Chaton Curieux and the Fairy Gate

You want another story? <ponders> Hmmm… I don’t know, it’s getting a bit late… But yes, it is the Summer Solstice so I suppose one more story couldn’t hurt. What kind of story do you want? One related to the Solstice? Yes, I think I can do that.

Ok, a long time ago, ages and ages ago, before your grandmother’s grandmother’s grandmother was born, before there was Nintendo or cars, when life was quieter, way back then there was born a little girl. She was, like many a child, curious and always poking her nose into things and so her parents called her their chaton curieux (curious kitten) and soon she was known only by that name.

Now, Chaton was a good girl but her curiosity sometimes got her in trouble and led to many tales. This story is not, however, the tale of how she found a cave and saved a fairy princess. Nor is it the story of how she used any of the wishes she was granted for saving her. It's not even the oft-told tale of Chaton Curieux and how she found true love nor any of the stories that came after that. No, today's story is the tale of what happened when she found a fairy gate. You don’t know what a fairy gate is? Well, neither did she, until this story happened.

Chaton’s father was a merchant and, several times a year he went away on trips to large fairs where he could trade goods he had purchased locally and buy and sell things that were needed in the village where he kept his shop. He was well known locally for always having what was needed, no matter how strange it might seem that such a thing would be available, he just seemed to have the knack of having picked up things that proved useful. One summer, when Chaton was about 10, he had gotten caught in a bad storm and been delayed getting home. He’d sent word on ahead that he was ok but wouldn’t make it home until the day after the Summer Solstice celebration.

Thus it was that the day after the big celebration, when the whole town celebrated with a big feast and bonfires and much festivity, Chaton woke early and headed out of town to await her father and his big wagon which would be full of interesting and new things. Not too far out of town, but she was allowed to go a couple of farms out where her favorite waiting place was, a huge oak that spread its canopy over both the road and the neighboring farmer’s field. It was so large, that the fence led up to one side of the oak and the gate latched to the other side of the oak when closed. Here she would clamber up into a crook of the wide spreading branches where she could rest comfortably and see down the road to spy her father’s wagon.

On this day, as she approached the tree, she noticed that the gate into the field was open a bit. Being the good girl that she was, she approached the gate to close it. Intent on this, she didn’t notice a large raven strutting in the middle of the road until her approach startled it and it took wing and flew between the tree and the open gate, where it disappeared. Chaton could clearly see the field on the other side of the fence through the widely spaced slats of the gate and she should have seen the raven through them as well but, as soon as it was past the open end of the gate, it vanished! Chaton Curieux, true to her name, approached the gate, sensing something strange and wondrous had happened. When she was near enough, she reached out and touched the gate. It seemed ordinary enough. She stuck her hand through the slats and wiggled her fingers, but they appeared normal, wiggling against the background of the farmer’s field.

She then walked a couple of paces more to the end of the gate and peered around it and was rewarded with a spectacular sight. Instead of the farmer’s field she saw a large forest with the sun casting dappled shadows on the ground through the leaves. Looking through the gate from this side she discovered that the road was gone and all she saw was forest. Stepping back she looked on the outside of the gate and saw the road. She looked through the slats and saw the field.

Puzzled, she was about to take a step into the forest when she heard a high-pitched, gravelly voice say, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Chaton stopped and looked around but all she saw was the forest ahead of her, the farmer’s field through the fence and the road and fields behind her. She couldn’t see anyone who had voiced a warning. Then she picked up a movement in the branches of one of the trees and saw the raven jump down, his wings breaking his fall into a glide as he landed a few feet away from her on the forest path where he stood, cocking his head to look at her with one eye.

“If I didn’t know better,” Chaton addressed the raven, “I would almost say that you were the one who just warned me.”

“You must not know much then,” the raven responded and Chaton gasped in surprise.

“Forgive me,” she said, “but I’ve never heard a raven speak before.”

“Perhaps you haven’t listened,” the raven offered and then laughed a sort of low, chuckling caw.

Chaton tilted her head and looked at the raven. “No, I enjoy listening and watching birds and would love to talk with them. But I’ve never head one speak so I could understand it.”

The raven tilted its head to look at her with its other eye and said, “True, but that’s because I am a magic raven and I am in a magic land. For this,” and he nodded toward the gate, “is a fairy gate.”

“A fairy gate,” Chaton said wondrously, “What’s that?”

“It’s a gate between worlds, between your world and the world of the fey. Several times a year, particularly at the solstices, there are places where the two worlds come together and, if there is a gate that can be opened, it will provide a portal between the two worlds. That is how the fairies and wee folks and others are able to come to your world. This is why you set out milk and little gifts for them during your celebrations, so they won’t cause havoc looking for things.”

“But why did you suggest that I not enter?”

“There are two reasons,” the raven replied. “The first is that once the gate closes, you won’t be able to go back to your world until the time comes to open it again. The second, and more important reason, is that time runs differently here. What takes months in your world passes in a day here. And you wouldn’t want your parents to worry about you, would you?”

Chaton shook her head. “But what is it like in that world?”

“Much the same as it is in yours. There is beauty and ugliness, good folk and bad. Many who escape to this land when they find such a gate are disappointed to find that it is different from your world only in the creatures that inhabit it.” Then the raven cocked his head as though he were listening intently. “And what is it that brings you out here?”

Chaton explained about coming out to meet her father. “Ah. I believe I hear the distant sound of a horse drawn wagon approaching. But, before you go, I have a present for you.” With that he flew up into a tree and then returned a moment later, hopping close to her and dropping a nut on the ground. “Take and eat that and you will be able to speak and understand Ravens. Who knows, perhaps we shall meet again when the gate is open once more.”

Chaton took the nut and looked at the raven. “If you would please close the gate,” he asked politely and bowed. She curtsied, stepped back and closed the gate. Then she opened it again and saw only the farmer’s field. Sighing she climbed up into the tree and stood up, seeing the dust from her father’s wagon along the road. While she waited she ate the nut, though she didn’t feel any different.

Once her father’s wagon drew near enough, she climbed down and ran to meet it, jumping up and giving her father a big hug. He tousled her hair and embraced her warmly. “My, my, my…It’s good to be home.” As she settled down on the seat next to him and the horses started up again he jerked his thumb toward the back of the wagon. “You’re not the only one I’ve picked up along the way. There’s a raven back there that settled on the back of the wagon last night and has been keeping me company ever since.”

Standing on the seat and peering back over the wagon she saw the big black bird perched on top of the wagon. It looked at her a moment and then, though she couldn’t be positive, she thought it winked at her and then flew off.

Once they were home, Chaton helped her father unload the wagon, oohing and ahhing over all of the unique items he had picked up. And every solstice from that point forward, summer and winter, it seemed that there was a raven that perched outside her window. Some folks say that she seemed to listen intently to it, as though it were telling her stories, but that would be another story for another time.

Yes, this is an original tale. Please credit me if you share it.