"Sacrifices have dwindled even more, and ceremonies have passed unobserved," said one of the wild gods of Gaul. "If the Romans continue to trample over our people, there will be consequences."
"Consequences, yes," growled Fenrir. "Come next Samhain, you will see the consequences of angering the North."
That nearly started another round of shouts, but while the tumult was still in its beginnings there was a great gust of wind that shook the whole gathering. Out of that wind as if out of a chariot or from the folds of a flying tapestry fell a whooping, laughing, dancing, singing company of lesser Fey. The sylphs all tucked away the gale, their faces lit up with glorious mirth, as the brownies hopped and shouted, the doxies flitted through the foliage of the sacred grove, and the pixies zipped to and fro while singing and chattering excitedly. Then, as the gods and spirits were recovering their senses, a single bold sylph settled down in the middle of them and took a deep bow.
"What is this?" demanded Jupiter. "For what purpose have you dared to disturb this Pantheon?"
The little faerie stood back up as the assembly murmured its displeasure. A handful of high elves glared disdainfully down at her. "We have come before you because we dare not do otherwise," she said in a sweet, lyrical voice. "We have been sent by out by the All-Father to declare the good news that will soon come out of Bethlehem. To carry our sacred whispers in the winds. Look to the east, to the land that was promised to Abraham long ago, and see the King who is to fulfill all the old promises. He, the mighty Word that brought this world into being, has already humbled Himself to be carried in the womb of a peasant girl. It will not be long now, not long before the glory begins to unfold."
At that the assembly erupted in desperate chatter quite unlike the quarrelsome noises they had made previously. The harpies shrieked, the satyrs stomped their hooves, and the nymphs shouted their displeasure.
"That is why you come?" shouted Pan. He let out a short laugh that had nothing of joy in it. "We do not care about some unborn urchin in the east. And it has been too long for any of us to remember the Old One, even if He ever did exist, even if He didn't wander away and leave us to ourselves. Obviously this is nothing but some scheme of you little ones hatched out of spite for your betters."
"Of course you can remember," trilled the sylph, her joy unspoiled by the god's jeers. "You simply don't care to. It's perfectly fine; I wasn't myself among those who remembered until just a few nights ago. That's why I have the privilege of telling you all about the Child, because I have tasted your bitterness. It is a hard drink to put down, hard even to want to put it down, but you will feel much better once you do. I promise!"
She began to remind them. She recounted how it had been when the Fey were spoken into being, and she began to sing a general tale of the making of the beasts and spirits, but when she was still only a few lines in when a harpy rose into the air and dived, talons extended and fanged mouth agape, at the little faerie. As the creature closed in upon its prey there was a brilliant flash of burning light, and the harpy fell, dazed and quivering, at the feet of the sylph.
"It seems that joy's turn is ended," said a raven that sat among the tree branches. "Time for me to have my say."
The bird flapped down and as it did so it seemed to unfold into a sprite adorned with a grand cloak of black feathers. "From the very beginning of your reign, I have flown out across the skies and counted the tears of the weak. I have heard their sighs and listened to their grievances, and everything I have heard I have written upon these feathers I wear now." The sprite twirled around, allowing his dark cloak to rise and swing with him. "I have recorded the names of each slaughtered child. I have noted the heavy hearts of the widows. And as I have done all this I have heard the laughter of the strong."
Up until now there had been a continual background of grumbles and mutters from the assembly, but at the appearance of this sprite everyone was silent.
"A day will soon come," continued the witness. "When the Child will be full grown, and at an appointed hour He shall put on the cloak I have prepared and do with it what I never could. He will make right the wrongs of the world, and wipe away the ashes of Gehenna. What that means to each person will be different depending on whether or not they try to hold on to those ashes."
"It will not be the end of you," said the sylph cheerfully to an elf whose face been steadily growing more dignified and grim ever since she had first spoken. "I know it feels like that now, but it is life that is being offered. The more you allow your own ego to swallow up, the more dead will you be. Only remember the true nature into which you were born, only take true delight in any little thing that is not yourself, and at once you will begin to breathe again. Bow before the little Messiah when He comes to Bethlehem, and in an instant you will be glorified and vivified by the golden light of Heaven!"
The elf gave no reply. He only continued to stare coldly at the airy messenger.
"I know the answer to your Infant King," said Poseidon. "Or rather, I know someone else who does. Baal is well versed in dealing with those little ones, and he is familiar with the land in question."
"Oh yes," said the cloaked sprite. "We all know the work of Baal. I have seen all the miseries that have come of his will, and I was there at Carmel to witness the proper reply. I have named all his wicked deeds, and I have compiled them all into a single word, a dreadful accusation which he cannot bear to hear. I have done the same for all of you, but permission has only been given to speak the doom of that bloody fiend. He will do his worst, sure enough, and it will be insufficient."
At that the sylph rose again and called out, "It's time to move on! I think we've dawdled long enough."
"Not yet,"pronounced Jupiter loudly. "There is still much to consider. I have myself been weighing some ideas regarding your news."
"I'm sorry, but we really don't care," answered the sylph without a hint of spite. "We have been given a message compared to which all your ideas are simply dull, and it cannot wait for such small and feeble matters."
So, having delivered their invitation, the faeries piled once more into the gust and proceeded to spill out over all the lands. Everywhere they went the leaves and the petals whispered the news of the Child. The waters murmured and glistened delightedly at all that was said to them. Down below, the gnomes and dwarves made the very stones to sing the praise of the Infant Savior. The winds stretched across the world, and everywhere they went they brought the rumor of the Seed of David.
