A Slow Parade in Penderyn
By: David Hopkins
Tags: Fairy Tale, Speculative Fiction, Fiction, Book Excerpts, Fantasy

BOOK EXCERPT

A Slow Parade in Penderyn

“I make space for a few miracles. And maybe you’re one of them?”

The following is an excerpt from my novella, A Slow Parade in Penderyn: Book One of the Dryad’s Crown. The book is available for pre-order on Amazon.com.

Piper was up later than usual, but she refused to go to bed until Timon told her a story. The priest sat on a cushion next to her cot and took a deep breath, which was his way of saying, “You win.”

“One day unlike any other, an old Penderyn farmer fished along the coast. Every morning, before the sun rose, he would walk from his shack to the beach, and cast his line. He enjoyed the noise of the waves. He enjoyed his routine. The farmer had lived alone for some time. His husband had passed during the plague, before the War of the Hounds. During those lonely years, the farmer discovered a secret. He could work half as hard and still manage the livestock just fine. There was time to fish, time to reflect. If he could have done anything differently in his younger years, he would have slowed down sooner. He and his husband should have had more time for fishing and walks.”

Timon began this story the same way every time. He loved to talk about the farmer and his routine. Timon thought of himself as being like this farmer — called to a boring and methodical life.

“The farmer felt a pull at his line. A fish! He held onto the pole, tucking the end under his armpit. With his other hand, he pulled at the hemp cord and looped the cord under his elbow. He did this again and again until the hooked fish was on the shore. The fish flipped about on the sandy shore, mouth opening and closing. It was a large river fish. They sometimes found their way along the coast in the brackish water near the estuary. The farmer transferred the fish to his net, which he left in the water until he was ready to leave.”

Timon lifted Piper out of her cot. Pretending to be the farmer, he carried her around the room as if she were the fish. He swung her around as she giggled.

“Once home, after fanning the room, he placed the fish upon the kitchen table and grabbed for his knife. He chopped at the fish’s head to prepare it for breakfast. As soon as the knife struck, the fish began to expand, twist, stretch, and convulse until it transformed into a little girl! The girl sat up. She took deep, confused gulps of air. She looked around, wide-eyed. Blood trickled from the side of her neck.”

“And I’m that girl? The fish girl?” Piper interrupted, even though she knew the answer.

Timon smiled, “That is what I was told.”

“That is ridiculous.” She held out her hands to indicate her utter lack of fishness.

Timon raised his finger to indicate he had expertise to share.

“What about the named goddess of the wilderness? She can turn into any animal she wants — some fey can as well.”

“Fey aren’t real.”

“So, the farmer,” Timon continued the story undeterred, “dropped his knife and stumbled backward. The girl — that’s you — fell off the table and scrambled to the other side of the room. You hid behind a chair. The farmer could hear you struggling to breathe, pulling in the air with great effort, learning something that should come naturally. Soon, your breathing settled, and the farmer approached you. He reached out his hand. You flailed about in a panic. He stepped back. He noticed how your head moved about looking at everything. You focused on a mobile, which the farmer’s husband had made as a gift. It hung in the open window with chunks of blue glass dangling at intervals, suspended by twisted wires. Sunlight hit the mobile. Rays of shimmering blue danced and swayed around the room. You smiled. The farmer inched forward not wanting to disturb you, and then sat next to you. The farmer looked at the cut on your neck, which was minor and no longer bleeding. You and the farmer sat there for a while as you took in the surroundings, wiggled your toes, and sniffed at the air. Then you fell asleep on the floor.”

Piper took over the telling of the story.

“And the farmer knew I was a gift from the gods, a gift he had no interest in taking responsibility for. He wrapped me in a blanket, and carried me to you, a Taraki priest. The farmer shared his fish story. And you were dumb enough to believe it, even though it’s completely unbelievable.”

“I make space for a few miracles. And maybe you’re one of them? Yes, I took you from the farmer. I named you ‘Piper’ after the fish that are plentiful along the coast, and I said I would raise you in the temple as an act of devotion to the benevolent Taraki.”

For a while, Timon was successful in caring for the girl. He taught her what he could. But sadly, he had no interest in being a parent, even if such an act would honor Taraki. Like the farmer, Timon had his routine, which he preferred to any higher calling that broke from his regimen. The girl had a feral impulse that was difficult to restrain for a priest who enjoyed cleaning the temple more than disciplining a child.

As the girl grew older, she kept running away, choosing to live on the streets of Penderyn — where merchants sold their goods, sailors shared stories of distant lands, and children played the games of their own invention. She could not endure the rigidity and boredom of temple life. She preferred to wander free.

Eventually, the priest stopped searching for her, knowing that she would come back when it suited her. She would be gone for a day or two, and then return like a stray cat. Which she did, until one day when she did not.