Firefly Festival

Some Years Ago,

*“Whoever claimed that people are born equal is a lying sack of shit,*” Tala read dramatically from the little journal in her clutch.

And clutching it she was, because Taylor was trying hard to snatch it out of her grasp, and failing miserably to do so.

“Give it back,” Taylor whined, exasperated. But his efforts did little to deter his older sister. She was four years older and four heads taller; even standing on his tippy-toes, he could barely reach the extent of her arms.

Tala giggled, flaunting the journal above his head. “Aren’t you a little too young to be going through a cynical phase, little Gray?” she teased.

Taylor pouted, ceasing his attempts at reclaiming his property. Tala cringed; she knew what was coming. “Okay, okay, I’ll give it back,” she appeased.

Too little, too late. Taylor was already running to their mom and wailing. “Mo-ooom,” he yelled, loud enough to turn heads at the nearby stalls.

Their mom was in the middle of speaking to a customer. She gave the woman an apologetic look and the two of them a seething one that promised retribution once back home.

“Nasty little snitch,” Tala muttered, and he stuck out his tongue at her.

“Tala, quit torturing the little one and get over here,” a curly-haired sixteen-year-old interjected. This was Madonna, his sister’s best friend and comrade in making his life harder than it needed to be.

Fortunately, Tala threw the journal at him and sashayed away with her disaster twin. He breathed a sigh of relief; she would’ve pulled his ears off had she read what he had to say about them.

Left to his own devices, Taylor walked across the stalls, mindlessly perusing the items on display. It was an assortment of knickknacks: firefly fridge magnets, firefly caps, firefly brooches, and firefly everything. The people of Runan really loved their fireflies.

They had little else to show off otherwise. The more he thought about it, the grimmer he felt. Some people in the world, some areas, were blessed more than others. In those areas, for those people, magic ran abundant. Their festivals were a thing of dreams. The kind, for a village kid like himself, you could only see on a screen.

Here, all they had was a hundred-year-old legend about fireflies that guided the Patroness of Runan to safety from an enemy attack. The legend lives on, but the fireflies are going extinct.

As if spurred by his train of thought, a firefly blinked ahead at the edge of the forest. Then a second, and a third. His eyes widened in shock.

Within the forest, countless fireflies blinked. He turned around, speaking to no one in particular. “Do you see that?” he asked.

An auntie at the stall wiped away a bead of sweat. “What is it, little Gray?”

“Auntie, do you see that?” Gray gushed the words out, pointing at the forest.

The auntie looked in the direction he was pointing, but there was nothing to see. “See what?” she asked, confused.

Gray looked ahead, dumbfounded. He was sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. He stepped forward toward the trees; he was only going to take a look, that was all.

He steeled his nerves and took one step after the other. He might have no impressive magic of his own, but legend makers do not stay back, they take initiative. Yes, that’s exactly what he was going to do. Take initiative.

Taylor felt a little scared. He wanted to follow the fireflies, but he wasn’t stupid. This was how kids got abducted in movies. Villainous witches tricked their prey into the depths of the forest to butcher them for a sacrifice.

Ironically, this made him calm down. Damn it, if there were any villainous witches in Runan, he was almost willing to be their first sacrifice just to spark a little action in this tedious little town. He giggled at his foolishness, walking the path more at ease.

The fireflies blinked once again further ahead, hovering still in midair. The more he watched, the wider his confusion grew. They weren’t fireflies at all. “What the hell?” he whispered.

He took a tentative step toward the little buggers, careful not to scare them away. However, the little wisps of light did not scatter; in fact, they drew closer to him.

Taylor rubbed his eyes, questioning his sanity. Up ahead, he heard muffled cursing and groaning. The wisps of light drifted in the direction of the sound, and he followed in their wake.

They floated through the trees toward the swamp, settling above a steep ridge where the groaning could be heard more clearly. Looking down from above, Gray saw a boy his age with muddied hands trying to climb up the slope.

The soil, rotten with decay, was giving way beneath his feet, and he couldn’t find a foothold. Taylor bent down and grabbed his arm, only to be met by a pair of hazel eyes on the prettiest face he had ever seen. He almost lost his balance, and the boy flailed beneath him, dragging him toward the mud.

“Careful!” Taylor squealed, digging his fingers into the soil to maintain his grip.

Knees on the ground, both arms stretched taut, he hauled the boy up over the edge and onto the muddied ground beside him.

The boy was panting, his face flushed. “Thank you,” he choked out.

“How did you fall down there!” Taylor asked, wiping his grimy hands against the fabric of his corduroys.

“I don’t know,” the boy cringed, the flush in his cheeks deepening. “My mom is going to kill me,” he grumbled, looking down at the state of his clothes.

“A little overdressed, are we?” Taylor teased, taking in the boy next to him.

“It’s proper attire for the function,” he answered.

Taylor was struck speechless. Suit and tie for the Firefly Festival? He couldn’t help but giggle. “Sure, the Queen of Runan will be most impressed by your polished shoes,” Taylor joked, staring down at the boy's muddy, yet clearly expensive boots.

“Oh, no, we’re not meeting the Queen for another week,” the boy answered seriously. “I’ve never heard anyone call her the Queen of Runan before. Is that a local thing?”

Taylor chuckled. “Did you hit your head during that fall?” he asked, inching closer to check if there were any bumps on the boy’s head. “What’s your name, anyway?”

The boy looked at him strangely. “You don’t know who I am?” he asked, skeptical.

“Am I supposed to?” Taylor countered, quirking an eyebrow.

“You can call me Adri,” he said.

“Okay, Adri. You can call me Gray.”

-

The stalls stood unattended in the village square. Festive decorations hung limply from the poles, and the lanterns remained unlit. People were huddled together, offering reassuring words and bringing out homemade food, but the display of community did not ease Tala’s mind. She was to blame for this.

If only she were a better older sister. If she weren’t always in such a rush to run off with her friends. If she had paid better attention, if she had kept him close, none of this would have happened. He was only eleven years old, his twelfth birthday a month away. What if he didn’t come back? The last thing she had said to him was nasty little snitch.

Oh God.

She felt her blood pressure drop; a panic attack was closing in. Madonna knelt in front of her, squeezing her hands. “Breathe, Tala. We’re going to find him,” she assured her.

Are they, though? Another search party had canvassed the woods last night, and so far, there was still no sign of little Gray.

“What if we don’t?” Tala choked out.

“Not an option,” Madonna said, shaking her head. “He’ll turn up.”

Tala’s mom was questioning poor old Auntie again. She was the last person to see Gray before he disappeared, and she had already relayed her story multiple times since he’d vanished. “He said he saw something in the woods, but then I got a customer. I didn’t keep an eye on him, this is all my fault,” the old woman grimaced at the memory.

The search dogs hovered around the edge of the forest. He must have been there, but if his scent ended at the treeline, maybe someone had abducted him. Nearby, the chief constable was having a hushed conversation with their dad, speculating about bringing in a larger search team from the city. Tala felt like she might throw up.

“You’ve been out here all night, and it’s getting dark again. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?” the police sergeant suggested to their mother.

She snapped something harsh back, making the officer recoil and turn to his partner with a shrug.

It had been almost twenty-four hours already. The likelihood of finding him tonight was slimming with every tick of the clock.

Then everything happened all at once. Someone screamed, “He’s here!” and the villagers rushed toward the commotion. Her mother sprang from where she was crouched on the ground, tears streaming down her face.

Little Gray ran up to them, looking confused. All the fighting spirit drained straight out of her dad’s body as he collapsed to the ground.

Tala felt her face, it was soaked, snot gushing from her nose, but she didn’t care. She ran straight for the little devil.

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