Why not to eat the Faerie fruits
Ever since I was old enough to listen, I had been told that if I found a Faerie tree, I was not to eat its fruit.
Once, I asked my mother why, and she pursed her lips. Finally, she answered.
"Just remember what happened to Georgia."
"What did happen to Georgia?" I asked immediately, eyes wide.
She simply shook her head and turned away.
That was the same answer I got from everyone I asked, except my sister, who just told me to go away. I never did find out why shouldn't I eat the Faerie fruits, or who Georgia was and what happened to her, although I asked everyone I could think of who might know. I came up with many theories; Perhaps the fruit was poisoned, or maybe it enchanted her. Maybe it made her fall asleep, and the faeries took advantage and captured her.
Or maybe-- and this was probably the strangest of my theories-- the fruits were actually the faeries' babies, and nobody likes having their babies eaten. None of these, however, seemed very likely, so I settled for the explanation that the fruit was poisoned.
I grew up, as normal as a girl raised in close proximity to several Faerie mounds can be, and after I turned twelve I decided that the question of the fruit was a silly one and never asked it again.
I should have.
I should have learned why not to eat Faerie fruit, and what a Faerie tree looks like, and most of all what happened to Georgia. But I had made up my mind: I was grown up, and grown up girls should not ask stupid questions.
So, instead of asking stupid questions (which, by the way, really needed asking) I wandered. I never wandered to the same place two days in a row, although I might wander back to a place I'd explored the day before yesterday.
But once, I wandered into a clearing.
This was no big deal; I often wandered into clearings. But this one was...Well, it was full of trees.
Some might hold those two statements to be mutually exclusive.
A clearing full of trees. Odd? You've no idea.
The place was a virtual orchard. It had weird little trees no taller than I was, and I was short. There were teeny, thorny bushes the size of my head, full of tiny blackberries. All around the clearing's edge, fat red grapes hung like earrings on gnarled vines twisted around the everyday, boring trees. There were so many trees-- Little cherry trees that came up to my waist but were five feet across, loaded with glossy blonde cherries. Unfamiliar trees with clusters of orange and red berries. Little three-foot-high trees with thin trunks and spherical tops, bearing huge ruby-red apples bigger than both my fists put together. An apple tree, which I could just see over the top of (the very top was at my eye level), with heart-shaped, snowy-looking apples that were an odd shade of green, nearly white. I walked through the miniature forest, delighting in each and every tree, until the little trees thinned and stopped altogether.
So did I.
The tree in front of me was also short, the bulk being only as tall as I was. But a few errant branches stuck straight up into the air, making it ten feet tall at the highest point.
I laughed. You would have, too- the tree looked a little like it had bedhead.
But the more I looked at it, the less silly it seemed. After a bit, I began to notice how the branches fanned out, gently curving down like a twirling skirt. The trunk was thin, and a sandy, tan colour, splitting into three large branches. It was a little curved, as though when it was first growing it had realised, "Oh, all the sunlight is over there!" and leaned over to get into the sun.
I moved closer to it, and noticed that there were glittering, diaphanous spiderwebs stretched like lace between the curving branches. Some of the branches were bent nearly double with the weight of their load-- and when I looked at that, the memory of glistening spiderwebs and lichen like snowflakes was driven from my mind.
The fruit. They were plums, or something like plums. They were golden and shiny, the side exposed to the sun just beginning to turn orange, while the shaded side still had a few specks of green. The one I first saw was ripe, and nearly translucent with juice.
I touched it, gently, and at that very moment, it parted from the branch and tumbled down to land in my palm. It was warm from the sun.
I held it up to my face to examine it more closely, but the tender skin split under the slight pressure of my fingers and golden juice spilled out over my hand.
What would you have done?
Probably what I did.
I licked my fingers.
It may have been the stupidest thing I ever did.
The fruit wasn't poisoned; I could somehow tell that just from the taste. But it was the best thing I had ever tasted, and a small gloating voice-- the voice of a faerie, I realised with a bizarre surge of insight-- said, right behind me,
"You know this is the best thing you'll ever do."
I whirled around. Four faeries were behind me, watching me with extreme amusement
"No, it's not," I argued. "I want to get married, and raise a family. That is the best thing I'll ever do."
"No, you won't. You'll never do that, because I won't let you. So this is the best thing you'll ever do."
"Shut up," I said.
I spit out the fruit. It tasted bitter now.
I walked out of the clearing. I knew that nothing else I did would really be as good, But I would do it all the same.
Better than just sitting in that clearing forever, or being captured by faeries or whatever happens next, after you eat the faeries' fruit.
But now I know what happened to Georgia.
Once, I asked my mother why, and she pursed her lips. Finally, she answered.
"Just remember what happened to Georgia."
"What did happen to Georgia?" I asked immediately, eyes wide.
She simply shook her head and turned away.
That was the same answer I got from everyone I asked, except my sister, who just told me to go away. I never did find out why shouldn't I eat the Faerie fruits, or who Georgia was and what happened to her, although I asked everyone I could think of who might know. I came up with many theories; Perhaps the fruit was poisoned, or maybe it enchanted her. Maybe it made her fall asleep, and the faeries took advantage and captured her.
Or maybe-- and this was probably the strangest of my theories-- the fruits were actually the faeries' babies, and nobody likes having their babies eaten. None of these, however, seemed very likely, so I settled for the explanation that the fruit was poisoned.
I grew up, as normal as a girl raised in close proximity to several Faerie mounds can be, and after I turned twelve I decided that the question of the fruit was a silly one and never asked it again.
I should have.
I should have learned why not to eat Faerie fruit, and what a Faerie tree looks like, and most of all what happened to Georgia. But I had made up my mind: I was grown up, and grown up girls should not ask stupid questions.
So, instead of asking stupid questions (which, by the way, really needed asking) I wandered. I never wandered to the same place two days in a row, although I might wander back to a place I'd explored the day before yesterday.
But once, I wandered into a clearing.
This was no big deal; I often wandered into clearings. But this one was...Well, it was full of trees.
Some might hold those two statements to be mutually exclusive.
A clearing full of trees. Odd? You've no idea.
The place was a virtual orchard. It had weird little trees no taller than I was, and I was short. There were teeny, thorny bushes the size of my head, full of tiny blackberries. All around the clearing's edge, fat red grapes hung like earrings on gnarled vines twisted around the everyday, boring trees. There were so many trees-- Little cherry trees that came up to my waist but were five feet across, loaded with glossy blonde cherries. Unfamiliar trees with clusters of orange and red berries. Little three-foot-high trees with thin trunks and spherical tops, bearing huge ruby-red apples bigger than both my fists put together. An apple tree, which I could just see over the top of (the very top was at my eye level), with heart-shaped, snowy-looking apples that were an odd shade of green, nearly white. I walked through the miniature forest, delighting in each and every tree, until the little trees thinned and stopped altogether.
So did I.
The tree in front of me was also short, the bulk being only as tall as I was. But a few errant branches stuck straight up into the air, making it ten feet tall at the highest point.
I laughed. You would have, too- the tree looked a little like it had bedhead.
But the more I looked at it, the less silly it seemed. After a bit, I began to notice how the branches fanned out, gently curving down like a twirling skirt. The trunk was thin, and a sandy, tan colour, splitting into three large branches. It was a little curved, as though when it was first growing it had realised, "Oh, all the sunlight is over there!" and leaned over to get into the sun.
I moved closer to it, and noticed that there were glittering, diaphanous spiderwebs stretched like lace between the curving branches. Some of the branches were bent nearly double with the weight of their load-- and when I looked at that, the memory of glistening spiderwebs and lichen like snowflakes was driven from my mind.
The fruit. They were plums, or something like plums. They were golden and shiny, the side exposed to the sun just beginning to turn orange, while the shaded side still had a few specks of green. The one I first saw was ripe, and nearly translucent with juice.
I touched it, gently, and at that very moment, it parted from the branch and tumbled down to land in my palm. It was warm from the sun.
I held it up to my face to examine it more closely, but the tender skin split under the slight pressure of my fingers and golden juice spilled out over my hand.
What would you have done?
Probably what I did.
I licked my fingers.
It may have been the stupidest thing I ever did.
The fruit wasn't poisoned; I could somehow tell that just from the taste. But it was the best thing I had ever tasted, and a small gloating voice-- the voice of a faerie, I realised with a bizarre surge of insight-- said, right behind me,
"You know this is the best thing you'll ever do."
I whirled around. Four faeries were behind me, watching me with extreme amusement
"No, it's not," I argued. "I want to get married, and raise a family. That is the best thing I'll ever do."
"No, you won't. You'll never do that, because I won't let you. So this is the best thing you'll ever do."
"Shut up," I said.
I spit out the fruit. It tasted bitter now.
I walked out of the clearing. I knew that nothing else I did would really be as good, But I would do it all the same.
Better than just sitting in that clearing forever, or being captured by faeries or whatever happens next, after you eat the faeries' fruit.
But now I know what happened to Georgia.