Loch Island Folk

Chrissie edged closer to the window of the flyer as it banked to port, and caught her first glimpse of Loch Island. It had been six months since she had last set foot on this narrow ribbon of land that was the end of a chain in the far northern islands. Chrissie was feeling homesick; homesick for the place where she had previously spent half a year as Governor. The Director of Island Affairs; her boss, had not been keen to let her return for a second term. In his view six months looking after the administrative affairs of the islanders was more than enough for anyone, and was akin to a prison sentence. The view Chrissie had was the exact opposite. When settled in she intended to apply for an extension. Chrissie loved The Folk and their unusual ways and traditions, and they were always happy to reciprocate.

The flyer spiralled down like a falling leaf, and Chrissie could soon make out the farms and tiny homesteads of the thousand strong inhabitants. The ground zoomed up to greet the descending flyer, bringing the proximity brakes into force. The silver machine hovered for the last few seconds before bumping gently onto the flat area of sand and gravel that comprised the landing platform.
The pilot gave a satisfied sigh, and turned to his auburn-haired passenger. “That’s it Chrissie!”
“Thanks Etienne,” she replied, unbuckling her harness. “I’ll see you in a fortnight!”
“A month,” said Etienne sadly. “The government is cutting back as usual, and so my supply drops will only be every four to five weeks from now on.”
“Oh!” The sudden revelation upset her when she was on a high. Etienne had been her only link with the mainland on her previous tour of duty. They had developed a rapport, and he would often leave visiting Loch Island until last so he could spend a few hours with her, talking and drinking tea into the early hours. Often he would stay all night, and sleep on the couch in front of the red brick fireplace. Their friendship had always been platonic, but on that last visit half a year before; he had kissed her fiercely on the lips with some passion, and then jumped into the flyer before she could respond. She had always admired him, and wondered if the relationship would go further.
“I’ll try and make it three weeks if I can,” he said, “perhaps, if I get here early enough in the day, we can walk along the beach, and you could show me those wild flowers that grow on the edge of the sand dunes?”
“Yes… yes of course I will,” said Chrissie, unsure if Etienne was really interested in the flowers, “and I’ll cook you a meal and you can stay the night.” Chrissie’s face reddened. “What I mean is…”
“I know what you mean,” said Etienne grinning. “That couch of yours is very comfortable.” He glanced at the side viewer. “I do believe that you’ve got company. I’ll leave you to it. Until we meet again!”
Etienne knew The Folk’s protocol, and would not cause an incident however trivial.

Chrissie breathed in the pure air, and felt the cool breeze coming off the sea rustle her hair. The flyer sprang upward, and like a giant grasshopper gained height and length before dashing off to the unseen mainland. Chrissie gave a wave, and then blew a kiss at her future lover. She was alone with just her two giant suitcases of clothes and a few personal items.
Alone!
But not for long.
A figure appeared from behind a low stone wall, waved, and ran towards her. It was The Folk’s hereditary leader, and the tallest inhabitant on the island.
“Cerion!” Chrissie yelled. “It’s good to see you!”
Cerion stopped a few paces from her, bowed low from the waist in the traditional island folk manner, and spread his arms wide.
“Welcome back Chrissie,” he said, smiling. “We have missed you. Your predecessor was less than empathic towards us.” He pointed a long arm upward, and Chrissie spotted a second flyer leaving the island. “But he has left us now.”
To Chrissie they appeared like dragonflies scooting across a village pond, as the departing governor’s black machine chased after Etienne’s in a hopeless attempt to reach the mainland first.
“I’m sorry he was unsuitable,” said Chrissie, bowing in return.
“No matter,” said Cerion, “you have returned and that is all that matters. We hope you will be our friend and guardian for many years to come.”
“I hope so too,” said Chrissie smiling and picking up one of the suitcases.
“I will take the other,” said Cerion, hoisting the massive object onto his shoulders. With a single bound he leapt over the stone wall, and reaching a well-used trail continued running until he reached the bungalow on the far side of the dune.

Chrissie did her best, but was unable to keep up with him. By the time she arrived at her island home he had placed the suitcase in the centre of the polished floor. Chrissie stopped on the porch, looked out to sea, and smiled. This was truly home. The governor’s official residence, situated at the centre of the island, was not a place she cared for, and had spent less than a week there on her last term of office. With an almost absent-minded movement she ran her fingers along the windowsill expecting to find half a year of sand and grit. The sill was perfectly clean, as were the windows, in fact every single item was polished and appeared brand new. She stepped inside.
“Did The Folk do this for me?” Chrissie was already aware of the answer.
“It was a small task for many hands,” said Cerion.
“Everyone is most kind.”
“You belong to us, Chrissie, and we to you.”
“Thank you Cerion.” Chrissie brushed away a tear.
“In two days time we are having a midnight party at the stone circle. We would be pleased if you could attend as our honoured guest. It’s at the far end of the island, and so we will send a pony carriage for you.”
“I’d love to,” said Chrissie. No outsider had ever attended a party hosted by The Folk before, and she was uncertain of the protocol that might be needed.
Suddenly, and completely out of character for a member of the Folk he moved forward, and putting his arms around her waist gave Chrissie a hug. A thousand voices echoed and re-echoed through her head. The voices called her name, and thanked her for returning. Cerion released her, and the voices faded.
Once again he bowed very low, then with a whoop he turned and ran out of the door. Chrissie moved over to the side window, and watched him as he sped along the trail occasionally jumping up into the air. Just before disappearing from sight he glanced back and waved. A voice drifted through her mind.
“Two days time… at midnight… a pony carriage.”
“Yes!” she whispered in reply.
Chrissie’s communicator buzzed pulling her back to reality.
It was Robinson the Director.
“Settled in?”
Robinson rarely used a sentence where a word or two would suffice.
“Yes thanks,” said Chrissie, noticing a bowl of fruit on the oak sideboard, and a mass of freshly picked vegetables on the kitchen table.
“Don’t get too lonely!”
“I’m sure I won’t.”
“I don’t know how you stand those people? Ghastly creatures! Disgusting sickly skin colours!”
“I like them,” said Chrissie defensively.
“One thing…you can tell me, because you know them well. Are they really telepathic?”
“Goodness no! That’s just a typical mainland rumour. They’re just different and misunderstood that’s all.”
“Your pilot, what’s his name?”
“Etienne!”
“That’s him… said he’d like to live there, and has asked permission to visit more often. Must be mad!”
“Yes,” said Chrissie, smiling, “I expect he is, but I can assure you I don’t mind. It would give me some company.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Robinson. “Don’t want strange people like that on my regular staff.” Robinson rang off without replying.
“Horrid man!”
Chrissie continued to unpack her clothes whilst nibbling away at an apple. Where did The Folk get oranges and banana’s from? So many things were unknown about them, even though she felt she knew them well. Perhaps the midnight party would explain a little more?
Robinson was typical of people who refused to understand beings who were different. Cerion may have been the tallest of the Loch Island Folk, but even he was barely a metre high. Chrissie thought that a pale green face pointed ears, and a long pointed nose was quite attractive in the right setting – in the island setting. She loved the colourful clothes, and their leaf patterned hats.

Nowadays, the tiny people liked to be called The Folk, but Chrissie preferred to think of them, as they were known in olden days – she preferred to think of them as – Pixies.