The air was still that day. Ferry felt it the first time he opened his eyes, that morning. A thick stillness ruled over his house and everything around. The swing under the walnut tree and the sheets his mother washed the other day were now hanging stiffed on their ropes. As if the wind that waved and swelled them the night before had left to far horizons. The jasmine bush wasn't sending breezes of sweet fragrances anymore. The crickets and the birds were quiet. It was all wrapped in silence. A meaningful silence, the loudest, most thundering of all.

That day was to remain in Ferry's mind for the rest of his life. Every small thing he did, every meaningless thought that came to his mind. Every word he said. They were all to stay in his memory as carved letters in stone that even the strongest storms could not erase.

Ferry woke up at the break of dawn, as usual. He didn't need sleep anyway ever since he's gotten his fairy abilities, over six years ago. He tried to focus on his daily chores. Since he couldn't come close to his father's workshop — the sickliness was even worse since he came back — his main chore was to take care of the garden. A pleasant occupation that always brought him peace and chased the worries away.

With the wooden tools Thyme, his fairy Guardian, has made for him, Ferry has created the most beautiful garden in Goodharts. Under his touch, the plants shivered and quivered, flowing over in an explosion of colours and scents that spread far away, beyond his street, all the way to the Shepherd's Forest. As proof, there were the awards and the paper cuts Eileen Donovan, his human-mother, was keeping in a photo album. He would've done anything just to see her happy.

Yet the relationship with his father has gotten colder over the years. Peter Donovan was now convinced his son would never help him with the workshop, nor join him at the tavern and chat in front of a mug of beer. They eventually ended up accepting each other's nature and avoid the quarrels.

Ferry hasn't changed too much either. At least, his appearance didn't. Ever since he has stepped foot on the Land of the Unseen, his look was almost the same. Same messy hair, almost white, which fell into his eyes in rebel strays. Same piercing eyes which changed the colour each time he was overwhelmed by strong emotions. Same fair-skinned face whether summer or winter. But Ferry didn't care about his appearance anyway, as humans used to, especially at this age. 

Something did bother him though, even if just a little. He was the only boy in town who lacked facial hair which boys his age saw as a sign of adulthood and manhood. Yet his cheek was as soft and neat as a girl's cheek. A reason for never-ending jokes and mockery on behalf of Billy Pride who, truth be told, wasn't so hairy himself.

His stature, however, was different. He has grown up. He was still the tallest boy in Goodharts. His body, although long, has become muscular, mainly because of the training with Baldie. Or better yet, Thyme. Ever since he has grown up, his Fairy Guardian, half-man, half-raven, the mighty warrior of Akna, did not accept to be called Baldie anymore. That was because of the stupid jokes of the other Fairy Guardians. Ferry eventually indulged him with the condition that Thyme wouldn't address him with the stiff, pretentious title of Prince Garrett. So, for his Guardians, he was simply Garrett. Yet his friends were still calling him Ferry. His unusual appearance had brought him the name of Elf among children at school without them suspecting how close to his true nature they were.

Other than that, nothing much changed. During the day, he was spending the time with his best friends, Matilda and Ben, he was gardening or daydreaming in his walnut tree in the backyard. The night, however, was not for sleeping. In Lavender Sky's garden — unlike Ferry's Guardians, she insisted to be called by her human name — Ferry was trained each night by Thyme to become the Saviour of Akna, his fairy homeland. He managed to control flight and understand Elvian, the universal language of fairies. He couldn't speak it very well, though, despite Lavender's lessons, but his knowledge of the language was getting better by the day. He still couldn't turn invisible or move from one place to another. Ben called that skill distance portability, and he was almost certain that science could explain that.

But the hardest was handling the spear. Even if not a real one, his wooden spear was difficult to handle, and he always missed the target because the target was moving constantly. Thyme insisted he had to hit the target, even if moving with the speed of light. Ferry had always been afraid to ask what the target was. The thought that it could have been a living being was giving him the chills. But Thyme always reminded him his enemies were growing by the day, and they were getting stronger and more dangerous. So he had to be prepared for when the time of the confrontation was to come.

That late summer day, however, something was different. Something unseen, almost subtle, he could feel in the air which made him more vigilant than usual. He climbed to the top of the walnut tree and watched the forest for the thousandth time. The forest looked back at him, silent and mighty as it did for the past six years. It wasn't whispering him riddles anymore. The lights were still shimmering, and the trees were still trembling as soon as the night came. But the news from Oona did not come. He has had no news from her ever since he left Tenalach. HoityToity told him that the red-haired fairy had disappeared without the trace as soon as he and his friends had left the realm of the fairies. Ferry hoped she had left for the Land of the Eternal Youth where Mrs. Cobbs, along with her daughter, Poppy, had found refuge and where they were living happily ever since they've reunited. Or maybe to have gone anywhere else, away from the fury of the Tenalach fairies who still considered her a traitor and a human lover. And what hurt the most was that he was the one to blame.

But now, he could not think of Oona. The weight on his chest was getting heavier with every passing hour.

He finished his chores in the garden, and instead of spending the afternoon with Matilda, as planned, he stayed home. Waiting. From the top of the walnut tree, he scrutinized the surroundings. Nothing. The same stillness. Instead, he could feel the silence. It was heavy, making his arms unsteady, and his moves slow and soft. He felt dizzy as if he was walking in his sleep.

Years later, he was to be amazed at how much he would have remembered about that day. Small things. Like the vegetable soup his mother had prepared for lunch. Or the shirt he had dressed in the morning which lacked a button. Or the weed that stubbornly stumbled out, and which had thrust him with clods when he finally pulled it out. All mixed with the fear which was growing in his chest. Like a dream, that day.

When the clock stroke five, after his father came home from the sawmill, and they all took their seats at the dinner table, three knocks on the door made his worst fears came true.After looking at her husband and son, both of whom shrugged, Eileen stood up from the table, crossed the narrow hall, and opened the entrance door.

"May I help you?" Ferry could hear his mother asking.

"Are you Eileen Donovan?" a young man's voice said. "I have something for you."

A few moments of silence followed which to Ferry seemed to last forever. His father eventually decided to see what was all about. Ferry joined him.

They found Eileen reading a letter which trembled in her hands. Her eyes were wide open and her lips were moving, yet said no words. Ferry looked at the stranger in the doorway. He was a boy of almost the same age, even of the same height as Ferry. But he was thin and desirous, his shabby clothes hanging on his fragile body as if on the sticks of a scarecrow. He had dark, curly hair, as dark as a raven's feather, growing on the top of his head. His eyes were green and penetrating, eyes in which Ferry saw a lively, curious glint. He was fair-skinned, even paler than Ferry. He was carrying a knapsack like the ones soldiers carried. His shoes were dusty and so worn out, that the toecaps were torn and open like hungry mouths.

Now, the boy was staring at Peter who was reading the letter, waiting with a smile in the corner of his mouth, without minding Ferry.

After he read the letter with an arched eyebrow, Ferry saw his father frowning. Then, his eyes opened wide, studied the boy in front of him from head to toe, then he read the letter again, and his eyes filled with tears. It was for the first time Ferry was seeing his father crying. Peter Donovan then rushed to the boy in front of him and held him in his arms almost knocking him down.

"My son, my son," he said between the sighs.

Ferry could not believe his ears. Son? It couldn't be.

"Don't just stand there, woman," Peter said to Eileen who was now stuck in place. "Our son, our real son is back! Treat him properly and invite him to dinner."

With slow moves, Eileen took the knapsack from the boy and led him to the kitchen. He followed her, still smiling.

During the meal, Ferry learnt the strange boy's incredible story. It seemed that during his birth, there has been a confusion at the Hospital in the Big City where Eileen gave birth. There were two births that night, and the babies were switched by an unprofessional nurse. Then, the other mother abandoned her child, leaving a false name and address, and the baby was taken to an orphanage and later given to foster care. It looked like that baby was Eileen and Peter Donovan's child. The letter was coming from the Hospital as an apology for the inconvenience.

"How do we know he's our son?" Eileen asked, still bewildered by the news.

"What do mean how do we know?" Peter snapped. "Would you look at him? He looks just like me when I was sixteen. A bit frail and thin, that's true, but he's me. But we'll take care to get you fat," he added, filling his plate again with steak and mashed potatoes.

The boy smiled, eating heartily everything he had in his plate. Then, with his mouth full, he told them about all the adoptive families among he had lived, and how bad they had treated him until the Hospital had found the truth and announced the Orphanage.

"It doesn't matter anymore," said Peter with tears in his eyes. "Now you're home. I knew it. I knew Ferry couldn't be our son. Just look at him! Do you see any resemblance?"

For the first time, the strange boy looked at Ferry. Their eyes met and for a second, only for a second, Ferry saw that glint again.

"I'm happy to have a brother my age," he said, smiling. "I think we'll get along just fine," he added. "What sport are you into?"

"Watching the flowers and daydreaming," Peter answered in Ferry's place, laughing as if he told the best joke. "These are his favorite sports."

Ferry felt his sight turning blurry. Yet the boy smiled at him again.

"I'm sure we'll find something fun to do in this town..."

But Peter interrupted them:

"And now? What's going tohappen to Ferry?" 

Thank you for being a part of this wonderful journey which is Ferry's tale! Let me know your thoughts.

Disclaimer: No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

Text copyright © 2019 Angela Poppe

All rights reserved.

I do not own the photo on the cover of the book, nor the photos and the videos accompanying each chapter of this book.