There was a time when faeries stayed away from humans, and that was, in every human’s memory, the best of times. Faeries only obscured contracts with clever words or spirited away human babies to leave faerie children in their place. But humans seemingly couldn’t remember how they were the ones who first crossed the border thousands of years ago with a toddler’s naiveté. The greedy human hand stretched farther than the contracts the faeries offered, leaving behind desolation. So the contracts grew trickier, and relations grew tenser, and faeries grew angrier, and babies were stolen.
And tonight, Roseheart was fuming.
She was not a flying faerie, or a small one. She crept through the night-time streets, big as a cart-horse, but much quieter than one. Her form leaned forward on four lanky legs moving in slow-fast tandem like a wind-up toy. Two arms clutched a quiet bundle, her loose-sleeved dress catching on its folds. Her oil slick hair stood out against the dark shadows cast by the moon. It swayed as her long neck craned towards alleys, fear at war with the anger in her.
Her nose picked out a baby’s soft-flesh scent, tracing it to a quiet house in the middle of town.
She scuttled closer. The sharp smell of fresh paint radiated from the door. The faerie’s neck retracted and she shuffled away as the patterns ground against her heart and head. A house of wealth, if it could afford to hire magicians to paint protective symbols nightly. A pity, since her size dashed her chance of fitting through a regular window.
The smell of roses wafted towards her around the hedged corners. She followed and reached out towards the wall, finding what these wealthy places always have: a floor to ceiling window looking over the garden. Humans didn’t think about these improvised doors, especially the greedy paint magicians who hurried their work and left before sunset. Roseheart uncurled one arm, clutching her bundle all the tighter for it. Her fingernail slid through the crack between the window panes. Up it went, pushing away each latch. Her ears caught the whisper of their forlorn swinging as she pulled open the window.
One step, two, three, four, onto the polished wooden floors. Moonlight graced the exposed hall. Roseheart could not see its depths, but could tell it was a great wide thing. Thick candle smoke floated above her head and the smell of dusty velvet curtains wafted in from the distance. Her cow-like ears swivelled, making sure no guards or sleepwalkers were near.
After the great-wide room, her head brushed the tops of ceilings and she had to gather her limbs close to avoid hitting the sconces.
The silent bundle began to stir, and soon was not so silent. It whined and hissed, still quiet compared to shrieking human children, but loud enough for faerie ears. She hummed softly in response to calm it; they couldn’t be given away now.
At last, the nursery. Slow, sleeping breaths — only a nursemaid — rose and fell from near the crib. Or cribs. There were seven of them, the smell of new finish still lingering alongside the overwhelming baby scent.
The faerie bit her lower lip with sharp teeth. She did not have enough arms to take them all.
The faerie approached a crib at random, legs moving softly and slowly in easy rhythm, head held low, ears up. Her head tilted over the edge, dark hair clinging to the railing. A few strands swung down over the human baby’s face. Her hand passed over the lacy blankets it was swaddled with, its head covered by a silk cap; silly choices for something so vulnerable. Roseheart thumbed the thick cloth enveloping her own bundle.
Then she uncurled and recurled her arms, the exchange done in an instant. The human baby was soft and feeble in her lanky, clawed arms.
She slunk out of the room, wending through clusters of seats and down flights of stairs to the great-wide room. Moonlight fell on her dark form as she neared the window. The baby began to stir.
The house was in the centre of town, a town hundreds strong with guards and magicians. Roseheart’s pupils expanded to fill her eye and fear reared its head. She was foolish to have gone in so far, but there she was. The little common sense left urged her to hurry. She left the window open behind her and made to clamber over the hedges.
Those four legs, so smoothly functioning at all other times, tripped over themselves. She lurched towards the prickly hedges and caught herself, but not softly enough. The force of the lurch startled the human baby.
The shrieking began.
She gathered herself and rushed on, ears pinned back against the baby’s cries. Beneath that were the sounds of the household stirring, the nursemaid screaming. The faerie’s black hair flew behind her, a banner of fear through the town’s waking streets.
As people caught on to the disturbance, they saw the invader. Some cowered, some hollered, some aimed with arrows or stones. But none reached their mark. Roseheart held the human baby close. She hoped the humans felt their losses as sharply as she had when her rivers were bound to mills and forests were wiped away for pretty wooden cribs.
The baby was screaming, screaming, and she was running, running, and all the town was up in arms, but not one could stop the faerie as she flew out of the gates.
—***—
As the sun rose on the new day, Roseheart slipped back across the border.
She stood still for a moment, poised on the hilltop, face bent to the baby. Its features were now relaxed into the unformed look that all human babies possessed.. Sunlight glinted on Roseheart’s smiling teeth. It would be tricky to raise, but it would be done, as before. This one child was not enough to balance the scale.
Roseheart would be back.
WORDS: Maxine Boudway
