145. Fauns and November Blackberries

  

An edge of Minced Forest climbs up part of a mountain. High up on that mountain, hidden by pines and mists of invisibility, there is a small farm that belongs to three brothers. They are known as the Thorn Fauns because they are indeed fauns and because each of them has a barely perceptible thorn on his forehead. The Thorn brothers grow all sorts of seasonal vegetables, and in the autumn many of the fairy people buy pumpkins from them because they are justly considered the best to be had in all Fairyland.         

On the first of November, two of the Thorn Fauns were sitting next to some blackberry bushes commenting how Michael had bought the usual amount of pumpkins for his Halloween party from them but how they hadn’t seen a single pumpkin there.   

“What do you think he did with them? There was no food, so he can’t have made pumpkin pies,” said Pons Greenthorn. He had a long face, curly, greenish-black hair, large eyes and a greenish thorn in the middle of his forehead.

“Oh, there was food,” said Fons Redthorn. He looked and was younger than his brother, had the face of a friendly imp and a red thorn on his forehead. “Some of the guests had heard what the party would be like and brought a lot with them. But they had to hide in the craters and  behind the dunes to eat it so that obnoxious unchangedling wouldn’t swipe it.”

“I heard Finbar saved the day hooking huge barrels of whisky to the affluents of the dark chocolate river and of Williams’ Pear Brandy to the milk chocolate river’s affluents,” said Pons. “The white chocolate river and its tributaries were without alcohol.That was meant for the kids. Galo managed to camouflage the barrels as sand dunes, so tutti contenti.”

“How did we manage to get on the stilts, Pons?” asked Fons.

“Bah!” said Pons. “Goats can climb anything.”

“But they have four legs. We’ve got two.”

 “Did you get to eat any of the eggs trapped in those mouth-like tables that looked like sofas with vampire fangs?”  

  “No. The obnoxious unchangedling tore up the sofas or tables or whatever they were and ate every single egg.”

“Proving he was at the top of the food chain, I guess,” said Pons.

                                      

“I am the annoying kid you are gossiping about,” said Alpin, who had crept up on the fauns. He was carrying a large pail and the next thing he did was order the fauns to get away from the blackberry bushes because he needed their fruits. “I don’t see how you don’t get pricked by the thorns,” added Alpin. “You must be really thick-skinned.”

                                   

“What do you want the blackberries for?” asked Pons.

“There was a blackberry tart at the party you were discussing which should have been mine. But one of the stupid girls who baked it made it her business to see I got no more than a ridiculously tiny serving. I’m going to pick berries so my mom can bake me one twice as big and twice as good just for me.”

Pons shook his head. 

“Listen, haven’t you been told that the forest nuts and berries are not to be picked starting the first of November? That whatever the forest produces from then till June must stay in the forest? You have? And you mean to pick them anyway? Do you know why no one does? The Pookah spits or pees on them. Do you want to eat that? You’ll be sick for sure.”

“Old wives’ tales,” said Alpin.

“None of that,” said Pons. “We are witnesses. We’ve seen him do it year after year. We’ve seen him do it this year, right here, on this bush, in a fit of rage.”

“You lie,” said Alpin. “If you’d seen him do that, you would not be leaning on the bush, piggies. And the Pookah would never pollute the fruits and berries he wants to reserve for the forest creatures.”

                                   

                  

“Dork,” said Fons, “it doesn’t affect forest creatures. We’re immune. Like vaccinated. It’s meant to harm humans and outsider fairies who don’t respect the rules of the woods. The saliva and the urine of the Pookah are more toxic than insecticide. They don’t wash off  with water. But go ahead, buddy, see for yourself, if you don’t believe us.Try this plump, shiny and befouled berry right here and see if something happens to you or not.”

Alpin looked at the berry Fons had suggested he experiment with. It was plump and shiny and there was no telling if it had been befouled. Instead of taking warning, he tore it off the bush and popped it into his mouth.

                                     

“Puuuuuke! It tastes awful!” grimaced Alpin. But he swallowed it instead of spitting it out. “I’m going to try another to see what this is about. And a couple more. Disgusting, all four. You may be  right. But my mom will know how to clean them up when I take them home.”

When Alpin tried the first polluted blackberry, slowly, but not so slowly, hair began to grow out of his nose. And from his ears.

When he tried the second, his eyes began to flash.

After the third, his hair began to float and tangle.

And after the fourth, a cloud of locusts appeared out of nowhere and traced three circles round his head before sitting on it.

There was no need for him to take yet another before he was assaulted by a fever and dizzied by a spell. He did not fall to the ground struck dead, but he lost his sense of direction and dropped the pail and began to meander meaninglessly about the forest barefooted, giving little hops and skips as if he were dancing a ceremonial dance. Spots also broke out on his T-shirt.

With him wandered through the woods a winding whisper: “Beware! Beware of him, beware! For he on foul food hath fed and drank the milk of murkiness!”

Pons shook his head. “We had better follow him,” he said, “so we can tell his people what has become of this twerp when they come asking.”

“Fine,” said Fons, “but from a distance.”