Chrysalis Ch6: Fairy Lore and Folktales (pt1) (Patreon)

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It takes about fifteen minutes of frantic, confused activity to assemble everything. Lloyd and his mother clear the table, while his dad and Ian set out the laundry list of supplies:

A branch from the neighbour’s rowan tree
Four silver spoons
An assortment of berries and flowers,
daisies, holly and marsh marigolds
Some crusts of yeast-risen bread
A saucer of cream
A salt shaker.
Some sprouted garlic.

They searched for a four-leaf clover, but no such luck.

There was more on the list, but this was as good a start as any. Lloyd circles around the little pile of curiosities on the table - sticks and oddments and plant clippings, each with their own scents and sights and savours.  His antennae busy themselves taking all this in as they stretched into the open kitchen air.

He’d let his hood down to give them a chance to breathe.  Maybe it was just because he was new to having them, but they had already begun to ache in the same way his wings did after a long day being bound.

Even so, they reflected his bubbling curiosity.
"...just think, we might have already discovered some of these things if I’d been more interested in botany."

His father thoughtfully taps a pen on a notebook.  "Well that might be for the best. Can you imagine if your great passion in life was gardening, only to have the marigolds jolt you like a person-sized bug zapper?"

Lloyd's antennae flick, and he snickers.
"... I dunno.  But I can say it would be an airtight excuse to get out of weeding.”
Absently he takes one of a stray spoon and sets it with the others, straightening the four into a tidy row.  “Which one do we want to start with?"

Ian looks warily from Lloyd to Mrs Morgan. "Not for nothing, like, I love the enthusiasm... but you seem a little too excited about us poking and prodding and burning you."

Mrs Morgan nods firmly, and she touches Ian’s shoulder. "Thank you...Ian, wasn’t it? You’re quite correct. Let’s take it slow Lloyd.  Just a few to start.  All we’re looking for is a way to protect you."

Lloyd looks up and smiles  - not his usual hesitant expression, but an excited, eager grin.

"Mum, come on. Aren't you at least a little curious? I mean, this is crazy, innit? An actual scientific experiment about folklore. We get to find out how many of these stories are actually true!"

Lloyd rolls up his sleeve and reaches eagerly for the glittering pile.  In response, Mrs Morgan sucks in a breath. "Just one at a time! Let's cut down on the variables!  Any one of these could burn you like iron… or worse."

Lloyd pulls his hand back, grinning sheepishly.

"S-sorry. Sorry.
Let's start with the first thing on the list: the rowan branch."

“In the stories, having a rowan branch on your threshold would let you safely watch a fairy procession from inside your house.”

“Not that… there have been many fairy processions in modern times.”

Mindful of his mother, he again reaches for the branch. Gingerly at first, then with more confidence, he takes the hefty branch in both hands and lifts it off the table.  The leaves, still green and feathery, shiver with the effort as clusters of red-orange berries dangle and bounce.

"Does it feel like anything’s happening?"  His mother asks in a high voice.

His antennae twitch away, waving in different directions as he looks from the branch to the others.  He draws in a breath… having to readjust his grip to keep from dropping it.  It wavers and wobbles, nearly knocking into his mother’s tea.

“It’s a little heavier than I-”  He starts.
Then he stops.  Looks down at his arms.  They’re trembling, swathed in the now oversized hoodie.

Thinner and more willowy than a few hours before.

“...n-never mind.” He mutters, trying to ignore the uncomfortable thought as he drops the branch onto the table with a thunk, knocking some of the spoons and flowers askew. “I don’t think I’m feeling any effect from the rowan tree.  Could we be doing it wrong?”

“Hey, I got an idea,” Ian says.   Before Lloyd can fully turn to look at him, Ian snaps him in the forehead with a flick of his index finger, the sudden sting catching him by surprise.

"Yow!"

Lloyd’s antennae curl up against his head as he rubs at the spot ruefully. He gives Ian an accusing look.
"Prat!  What was that for?"

Ian grins, crossing his arms in self-satisfaction.
"Science, mate. Gotter work out if there’s any protection, innit? That’s what it’s supposed to be good for."

"Well, it’s not going to protect me," Lloyd grumbles.  “If anything it should be concealing you or… or…
something...”

Lloyd notices the spoons, now disarranged, and readjusts them back to their row.

Mr. Morgan frowns, shaking his head and carefully picks the stick back up to lean against the wall.  "We can try it on the threshold later, with you outside and us inside.  But for now, let’s move on." He says, jotting down a note in his book.

“How about these next?”   Ian asks, reaching for a bundle of small purple flowers tucked into burlap satchel, knocking the fourth spoon back out of line.

“Yarrow?”  Lloyd looks, tilting his head in thought, his antennae lifting.  “It’s supposed to repel evil fae… Unseelie. I’m certainly not perfect, but I doubt I count as evil.”

“Even so, let’s see what happens.”

Lloyd says, taking the little bag from Ian and resting it on the table.   He looks apprehensively at the flowers.   Something about them did feel a bit offputting, even just looking at them.

Mrs Morgan notices him hesitating, and chimes in “Lloyd, are you alright?" sucking in a little nervous breath.

Lloyd shakes his head, easing his fingers into the bag.
"I’m fine, let’s just-

“KYAAA!!”
...Lloyd yanks it out again and practically jumps away, making a face as he does.

“LLOYD!”  Mrs Morgan cries out, reaching for him “Are you hurt?
What happened?”

Lloyd shivers, shaking his hand furtively like he’s trying to get something off of it.  After a moment, he stops and looks urgently over it, front and back.

"It was like… spiders. Like they were crawling up my arm or-
You don’t see anything on me, do you?   I don’t see anything.”

He holds out his hand for inspection, and his mother quickly looks it over, biting at her lip.

“No… no, I don’t see anything Lloyd.   You … you seem fine to me.”

“... alright.”  He says,  eyeing the flowers resentfully.
“I… guess it could have been worse.   It didn’t hurt or anything.”

Mr Morgan’s voice cuts in softly.
“Lloyd, why are you holding that?”

“Holding what?  I-”

Lloyd looks at his hand.  Sure enough, in his off hand he’s clutching something.   One of the silver spoons.  He glances at the table.

It’s the one that had been knocked askew when Ian reached for the Yarrow.

"Huh?" Lloyd looks down. "I guess I was just… straightening these up?"

Ian follows his gaze, then a glint flashed in his eyes."Wait, wait, wait." Ian chuckles, sweeping the rest of the spoons into his hand. He plucks the fourth out of Lloyd’s hands.

“Hey!  What are you-”

“Just watch,”   Ian says.   He looks Lloyd dead in the eye, holds the spoons out, and drops them on the linoleum letting them clatter and bounce in every which way.

"Hrgh - "  Lloyd flinches as they scatter.   Sniffing huffily, Lloyd kneels and begins collecting the spoons and stuffing them into his grip.  "Watch what?  You make a mess?"

"Lloyd, stop!”
His mother’s voice rings out.
“Stop picking up spoons!"

“What?  Why?   I’m just-”

She frowns, looking suspiciously at him. “No, I understand love.
But I also see what Ian is getting at... are you…
Are you capable of stopping yourself?  Is this… are you being compelled?"

Lloyd looks up, incredulous.
"Can I stop?  Of course I can! I'm not - huh?"

Like a worker bee going about its business, his hand moves free of his control, going for the last spoon.   He goes to try and grab hold of it but his other hand won’t release the other three.  Panicked, he throws himself backwards.

Half horrified, he watches as his free hand still grasps towards the remaining spoon.

A bead of sweat runs down his nose.

"...um… I seem to be in a bit of a situation..."

Mr Morgan is scribbling furiously on the notepad as Ian barely keeps from bursting into laughter.

"You’re a right crab, you are." He grins.  Crouching down, Ian plucks up the last spoon and drops it into Lloyd’s hand, which snatches it greedily and holds it to the others. "Feel better?"

Lloyd clutches the last spoon to himself, sniffing indignantly.

"...yes."

He stands up and sets the spoons down on the table. Carefully.
One, two, three, four; all in a line.

Lloyd steps back.   His face scarlet with embarrassment.
“... Can we just… forget that happened.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of little bird.” Mrs Morgan chimes, gently placing a hand on Lloyd’s shoulder and squeezing.   “This is good.   We worked out something useful.

“Oh!”  Lloyd chimes, surprised.  “Oh that’s true!
The heat in his face cooling.  “We… at the very least we can use that as a distraction.”

He breathes out, recentering himself, then turns his attention back to the table.
“So what's next?"

“What say we find out what seasoned moth tastes like?” Ian grins, emerging behind Lloyd.

Ian, saltshaker in hand, tries to ‘salt’ the little moth.  Lloyd waves his hand and ducks out of the way, his antennae waggle back and forth, trying to avoid the granules.

“Don’t you dare!”  He says with a laugh as he dodges to the far corner of the kitchen.  He can’t keep a nervous giggle from escaping him.   There it was again, that other person’s laughter.   Even so, he feels his ears burn and heart speed up as Ian playfully looms closer, holding the salt shaker with mock menace.

Mrs Morgan plucks the shaker out of Ian’s hand.
“Very funny Ian.   I don’t believe that’s how you use it though.”
She holds the shaker thoughtfully, weighing it in her hand.

“Salt has been considered especially important in religious practices throughout the world, not just in Celtic folklore. It's supposed to be cleansing.   Used for purification.  Many cultures believe it had protective properties and would line their doorways and windowsills with it.”

She tilts it back and forth thoughtfully, watching the granules slide behind the glass.

"Something to guard against or ward away evil."

She uncaps the salt, then carefully shakes out a small trail,  emptying the container across the exit to the hall. Satisfied, she nods to herself, then beckons to Lloyd with her free arm.

"Love, if you would. Take a step over that line."

Lloyd gets out of his chair, walking carefully over to the line of salt. He eyes it suspiciously, brushing the last crystals out of his hair and eyebrows.

Slowly, he lifts a foot.

Then pauses, stopped in midair over the white line.
It's like he's pressing against a solid wall.

Lloyd frowns, pushing his hands against the invisible barrier.
"It's...I can't!"

His eyes widen and he drops back, beaming in excitement.

"I... can't pass it!"

His mother claps her hands, holding up the container of salt triumphantly. A sudden gleam of elation flashes through her eyes.

"Cheers everyone.
We just found exactly what we were looking for!"


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