Fifi and the Swiftifoots and how they found the Flowers of Paradise Read online



  Fifi and the Swiftifoots

  and how they found the

  Flowers of Paradise

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  by Linda Talbot

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  Illustrations by Diana Munz

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  Copyright Linda Talbot 2014

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  Table of Contents

  Fifi and the Swiftifoots

  Chapter One

  Illustrations:

  Home of the Swiftifoots

  Sven, Fifi and Snurk

  Begins the trek. . .

  Chapter Two

  They reach the Sea of Hot Suds

  Legs the Squid

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Onward!

  Chapter Five

  The Queen sits singing

  Thank you

  Author’s Note

  Fifi and the Swiftifoots

  and how they found the

  Flowers of Paradise

  ONE

  On the dark side of the sun there is a world which is wild, wet and whispering with trees. And the forests are full of Swiftifoots.

  Home of the Swiftifoots

  We do not live on the dark side of the sun, but on a dismal day, you may mistake a mushroom in a damp ditch for a Swiftifoot. For if you were borne before the wind on a rain cloud to the land where they live, you would see that their squashed faces are the colour of mushroom tops, while from bodies with ridges like the underside of the mushroom, long arms hang, and their legs grow like stalks on which they bound at great speed through the grass. If you touched one, you would find him very damp and if you followed him through the grass, you would see him slither in alarm down a deep, dark hole.

  Under the trees are other holes, linked by twisting tunnels that drip all day. So the Swiftifoots are very bad tempered and when they quarrel their voices bounce back and forth as fiercely as the rain. They long for the warmth of the sun; to swing at the tops of the trees where the sky is sometimes blue and to run through the grass that rustles dryly. But the sun would shrivel them up.

  Snurk is the oldest Swiftifoot. He can even remember when some of the birch, larch and beech trees were saplings. But now his legs are bandy, his back bent and he can only croak occasional complaints. Yet, on the many days when the Swiftifoots are more muddled than usual, Snurk decides what to do.

  Snurk – the oldest Swiftifoot

  One morning, when the rain runs in rivers off the leaves, Snurk finds fifty Swiftifoots croaking loudly in the forest clearing. Stepping forward, Sven, a good looking young Swiftifoot, better able to keep his temper than most, says, “Come and see what we’ve found in the forest. We are wondering whether it’s good to eat.”

  Snurk follows Sven through the sopping grass until, in a pile of leaves, curled in a tiny ball, he sees a curious creature with long, silky hair, the colour of buttercups wound round her like a cocoon. He prods her with his foot and she whimpers. There are two wings on her back, as lovely as lace. But one of them is crushed and has a hole in it.

  Sven and Snurk - see if you can find Fifi!

  Snurk decides there is not nearly enough on her for a square meal and Sven, seeing for the first time how pretty she is, pushes him aside and bending down, whispers softly in her ear, “What are you? How did you get here?”

  “I’m a fairy. My name is Fifi,” she says, shivering. “I’m lost. I wanted to know what lay behind the Moonmarsh Mountains. So I flew over them one night when there was no wind. But all was black. Then it began to rain and the wind rose and whistled round me until I got tangled up in your trees. It hasn’t stopped raining since I arrived and I’m very hungry.”

  “What do you eat?” asks Sven, imagining it must be very little.

  “The petals of Paradise Flowers. But there aren’t any here,” Fifi replies and several silvery tears slide down her nose.

  “There are big red berries in Snurk’s larder you may care to try instead,” says Sven, helping her to her feet. She trembles like a leaf. “Oh my! See what’s happened!” she cries, as her broken wing droops down her back. “Now I can’t fly. How shall I get home?”

  “My tin of bees-wax might do the trick,” says Snurk. “You must come to my house.” Snurk and Sven help Fifi along the marshy main street until Sven disappears beneath a tussock of grass and Fifi shrieks as Snurk passes her down to him. She is borne through the cold blackness, hearing the bad-tempered echoes of other Swiftifoots along the passages no fairy would dream of digging, for they live in the folds of Paradise Flowers.

  An eerie light filters into the hole where Snurk lives. Bits of branches, blown down in high winds, lie on the mud floor and are used to sit on, while Snurk fetches the tin of bees-wax.

  “Now this won’t hurt but you must keep very still,” he says. Placing a damp hand under the torn wing, he gently smooths on the sticky substance. He tries to ease the pieces together, but they instantly fall apart and the hole grows even bigger. “Here, you try Sven. You have smaller fingers.”

  Sheepishly Sven gathers the ragged pieces in his hand and very carefully smooths them together. As though spellbound, they soon set firmly.

  Snurk fetches some big red berries from his larder and has to cut them into squashy pieces for Fifi to hold. But they are bitter and she spits out their hard pips on the floor, while her tears begin again, coursing like glinting drops of dew down her cold cheeks.

  Then it rains harder, pounding like frenzied feet on the roof and Snurk’s ceiling begins to leak. Just a few drips at first. But soon the water comes, plop, plop, making a big pool in the middle of the floor.

  Snurk empties a whole tin of bees-wax on the hole, but it all falls down with a lump of ceiling. Five distressed Swiftifoots appear at the entrance to his room and pandemonium can be heard in the passage beyond.

  “We can’t live here any more. The tunnel’s collapsed,” croaks one of the Swiftifoots, while the others jostle for a good look at Fifi. “Crump and Squidge here are homeless,” he goes on, pointing to two Swiftifoots who look more squashed than usual and, not knowing what to make of Fifi, are frowning hard at the water-logged ground.

  Fifi is frightened by their crumpled faces. But she is grateful to Sven for repairing her wing and she wants to help. In a tiny voice, that chimes like bone china, she says, ”There is a much better land beyond the Moonmarsh Mountains where we live on the petals of Paradise Flowers. They would improve your tempers and may even make you immortal.”

  When you are immortal you cannot die. But Snurk is not so sure. He demands, “Does it rain there? Because if it doesn’t - Paradise petals or not - we’ll dry up and die.”

  “Only when we want it to or we would be washed away,” replies Fifi. “We would have to find you a field where we could arrange for a moderate rainfall, but not so heavy it would wash away your homes.” And in a silvery voice, to a fluttering tune, Fifi begins to sing:

  “We live in the Land of Paradise Flowers

  Where we munch scented petals for hours and hours.

  We live in their folds, so w
e never catch colds

  And they give us miraculous powers.

  Eating petals each day, we cannot die,

  They keep our hair yellow and help us to fly.

  We shoot through the night at the speed of light

  But, woe betide, if we venture too high.”

  Snurk thinks of the long walk on bent legs. But when he looks up there are lop-sided smiles on the five round faces and he knows that even if he stays, the Swiftifoots will follow Fifi, so he says, “All right. Tell the others we’ll go. Fifi will lead us. We will assemble in the clearing in five minutes.”

  So, almost drowned in the deluge, the Swiftifoots fall into a ragged line, ready to march towards the Moonmarsh Mountains. As they leave the forest and stride across soggy downland, Fifi is eager to fly, but the wind and rain rush at her so fiercely, she has to roll herself into a tight yellow ball and allow the wind to bowl her over the grass.

  Begins the trek to the Land of Paradise Flowers

  Sven, following behind, watches her anxiously, ready to stretch forth long arms should she bump along too briskly.

  Behind Sven comes homeless Crump, a Swiftifoot who is plumper and less peeved than most and had even been known to laugh at floods on the forest floor, until his house collapsed. With him is Squidge. He is shy; his eyes always wide in alarm, and frightened by tree stumps that look like curious creatures in the grass.

  The Moonmarsh Mountains glower in their path. They have always stood, a bleak barrier between the Swiftifoots and the unknown. Legends of the Rain Forest tell of mountain men with three heads and hairy arms who hide behind rocks, then drag strangers into holes far deeper and darker than those of the Swiftifoots’! There are also rumours of men with one head, arms, legs and loud voices, who sometimes mistake the Swiftifoots for mushrooms and, gathering them in huge hands, take them home, FRY them in a pan and EAT them!

  As the ground grows stony and begins to climb, the rocks rear and tumble as though thrown willy-nilly by some being far more bad-tempered than the Swiftifoots. They imagine in the rocks, the hungry eyes of the one-headed men, following their stumbling steps.

  But Sven strides happily ahead with Fifi who is now unrolled and, bounding up the path, half flying, as her feet skim the ground, while Snurk grunts because his legs are aching and a thick mountain mist is making him damper than usual. Struggling through the stones, the other Swiftifoots grumble, thinking fondly of their sopping Rain Forest.

  Suddenly they halt as the mountain shudders, throwing several Swiftifoots off their feet and a great voice from its bowels, booms, “BEWARE you rash creatures from the Rain Forest. Paradise petals are not for you. You are only marching backwards to the beginning of the world. You will meet with DISASTER AND DISTRESS; monsters with many legs, feathered flying creatures, scaly beings with terrible teeth and when you have passed through enough time, the one-headed MEN who will FRY you in butter for breakfast.”

  There is a long, low rumble and the voice ceases. The Swiftifoots mutter and tremble. One, thrown near the edge of the precipice when the ground shook, tumbles over with a shriek.

  Fifi flutters in agitation and Sven, who has also toppled sideways, grabs her ankle as she is about to lift off into the mist. Snurk sinks onto a rock. Crump cocks his head from side to side, not believing the bad news, but waiting to hear if there is any more, while Squidge, petrified, peers from behind a boulder.

  The Swiftifoots pick themselves up, frightened and confused, but form once more into an untidy line. Some want to return to the Rain Forest. A deluge a day is better than DISASTER and DISTRESS. But, stepping onto a rock, Sven announces, “If we go back we shall certainly drown. We have no homes. We shall never be happy. After the monsters, we shall find the Paradise Flowers and be immortal.”

  Snurk grunts but says nothing. Crump grins cheerfully and Squidge creeps cautiously from behind the boulder. The other Swiftifoots groan and push impatiently in different directions; some facing the path home, others scowling at Fifi who is now fluttering in admiration round Sven.

  “All in favour of going on, put up your hands,” says Sven. Slowly, most of the Swiftifoots, although unhappy, raise their hands.

  “Excellent. Then forward march.” And with Fifi bouncing in front, off they stride again.

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