The Understory (37 page)

“You’re back to where you started,” he said in his unhurried way. “You’ve come full circle. And you’re a fairy, by the way. An eventide fairy, in charge of bringing light to those who fear the dark.” He blinked slowly. “Didn’t you notice the wings jutting out your back?”

“Fairy?!” I said, much too loud, and then adjusted my volume. “Fairy?! I can’t be a fairy. I have a soccer game tomorrow. And I just got a great new pair of jeans. I need to change back—”

“No,” he said. “You wanted to fly, to be three years older, and to not be afraid of the dark.”

“Am I three years older?” I smiled, thinking about the cute earrings Dad said I could wear when I was eleven.

“Not yet, but climb up here before the Fierce One decides he has an appetite for fairies,” he said, unfurling his tail so I could climb on. After he hoisted me up to his branch, I scurried off his tail onto the bark, careful not to fall. “Now jump,” he said with resolve.

“Are you crazy?” I yelled back. “Splat!” I said, gesturing my interpretation of a fallen fairy hitting the forest floor. “I’ll never get home with broken legs.”

He hung on without even trying. “Trust me,” he said. By now I had wrapped my arms and legs around the branch, hugging it tight. “Letting go is the hardest part,” he said. “It’s the part that requires faith. But if you ever want to find your home, you must.”

If I ever want to find my home?
I loosened my grip a little, but then tightened again as I thought about the fall. Just then, the branch began to move, and when I looked up, I saw why.

“You missed the third riddle,” the Fierce One said, licking a paw as he lounged on a nearby branch, “so you know what that means.” He lifted his head, stared through me, and began to move to where I clung.

“This would be a good time to let go,” the sloth murmured.

I closed my eyes, thought of being in my soft bed, and did what seemed impossible. I let go.

But then, mid-freefall, something tugged at my back, and after being in the air no more than a split-second, I stopped falling, and began to . . . hover. In the corner of my eye, I saw why—iridescent wings fluttered in a slow, easy pattern, and as if I were moving invisible limbs, my brain sent messages to my new appendages to move. I was flying.

The Fierce One growled from the branch above and lashed out in rage, but I flew far from his reach, and soon I was flying in the dark night, carrying my light to illuminate the way. With help from the wind, I stumbled upon a white flower bud made from tightly woven, pearly-white petals. Wanting shelter, I crawled inside, gently lifting one soft petal at a time until I was deep inside, enveloped in a silky-smooth sheath.

Exhausted, I fell asleep.

When I awoke, I found myself in total darkness. My lantern had burnt out, and when I realized I was in the dark, alone, I panicked. Gasping for air, I looked for a way outside, where the bright moon awaited me. But the petals had closed tighter, and each time I tried to pry the petals away from me, they closed in.

By morning, when I could see a hint of sunlight through the opaque petals, I remembered what they’d said, and I knew where I was—first the box, then the moonflower. I was inside the mysterious, night-loving moonflower, and I would be there for a long time.

Day after day, I waited, thinking of the place I used to call home. I gave up fearing the dark, and eventually learned to find comfort in nighttime.

Three years went by as I became one with the darkness. And then, one night, a beam of moonlight snuck through a small opening between the petals. As the light seeped in, the flower opened wider and wider until, finally, I saw the starry sky above me.

And then I smelled the sweetest, most intoxicating (alluring) (pleasant) scent I’d ever laid nose upon. The flower had bloomed by the light of the moon, and I had been released. I looked for my dad, but even if he’d come to rescue me, he wouldn’t recognize me. I was a new person—older, wiser, able to fly on my own.

As soon as I took flight, my lantern lit up, and that’s when I knew I had an important role in my new home, and my new life. I was an eventide fairy. I would bring light to those who needed it. I decided to collect some unlikely souvenirs for my parents, for I would see them again. Sometime. I grabbed a moonflower petal for Mom, in hopes of convincing her I once lived inside a flower so beautiful it had its own soul.

And then I made a secret promise to my dad, that when I learned to fly high enough, I’d bring him a piece of my old, beloved friend, the golden star, and he would finally know, firsthand, the power of the sun. But until then, seeing the same sun as Dad saw hanging in the sky was enough.

And while I was in my new home, for however long, I decided to make every day an adventure. So I hung on to hopes of tomorrow, and let go of yesterday. I think that’s what we’re supposed to do. Life is just a series of knowing when to hang on and when to let go.

Then I did what every parent wants his child to do.

I ate my broccoli. (Kidding!)

I lived happily ever after.

The End.

E
lizabeth Leiknes grew up in rural Iowa and can make thirty-seven different dishes featuring corn. She attended The University of Iowa as an undergrad, and The University of Nevada, Reno for her Masters.

Her previous published novel is
The Sinful Life of Lucy Burns
.
Black-Eyed Susan
,
Future Perfect
, and
Let Them Eat Corn
are works in progress.

The inspiration for
The Understory
came one night while reading her sons a bedtime story about the rainforest.

Elizabeth has a love/hate relationship with great white sharks, and a slight penchant for speaking in hyperbole, which she says she never does.

She now lives near Lake Tahoe, Nevada, with her husband, and two sons, Hardy and Hatcher. She also teaches English there.