Of Flowers and Snails by Allie Leigh
3400 words, ~17 minutes reading time
Issue 9 (Winter 2025)
Thirteen trees formed a line in the grove; thirteen sentinels standing guard, watching over the village that lay beyond. None were of the same species, and records disagreed, claiming the seventh to be a pine instead of an oak, or the third to be a spruce instead of a willow. But everyone could agree that there were, and always had been, thirteen, for that was what was needed to keep the people of Tule safe from the horrors of the Wild. Safe from the malice that would otherwise creep into their homes, wreak havoc on their forms, and sully their pristine hearts.
But there were some things that could slip between the trees’ branches, perhaps some things the wooden guardians were never meant to keep out at all.
The snap of lead cut through the peaceful night as Alyssia stared at her unfinished sketch. Annoyance had heightened the contrast between the paper and her lines, and a girl surrounded by white blooms stared back at her. The image would have been serene, had the flowers not coiled around the girl’s neck and fought to occupy the same space as her eyes. For a moment, Alyssia wondered if she should soften it, but a familiar flutter in the periphery of her vision made her pause, and when she looked to her open window, she found Rowan standing on the other side.
“Is this for me?” The copper-skinned fairy shot her a lopsided grin as she pointed at the jar of honey on the windowsill.
Compared to the humming, rainbow-flecked stone she kept beneath her bed, the dancing feather she let waltz across her desk, or any of the other bizarre treasures Rowan had gifted her over the years, a jar of honey was terribly mundane. Yet a glimmer ran through the veins in Rowan’s quivering, iridescent wings, and Alyssia purposefully kept her voice level, crafting a dissonance between her tone and words. “A sweet for my sweet.”
“How thoughtful.” No sooner had Rowan dipped her finger into the jar than her lilac eyes widened. “There are…bugs in here.”
“It’s been sitting out a while. You’re late.”
Rowan deflated at the accusation, her gaze falling to her own gloved hand, from beneath which a messy bandage wound its way up her left arm. She made no move to hide the injury, though her bare fingers traced the dressing, as if to confirm it were still in place. It looked as though Rowan had applied it herself, and Alyssia could only venture a guess as to what trouble the fairy had gotten herself into this time.
“Sometimes we need to take a leisurely approach.” Rowan smirked as she leaned on the windowsill, her wings fluttering as she cut through the invisible curtain of gloom. “I would still love you if you were a snail.”
Alyssia willed her expression to remain neutral, refusing to let Rowan change the topic and use their game against her. “Would you love me if I were…” she’d ask, testing Rowan with the most unappealing options imaginable. The fairy’s reply was always the same. “I’d love you no matter your form, for your soul would always be yours.”
But Rowan must have seen through her facade, for the mischievous glint fell from her eyes, and her wings stilled. “I’m sorry. Was the wait terrible?”
“Papa noticed the honey. He warned me again to guard my heart, lest a moment of passion lead it to be your next meal.”
Fairies were not uncommon in Tule. They would frequently take a liking to a mortal, showering them and their family in gifts. Some were able to take advantage of this affection and prosper from the wealth the fairy provided before shielding their home with iron, ensuring they could never be visited again. Others were seduced, and their hearts devoured.
When Rowan had first come to her window, Alyssia had been too young to fear this fate, and had felt no shame in arranging pillows beneath her covers to imitate her sleeping form. By the time her parents learned of her deception, she’d been old enough to replace the iron wards they’d left in her room with offerings meant to draw the fairy in. And now that she was a woman grown, the fevered arguments that ensued whenever they were alerted to Rowan’s presence were something she could ignore.
There was no need for them to worry, there never had been. Though her words were sweeter than any poem, Rowan had never gone further than lacing their fingers together and resting her head against her shoulder. And while the fairy was as dear to her as any of the maidens to whom the young men of Tule presented rings, Alyssia had never craved a more amorous touch.
Rowan traced her finger around the rim of the jar. “Ah, well, he’ll be pleased to know I’m still starving.” Alyssia’s gaze followed Rowan as she vaulted over the windowsill and came to stand behind her. The fairy’s fingers ghosted her temple as Rowan tucked a lock of Alyssia’s long red hair behind her ear, revealing her sketch.
“That looks…uncomfortable.” Rowan’s voice quivered as she observed the vicious flowers taking the place of the girl’s eyes.
The paper’s edges crinkled as Alyssia’s hands tightened around the sketchbook, like the flowery choker coiling around her subject’s neck. Rowan, I…
She didn’t have time to begin.
“Come on. I know I kept you waiting, but I need your help.”
Closing her sketchbook, she snipped the flowers’ stems. What was budding within her would have to wait.
Whenever she flew with Rowan, Alyssia never knew where she’d end up. The fairy’s delicate wings shouldn’t have had the strength to carry them both, yet with one arm looped around Alyssia’s waist, holding her close, Rowan spirited them through the air, reddening their cheeks with the force of the wind. Normally, Alyssia’s pulse raced as she tried to predict their destination, always somewhere just beyond the border of the Wild. And though the people of Tule would have called her mad for venturing beyond the safety of their boundary, Rowan promised to shield her from harm. They’d combed glittering glades where unicorns dwelled, swam through caves where gilded birds sang their songs, and Alyssia had never felt a twinge of fear.
Now, an anxious miasma encircled her heart as they landed in a bustling market, where humans and fair folk walked side by side. She had not been hungry before, but the scent of sizzling meat caused her stomach to cramp, while the array of colourful wares made her head spin. On any other night, she would have pulled Rowan between the stalls, treating her to an impish smile as she searched for the most absurd item the market could provide. Tonight, their steps were heavy, and Alyssia delighted only in the fact that the ambient conversation would keep them from being overheard.
“What do you need help with?”
Rowan’s reply was so soft, she almost didn’t hear it. “Something is wrong with the grove.”
“What?!” Prickles danced across Alyssia’s scalp as her shock drew Rowan’s attention.
“We will fix it.” The melody of Rowan’s voice warred against the thundering anxiety her news had birthed in Alyssia’s chest, and the fairy’s eyes darted upward for only an instant, as though taking note of something, before returning to meet her gaze. “We will fix it.”
Alyssia’s jaw tightened as she focused on the question hiding behind Rowan’s repeated words. Have I ever lied to you before?
Rowan continued, her lilac eyes drifting away to a nearby tent marked with a decorative sign that beckoned customers. “There’s just something we’ll need.”
Without further explanation, the fairy ducked inside. The tent was large and warmly lit, its interior filled with a myriad of wares—trinkets, weapons, and tools—scattered about without a hint of organization. In one corner stood a shopkeeper—with iridescent wings that matched Rowan’s—who pulled his head out of a box as they entered.
“Rowan, you’re later than I expected.”
“Everyone keeps telling me that.”
“Then it must be true.” He offered them a weak smile. “I felt the shift. Which one is it?”
“Birch.”
The shopkeeper scrunched his nose and furrowed his brows, as though he’d sniffed something sour. “At least it will be quick, then.” A teal glint caught Alyssia's eye as the other fairy passed Rowan a hefty, engraved axe.
“What are we going to do with that?” Alyssia asked, feeling her breath escape her lungs.
The shopkeeper looked at her as though she’d taken a tumble. “What does one normally do with an axe?”
The surrounding torches flared, flickering as rapidly as the anxious beats of her heart. “But if we fell one of the trees in the grove, then—”
“It’s all right”—Rowan’s touch was feather-light upon her shoulder, but even its familiar warmth did little to comfort her—“we have a sapling to replace it.” Alyssia couldn’t see where, but Rowan left her with no time to ask. “Thank you,” Rowan said to the other fairy, fishing gold coins from her pouch.
He dismissed her offering with a wave. “Coin is common. I’d rather the flowers from her hair.”
Though he gestured toward her, Alyssia hadn’t the faintest idea what he meant. Spikes of panic pierced her heart as her wandering fingers passed over something smooth poking from between her copper locks. There was no proper mirror in sight, but she raced to a collection of iron plates whose polished surfaces cast blurry reflections. In them, she could see the dreaded white flowers staring back.
“Alyssum, I believe. A key component in protection spells.”
Alyssia did not wince as she tore the blooms from her scalp. She handed them over, completing their transaction and pulling Rowan from the tent before the shopkeeper could question why there were traces of blood at the base of their stems.
The grove was, at once, both haunting and serene. In its magnificent line of trees, one was dark and decayed, bark sloughing from its trunk. Even on the best of days, the affected birch would have been thin compared to its companions, but it was shriveled and emaciated. And yet, though Rowan prided herself on her strength, she passed the axe to Alyssia.
“Would you do the honours?”
“You don’t want to?”
The fairy’s gaze fell to her bandaged arm, which still hung limply at her side. Had Rowan used it at all? Details that should have been clear were suddenly and frustratingly difficult to recall…
“Regrettably, I find myself ill-suited to this task, my precious snail.”
No, then, Alyssia thought as a white oval crept into the periphery of her vision. Were she to brush her hand against her temple, she was certain her fingers would graze an alyssum’s delicate petals. She reached for the axe instead, Rowan’s jaw clenching as she did so, though if a new set of flowers were blossoming, the fairy did not call attention to them as Alyssia turned to the diseased tree.
“I’ve never seen anything like this.” Each swing of the axe bit into the birch’s too-tender flesh, setting free trickles of black sap that oozed toward the earth. “Do you think it will spread?”
Rowan wandered to the next tree in the line and let her bare fingers brush against its unblemished bark. “They may become afflicted, but it would not be because of the birch.”
Chop. Chop.
Wood could not weep, yet the birch’s dark sap resembled tears as it ran down its trunk in twin streams. A squelch accompanied Alyssia’s laboured breath as she freed the axe’s sticky edge. “What do you mean?”
Rowan cradled her bandaged arm, pulling it to her chest as if it weighed much more than it was meant to. “Keep chopping, Alyssia.” While she did not seem keen on providing answers, Rowan offered a smile, though it failed to slow Alyssia’s racing heart, for there was too much hiding behind the fairy’s lilac eyes. “I’d caution you to steel your heart against what you’ll see when you finish, but you seem to be shedding petals instead of sweat; I can think of nothing more delicate.”
Alyssia looked to her feet and saw the scattering of alyssum petals there. As if on cue, one fluttered from her temple to join its companions. Her heart fell along with it. “Rowan, there’s something I need to—”
Chop.
The axe cut deeper than she had expected, and with a sickening crack, took its last, hungry bite out of the birch, felling the worn tree. No sooner had the blemished trunk touched the earth than a glow enveloped the stump, casting the sap-covered grass in a blinding light. Alyssia could not keep from shielding her eyes, and when the light receded, she found herself staring at a winged, emaciated figure crouched over the stump.
The revealed fairy sagged as though a terrible weight pressed upon him, and Rowan offered her hand. His skeletal fingers trembled as he accepted her aid, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.
“How long has it been?” His voice was rough, like it needed to be greased after lack of use.
Rowan’s gaze dropped to the exposed rings on the birch’s trunk before replying. “Fifty years, give or take?”
The other fairy grimaced. “I thought I’d last longer.”
For a moment, it looked as though Rowan wanted to pull him into an embrace—to chase away his sorrows—but held back. Her gaze softened instead. “You did well, Birch; there’s no reason for you to be ashamed. You’ve more than earned your rest.”
Birch’s gaze drifted to the axe in Alyssia’s hand, and his lips curved into a wan smile. “I doubt he’ll see it that way.”
“Can you bring it back to him?”
They must have been talking about the shopkeeper, though Alyssia couldn’t imagine what vested interest he’d have in the sickly fairy who stood before her.
“It’s the least I can do. I assume you’re going to…?” He didn’t need to finish his question; Rowan nodded all the same. Now it was his turn to be held back by a silent sadness. “Good luck to you, then.”
Birch turned from Rowan to Alyssia and held out his hand. For a moment, Alyssia stood as still as a tree herself, her reaction slowed as she struggled to parse the fairies’ exchange. Realizing what was being asked of her, her limbs lost their rigidity, and she relinquished the axe. Birch gave her the smallest of nods before testing his wings. Finding them functional, he took off into the air and disappeared into the night.
“Who was that?” Alyssia turned to Rowan. The fairy’s lips were pressed into a thin line. When she didn’t answer, Alyssia continued, “How can a fairy be a tree?”
“Because that’s what they all are, Alyssia. That’s what they’ve always been. The grove was planted by my people—fairies who transformed into trees to shield the humans in your village from the horrors of the Wild.” Rowan paused, looking somewhat rueful. “To keep you safe, so others of our kind could devour an unblemished heart whenever they so desired. Not quite the noble story you had imagined, is it?”
The towering trees seemed to loom ominously now as Alyssia contemplated whether they were guarding her or waiting for the chance to steal her away. Her heart thundered, and she knew it didn’t matter. Whatever their intention, the sanctuary they provided was not something the people of Tule could afford to lose.
She closed the small distance that kept her from Rowan, slow enough for the fairy to pull away as she reached for her gloved hand. As soon as Alyssia held it, she knew something was wrong. It was stiff, much too stiff. “We’re writing a different sort of story, aren’t we?”
Rowan’s fingers twitched against hers, as though they longed to curl into her palm. “We were, my beloved snail.”
There was too much weight to Rowan’s words. Alyssia wished so fervently that she could ignore it—that she could lift the fairy up and whisk her away, as Rowan always did for her—but an alyssum tickled her cheek, rooting her to the ground.
“That fairy, he—”
“Birch gave fifty years of his life to guard you from the Wild. He did his best, but there’s only so much one heart can take.” Rowan’s gaze fell to the discoloured grass. “Eventually, the darkness becomes more than anyone can bear. The rot seeps through.”
Alyssia’s fingers slid up Rowan’s arm, to the knot that held her bandage closed. She didn’t know how swiftly the fairy could move, but Rowan made no attempt to pull back, letting Alyssia loosen it. “When you said we already had a sapling…”
“I meant me.” The bandage fell away. At first glance, one might have mistaken the state of Rowan’s arm for a terrible rash, but a single touch revealed that what appeared to be withered skin was rough bark. The limb was as stiff as a mighty bough. “That’s why I was late. The change had started, and I…I wasn’t sure I was ready. But I have to be ready. We need to replant the grove before anything slips through.”
A lithe tendril coiled around Alyssia’s neck, tightening into a floral noose as she spoke—her unfinished sketch brought to life. “Something already did.” She watched the horror bloom in Rowan’s eyes as flowers burst across her throat, her heart pulsing in time as their petals unfurled. “I’m changing too.”
Rowan’s voice was barely more than a whisper, caught somewhere between a promise and a prayer. “It will stop once I take my place in the grove.”
“Not if I change with you.” Alyssia’s hands tightened around Rowan’s, and she wondered if the fairy could still feel the warmth behind her touch. She hoped she could. “You heard what the shopkeeper said—alyssum flowers are good in all sorts of protection spells. I could grow around you; protect you while you protect the village.” It would barely be any different from the way things are now, she thought. My heart has grown around yours for years.
Rowan’s lips were not yet wood, but still, she could not speak. Alyssia did what her beloved could not and forcefully entwined their fingers. “Tell me you wouldn’t be safer with me by your side.”
“I wouldn’t be safer—”
“Say it without it being a lie.” You’ve never lied to me before, Rowan. Don’t start now.
Rowan’s protests died on her lips, and Alyssia knew she had won. New blossoms threatened to block her nascent smile, but it broke through. “Would you love me if I were a flower?”
“No.”
“No?” Alyssia’s echo was couched in a harsh laugh. “You would love me as a creature who leaves mucus in its wake, but not as a flower? Would my soul not be my own?”
Pressure was building behind her right eye, and she feared what it might blossom into. Thankfully, nothing prevented her from hearing Rowan’s strained words. “I can’t let you throw your life away.”
“It is mine to do with as I wish, and I wouldn’t be throwing it away unless I were apart from you.”
The change was coming upon Rowan faster now. Bark crept up the base of her neck, reaching toward her jaw, yet somehow, she had become more malleable, allowing Alyssia to guide her to the tear-streaked stump that had once been Birch. The two of them stood on either side of it, their hands joined over its exposed rings.
The grove’s magic was eager. It burned beneath them, enveloping the stump in a warm glow that sent luminous tendrils out to twine around their ankles, snaking their way up their shins and thighs.
“Are you sure?” The bark grew across Rowan’s lips, sealing them shut, rendering those the last words she would ever speak.
Alyssia smiled, petals pouring from her mouth along with her reply. “Let my roots entwine with yours. Let me grow strong around you, my fearless tree.”
Thirteen trees formed a line in the grove; thirteen sentinels standing guard, watching over the village that lay beyond. None were of the same species, and records disagreed, claiming the seventh to be an oak instead of a redwood, or the third to be a willow instead of an aspen. But everyone could agree that there was one tree that had been there for centuries. One tree that had seemingly taken the place of a birch and never seen fit to leave.
A magnificent rowan with a net of alyssum wound lovingly around its trunk.
