The Faerie Bags

Next morning, Greta, Lisa and Mildred were so excited about their newfound statues – being faeries – they jumped out of bed as if their lives depended on it. After washing their hands and faces and brushing their teeth, they dashed downstairs and into the kitchen, where they climbed onto their chairs, ready for breakfast.

“Where is our porridge?” all three girls sang out. Their mother, her back to them, was busy at the stove preparing it

“Oh, where is our porridge, today today?” They sang out even louder.

After a few minutes, their mother turned around, away from the stove, to face them. Holding a large saucepan full to the brim with piping hot porridge, she said, “My, my, you girls are in a hurry, this morning!”

Greta, Lisa and Mildred each smiled.

“There you are,” said the mother, “three plates full of lovely hot porridge.”

“Three plates of porridge, of lovely hot porridge,” the sisters sang out, dipping their spoons into the bowl of sugar resting at the centre of the table.

“I think I’ll join you in a plate,” said the mother, encouraged by her daughters’ newfound enthusiasm for the hot cereal breakfast. With that, she reached into the dresser for a bowl of her own.

“Mum’s joining us for a plate of porridge, a plate of piping hot porridge,” the girls sang out, with renewed enthusiasm.

Although the mother was somewhat confused by her daughters’ rather eccentric behaviour, she was used to it, albeit to a lesser degree. Joining them, she sang out, “Porridge, porridge it’s good for your bones, bones, bones, good for your bones. Get it down and it’ll do you good, do you good, good, good, good. Look at this now, it’s so fine to eat, so fine and good, it is a treat.”

Not wanting to be outdone by their mother, the three sisters sang the porridge song all the louder, “That’s more like it, it’ll do you good. Good, good, good. Good, good, good,” and they did not stop singing until the very last spoonful of porridge had been consumed.

“Have you any plans for the day?” asked the mother as she collected the empty plates from the table.

“It’s such a wonderful day,” said Lisa, “we decided to make the most of it and go down by the old mill.”

“That’s a good idea,” said the mother, “but don’t be bothering Mr Brun. Heaven knows the poor man works hard enough for six days a week. He holds dear the Sabbath, when he rests.

As her three daughter’s skipped happily away from the house, down the garden path, through the gateway and into the lane, beginning their long trek to the old mill, the mother thanked her god for having blessed her with such wonderful children – even if they were a bit mischievous at times. Then staring into the clear blue sky, she remarked, “Lisa’s right, it is a wonderful day, especially for so late in October…

“Where do you think he is, Mildred?” asked Lisa as soon as they were out of earshot.

“I don’t know,” Mildred replied pessimistically. “I am afraid we might never see him again.”

“He’ll find us, don’t you worry,” said Greta as she led the way down the lane, toward the Old Mill,

“Yoruk’s magic will help him to find us long before we see him.”

The three little sisters decided to worry about finding the little man, later, if he had not found them by then. Instead, they concentrated on enjoying their walk in the wonderfully bright autumnal sunshine.

“Look at that!” said Lisa, pointing across the lane to a huge oak tree, heavily laden with acorns.

“What are you pointing at?” asked Mildred, straining her eyes to see what her sister was looking at.

“Up there, in the branches, see?” Lisa exclaimed, in her growing excitement.

“I see it!” said Greta, pointing to a red squirrel high in the branches.

“Oh, yes, so do I!” said Mildred as she watched the little red squirrel scuttle about so high above them the old tree.

The three sisters watched, enthralled by the antics of the red squirrel running furiously through the lofty, high branches overhead, collecting a supply of food for the lean winter months. The sheer speed and agility of the little rodent amazed them. Acorns, the squirrel sped far out to the tips of the branches, collecting the best ones to stash away into his larder for the cold days that would soon be upon him.

“Look!” Mildred warned, pointing across to the far side of the tree. “There’s another one!”

“But he’s different,” said Greta as she eyed up the larger of the two squirrels.

“He’s a grey squirrel, from America,” Lisa explained, “and if the little red squirrel doesn’t watch out, he will eat up all of his acorns!”

“That’s not fair,” said Greta, disgusted at the grey squirrel’s unruly behaviour.

“Life can be unfair, at times,” a voice whispered.

“Who said that?” asked Lisa, her gaze returning to ground level.

“It’s him – Yoruk – I am sure of it,” Greta whispered.

“Then where is he?” asked Mildred, her keen eyes scanning the area.

Stepping out from behind the oak tree, a smiling Yoruk presented himself to the sisters.

“YORUK!” they cried out in surprise at his unusual entrance, “Is it really you?”

“It was me the last time I looked,” Yoruk replied, laughing at the good of it.

“We were going over to the old mill,” said Lisa.

“We thought you might see you there,” said Greta

“I feared we might never see you again,” said Mildred, openly admitting her fears.

“I made you a promise that I would see you today – and every day,” Yoruk explained, surprised that even one of the girls could have doubted his word.

“I’m sorry, Yoruk,” Mildred whispered, her head lowered in embarrassment.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” said the little man, approaching the girls as he spoke.

Pointing to a bag hanging at his side, the ever-curious Greta asked, “What is that?”

“Hah, I wondered which of you would ask, first,” Yoruk replied, unhooking the bag from his belt, presenting it to the girls for their inspection.

The sisters inspected the bag. It was quiet small, black – as black as coal – and made from an unusual material. It fascinated them.

“What is it made of?” Lisa asked, touching the bag, her fingers disappearing into its fabric.

“Ah,” Yoruk replied with a mischievous wink, “Faerie Stuff…”

“Faerie Stuff?” the sisters asked, quite in surprise. “What is Faerie Stuff?”

Scratching his head, the little man searched for the best words to help them understand what he was about to tell them. He even opened the small bag and looked inside it, apparently hoping for some inspiration. Finally, after much thought and consideration, Yoruk began speaking, he said, “This is a Faerie Bag…”

“A Faerie Bag?” Mildred spluttered in disbelief.

Offering her a curt glance, the little man said, “If you will allow me to continue?”

“Sorry,” Mildred meekly replied.

“Now where was I?”

“The Faerie Bag!” the sisters reminded him.

“Oh, yes,” said Yoruk. “This is a Faerie Bag and it is woven from Faerie Stuff…”

“What is it used for, your Faerie bag?” Lisa asked, watching her fingers reappear as she withdrew her hand.

“It’s for – Magic!”

“Magic?” said Greta, getting very excited at the thought of making things disappear and reappear.

“Do you really mean it?” asked Greta, delving her fingers into the fabric of the bag, again. They vanished all the way up to her knuckles.

After reattaching the faerie bag to his belt, the little man, raising his arms with hands outstretched, tried to calm their growing excitement, saying, “With magic, comes responsibility…”

The sisters stopped their merrymaking, listening to him intently.

“Please sit down under the tree,” he said, “and I will tell you a story.” Finding a comfortable spot to sit down on, the three girls listened as Yoruk began his story.

“Once upon a time,” he said, “there lived a young girl called Gin…”

“Gin?” asked Lisa, “are you sure that was her name?”

The little man scolded Lisa with a curt glance for asking such a rude question. Receiving it, the poor girl shuddered. Yoruk continued with his story… “This girl, Gin, should have been the happiest girl in the entire world…She had everything she could want for, and then some. She had so many clothes she never had to wear the same item twice. Gin had so many toys she never played with the same one twice. Yes, Gin should have been perfectly happy, totally happy, wonderfully happy, but she wasn’t…”

“Why wasn’t she happy?” asked Mildred, concerned for the poor girl.

“I will get to that,” said Yoruk, his eyes watching the three sisters intently. “One day, when she was at the market with her mother, Gin spied a small black bag hanging from one of the stalls.

“I want that bag!” she cried out as she pulled her mother over to the stall, to show it to her.

The stallholder, a Chinese man with a face so wrinkly he must surely have been a hundred years of age, if not more, watched the spoilt child, with interest.

“I want that bag!” Gin repeated to her mother, in earnest.

“All right, my dear,” Gin’s mother replied, giving in to her spoilt daughter as she always did, “I will talk to the man…”

“I want it NOW!” Gin insisted, stamping her foot on the ground as she spoke.

“Excuse me, please,” said Gin’s mother to the old Chinese man behind the stall.

“Can I help you?” he replied courteously.

“I would like to buy a bag for my daughter. That one there,” she said pointing to it.

“Solly, please,” the Chinese man replied, “but that one is not for sale.”

Hearing this, Gin hollered even more, “I WANT THAT BAG, AND I WANT IT NOW!”

“You can buy anything from my stall,” said the old man, waving a hand across the many fascinating items – including bags – displayed upon it, “but not that bag…. It is far too dangerous for one such as your daughter…”

Gin’s mother tried to tempt her unruly daughter with some of the items for sale on the stall. “Here is a nice rabbit’s foot,” she said, picking it up, “these are for good luck.”

The old man, interrupting, said, “No, this is not from a rabbit… It’s from a phoenix.”

“A phoenix?” said the mother, quite surprised that he had said it. “There’s no such thing as a phoenix.”

The old man, his eyes narrowing, held onto his thoughts.

“What about this one, Gin?” said the mother, handing her daughter a fine jewel encrusted brooch.

“NO!” Gin shouted, slapping the brooch out of her mother’s hand. “I WANT THAT BAG – CAN’T ANYONE HEAR ME?”

Having seen enough, the Chinese man reached up and unhooked the small bag from his stall.  Beckoning to the unruly child, Gin, for her to come closer, he said, “Are you sure that you really and truly want this bag?” He dangled it temptingly in front of the terribly spoilt child’s face.

“Yes, I want it more than anything in the whole world!” she shouted in reply. “And if I don’t get it, my father will have you sent all the way back to China!”

“In that case,” said the old man, “this bag is just what you need.”

Grabbing hold of the bag from out of his ever thin fingers, Gin ran away from the stall, laughing.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” said the mother, apologising for her daughter’s unruly behaviour. Then opening her purse, she asked, “How much do I owe you for it?”

“Nothing,” said the ancient old man. “The bag will return to me – it always does – so no money is required…”

Gin’s mother, although confused by his words, thanked him for the gift, and then bid him good day.

After grabbing hold of the bag, Gin ran away from the watchful eyes of the ancient old man. Darting for cover behind one of the many stalls, she gloated over her acquisition of the forbidden fruit, the black bag.

Now that she had it in her possession, Gin wondered just why she had wanted it, because it was far too small to be of any practical use. Like everything she possessed she attached no real value to it. She wanted it because it had been there for the asking, there for the taking, even if, in this particular instance, she had had to resort to shouting quite loudly for it. As she began studying the bag, Gin became aware of the material’s strange properties, and she was astonished at what she saw.

Filled with curiosity, Lisa asked, “What did she see?”

“I’ll bet it was something fantastic,” said Mildred, her eyes lighting up as her imagination took hold.

“Was it the same bag as the one you have?” asked Greta, almost in a whisper.

“Ah, now that’s a real question, Greta,” Yoruk replied. However, without explaining what he had meant by this, he resumed telling his story. “As she continued studying the bag, Gin was enthralled by the three-dimensional properties of the material that it was made from, she was mesmerised by it.”

“I was right it, is the same bag!” said Greta.

“The same bag, yes, yes it was,” Yoruk replied, his expression serious and fixed.

The girls listened in complete silence, so enthralled were they by the fascinating story.

Speaking quieter than before, Yoruk said, “In the same way that you noticed its unusual properties, when you touched the bag, so also did Gin.”

“Go on, go on,” the girls whispered, urging him on.

“Are you sure that you want me to continue?” the little man asked, his eyes set firmly on each one of them.

“Yes, yes,” they replied, “please go on!”

“Very well, I will,” he said in a whisper, “but please bear in mind the type of girl that Gin was… “

“What do you mean?” asked Greta, yet fearing the answer.

“When Gin touched the material, and her hand began disappearing into its hidden dimensions, she felt a tug from the other side.

“A tug?” Mildred whispered in fright.

“Yes, a tug – and a big one at that!” said Yoruk, his voice rising. “This tug, this wrench upon her was so very great it pulled Gin’s hand entirely into the bag. She screamed and she screamed as the hidden force pulled harder upon her. She was petrified, but no one seemed to notice what was happening. Pulling, pulling, pulling the hidden force yanked her away from all that she knew, until she was gone, vanished into the material of the bag.”

“That’s awful,” said Greta, viewing the bag in an entirely different light.

“What happened to her, Gin, did she ever get out?” asked Lisa, in concern for the girl and her poor mother.

“No, she is still trapped inside it,” said Yoruk, approaching the end of the story. “So too are many other souls who tried using the bag for their own ends, who are not of our type.”

“Our type?” the girls asked curiously.

“Yes – Faeries,” Yoruk explained. “Only true Faeries can touch the bag without feeling its wrath, and only true Faeries can use it for the good that it was intended.”

“But, but what about all those poor people you said were trapped inside it?” said Lisa. “How will they ever get out?”

“They won’t,” Yoruk admitted, matter-of-factly.

“They won’t? How awful,” the girls cried out together.

Yoruk finished the story, saying, “They sealed their fate when they touched the bag.”

Realizing the story was now over, the sisters stood and began talking amongst themselves. Seeing this, Yoruk asked, “Is everything all right?”

Staring into his piercing green eyes, the three sisters wondered what other grave secrets they harboured. Pushing Lisa forward, Greta and Mildred urged her to speak, she said, “We were wondering…”

“Yes? You can ask me anything,” Yoruk replied, in true honesty.

“We were wondering…”

“Yes?”

“…if that bag poses any danger to us?” Lisa stepped back, rejoining her sisters.

Laughing, Yoruk replied, “No, no, no, you are not in any danger, as long as you learn how to use it, that is. I am sorry if I gave you a fright, but I wanted to be honest in everything I say. And please do remember that Faerie Bags have helped many, many people down through the years, and most being human.”

“Many people?” the girls asked inquisitively.

“Yes,” said Yoruk, “and they will help many more, if you accept the challenge…”

“The challenge?” asked Mildred.

“What challenge?” asked Lisa.

“Yes, what challenge?” said Greta, adding to the chorus of questions hurled at the little man.

“I see that I have stimulated your interest,” said Yoruk, a smile of satisfaction creeping onto his face, “that is good, so very good…”

“The challenge?” the girls asked him again.

“Yes, the challenge,” said Yoruk as he began pacing the ground in front of the girls. “If you cast your minds back to yesterday, when we first met, you will recall me saying that your faerie training starts today…. Faerie Bags are an important part of your training, so important you cannot proceed without it.”

The girls, listening intently, held on to his every word.

“You have so much to learn over the coming days, weeks and months, some of it will be fun, but some mighty dangerous…”

“Dangerous?” the girls asked.

Passing over their question without answering it, Yoruk unhooked the Faerie Bag from his belt. “Well?” he asked. “Who wants the first one?”

“The first one?” asked Greta, in surprise. “You only have the one bag!”

“Then take it,” he said Yoruk, handing it to her.

Reaching out, Greta accepted the bag and attached it to her belt.

“Lisa, you next,” the little man said, grinning.

Lisa reached out and accepted the small bag.

“And you, Mildred,” said Yoruk, offering her the very same bag.

Mildred accepted the bag, attaching it to her belt, also.

“How can we each have the same bag?” asked a very confused Lisa.

“It’s magic – Faerie magic,” said Yoruk as he opened his bag and looked inside it.

The three girls watched as Yoruk delved deep inside his bag, searching for something. “Ah, I have it!” he said, his eyes sparkling wild with excitement. Withdrawing his hand from the bag, he showed the girls a large and perfectly formed crystal that sparkled almost as much as his eyes had, seconds earlier.

“How do you like it?” he asked,

“It’s wonderful,” said Mildred.

“It’s beautiful,” said Greta.

“It’s fantastic,” said Lisa.

“It’s magic,” said Yoruk. “And you know what?”

“What?” they asked him.

“You can also do it…Go on, give it a try…”

Each girl, carefully opening their bag, looked inside and marvelled at its magical interior.

“Go on!” said Yoruk. “Find the crystals!”

As their fingers searched the through bags surprisingly large interiors, each of the three sisters tried to find the perfectly formed crystals amongst the many other fascinating things inside.

Lisa found hers, first. Taking it out, she yelled, “I have it!”

“Excellent,” said Yoruk, “and now you, Greta and Mildred.”

Finding hers, Greta held it high above her head, shouting, “Here is mine!”

Being last, Mildred searched frantically to find her crystal, but there were just so many other things inside her bag, she kept on getting distracted. Finally, feeling a large angular object that could only be a crystal, she removed it without first looking to ensure it was object she wanted.

They gasped, Lisa and Greta gasped when they saw Mildred’s crystal, her jet-back crystal.

Spotting it, Yoruk stepped away nervously.

It was only after he stepped away from her did Mildred actually notice what she was holding, and she almost dropped it in fright.

“Be careful!” Yoruk warned. “You have released the Jeanie,” he said, struggling to regain his composure.

As she stared into the huge black crystal, so different from the crystals of her sisters, Mildred found herself increasingly fascinated by it. “What is it?” she asked as she gazed ever deeper into its mysterious interior.

“It’s the Stone of Death,” Yoruk replied, in a hushed whisper. “Don’t look into it!” he warned.

Struggling, trying so hard not to look at it, Lisa stuttered, “I, I can’t stop looking at it – it’s so beautiful…”

“It’s beautiful, but also bewitching,” Yoruk hissed. “Don’t look at it!” he warned her again.

Terribly worried for her sister’s safety, Lisa asked, “What can we do to help her, Yoruk?”

“Nothing, I fear.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, you can do nothing,” he repeated. “But…”

“But what?” she asked.

“We can…”

“We can – what?”

Calling the two sisters to come closer, the little man whispered, “I had intended to teach you this lesson later, much later… After you had learned the basics of your faerie training, he explained. “However, things turning out as they have done, I have no other option other than teaching you now…”

“Teach us, teach us!” the two sisters implored.

“Okay, I will do it,” he said, still in a whisper. “But I must warn you, you will see things that you are not yet prepared to see…”

“Save her, save her!” Lisa and Greta begged the little man.

Coughing, clearing his throat, making himself ready, Yoruk instructed them to hold their crystals – and ever so tightly – with both hands. Lisa and Greta did exactly as he said.

“Good, good,” he whispered. “Now look into the crystals,” he said. “Concentrate on their hidden dimensions, their hidden powers, and repeat everything that I say. Do you understand?” The girls nodded their heads.

“Faerie power, faerie might,” the little man began.

The girls repeated, “Faerie power, faerie might.”

“Help us now, in this our plight.”

“Help us now, in this our plight.”

“Release our friend, our sister dear.”

“Release our friend, our sister dear.”

“From the crystal, black with fear…”

“From the crystal, black with fear…”

Seeing nothing happening, Lisa asked, “Is that it?”

His eyes fixed doggedly upon Mildred and the black crystal, Yoruk replied, “No, there is more…”

Butting in, Greta whispered, “Nothing’s happening!”

“Look!” said Lisa, pointing her finger shakily at Mildred.

The black crystal resting in Mildred’s hands suddenly began shaking and shuddering. She struggled desperately to control of it.

Repeat these words after me – and quick!” whispered the little man, “Faerie power, faerie might.”

The sisters’ repeated, “Faerie power, faerie might.”

“Help us now, in this our plight.”

“Help us now, in this our plight.”

“Return again, from whence you came.”

“Return again, from whence you came.”

“Into the bag of Faerie.”

“Into the bag of Faerie.”

Although Mildred had been struggling to control the black crystal, she now realized that it had been toying with her, and it leapt crazily about in her hands, almost wrenching them off. Like a thing possessed, the black stone, harnessing the air around it, created a rushing vortex, expressing its displeasure, its acute anger at them ordering it into the bag.

“Hold on, Mildred!” shouted Yoruk over the tremendous noise engulfing them.

“Hold on!” shouted Lisa and Greta to their frightened sister.

“I, I’m trying!” she yelled, just as her feet rose from the floor, and she became a part of the screaming vortex.

“Yoruk! Do something!” the two sisters shouted in dismay.

“A minute, Mildred!” Yoruk yelled into the vortex. “Hold on for another minute!”

Faces, so many troubled, frightened and angry faces appeared within the vortex, spinning around Mildred.

Her grip on the black crystal faltering, Mildred shouted, “I can’t look at them! They’re horrible!”

“Nor can I!” yelled Greta, turning away from the frightening faces surrounding her sister.

“I, I can’t take anymore,” said Mildred, her voice weak and distant.

It stopped; with a tremendously huge rush of wind, the spinning vortex, with the black crystal securely inside it, disappeared into Mildred’s bag, leaving the bedraggled girl safe, though swaying with giddiness.

Running to their sister, Lisa and Greta said, “You did it! Yoruk, you did it!”  After hugging their sister, they scolded her for being so foolish.

When Mildred had fully recovered from her ordeal, Yoruk, sitting the three sisters beneath the same old tree as before, said, “What you have witnessed, today, is just a fraction of the powers – good and evil – that Faerie Bags contain. And now that I – we have overcome it, I hope you fully appreciate – and respect – the gift I have given you.”

“We do, we do!” they sang out in reply.

“Good,” said Yoruk. With a mischievous grin creeping across his face, he added, “Because it’s now time for FUN!”

“Can we fly?” the three sisters shouted in unison.

“Last one up’s a rotten egg,” he replied, his wings appearing as he spoke. In a flash of bright light, he flew high above them, almost disappearing from sight.

“Wait for me!” shrieked Greta, her wings exploding into a shimmering blur, lifting her high into the air.

“And me,” laughed Lisa as she followed them skyward.

“Ah, well,” said Mildred, “I suppose being a rotten egg is better than being devoured by a vortex in a black crystal.”

THE END.