“Alright, umm… I know this might be a little weird, but I’m gonna need you all to split up.” Julian was in constant motion—every few seconds he felt the need to twitch, to move, to make sure that he was indeed cured.
The last two weeks had been an increasingly nascent haze, crowding in upon his mind until he couldn’t even get out of bed and relied on Avery for his survival. That reliance, as it turned out, had been well-founded. And it only cost her entire existence to survive. He couldn’t look at any of these without remembering that, couldn’t feel the weight of tiny hooves on his back without another reminder that this was his fault.
If only she’d been driving instead, she could’ve reacted in time. If she hadn’t crashed, they would’ve been able to share the load, instead of him working to the bone and getting infected. And when it had come time to find the cure, Julian himself had rolled over and been unwilling to fight, and Avery had gone to the end of the world for him.
But he knew those voices weren’t rational, no matter how loud they were. None of the fairies buzzing around the room seemed mad at him, or even seemed to think they ought to be. Most only looked confused. One flew up close to him, her coat a peach color and her mane bright orange. “What do you mean, Julian?”
“I, uh…” He hesitated for a few seconds. But just a few seconds. “You know I don’t do good with crowds. There’s a lot of you, even if you’re tiny. So, uh… you six, you can fly into the bedroom. I’ll figure you out in a little bit. The rest of you stay here, okay?”
A dissatisfied murmur passed through the group, but they moved to obey. A few of them even looked afraid of him, probably for his size. He could hardly blame them. They’re like bugs.
That left Jamie with six breezies. Well, seven if he counted the one riding his back, but she didn’t frighten him as much. Her shy nervousness and thick glasses made her less intimidating. Not only that, but Julian felt that one of these had to be the real Avery, and it was probably her.
“Kay.” Julian went to work on several nearby foil-wrapped boxes of crackers and started chewing. Whatever technology had packed them did a good job, because they were only a little stale. Also completely flavorless, but it wasn’t as though he would complain about that.
Julian felt healthy again, but he was also starving. “Can I have some?” asked a tiny voice from his shoulder, a little squeaking thing like a cassette he’d taken a magnet to as a child. Avery’s voice was still buried in there, beneath an entirely new one. But Julian had already adjusted to that once from his best friend, he could do it again.
“Sure, bird. Here.” He held out a wing for her to step onto, then lowered her to the couch beside him. He broke off a corner of the cracker, and she took it eagerly in her magic, chewing thoughtfully. She didn’t need much.
“How come you let her stay with our group?” Asked the smallest of the Averies, the one Julian was pretty sure wasn’t even grown up yet. “She already talked to you!”
“Avery—” but all of them perked up, as though he were talking to each one individually. They landed not far away from the one with glasses, some sitting and some pacing but all watching him. “Okay, that Avery. She can’t fly like the rest of you. That means I have to keep an eye on her. If a spider or something comes out of the walls, you can all just fly away. She can’t, so I’m keeping her safe.”
Nobody argued with him.
The peach-colored one landed on one of his legs, apparently unafraid of him. That made one of them—Julian couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to stand on something so huge, something that could kill him at a whim. But she didn’t seem concerned. “I have a suggestion, Julian. It might make this process easier.”
“Okay,” he said, through bites of cracker. He’d almost finished with one pack, and would soon be moving on to another. “Shoot.”
“We need new identifiers. We’re all ‘Avery,’ but an identifier has to be unique to be useful. We have no way of referring to each other and you have no way of describing us. You are good at naming things—I think you should give us each names. And the other six too, obviously.” She looked over her shoulder, apparently addressing the others. “I remember being bad at remembering names, but I will try. We’ll figure it out eventually.”
It did sound like a good idea. Julian wasn’t quite sure on being unable to fix this—if Avery had been able to cure him, why not cure each other as well? He imagined cramming them all into a box, then squeezing until a single pony popped out the other end. But the fairies on the whole didn’t seem terribly bothered by their new state. Would they think of it as killing them if I could bring them back together? Thirteen minds go into a box and only one leaves?
And maybe they’re right. But Julian didn’t have any information to suggest he could, so he wouldn’t waste time with that now. “Alright then, you’re first. Everybody else can line up while I do it.” They did, struggling over each other until they settled roughly according to size. With the exception of glasses, who hadn’t even tried to get in line.
“So, tell me about yourself.” He lifted his leg, holding it up with the peach-colored breezie balancing delicately on it. “What are you like?”
“We’re all like Avery,” she muttered, tucking her tail between her legs as she was moved close to him. Right, she’s embarrassed. They were all naked, in at least one sense of the word. They did still have all the same parts they’d had before, but in miniature and without any opportunity to steal clothes anymore.
“Well, yeah. But what are you like?”
“I’ve only been around a few hours,” said peach. “Sunrise, I think. I don’t know what I’m like yet. But I think I’m the bravest one here. Maybe the smartest, or just the quickest to make decisions. I haven’t decided yet.”
“That’s easy.” Julian lowered his hoof. “Your name is April from now on.”
“April,” the breezie repeated, buzzing contentedly. “I like it.” And she flew off, landing on the coffee table. Curiously she ignored the crackers completely, but appeared to be trying to get at the juice box. It was still sealed, and there was no obvious way for someone so small to open it. But she started prodding at the straw, trying to get it free.
Julian ignored her, even as the next breezie in line fluttered up to him. She didn’t land, but bobbed up and down in the air, eyes constantly darting around. This one was a little hard to see, since her tan almost matched the color of the paint, but her mane was the same orange as April and that helped.
“I, ummm…” She looked down. “I don’t mean to argue with Av—April, but I already have a name idea I like. I mean… Avery wasn’t ever really a very good girl’s name, and I thought of one once… well, when we got here. Can I be Posy instead?”
“Sure.” Julian didn’t hesitate. “You can be Posy. That sounds like a little girl’s name, but you’re a very little girl so I guess it makes sense.”
Posy trilled happily, like an overlarge moth, before landing on the table beside April. They touched antennae briefly, then Posy took off again to help with the straw. They still weren’t strong enough, but two ponies could get further than one.
The next in line landed right on his hoof again, sitting down and looking up at him fearlessly. Blonde mane, bright blue eyes, and a coat a few shades lighter pink than glasses. “I, uh…” She looked away, shifting in place. “I think…” But she was too afraid to say anything else, at least uninvited.
“I like your short mane,” Julian said, nudging it carefully away from her eyes with one hoof. “Do you have a name picked out too?”
“N-no,” she squeaked. “I’m sure whatever you come up with is fine. I’d rather just keep my name, but I know I’m not the only one. Nobody will fight over it if nobody else keeps it.” She fell silent again, apparently waiting patiently.
“What kind of fairy are you, little Avery?”
She blushed, wings opening and closing against her back. “I’m, uh… I’m uh… well, I’m worried we shouldn’t be in here anymore. I can feel the forest growing up from the ground. It’s gonna break through and if we’re still in the house when it does it’ll fall on us.”
“Oh.” Julian watched her expression to see if she was joking, but there was no sign of humor to be seen. She really believed what she was saying. And she might be right. They are nature spirits. “Well, we’ll have to watch for that. But I’m sure the forest won’t squish us without giving us some warning.”
“Maybe not,” she said, still sounding worried. “I dunno. It seems pretty eager to grow. Can’t you hear it?”
No, he couldn’t. But he wouldn’t assume she was just insane—there was another obvious explanation for what she was feeling that didn’t require any insanity. She’s got new magic, they all do. It’s obviously real. “You’re Emily,” he said, before he could say something stupid instead. “Is that okay?”
“Sure.” She took off, buzzing up to him, floating up and hugging his cheek in an embarrassed, affectionate way. “That’s fine.” She flew off to join the others.
And so it went for all of them, except the Breezie with glasses. That Avery didn’t get in line, and the others didn’t seem to notice that she hadn’t done things the same way.
By the time he had gone through three more, the breezies had managed to puncture the pouch of apple juice and were licking it off the table with their freaky-long insect tongues.
“It feels as gross as it looks,” said the little Avery into his ear. She’d somehow climbed her way to the armrest, watching as he did and munching on a cracker. “The juice does smell pretty good, but that feeling…” She shuddered. “It’s awful. I don’t even know where it all goes when I’m not using it. Do I sound like there’s a tube down my throat?”
“No,” he said. “But you sound a little like a chipmunk.”
She shrugged. “I feel like a bug. I wish I was a chipmunk, then at least my insides would be the same.” She turned the book around in her magic, the one she’d brought with her. Julian couldn’t dream of reading what it said at that size, though he could see pictures on the page. He presumed from what she was saying it was some kind of anatomy diagram for her new species. “The tongue isn’t the worst part, Julian. It’s all the worst part. Ever wanted to be a bug instead of a person, well now you are!”
“I want to be bug-sized if you are,” he said, without reservation. “You should start reading about that. If that book is as good as you say…”
“It is,” she said, snapping it closed. “And I will, but I don’t think I’ll be able to jump to it right away. Imagine calculus before you even learn how to do addition. I didn’t really learn any magic besides levitation yet.”
Julian sighed—but he wasn’t about to argue. The fairy he thought of as the ‘real’ Avery would obviously take this seriously. She had wanted a cure, but failing that she seemed to want him the same size. Which was exactly what he wanted.
When he was done eating, Julian called in the other group of Averies and repeated the process. Instead of lounging on the couch between brief interviews, they gathered on the table, drinking eagerly at the spilled juice and seeming uninterested in the crackers.
They put up less of a fight when he told them what the last group had decided with names. As he went through them, Julian found the variety of Averies only got wider. There was one who didn’t stop singing, one who had already taken advantage of her size to open up an old radio and was wearing a transistor around her neck like jewelry, one who was solemn and boyish and only spoke in a few words at a time.
By the time he was finished with them, Julian realized something he had already known, but hadn’t been able to quantify until then.
Together, each of these fairies composed all of Avery’s talents and competencies. It was as though some divine being had portioned out her skills into thirteen little bodies, after making a shallow copy of Avery’s general personality and memories.
He still wasn’t sure exactly how he was supposed to deal with them. Thirteen copies of his best friend, each one a slightly different slice. There was the one he preferred, but they were all Avery in a way. If glasses figured out how to make him the right size for them, then what? Would he ignore the others? Run away?
They gave themselves to cure me too.
He would have to figure out something, though he couldn’t imagine what just yet.
“We’re not going to get any bigger,” April said, when the others had finally come back in. “I think we should build somewhere we can live that’s the right size.”
General agreement from the fairies—even the one riding on his shoulder. They didn’t want to keep living in this house forever.
“There are plants growing downstairs,” the one wearing the transistor, Kari reminded everyone. She didn’t sound as brave as April, but at least in this one thing they couldn’t shut her up. “They’re starting to grow up the stairs. They’re going to damage the foundation. I looked at it earlier—they’re L-joints bolted right to the concrete. I think the bolts are rusting. Like… they’ve already doubled in size. I think they’ll fail before tomorrow morning.”
Panicked squeaks, denial, frustration. “I want to see,” April said, and a few others agreed. “We’ll go look, Julian. Be right back.” They vanished down the stairs, following Kari. A few of the others huddled up together on the couch. The child now named Tami had made a friend in Emily, who held her close and whispered soothing things.
“It’s like she was trying to make us into a whole city,” muttered Avery from his shoulder. “Specializing us. It seems like everybody got better at their one thing, forgetting everything else. Guess there’s not much room in these little brains.”
“We probably will have to build a city,” Julian said, just as quietly. Or he thought so. The breezies reacted to everything he said as though he were shouting at them. “We might never see another person out here—and its just fungus as far as the eye can see.”
“That will change,” said a squeaking voice from the couch. Emily. “Our forest will grow. There’s so many of us together, the magic spreads. And if we ever find a way to make more breezies, it will only expand. The forest will eat up the fungus until it’s all driven into the sea.”
“That sounds dangerous,” said the boyish Avery, now named Trip. “Someone put it there. Bet they’ll be pissed we’re getting rid of it all.”
“I’m glad,” said Tami, shifting beside Emily. “You should go down and look at the fungus up close, Trip. It’s even worse now that we’re small.”
“We can tell the monster mash that when it gets here,” Trip argued. “Please don’t do the graveyard smash all over us, your fungus was gross.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Julian said, hoping he sounded confident. “I’ll keep you safe, no matter what gets here. It’s only fair.”
None of the little Averies argued with his promise, not even Trip.
Yes, this was going to be a difficult life. Julian wished his friend was still… herself. So many doors seemed closed that had only been briefly opened. But there was plenty of time to figure things out. Pegasus ponies apparently lived more than two centuries. They would figure this out, and then they’d build an awesome city.
It wasn’t what Julian wanted, but it would have to do.