fence. The barbs were moving across him in a procession. Sarah by now was very pale even for a redhead and had a note of hysteria in her voice.

Bill, they have us in a cage with bars!

My voice box felt like it was choked with flour so I could hardly croak, What bars? because I couldn't see them. There couldn't be a real jail in the middle of a cow pasture. Then I noticed that the rest of our captors were occupied with some redneck from the pickup truck. He was a real winner whose alcohol sodden mind had its own view of reality.

Ya can't arrest me; I didn't do nothin'. There hain't no law against a few beers.

He didn't seem to notice or care how big those ugly guys were. Two creatures buzzing like hummingbirds zipped down the road and hovered over the drunk. One of them buzzed by and inspected the prisoners. The creature must have weighed ten or fifteen pounds. As it hovered right in front of me, I could see it wasn't an insect because it had a somewhat human face and a pair of arms with hands in addition to its wings. It wore a gray tunic and a belt holding a short but wicked looking dagger. It looked like something left over from a presentation of Peter Pan at the local dinner theatre, but Tinker Bell was never menacing like this one. Later we came to call them buzzy bees. Buzzy Bee flew back to the truck where the redneck was still raising a fuss. Sarah was sitting on the ground with her head bent down on her knees. My fear subsided as I felt a compelling emotion of protectiveness for Sarah. She was out with me and I was responsible for her. It made me angry to see her so distraught and ill-treated.

I shouted to the guard, Hey, ugly face with the big nose, get over here! I knew he would respond to a comment like that.

When are you going to let us out of here?

His face contorted into a wicked grin. When hell freezes over.

That didn't seem funny to me at all. I let him have a squirt of pepper spray. Leaving him bent double in agony, I pulled up Sarah and stepped through the bars.

I can't get through the bars, Bill.

I did, trust me, just close your eyes.

Then she was out. My car was out of the question; we would have to run for it. A patch of woods started about seventy yards across the pasture. We'll go for that woods, Sarah.

We were about two thirds of the way to the woods when I heard an angry buzzing sound. Buzzy Bee and her friend were making a beeline across the pasture for us. The first fairy caught up with us about ten feet from the trees. A blast of pepper spray left Buzzy Bee fluttering in agony, upside down on the ground. Unfortunately, the fairy had knocked the pepper spray dispenser from my hand. I whacked the second one with a stout, dead branch, soon concluding that fairies don't fly too well with one wing. The big guys weren't headed our way, but it couldn't be that easy. The woods ended on the side of a hill, and we were in pasture again. The barbed wire fence was a snap for me; I had lots of experience from my Uncle Ed's farm. For Sarah it was a major obstacle. She might have made it okay, but as she tried to maneuver her dress between the strands of barbed wire I was holding apart for her, a blood chilling howl erupted behind us in the woods. The barb tore a big rent in the skirt of her dress which now took on the slit-skirt style, but this wasn't the time for admiring her new fashion. We had almost managed to make it across the field to the next fence when I saw the hounds. They looked like mastiffs, but they were four feet tall, regular hounds from Hell! Normally it is good policy to skirt around wild blackberry patches, but not this time. Wicked thorns raked my legs through my clothing as we plowed through the patch. Sarah fared far worse: her dress was in shreds and blood was trickling down her legs. The next fence was an old one, and we quickly rolled under the bottom strand of wire. By now the hounds were really close, but at that moment I caught sight of the highway.

Come on, Sarah, we're almost out.

As I glanced behind to see how much time we had, I thought, Hounds of hell don't belong here; they can't be real. As the hounds bounded closer, I pushed Sarah up onto the low branches of a hackberry tree. Now about thirty yards away, the hounds shrank down to normal size from the front end to the back like squeezing a tube of tooth paste. They weren't nearly so formidable now. A stout stick and a few well-placed rocks sent them scurrying in retreat. As I helped her down, Sarah sort of fell from the tree into my arms. She snuggled close and buried her face in my shoulder. She felt soft, warm, and snuggly.

Oh, Bill, I have never been so frightened in my life!

I savored each moment. Such moments with Sarah were likely to be my last after the events of this afternoon. In a few minutes we were walking along Highway 555 on the narrow weedy strip that passes for a road shoulder in Kentucky toward the nearest farmhouse about a quarter mile up the road. A car with two old ladies slowed way down and passed us at about ten miles per hour. The lady on the passenger side started to speak but thought better of it. The guy in the pickup did stop.

Are you folks OK?

Not really, we had a run-in with some tough guys in your neighborhood, but we got away.

Do you need a lift?

No thanks, we're just going to that farmhouse to call the police. Somebody is there; I can see them in the yard.

Well, OK, sure sorry that happened. Folks around here are usually pretty decent.

Two little girls with long brown hair and a scruffy looking little boy stopped and stared as we entered the yard. A white-haired old lady came to the screen door. She said nothing for a moment as she looked us over.

Lands-a-mercy, what happened to you?

We were accosted by some rough characters down the road.

What did they do to your girl?

I liked the sound of the your girl part and swelled with pride and protectiveness.

She's OK, just tired and scratched up.

While the old lady tended to Sarah, I dialed 9ll reporting that some men were stopping cars on 1323 and molesting the passengers. Twenty minutes later a brown patrol car with a deputy sheriff pulled up. I let him come up to the house because I figured that he ought to see Sarah.

Looks like you folks had some trouble. Tell me exactly what happened.

The deputy was about thirty with brown hair and a clean-cut look. I edited the events a bit because the real story was too incredulous. He just listened and, surprisingly, asked few questions.

Is your car still there? Let's go take a look at the place it happened.

Does Sarah have to go?

No, I think you can answer the questions for now.

There were about four or five big guys disguised as highway workers. They were stopping cars and herding the passengers into a pasture where some other guys were guarding them. When we got away, they turned some mean dogs loose on us. Oh, one of them broke the window on the front passenger side when they dragged Sarah from the car.

As we topped the hill, I was scared. One run-in with those guys was enough; I had a hunch they might be even less friendly to me this time. The vehicles were still haphazardly parked along the road. My car was still at the bottom of the hill, and nobody was in sight. It was clear we weren't going any farther on this road because a fifteen foot stretch of pavement had been replaced by a pit ten feet deep.

The deputy was talking to himself, They should have placed a barrier and warning signs on both sides of this hole. Turning, he said, I ought to call this one in so they can get somebody out here to mark this road. The license numbers should give us some idea who those people were. He walked over and looked at my car. The keys were still in the ignition. How exactly did your window get broken?

Two. Santa Claus Comes to Town

Sarah said scarcely a word the whole fifty miles back to campus. She sat stoically looking ahead as the wind blowing through the broken window destroyed the last resemblance to any known hair style. I walked her to the door of the college clinic. Good thing I got my kiss first because she scarcely acknowledged my presence as she left me standing at the door. Maybe she was in shock or maybe this meant Good Bye Forever! My heart ached, ignored by the woman I had tutored for a semester, the woman I had saved from monsters—the woman I loved. Maybe I should have set my sights on some less attractive girl, one of the unchosen who hadn't had a date for six months.

Back in my room in Johnson East Dorm I had just pulled the sheet over my head after patching up my scrapes and scratches when there was a knock at the door. It couldn't be my ex, ex-roommate that is, because he had moved out weeks ago in a dispute over the line he had drawn on the floor marking off his half of the room from mine. Out of anger, I sprang from my bed and opened the door. In front of me was some guy dressed up in a Santa Claus suit. His cheeks were like cherries, his belly was sagging and shook when he laughed like bowl full of jelly.

Oh, please, I muttered, it isn't even Christmas and I suppose you expect me to believe that you're Santa Claus.

That's right; I am.

And I suppose your sleigh and reindeer are on the roof.

No, actually I arrived by Mercedes-Benz. The contract I signed with the reindeers' management stipulates that they have to fly only in December.

How could you drive here from the North Pole in a Mercedes-Benz?

Only from the airport, I flew in from New York on short notice.

New York? I thought you lived at the North Pole.

Me?, mercy no! I live in New York City where I work as a mild mannered reporter for a national news magazine under the name of Kristopher Kringle.

You mean that nobody there has figured out from that name and your absence at Christmas that you are Santa Claus?

No, the people I work with are so far to the left that they can't get anything right.

Enough is enough so I gave him the authenticity test, an unnecessarily hard jerk on his long white beard. He looked genuinely hurt; I was sure of it when I saw the tuft of bloody beard I had detached from his chin. By now I felt sorry for the man and let him into the room so I could wash the blood off his face.

If there really is a Santa Claus, how come you never brought me anything? I said as I gently blotted the drops of blood off his chin.

Because you didn't believe, son, magical things only happen to those who believe.

Nobody on my block ever got anything from you either.

That's because the aura of your naturalistic worldview was so strong it was like hitting a wall to get anywhere near your house. You spoiled Christmas for a lot of kids, son.

I believed in the Easter Bunny, and he never brought me anything either.

That's because there is no Easter Bunny. Everybody knows that.

By this time I was really irritated and confused; my head started to hurt. It was time for this bozo to go. Tell me why you came and get out!. I've had a bad day.

I came to ask you to join us, son, to save the world.

That really did it; that appeal had been used too often. I've heard that line before. Save the world from what?

"Humanity is destroying the earth's ecosystem: polluting it, using up its resources, taking the habitats that belong to the other creatures for ever more human beings. It must stop. We must save the world from those over-leveraged banksters behind all this before it is too late. The paradigm of continuous economic expansion is just another Ponzi scheme. With your strong magical