Recondite Fairies

“Look, it’s a fairy!” my sister cried, pointing into the dense foliage of the jungle, so much more green that our gardens at home.

On this unfamiliar voyage (which I hadn’t wanted to be a part of but mother dragged us and father didn’t protest and sister said there would be fairies so of course we had to go) we had been riding a woven raft down the majority of the river.

The approaching rock face wasn’t worrying to the natives, but I felt apprehensive at the slightest hint of azure or vermilion lizards slipping around the niches and grooves of the ancient carvings there.

“Fairies don’t exist,” I said, glancing to the bush she had indicated where the ferns swayed gently.

“Don’t be silly,” she answered.

We neared the rock face on our creaking raft and a slight disturbance in the river sent a spray of murky green water over my toes. The rock face opened like a mouth, a tunnel disappearing into darkness, welcoming us with teeth and eyes.

“Fairies,” my sister said again, and pointed to a scuttling creature on the ceiling of the cave.

Fairies in books, with wings and bright eyes and spider-silk hair, don’t exist. I have never believed in them and I never will. But the creatures in the cave with membranous extensions on their back, and stone coloured teeth and dark green eyes, they are more than real.

As we sailed into the cave I realized that fairies are more recondite than we can imagine, and when sister pointed a third time and whispered, “fairies”, I heard the cave fill with sound, as though it were laughing.

Text by Lucie MacAulay