Teg: The Tylwyth Teg (Faerie Folk) Series, #1

By P.K. Harcher

An enchanted forest in Wales is home to millions of Faerie, Pixie, Sprite, and other species, until a strange and toxic slime begins infecting Faerie Rings before spreading throughout the forest.

Violet River, made of pure magic and protected by an impenetrable dome, may be the last hope for survival, if only a way can be found to get in. A young boy, his family and village lost to the poison, tries and dies. The power of the River causes him to Change, and the Tylwyth Teg arises as told in an ancient Pixie prophesy.

As the world of the Three Civilisations is overcome by the Human-made toxin, Teg must not only find a way to save everything they love, but must also unite the Species to a single cause.  'Help Me Up' becomes the Anthem Of Our World.

• Language: English
• Publisher: P.K. Harcher
• Release date: Jun 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781497787063

Book preview

Tylwyth Teg. Book I in the Tylwyth Teg series.

By P.K. Harcher.

Copyright 2013 P.K. Harcher

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For Rowan, Maeve, Kealin, and Declan. Here's your Faerie story. Sorry it took a few decades to write it.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

Chapter 3.

Chapter 4.

Chapter 5.

Chapter 6.

Chapter 7.

Chapter 8.

Chapter 9.

Chapter 10.

Chapter 11.

Chapter 12.

Chapter 13.

Chapter 14.

Chapter 15.

Chapter 16.

Chapter 17.

Chapter 18.

Chapter 19.

Chapter 20.

Chapter 21.

Chapter 22.

Chapter 23.

Chapter 24.

Chapter 25.

Chapter 26.

Chapter 27.

Chapter 28.

Chapter 29.

Chapter 30.

Chapter 31.

Enjoyed?

Acknowledgments.

About the Author.

Chapter1.

I noticed it in small things at first, and they seemed so inconsequential that I passed most of them off with a slight frown and nothing more. As every one of the Tylwyth Teg, the Faerie Folk, know there are six elements that affect all life and the potential for life itself: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Time, and The Mystery. I noticed the changes first in the Earth, although by that time they had made themselves felt in all the elements.

In Carlayon, my home village, I first noticed the changes early on a crisp Autumn morning; the Faerie Ring surrounding our village and defining its perimeter had strange blotches on it, and parts of it gave off an odour that, while not completely unpleasant was, nevertheless, unusual enough for me to investigate it. Some of the sacred mushrooms that formed the Ring were slimy, and a few of them oozed a clear liquid that killed the grass it dropped on. Thistle, come and have a look at this, I said, as I pulled my sister's face out of her breakfast bowl. There never was a Faerie that could sleep like Thistle; when she was tired, she just dropped where she was. Her eyes still closed, I shook her a little and then pinched the top of her ears, because I knew how much she hated that. What's the point of being a brother if you can't find and exploit the things your sister detests? Thistle! Wake up! I said, louder and more forcefully this time.

Since 'The Changing' had come upon her she seemed to spend most of her time 'off with the Pixies', as we say; a mildly derogatory remark because they're actually really cute, if somewhat scatterbrained at times. Thistle had been in the Changing for weeks, and I'd be glad when it was over so that she could do her share of the chores again. I gently rested her face back in her bowl, delighting a little as she blew bubbles in her nectar. On her back, I could see the changes in the colour and thickness of her wings. It wouldn't be long now and she'd be a fully-grown if still-young Faerie; that was the point of The Changing. The Older Ones tell stories that once upon a time we slept inside cocoons while we changed, but then the Older Ones tell a lot of stories from 'once upon a time'.

Boys go through The Changing later than girls. The girls contend it's because we're slow, but we say it's because the best is always saved until last. Even though I'm two full seasons older than Thistle, my Change hasn't begun yet, and its a bit of an embarrassment at times because my 'Boy's Boy', with a mind of its own, pops up at the most public of times. I'll be glad when I Change and the leaf above my Boy flutters open and down, covering him up. Until then, I try not to feel too excited when I'm in public places or close to pretty girls. The good thing about it, I suppose, is that you don't have to actually tell a girl you like her. Your Boy does that for you, all on its own.

Mum and Dad were already out and about, taking care of all the tasks they have to do to raise their family and contribute to the good of the village. The village. I love this place! Of all the oak trees in all the forests, I think we have the best one. It's as old as Time, and Time has given it personality and strength. Our village has been here for so long that generations upon generations have lived here, improving it as they live their lives. A hundred generations ago some enterprising young fairies began rolling and stitching leaves into cylinders, and the cylinders into long and winding runs. What began as a game was taken up by the mature ones and turned into a convenient and extensive system that connected everything with everything else.

In Winter, when the rains come, we put acorn caps on the entrance to each run, so that we don't have water cascading through them and drowning us all, but at times some of us pull the caps off and use some of the runs as a waterslide. It's a lot of fun, as long as you have a few fully winged Faerie waiting at the bottom to catch you as you shoot out in the grip of the waterfall. Without them, your baby wings, sodden from the ride and weak anyway, wouldn't be strong enough to stop you falling and landing on the bare bones of your bottom in the grass at the base of the tree. So the story goes, because there's always a story about everything here, that's how the truffles were first found.

It was Nosy who first found them, and she was a sort of legend in the village. Her sense of smell was so acute it was said by the Older Ones she could smell rain a day before it arrived. The girls said Nosy could smell a boy days before his parents made him wash, and the boys said she could smell a bird fart five minutes before the bird did it. Anyway, Nosy smelled the truffles in the ground near the base of the old oak, and her description was so delicious that soon enough a few had been excavated and brought into the main dining hall. So legend goes, everyone was uproariously happy that night, and monstrously hung over the next morning. Time and testing showed that young truffles simply tasted wonderful, but the older and darker ones had an effect quiet similar to nectar mead. Everyone ate the young truffles when they were in season, but only the mature Faerie were allowed the darker ones.

So, apart from the most beautiful tree and the truffles, our village was a lot like those of other Faerie tribes. We have our homes, schools for the young and for adults who want to learn new things, several dining halls, a meeting square, and many rooms for stockpiling food. Some foods are soft and don't last beyond our immediate needs, but other foods can be stored for a long time, so we keep them separate. Even though we make our homes in the tree, and it's the centre of our village, it's not the entirety of it. Our land extends as far as the Faerie Ring, and that sits at the end of the tree's canopy, which brings me back to the problem that brought me home in the first place. Thistle wasn't any help, so I went in search of someone who would be.

Pollen, there's something odd happening to the Ring, I said, when I bumped into him near the workman's tearoom. He was a nice old man, good-natured, and always the first with a joke. I was just saying that to your dad this morning when he stopped for a sh .... Well, when he ... never mind, he said, chuckling. I liked Pollen; everyone did. He was tall and strong, and cut out to be a valuable worker, except that he was allergic to just about everything. Put him near a flower and put a catcher on the other side of it, and in minute he'd have sneezed all the magic dust off the flower and into the bag for you. Put him near a mushroom and, it was said, there'd be new ones popping up for miles in whatever direction he sneezed. Some said he made our own Faerie Ring when he was a baby and his mother carried him bouncing around the room, sneezing as he went. Now, he was the village accountant, and he could tell you to within a bite what we had collected, what we had used, and what we had left. I told him what I'd seen at the Ring, and for the first time in my life I saw a worried frown crease his brow. He questioned me closely before asking me to go and find Kettle, Brewer, and Doc. The first two were always easy to find; they were our mead makers and were always in the mead room. It used to be called the brewery, until Brewer came along. Kettle felt that is sounded like Brewer was his boss, and it niggled him, so they changed the name of it. Brewer wanted to take on an apprentice to help with some of the heavy lifting, but his first choice was damned by his name. Pot, meet Kettle, said Brewer. This is never going to work, said Kettle dryly. Pot ended up working in the kitchens for a while, until they caught him drying grass in the oven. Kids; every generation has them. Pot finally found his niche, making containers for storage and cooking. Doc was harder to find. When he wasn't developing potions, he was out and about, tending to anyone who felt off-colour. By the time I found him, word had just reached him. Best you come with me, Bendith, he said, To make sure we have the story as it is, and not how others have fashioned it.

Well, after waiting outside while the Older Ones talked, I was asked to show them the place where I'd seen the problem; the Ring is large and the Older Ones whose wings are now weak would take days to walk around it. I showed them, and then they asked me to leave.

Chapter 2

What were you doing at the Ring? my father asked when he came home that night. Although there wasn't a hard and fast rule about being near it, most folks didn't venture that far out unless there was a reason for it. I was looking for my acorn caps, I said, and the look on Dad's face told me that I'd best give him the story all at once, Rather than have him force information out of me in dribs and drabs. He hated it when folk did that; making a short statement that forced the listener to ask a question, and then another question, and yet another question. He said that weak characters who were boring tried to be strong characters by being even more boring, pulling unwilling listeners into a story they would regret listening to later. I made a sling and I put an acorn cap into it, and then I fired it out through the branches and leaves. After I'd fired them all, I went to see where they'd landed, and I planned to bring them back, I said. He looked surprised. You fired them all the way out as far as the Ring? he said. No, I fired them out past the Ring. The Ring was just where I had to stop, so I've lost all my caps, I replied. His father laughed. Bendith by name, Blessing by nature. If it hadn't been for you, we might not have discovered the oddness until it was a problem.

There were some forms of commerce and social activities between the different tribes, but unless youngsters were in the company of adults they were forbidden to leave the Ring. The Faerie Folk's magic was strong inside the Ring, but it became less certain and predictable once outside of it. Faerie paths were different, though. They had been traversed so often by those going from Rath to Rath, the traditional name for 'village or fort', that the paths themselves had become imbued with residual magic. If the Ring was broken, not only would magic leak out of the village, but things that were kept out of the village by the magical protection of the Ring could come in. A wild boar looking for truffles, or a pig trained by Humans to locate them, could spell disaster for the village. Pixies, while they were usually just cute little things that flitted around and made you giggle with their antics, could accidentally upset pots bubbling over fires, or they'd carefully put a thorn down to play with later, the thorn being put right where you were just about to sit. Then you'd hear them chattering animatedly as they accused you of trying to steal their thorn. If you pulled it out of your cheek and gave it back to them, they'd smile and hug you before trying to keep it safe by hiding it in your ear. Pixies are sweet and they love Faeries, but if the Ring was breached and they swarmed into the village, it wouldn't be a village for much longer, unless you could shoo them all out. Now, there was a job.

As word of the oddness spread, it inevitably spread outside our village, and others came to look. Sometimes it was funny. A troupe of Pixie came for a picnic and sat just outside the Ring, throwing their mess over the top of it. The look on their faces, when the magic in the Ring threw their mess back! One Pixie went so far as to flutter over to it, chatter at it in anger, and then retreat when she was covered in spores that left her pale blue wings covered in the dull grey dust. The more she rubbed at it, the angrier she became, and the redder it got. When she calmed down and fell asleep, her wings became pale blue again, but as soon as she woke up and looked at them, they became dull grey again. More angry chattering followed, until the Pixie she was secretly madly in love with came by, and then her wings turned the bright orange of passion. Embarrassed, her cheeks flushed pink and so did her wings. Eventually, she decided to sleep until the magic wore off but even in her dreams it was working, and you could tell her mood by the colour of her wings. She must have been dreaming about the boy. A lot. The other Pixies sniggered, but they kept away from the Ring.

The oddness on the Ring seemed to begin attacking it, spreading quickly to areas that had, only hours before, been healthy and vibrant. Nothing bad seemed to come of it, but if it kept spreading we knew the village would have to be abandoned. And then one night, in the darkness when the moon was hidden, a strange, pulsing glow began, and it became so bright that it woke many of us from our slumbers. In every home, the occupants huddled in fright. The unearthly glow was coming from the Ring. Were we trapped? That seemed to be the consensus when everyone gathered at the village hall. What would we do about it? Nothing; at least not until morning. Well, that wasn't good enough for me.

I know it's our way to lay low, be unobtrusive, and get on with our own lives, and our history doesn't record any exceptions to that rule, but I think we're the poorer for it. I slipped out of my mother's grip and quietly made my way to the back of the hall, and then escaped outside. From there, I flew in the short spurts my juvenile wings would allow, until I made my way home. Sling and acorn caps roped around my shoulders, I leapt up and up our old oak tree until I found a gap of sufficient width. Loading my sling, and with the other caps nestled at my feet for quick reloading, I fired into the light. What returned was something I hadn't envisioned. OW! Ow, ow, ow! the last three sounds coming in quick succession. The light dimmed, but it didn't die out. I fired again, and again I heard the same strange sound in reply, only this time it came twice.

It was in my mind to rush back to the meeting and tell everyone what I'd heard, but I knew it would simply frighten them into even greater immobility, if that were possible, so I didn't. My mind made up, I jammed the slingshot into a small hollow in the floor of the branch I stood on, put myself in the sling, and walked back as far as it would allow. When as taut as I could make it, my knees quivering, I let go of my footing and rocketed out of the tree. Mid-air, I hoped my weight would stop me from overshooting the Ring and the protection it provided. It was a close-run thing. My wings, not yet powerful enough for sustained flight, were at least strong enough to stop me from crashing into the ground, although I stumbled end-over-end when I landed.

As soon as I could, I was on my feet and standing there before the inner circumference. I saw what was creating the glow, and my heart leapt. I saw what my caps had hit, for the forest Pixies they'd landed on were still rubbing their heads and chattering animatedly. In the way of our races, when we're not getting in each other's way or working at cross-purposes, we cooperate. That's what was happening now. The Pixies has gathered and encircled our Faerie Ring in its entirety, and the pulsing glow came from them. They were trying to heal it.

Against all the rules, I stepped out of the Ring and into the unprotected land outside of it. I walked among the Pixies, who stood not quite as high as my knee, nodding to them as their little ones ran forward and said: Hello! in their tiny, high pitched little voices, before scampering away. I found those whose heads I'd hit with my caps, and one by one, I held their tiny faces and kissed the tops of their heads, to make it better. They're such little scamps! I'd kiss the sore spot, and then they'd point to another that wasn't sore at all, saying: And here! Here too! As I moved on to the next Pixie, another close by would reach out and cheekily pinch my bottom.

I stayed with them, moving among them and thanking them, for hours. As the sun began brightening and putting to bed the night that was, one of them squeaked: It's coming. The darkness. They all looked exhausted, and concerned. No, the darkness is going, it's the light that's coming, I said. In a spontaneous beat of wings that was deafening to my ears, they were up, and then they were gone.

I made my way back home, finding my parents even more frantic than the rest of the villagers. Mum hugged me and wept her relief, not forgetting to tan my hide with her free hand. I told her and Dad what had happened, and at first they couldn't believe it, but then they could. Raised up on his shoulders, Dad flew me back to the meeting hall while Mum rang the bells that would call everyone back. Tell them all what you told us, said Dad, depositing me on the podium. I told them, and a delegation was quickly formed to deliver masses of grape juice and apple pieces to our Pixie friends, for I had said how exhausted they were after putting so much into healing the Ring. I was lifted up and passed around, from shoulder to shoulder, and hailed as a hero. Bendith means Blessing in the old language, and here they were, saying that I had grown into my name. Over the next few days, I could do no wrong, and history was revisited. All those boyish shenanigans I'd gotten up to that had caused stern looks and tattletales to my parents were now almost magically transformed into glimpses of heroic daring that only the current teller of the tale had seen at the time.

When the delegation came back, it was with heavy hearts and even heavier brows. The healing, while it had invigorated what was left of the Ring, had not stopped the rot that had set in. The Ring was still weeping, and the oozing fluid had formed pools that, by their weight, had begun slowly flowing and joining with other pools. The Ring was still dying. Of even more immediate concern, they said, was that it was an easy matter to follow the Pixie back to their homes. The trail was littered with their dead. Some had the same weeping sores as the Ring and others, it seemed, had died of exhaustion. It sobered us in a way that no news had done in living memory, and it connected us with a time long ago when Faerie, Sprite, and Pixie had stood together and battled the machines that Humans had sent to tear down our habitat and destroy our way of life. In the end, we won, but in the end, there