Dahrke: A Short Story about Fairies

Her hands grazed the tops of that Spring’s gifts. It may have comforted her, but for the thorns here and there and brambles that clung to her already scarred hands. She fell to the earth on her knees, grasping the soil, wishing some sort of pity from it. Her view of what was once to her a perfect world became blurred, not only because of her tears, but also because Merry had touched something far more complicated, yet far more wonderful than any other ten-year-old girl could imagine. Merry met fairies. And they were nothing like what anyone would believe.

An owl hooted outside Merry’s window, and the girl’s green eyes turned toward the darkness of the night. She had been awake for a while now, unmoving and huddled beneath her simple cotton blanket. A breath was finally released, and Merry sat up, swung her legs over the side of her bed and stood up. Her white nightgown clung to her, wet with sweat, her dark hair tangled and messy, yet Merry seemed oblivious to all this except the cold wind that embraced her body. She grabbed a cloak and softly stepped out of her room, then outside, then glided her way behind her house into the woods.
I wonder why people don’t like the dark? It’s so beautiful.
Merry’s feet took her along a makeshift trail. She admired all that she passed and welcomed it, pushing her nightmares away. At last she came to a stream and lowered herself next to a tree. The night air pressed down on her, enveloping her in a cocoon of its crisp, cool smell. Grass, or something, tickled her bare feet, and an unearthly sleep swept away Merry’s mind. The little shadow under her produced a muffled laugh.


Kehlan wiped the blood and herb mixture off the tip of his blade, his slanted eyes gleaming with anxiety for a human to bring to Dahrke. His thin, gleaming wings lifted him up to the face of Merry. He looked at her, gazing with quite wonder.
She is a beautiful human.
Kehlan had never met any being with such pink cheeks, such soft hair, and long, full eyelashes. He extended his arm and touched her skin, surprisingly smooth. All the female fairies at his forest had black hair, blacker eyes, and dark skin, such a contrast to the little human. He drew a breath.
“Come, girl,” spoke Kehlan, as he drove the tiny spear in his hand into the girl’s neck. Merry awoke and grabbed her neck, yelping with pain until she set eyes on Kehlan. He held her gaze, allowing her to enter into a trance. The girl’s eyes misted and she arose and followed the shadow with wings into captivity.

“Excellent, Kehlan,” whispered Dahrke, resting in a branch of an oak tree, chiseled and smoothed to fit him perfectly.
“Do you wish me to put her—“
“Lock her up. Bring her out when we Gather,” spoke Dahrke.
Kehlan led Merry away without emotion. The girl was slowly regaining consciousness and making feeble efforts to stray toward home. Yet even these feeble efforts made it hard for Kehlan, as he was not even a fourth of the girl’s height. He tugged her hair, then flew around poked her back lightly with the tip of his spear, just enough for Merry to jump forward and fall into a hole underground.

Merry opened her eyes, blinking rapidly to clear them. The ground she sat upon was slightly damp. Her head rested on a sod wall, and as she brought it forward to look closer at her surroundings the pain in her neck reawakened, forcing her to lie back. She breathed deeply, trying to understand where she was; and, having no logical conclusion come to mind, Merry decided she was having a dream. So, she arose, now bracing herself against the expected the jolt of pain in her neck, and looked around. However upon seeing nothing other than sod walls shaped like an upside-down bowl, Merry returned cross-legged to the floor.
“Do you like your resting place, little human? Comfy, yes?” came a voice behind the child.
Merry jumped and turned her head toward the sound, the backed up, horrified.
She saw what she considered the cruelest face upon a tiny body, with black, flimsy wings that sputtered sporadically up and down, then side to side. The sharp face had a deep complexion with a hint of green toward the ears, which curved then pointed toward the crown of the head. The head was covered with black curls, almost like a human could have, but they, too, contained a green tinge toward the base. His eyebrows were straight, his eyes somewhat slanted and the eyeball completely black—more as a marble than an eye, for it contained not even the smallest tinge of white. The lips were full, and again slightly greener than the skin. In all, this creature Merry came to assume was a fairy was not ugly, but it wore such a sarcastic glare, such a pleased twist of the mouth, that all Merry could think about was getting away. This was not the kind of fairy she heard about in stories, not the kind she read about in books. As happens recurrently in dreams, Merry forgot she “thought” she was dreaming and accepted the moment as reality. And yet, there was no place Merry saw that she could run, so she huddled against the wall, trembling. The creature’s features softened slightly.
“I’m not going to hurt you, little human,” muttered the fairy.
“My name is Merry,” the girl whispered, with a hint of anger.
“Pleasure, Merry,” spoke the fairy with some disdain. Then he paused, perhaps considering his tone and continued, “I am called Kehlan. I captured you.”
The girl remained silent.
“You are my first capture for Dahrke.”
The girl flinched.
Kehlan shifted then announced, “Well, I will bring you out to the others in a while. For now, try to rest if you like.”
Kehlan looked at Merry once again, then jumped and flew into a small hole in the roof of the little room that Merry had not seen.
The girl cried silent tears.

Merry looked up at the sky as she was led away from the little sod room by a rope with thorns intertwined. Part of the ceiling had been lifted away, and she was pulled up by four fairies. It may have been an amazing feeling, but Merry’s mind was elsewhere, and even so, it was slightly uncomfortable. She looked at the path now ahead of her that led to the same river that bordered the tree at which she fell asleep. Amidst the trees were more fairies, similar to Kehlan. Yet when she looked up into the trees, she saw one that was slightly larger than the rest—it was about half her height, with long, straight, black hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. The eyebrows on this fairy slanted upward, yet the eyes, penetrating and solid, were the same. Merry assumed this was Dahrke. He nodded to Merry as she approached.
“Welcome, human,” spoke his voice, not very deep, but with somewhat of a brassy tone, “I suppose you know why you are here.”
“Not exactly,” said Merry, and as the fairies first heard the human’s voice, soft and quite, they stared, some with amazement, some with pure hate. The fairy in the tree laughed sadistically, along with others perched beside him on the tree.
“I would have thought Kehlan would have told you. No? Kehlan, tell her now,” he nodded at Kehlan.
“I will leave the honor to you, Sir,” replied Kehlan with a wicked glance toward Merry. Dahrke looked amused, but agreed. He flew off his branch and close to Merry’s face, his dark wings reflecting the moon above into the girl’s eyes. He began to speak.
“A long time ago, the first Dahrke leader began a tradition. When the Hunter’s Moon is full in the sky,” he paused, and seeing Merry’s look of confusion, continued, “That would be the full moon of your, ah, November? Yes, he moon you see in the sky is that moon. At that time, each family of the Dahrke fairies was to bring one drop of human blood, to give to the river. Human blood calms the river fairies, who would otherwise attack when the chill of winter comes. This used to be easier, as humans would walk the forests often, yet now we have had to travel farther and farther to bring back our drops of blood. However, you are here tonight, and now we can save our blood for next winter. You should be thankful to the first Dahrke leader, though, because the blood must come from a different human every year. Otherwise, we would never have to worry about gathering blood if we had you to stay with us.”
With this, Dahrke smirked and, while Merry was staring at his cruel, deep eyes, he sliced the top of her hand. Merry dropped to the ground, clenching her hand, and screamed. This scream of pain brought others of joy, for the fairies of Dahrke love to hear suffering. They leapt from branch to branch, shrieking and calling out to the moon. Dahrke dropped his blood into the river. Ten fairies surrounded Merry next, then flocked to her, slicing her arms, legs, neck, anywhere they could reach. All the while, more fairies flocked to the child, while the women and children fluttered around, singing and dancing with glee. Merry’s screams continued, tears poured down her cheeks as blood stained her nightgown. She kicked and blindly flung her arms about, which only allowed fairies easier access to her blood. Then, one by one, they flew to the lake, and fewer fairies flocked to her, until the last one sliced her hand and left. Merry lay on the forest floor, exhausted and broken. Then she turned over onto her back, and looked up at the night sky, which was empty. A leaf cracked beside her and she turned her stained face. Kehlan approached. He dropped a flower into her hand; it was pure white.
“Thank you, Merry. We don’t deserve it, but you saved us,” Kehlan whispered, then stepped back, and more forcefully commanded, “Go home, Merry. Go home.”

Months have passed since Merry’s encounter. Each day, the memories of the fairies of Dahrke, her sod prison, her sacrifice, and everything else in that forest slip farther and farther away, as other trials emerge into her life—trials that require her attention and can’t have fairy tales getting in the way. She often wonders whether that night was really reality, then she glances at her hands to remind herself how it definitely was, no matter how terrible and beautiful. As she walks through the fields surrounding her house, Merry’s mind drifts back to the forest and the stream within. She glances at her hands, counting the scars, and realizes that both the pain and discipline afterwards for “running away” was worth it—because Merry now had something that no one else she knew had; something she could hold on to and never let go of; something special; something all hers. Merry had met fairies.