Of Slippers and Enchantment

Warnings: Talk of death and disappearances

Once Upon a Time, hidden within the rolling hills of Ireland lived a king and his twelve daughters. Years ago, his queen had run off with the fairies, slipping through a hole in reality to the realm in which all light landed. The King searched for her, visiting places in which old maps drew dragons and looking in forests which he knew like the halls in his palace. Eventually, he gave up, angry, sad, and hopeless he rode back to the palace on a horse whose white coat had turned a defeated gray. His anger rose above his conflicting emotions, causing him to order all the fairy circles to be destroyed and all the fey trees to be pulled out from the roots and fashioned into an enormous wardrobe for his twelve daughters to store their lustrous dresses. Though his advisors begged him to take back the order for fear the fairies would curse the land, he did not. A stone of hatred had settled in his heart, and he was determined to no longer have dealings with the fey. No more milk and honey would be set outside the palace gates as a peace offering for the fair folk. No more would strange lights in the woods go uninvestigated. No more would the King and the fey live in harmony, allowing each other into their lives. The King vowed that the fey would be barred from his kingdom forever. But, as all those who inhabit the hills of Ireland know, you can never really say goodbye to the fey, for they are a part of you; they live in the graveyards, the waters, and the trees. They weave the strings of fate and appear as omens to lonely wanderers. They are everywhere and nowhere. The fey are not only creatures that fly about on wings, nor only pointed-eared elves capable of forest magic. The fey in Ireland are both the spritely fairies of children’s books and also the banshees, ghosts, leprechauns, kelpies, and other tales from nightmares and daydreams.

The fairies cried the day they were driven from their earthly homes, they cried so much that each spot in which a home of theirs had been decimated a small lake formed. It was said that a tablespoon of water from spots like these would either give you eternal life or kill you where you stood, so is the magic of the fey, both beautiful and dangerous. So, the land lost its fairies. Some say they died, others said the king kept them in the dungeons locked away from the world so no one would suffer the same fate as his wife; but most knew that the fey were where the queen had gone, to that place where the light lands, a land of the fey that only those who are not looking can find. But there was another way to the fair folk’s domain, whispered by the old women who rocked by the fires in the evenings. They would smile and shake their withered heads, tapping their noses when the young children asked. After much pestering, the women would smile and look towards the palace:

“I will only say this: the fair folk are connected to the land, and where the land goes, the fey goes.”

None of these evening whispers reached the ears of the king, withdrawn was he from his people, leaving much of the ruling to his advisors, choosing instead to help with the education of his twelve daughters. The girls were lovely, curious, kind, malicious when they wanted to be, and loyal only to each other. The king basked in their company, taking pride and joy in their willingness to learn and their green eyes that sparkled when they laughed, so much like their mother’s. Each daughter grew older, and like the muses, they were each drawn to a special talent: Fiadh Rose had a penchant for poetry, Acanthus developed a love for art, Iris for correspondence, Belle Blath for running, Honeysuckle for faith and holy scriptures, Rudbeckia Hirta for law, Daisy for courting and Aphrodite’s secrets, Begonia for ghost stories, Edelweiss for war strategies, Sage for advice and wisdom from beyond her years, Hydrangea for listening, and Clematis for reading. As diversely talented as the sisters were, they were all exceptional dancers. They danced whenever they could, occasionally causing havoc in the great hall with their spins and leaps. The girls loved dancing so much that the king commissioned beautiful dancing slippers for each of them, made of the finest material in the kingdom. The girls loved their shoes and took careful care of them, lining them up in a neat row in front of their beds each night.

Then, one fateful morning, a lady in waiting entered the princesses’ bedroom to awaken them, when she tripped upon something small and oddly shaped. She bent down to pick up the object and nearly dropped the candle she held. For in her hand, she held a worn-out dance slipper. The shoe was barely held together, the jewels and beads that had once decorated the evergreen slipper had all but fallen off and the wooden heel was little more than a stump. The lady in waiting wondered how the slippers, adored by the princesses, were suddenly in shambles and strewn across the floor instead of in their proper order. The lady in waiting slipped out to inform the king of her discovery. The king dismissed her, thinking that they had been worn out naturally, for it had been a year since he had purchased the slippers for his daughters. More slippers were made for the princesses and all was well. Until the next morning, when, yet again, the lady in waiting discovered that the princesses’ slippers had been worn down as though they had been dancing all night. When the king heard, he was befuddled and ordered more slippers for his daughters. When he tried asking them about the slippers, they pretended not to know of what he spoke. On the third night, the king ordered the princesses’ bedroom door to be locked and two guards positioned outside of it. The next morning, the guards reported they had seen and heard nothing the night before. The king was pleased and went to rouse his daughters, but no sooner had he entered the room than he saw the ruined slippers strewn across the floor of the princesses’ bedroom. In desperation to uncover how the slippers, new in the morning, became scraps of fabric and wood at night; the king questioned his daughters individually starting with Fiadh Rose.

Fiadh Rose told her father, again, that she knew not of what he spoke, and thanked him for the new dancing slippers. Acanthus gave a similar response, as did Iris and Belle Blath. The youngest looked him dead in the eyes and said only:

“Dancing is our freedom father, and we have found a place in which we are free.”

The guards claimed to have heard and seen nothing, and, yet the girls’ dancing slippers were danced to stumps. This continued for a month until the king could take no more and sent out a message to kingdoms far and wide proclaiming that whoever could figure out the secret of the worn-out slippers in four days-time could marry one of his daughters. Men and women came from far and wide, confident in their ability to solve the secret of the worn-out dancing slippers. But by and by they all failed. He couldn’t understand how, every night, stationed outside the princesses’ door the finest men and women, renowned in the land for their leadership and high status and praised among their peers, could never stay awake long enough to hear twelve teenage girls slip out to dance. The king was becoming worn down with visitors. Every prince, princess, queen, and king that came knocking on the gates began to look the same; they all dressed in silks, jewels, and carried carts of luggage as though they expected to stay for longer than their allotted time frame. This cycle continued for two months.

Until one day, a villager in a thick black hood knocked upon the palace gates. The guards stopped the hooded figure.

“Who goes there?”

“Val Claymond.”

“What is your business here?”

“I wish to see the king about the slippers”

The villager was of medium build and had muddied boots, not like any noble person the palace guards had seen in the months prior, but the king was desperate, and so they let Val through the iron gates. Once inside, Val knelt before the king and said:

“I will allow your head to rest peacefully, for on the fourth day of my visit I will have solved the mystery you so desperately need to be answered.”

The king had heard words of this nature before, from those nobler than Val, and so he simply waved a hand for Val to be escorted to a spare bedroom beside the princesses’ room.

At supper time, Val dined with the princesses and the king. Upon sitting, Val noticed the numerous forks and spoons of various shapes and sizes that were, according to the princesses, each for different dishes. He tried to follow along with them, copying their movements, but eventually decided to stick with one fork, knife, and spoon. Despite his clumsy manner, old clothes, and the dirty looks he was given from the footmen and a few of her sisters, Clematis had a fondness for Val she hadn’t for the nobles that visited before him. He had the friendly eyes her mother did in portraits, and he didn’t grill them or act aloof, as though she and her sisters were just mysteries to solve for diplomacy. She liked the way Val’s hair stuck up on its own accord and the unashamed manner in which he gobbled down his food.

Val had never seen so much food in his life and wondered if the royal family ate like this every night. Val grabbed a roll and smeared it with butter. He felt someone looking at him and glanced up shyly. He made eye contact with Clematis and she gave him a smile. Val blushed and set down his roll, suddenly becoming aware of how many platefuls of food he’d consumed when he’d thought no one was paying attention. Val appreciated Clematis’ kindness, and she was quickly becoming his favorite, especially when he’d seen her try to smuggle a book to the dinner table before Daisy made her put it back; but the extra attention made him realize just how out of place he really was in the massive palace.

After supper, Val followed close behind the princesses, who clustered together, whispering to each other. Val tried desperately to hear what they were saying but could only catch the sound of their laughter. Clematis turned to look back at him, lagging behind her sisters for a second before Edelweiss pulled her back. The princesses retired to their bedroom, while Val waited for the guards to station him outside of the princesses’ door.

Val did not know what the princesses did to wear out their dancing shoes each and every night, but Val knew how to find out. Val’s grandmother had come to Val when word of the princesses’ worn-out slippers had reached the kingdom.

“The fey are seeking their vengeance,” Val’s grandmother said quietly as they sat by the fire one dreary night.

“What do you mean?” Val asked, not expecting an answer, for grandmother often talked in such ways.

Grandmother chuckled, ignoring Val’s question. “Go to the palace in two months of this meeting and take these six cakes and three tarts with you,” Grandmother handed Val six, small, pearl-white cakes and three circular tarts with purple jelly peeking out their centers. Three of the small cakes were shaped into the circle of the moon, three were shaped into the rays of the sun. “These cakes will show you what those princesses are up to.”

“And the tarts?”

Grandmother smiled knowingly. “The tarts will keep you from falling asleep.”

“But why wait so long grandmother,” Val knelt before her. “The king did a bad thing driving out the fair folk, but he is kind in spirit and treats us well. Why not tell him what you know?”

Grandmother chuckled again, unmoved by Val’s words. “Child, you know not of the fair folk as I do. Let them have their fun,” Grandmother’s voice turned serious for a beat and looked deeply into Val’s eyes. “Do not meddle in the affairs of the fey, their vengeance does not concern us. Besides, the king placed his own personal grief before the welfare of the kingdom. It’s a good thing we set out honey and milk each night for the wandering fair creature or else our land would be cursed, and then how would he feed all the royals he’s invited to solve the puzzle of the princesses, eh?” Val nodded, despite the kindness of the king, he had so easily dismissed the importance of the fey to not only himself but also, to the people of his lands. “Once the clock strikes midnight, eat a tart. Then consume one of the sun cakes as your foot passes above the threshold of the princesses’ door. This will guide you to the realm of the fey. Once you have entered the realm of the fey consume the moon cake. This will allow for you to move unseen within the world of the fair folk and make sure you do not fall prey to the wildness of their realm. These cakes will not stale, but you must keep them safe until they are ready to be used.” Grandmother pressed the cakes and tarts into Val’s open palms and smiled warmly.

Val unwrapped the cakes and tarts delicately, they were not stale, just as grandmother had promised. Val was seated outside the princesses’ door. He had finished the tea Clematis gave him half an hour ago and was beginning to feel sleepy. He wondered if she had slipped something into the drink. She had looked quite guilty handing him the delicate teacup and refused to meet his gaze. He eyed the grandfather clock standing down the hall. It shouldn’t be long now, he thought to himself. As if on cue, the clock chimed midnight and Val popped the tart into his mouth, tasting the sweet jelly on his tongue. A burst of energy coursed through his veins and he stood up, ready for action. He opened the princesses’ door, careful not to make a single shred of sound. Val stepped through and into the sleeping chamber, eating the sun cake as the sole of his shoe hovered above the threshold. Suddenly, the room was filled with a great light from the princesses’ large fey-wood closet, illuminating the foot of Clematis as she hopped through the glowing entranceway and disappeared. Val quickly stepped into the open closet, popping a moon cake into his mouth as he went.

Val stumbled into a forest made entirely of bronze, the sight took his breath away, never had Val seen something so beautiful. Clematis turned sharply, having heard a footfall and an intake of breath, but seeing no one, she took it for the wind. Val waited for the princesses to walk far enough away so he could quietly pull a leaf from a bronze tree before hurrying along the path after the princesses. Next, the princesses came to a forest more beautiful than the last. The forest was made entirely of silver, it sparkled like freshly fallen snow and Val almost lost the princesses gazing at the tall, slender, silver branches. The third path the princesses traversed was the most beautiful of all and made entirely of gold. The princesses came to the end of the path and began getting into boats manned by fey creatures, each more bewitching and enchanting than the last. Val was so mesmerized by the feyish rowers he almost missed boarding the small ships and only just managed to slip into the boat in which Clematis was seated. Unaware of the extra passenger, Clematis wondered aloud why they were falling behind her sisters.

Once half an hour had passed, Clematis and her fey rower, who had the head of a golden phoenix and the lithe body of a tree nymph, with birch tree skin that peeled delicately around her neck where shining feathers began to protrude, exited the boat and entered a makeshift dance hall in the middle of a clearing. The clearing was surrounded by old, knotted trees and lit by lanterns made of pure light. The fair folk danced and sang in a large fairy circle. The princesses joined the fray while Val watched from the sidelines, taking in the wondrous beauty of the place, the silky gowns, the dazzling diamonds, and the luscious green grass. Val could feel the pull of the fey’s music, like a primal tug on his heart. He willed his feet to stay firmly planted in the ground, though he understood why the princesses, with all their shoes, and jewels, and dresses danced with the fey. They may have all the riches in the world, but they had none of the freedom. Here, in the land of the fey, their father’s oppressive rules, sadness, and fear could not reach them. For here they were free. He finally felt as though he was at home with the sisters, for the wonder and love of the fey realm was something everyone could share in.

The princesses danced for hours until Acanthus picked up her shoe, which had flown off during the last dance, and inspected it. Seeing that it was ground down to a nub, and noticing the golden tinge of the sky above, she motioned to her sisters. As if on cue, her sisters lined up in order of age, and their dance partners escorted them back to the golden forest, with the unseen Val in tow.

The next morning, the shoes were again worn out, but this time, Val knew why. That night, Val followed the princesses once again, this time taking a leaf from the silver forest. Val must have made a noise with his movements for Clematis tugged on the lace sleeve of Honeysuckle’s golden gown, asking if she’d heard anything.

“Clematis, you are still so nervous entering the fey realm, have faith,” Honeysuckle chuckled, looping her arm through her sister’s. “You know, mother loved the fey. She used to tell me bedtime stories about feyish princes performing noble deeds for the fairy queen.”

“Really?” Clematis asked. “Father has always said- “

“Ugh, is Clematis worrying the fey will fairy her away as they did mother?” Belle Blath sighed, exasperatedly taking Clematis’ free hand in hers and hurrying the other two into a brisk skip, which Val had to mimic just to keep in earshot. “If you ask me,” Belle Blath continued her breath even from her near-constant running morning, noon, and night. “You’ve been listening to too many of fathers’ horror stories about the fey. You love to read Clematis, and you know where to find all the feyish books in our library. You ought to know better than to listen to a fearful old man.”

“That fearful old man is our father,” Honeysuckle scolded Belle Blath. “And you know he is only so scared because he is so worried, we will leave like mother.”

Belle Blath shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“Why…did…the fey…take mother?” Asked Clematis, slightly out of breath from the skipping.

“Because the fey believe human meat tastes the best,” Begonia interjected, bending backward to look at Clematis.

Belle Blath swatted at Begonia, stopping her skipping. “You know Clematis barely remembers mother and has only grown-up hearing father’s horror tales of the fey,” Belle Blath reprimanded Begonia. “So, the other realm can be a place of fear for her, try not to make that worse.”

Begonia sighed. “Oh, Belle, I am only teasing, she knows. Besides, the fey would have never taken mother. She chose to go.”

Nothing was said after Begonia spoke, though the girls did not appear distraught, only lost in melancholy contemplation as though the idea that their mother had chosen her own fate had been accepted long ago. Val felt for Clematis, only remembering his grandmother, Val longed for knowledge and memories of his own parents. It was no wonder she clung to what her father said, for he was the one closest to their mother’s heart.

The group continued onwards, once again boarding the ships manned by spectacular looking fey, and once again dancing until their shoes split apart and the heels were ground down to nubs. On the third and final night, Val took a leaf from the golden forest, realizing he had all the proof he needed, Val bid the fey realm a silent goodbye, knowing he would see its occupants again, if only in his most vivid nightmares and wonderful dreams.

The next morning, the king awoke and asked Val hopelessly if he knew why his daughters’ shoes were worn out each night. Val told the king what he had seen and showed him the three leaves from each forest.

“Of all the nobles in the land, to think that the one to put my mind at ease was right under my nose.” The king chuckled and shook his head. Val gave a small smile. No one was closer to the fey than his own people.

The king was both relieved that the mystery had been solved but also felt betrayed and sorrowful. It seems that appearance was not the only way in which his daughters were like their mother. They too had betrayed him for the fair folk and drew new blood from a wound in his heart that had never truly healed. The king ordered for the planning of a wedding between Clematis, whom Val had chosen to marry, and Val. The king privately ordered the palace guards to destroy the princesses’ wardrobe at dawn the next morning. The king then called his daughters to him with tears in his eyes.

“Why?” He asked them, looking each of his daughters in the eye, one by one. “Did you leave me for the fey? Are you under their spell?”

“Father,” Sage touched his arm gently. “We love you with all our hearts, but your anger and bitterness towards the fey is unjust.”

“You promised to protect the land and its people,” Rudbeckia Hirta added.

“The fey are part of the land, they are part of every persons’ life within this kingdom,” Iris continued. “The people need the fey as much as the fey need the people.”

“When you angered them and forced their departure, they sought vengeance through us,” Edelweiss explained.

“We adore dancing with the fey father, please let us continue,” Daisy begged.

Hydrangea could see her father’s fear rising like a tide within his eyes. She took his hand gently within hers. “We understand your pain. We miss mother every day, but when we dance with the fey, we feel her presence, and we feel a freedom your sadness would not allow. The fey’s vengeance is that of your own making. You are tortured at the possibility of us choosing the fey as our mother did, but we can have both if only you would listen. Please, do not let your own sadness corrupt your kindness and empathy. I know you fear for us, but fear has no reason and no courage, and it only breeds mistrust and isolation.”

The king’s head fell in his hands and he sobbed, he sobbed for the love of his wife, the pride he felt for his dancing daughters, and the deep ache of betrayal, hatred, and sadness within himself. The king’s daughters gathered around him, holding their weeping father.

The next morning, Clematis and Val were wed, and the king announced that no longer would the fey be banned from the land. The king sent his knights to restore what they could of the fairy rings and the other sacred fairy landmarks that had been destroyed. The king also allowed his daughters to keep the wardrobe built of fairy trees within their room. They were so delighted they promised him they would only use it twice a month and on special occasions.

Since it was Clematis’ wedding night, she and her eleven sisters paid a visit to the fairy realm. Clematis kissed Val and hugged her father before stepping into the wardrobe to follow her sisters. The two men stood side by side in silence, each knowing they could follow them, but both realizing it was not their place.

“Ahem, your majesty,” Val cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Will you honor me with your company for an hour? I have something to show you.”

The king nodded, his curiosity peaking. His heart still ached for his wife, and his daughters, but it was an ache that could be healed given time and attention. Val and the king road across the land on gallant horseback until they reached Val’s cottage. Val put the horses in his run-down stable, where his irritable donkey eyed the larger creatures suspiciously. Val told the king to wait outside while he retrieved something from his cottage. He returned shortly with two small, elegant bowls filled with milk and honey. He handed one to the king and clutched the other between chilled fingertips. The king followed Val in silence along a moss-covered path. The path was painted in moonlight and the trees seemed to form an archway above them. Soon the king heard ethereal singing and something deep within him longed to sway in time with the song. Suddenly, the pathway opened into a small clearing. The king froze, for before him were tiny creatures flying, singing, and dancing in fine silks made from spider webs. Their skin glowed as though they were moonbeams. Val approached the central ring of dancing fairies and they parted for him as though they were used to his visits. He laid the milk in the center of the fairy ring and exited the circle. The fairies paused their dancing momentarily to partake in the milk and honey. After they finished, they continued to dance with renewed vigor.

“It’s your turn,” Val whispered to the king.

The king nodded and approached the dancing fairies with trembling hands. The music stopped suddenly, and all the fairies turned towards the shivering king. The eerie stillness hung in the air as a small fairy dressed in a long spider-web gown approached the king’s bowl. She hovered above it, staring at him until he whispered:

“You are welcome in this land, please take this humble offering of my dearest affections.”

The small fairy dipped her hand into the milk and honey, the substance clung to her fingertips and she brought it to her small lips. She stuck out her tongue, tasting it delicately, then she flitted away. One by one, each fairy present took part in the milk and honey presented by the king. When the last drop was consumed the fairies resumed their dancing and the king’s heart felt lighter than it had in a very long time.

The fey were back and fear was banished.

The End.