Faerie Heart

by Livi Michael

  Sweet Lu, sweet helpless baby brother. Why did I let you go?

  My fingers are stuck so hard in my ears that I can hear the blood pounding in my head. Even that doesn’t shut out the sound of him screaming.

  I remember the time Myrna cut an abscess from my knee. I was sick with the pain – I thought I would die of it. And Lu is only a baby.

  With that thought, the tears come. And with them, the shame of hiding in my room. I take my fingers from my ears – just in time to hear Lu’s howling drain away into a choking rattle.

  Slowly, afraid of what I might see, I make my way back to the sackcloth hanging. Myrna, my mother and Bryn are all crouched over Lu. I step into the room.

  Lu is lying pale and still, his eyes rolled back in his head so that I can only see two crescent moons of white.

  ‘What have you done to him?’ I ask hoarsely, but no one answers. My mother’s mopping yellowish fluid from his neck. Myrna’s packing the cut with whatever she’s been chewing in her mouth. Lu is so quiet and still, the redness in his cheek replaced by a bluish hollow.

  He looks like my father looked, before he died.

  Come back, I want to call to him, but my voice won’t work. I remember all the times he has slept in my arms, and how his face lights up when he sees me, and how he laughs, all gum, when I tickle him, and how when I hide my face in my hands, then open them again, his face breaks into a smile of pure joy, all because I’m there.

  My mother’s eyes are red with weeping. I look up at her, but she doesn’t look at me, and neither does Bryn. It’s as though I’m not there.

  Lu seems so far away, I don’t know where he is.

  ‘He is travelling where the bird does not fly,’ Myrna says, just as if she’s heard me thinking. She places a bony hand on my shoulder. ‘Where the fish cannot swim, nor the wolf follow.’

  I stare at her. She is talking about the Underworld, where the dead go.

  ‘But he will come back,’ I say. ‘Can’t you bring him back?’

  ‘No one can bring him back,’ she says, and my stomach twists in fear.

  ‘Why not?’ I whisper.

  Myrna rises stiffly from her stool. ‘He must decide whether to come back,’ she says.

  ‘But – we have to do something!’ I say.

  ‘No, we don’t,’ she says sternly. ‘There is nothing to do.’

  I want to hit her then; I want to cry.

  ‘Go to bed, Keri,’ Bryn says at last. ‘You can’t do anything for him.’

  But I want to do something, I cry silently. I want to pick him up and hold him. My mother clears away the cloth she used to mop the fluid, and the knife. I want her to speak to me, but she can’t talk.

  My fingers find the amulet at my throat. I trace the bony shape with my finger and hear my mother’s voice saying, ‘He spent all one morning whittling it. It was after…’

  After the other baby died, I finish for her.

  My fingers are clasping my amulet, then suddenly I take it off. My breath catches a little as I pull it past my hair. I lean over Lu’s cradle. I slip the amulet over his head, so that it rests on his heart. His head is clammy and lolls against my fingers, but he doesn’t wake up. Not even his breathing changes. I trace the shape of the charm with my finger.

  ‘Help him, Mabb,’ I whisper, and an owl hoots as though in answer. If Mabb was here now, I think suddenly, I would beg her to make Lu well.

  Then Myrna is bending over my brother again, smearing something on his lips, and a sweet smell rises. Honey, mixed with herbs.

  I stand very still, understanding suddenly. Myrna can do magic with honey. She uses it on wounds, or as a poultice for sore chests. Or, when all hope is passed, she smears it on the lips of the dying, to sweeten their last breath.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I cry, seizing her bony arm.

  Myrna shakes me off, but I scratch her so that she hisses sharply. ‘Leave him alone!’ I shout at her, gripping the side of the cot.

  There is Lu, pale, unmoving, with the honey smeared on his lips.

  I can’t believe it – I won’t.

  I close my eyes. Mabb! I call silently. Take me, not Lu!

  There is no answer to this, though I think the thought three times and send it out with all the force I can summon, like an arrow from the bow. But when I open my eyes there’s no change in him, no change at all. His face is still mottled by the rash and sunken, somehow – bluish shadows beneath his eyes. I stare and stare at him, hoping to find some sign of change, then this strange thought comes to me, that he doesn’t look like my brother any more. It’s almost as if another baby lies there, like Lu and not like him. He is shrunken somehow, and wizened.

  ‘Where is he?’ I say suddenly. Then, ‘What have you done to him?’

  ‘Keri,’ my mother says sharply, and Bryn says, ‘That’s enough.’

  ‘What have you done with him?’ I say.

  My mother comes to me then and clasps my face with her cold hands. ‘He has to go now,’ she says, nodding at me. But her eyes are strange – like two wells with all the water in them frozen at the bottom.

  ‘No!’ I say, pulling away from her. I start to back away, still staring at the shrivelled body in the cot. I can’t believe that it is Lu. I go on staring at Lu who is not Lu, and suddenly it comes to me so clearly I almost laugh.

  ‘It isn’t Lu,’ I say, pointing. ‘That – that thing – it isn’t him!’

  ‘Keri!’ says my mother, shocked, and Myrna says, ‘You don’t know what you are saying, child.’

  ‘Look – look at it!’ I cry. ‘That isn’t Lu – it isn’t even like him!’ I’m babbling now, desperate to make them see what I see.

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ Bryn says. ‘Who else would it be?’

  ‘It isn’t Lu!’ I say, shaking my head. ‘It isn’t – it isn’t!’

  ‘Keri!’ My mother is angry now. ‘Do not talk so wildly!’

  ‘But it isn’t him!’ I cry. I clutch at Myrna. ‘Tell them – tell them it isn’t him. He’s been changed – like the story – tell them he’s a changeling!’

  A murmur rises from the doorway, and for the first time I realize that everyone is clustered there. I can see Tilse’s face, and Gwern.

  ‘Changeling!’ someone says, but Myrna is unmoved.

  ‘Peace, child,’ she says, very stern.

  ‘I know my own brother!’ I shout. ‘And that isn’t him! Mabb has taken him!’

  A stir ripples through everyone at the doorway, and my mother’s face twists with anger, pain and fear.

  ‘How dare you say it’s not Lu!’ she hisses, gripping my shoulders. ‘Look at him! You have done this! This would never have happened if you hadn’t taken him to the river! Look at what you have done’

  I stare at her with tears in my eyes. ‘But it isn’t him!’ I say. ‘Mabb has taken him – just like she took my father!’

  I say no more, for my mother slaps me so hard my head rings. I’m too shocked to cry. I stare at her and her face is white with rage.

  ‘Your father is dead,’ she says in low, terrible tones. ‘Get away from me. Get out of my sight!’

  She is so angry she doesn’t look like my mother at all. She looks like a demon who will slap me again, but Bryn holds her back.

  All the words I have to say are jammed in my throat and I can’t move. Then suddenly I’m running, smacking into people at the doorway, past Digri and Ogda, and Arun and Peglan, who are pressing in behind the others. They stare at me, open mouthed, as I run, but all I can think of is my brother, and Mabb who has taken him, and how I have to get him back. My chest hurts as I stumble up the hill, running faster and faster towards the forest.

  PART II

  Sun’s shining. That’s the first thing I notice when I open my eyes. I shut them again quickly, then squint upwards, through layers and layers of leaves.

  Shadows of leaves move over my face. I turn then, and squint into the green of tree roots and ivy. Must’ve fallen asleep in the forest. Don’t
know how that happened. Nothing hurt me, though. I’ve not been eaten by wild beasts, nor sucked into a swamp.

  I sit up slowly, feeling bruised. My head hurts. Don’t even know where I am.

  Forest is quiet – that’s one thing. Just goes to show that it’s not as dangerous as people tell you. Can’t believe I’ve spent a full night here, though. No one else has. Or if they did, they didn’t come back. I feel a prick of pride when I think of everyone’s faces as I tell them my story. Yes there were wolves, and bears and raiders – but they didn’t bother me.

  Something’s hurting, though. There’s a pain in my foot. I sit back and look at it. It’s scraped with small stones, and cut near the big toe joint. Where are my shoes? Can’t remember if I was wearing them or not. I rub at my foot, and try to think.

  Must’ve been running all night, but I can’t remember. Last thing I remember is running out of my mother’s hut. I remember my mother slapping me, and I touch my face, but that pain’s all gone. Feels like a long time ago.

  The memories flash back quicker now. Myrna bending over Lu. And the smell of honey.

  Lu. Lying still and wizened in his cot. My heart gives a hollow thump. And goes on falling.

  That’s the thought that stirs me, finally. I’ve got to find out what happened to Lu.

  Plus I’m hungry.

  I get up, stiffly. Seems like I’m sore all over. And my clothes are all tattered, like they’ve been ripped by branches. I’ll be in trouble all right – my mam’ll go mad. But that’s nothing that a good bowl of porridge won’t fix. And mealy cakes. And stew.

  Other images keep coming back to me, like flickering dreams. Someone’s voice, and a humming sound. But I don’t think about them because they don’t make sense. Got to get home, that’s all I can think about now.

  I look all around, wondering which way I’ve come. The ground’s all tangled undergrowth, and bracken and ivy. And everything’s quiet, with a deep, deep quiet, like it’s been silent for a thousand years. There’s a tree stump, covered in ivy, looks like an old witch, hunched over. There’s a jagged tree with no leaves on it, twisted and pointing. Great roots grip the earth like bony toes, and the bole of a tree that’s fallen has a gaping mouth.

  Too quiet, that’s what it is. There’s a sudden quick movement in the bushes, then a breeze passes through and it shivers and sighs, like it’s breathing at me. Wish I could remember which way I’ve come. Haven’t I always been told that the forest goes on forever? That as far as a man can walk in a day, a week, or even a month, there’s only dark green forest, rolling endlessly on?

  The forest swallows People, Myrna told me. And they’re never seen again. A little girl like me’d only be a snack.

  But that’s daft thinking – that won’t get me anywhere. I’ve got to set off in some direction – there’s no use waiting here. I bet everyone’s been out, looking for me all night. That thought makes me feel a bit better. I’ll hear them shouting for me any minute, just like we did when me and Digri and the others got lost. I remember that clearly – chasing after Peglan when she ran from the story tree.

  The sun’s shining to one side of me, so I might as well follow it. I take a step or two then stop and pick up a stone. When I took the others to the story tree Digri cut marks in the trees with his knife. That’s something we all learn, in case we go in when we shouldn’t – always leave a trail you can follow. So now I make a jagged mark in the moss on the nearest tree with the sharp end of the stone. That’s something else I’ve been told – that moss grows on the north side of a tree, only here it seems to be growing all round. I limp towards the next tree and make another mark. That way at least I can find my way back, and know how many paths I’ve tried. Or else someone’ll come across the marks, and follow them and find me.

  Pity I didn’t think of this last night. I feel a bit sick, thinking about how I’m in the forest without a trail, and one direction looks just the same as another. My breathing sounds loud as I steady myself on the nearest tree, but I can’t hear anything else, so after a moment I hobble on.

  Seems like the trees are watching me make my mark, then a breath of wind stirs them and they moan and rustle. Behind me, the rest of the forest beckons, dark and trackless. But in front of me the sun shines fitfully, its long rays touching the forest floor, and I follow it, limping and hungry, only thinking of home.

  Hours and hours later, when I’ve almost given up, the trees finally start to thin. The air changes, lighter now, and I make my way, nearly crying, towards a dazzle of leaves. I stumble on through the ivy and bracken, the trees get thinner and thinner, and suddenly there I am, at the end of the forest, blinking in the light of day.

  Sun’s high in the sky, and there below me are all the huts, smoke curling upwards from one of them. I hang on to the last tree and just breathe in the air, exhausted. I can hardly see for the blurring of my eyes. Steady now, easy, I tell myself. You found your way in, and you were bound to find your way out again. You used your sense and followed the light. Simple. I rub my eyes and stare down at the smoke coming from the hut. Only one fire – probably the others are all out looking for me. But there’s one fire lit, and it’s in my hut. Food, I think, and with that thought the strength comes back into my legs, and I start stumbling and tumbling down the hill.

  ‘Mam!’ I call. ‘I’m back – I’m back! Mam – it’s me – Keri!’

  I forget everything, the pain in my side, the pain in my foot, the way she slapped me. I run down that hill, calling and crying like a great, raggedy bird. ‘Mam! Mam! Mam!’

  No one comes to meet me, but even that doesn’t put me off. I scramble into the ditch that’s round the huts and out again, then stop. And blink.

  Everything seems deserted. There aren’t even any pigs, or dogs. There’re just two scraggy hens pecking and scratching at the bare ground by Myrna’s hut. And Myrna’s not in her doorway – no one is. In fact the huts seem empty – like no one’s lived in them for years.

  But that’s just plain daft. I pull myself together, thinking they must’ve taken the dogs out looking for me, and I turn towards the open doorway of my hut, ready to dart inside. I open my mouth to yell ‘Mam!’ again, when there’s a movement inside and someone comes to the door. An old man. Someone I’ve never seen before.

  Quick as a snake I dive into Myrna’s hut. It’s empty. Where is everyone? Heart banging, I peer round the open doorway. The old man’s dropping a mess of vegetables on to the midden. He stops for a while, scratching. He’s grey and grizzled, with a short stubble all over his face and head. He’s wearing an old blue tunic with stains all over it, and grey leggings. He stares out at nothing in particular, then turns and shuffles back into the hut.

  Reeling from the shock, I creep back into Myrna’s hut. It’s empty, like I said before, but not as though someone’s just left it. Cobwebs hang from the roof, and there’s an old musty smell as though no one’s been in it for years. There’s a broken fish trap against the wall, and a pile of rubble.

  What’s happening?

  Something’s horribly wrong.

  I feel sick and dizzy from not understanding. I take a step or two inside the hut, but suddenly my legs give way and I sink to the floor. There’s a little mess of charred wood and stones where the fire used to be, a broken stool. Vividly, I remember sitting with Myrna when she told me the story about the changeling. But there’s no sign of Myrna at all.

  Feels like I’m dreaming. Must’ve fallen asleep in the forest and I’m having a bad dream. Any minute now I’ll wake up.

  When I don’t wake up I crawl to the door again, on my hands and knees and peep round. This time there’s an old woman, thin-faced and scrawny, sitting at the doorway of the hut, shelling peas.

  My hut! I think, and through all the sickness and fear I feel a pang of anger. I should go up to her and ask her what’s going on. But my heart’s banging and thudding, and there’s a watery feeling in my stomach, like I might be sick. All I can think is – we’ve been attacked
in the night, and strangers have come and taken over our huts. Like when the raiders came, and killed my father.

  But that thought’s too big, too awful. My chest hurts just thinking about it. And anyway, there’s no one else here. I peer round at the other huts. Everywhere’s got the same deserted feel. Doorways hanging open; roofs part fallen in. But no sign of warriors; no sign of a fight. Just two old people, and two scraggy hens, and the empty, broken-down huts.

  How could all that have happened, in just one night?

  Then another thought comes to me. I must’ve left the forest at the wrong place, and come on another settlement, just like mine. Same number of huts, same ditch, only halfway finished, different people.

  A wave of relief floods through me, though I’m still scared. That has to be it. I always knew we couldn’t be the only settlers in the forest.

  I’ll have to get myself back into the forest somehow without being seen, and start again. When the old woman gets up and goes back indoors, I creep away from the hut.

  It’s then that I see it – Digri’s charm, still swinging in the doorway of his hut. Dried heather and bird bones and feathers, to keep the faeries away. It’s hanging to one side, and half of the feathers have gone and there’s no heather left, but I recognize it straight away, and a sour bile rises in my throat.

  And just then the old man comes out once again. He’s carrying another bowl, and walking straight towards me. I stand stock still, staring, but he doesn’t even see me. And that’s when I realize – he’s like Myrna, near enough blind.

  He’s about to walk right past me when I step forward and grab the bowl. Don’t know what I’m thinking – I just want to ask him: What’s happening? What’s going on? And where’s my mother? But he gives a short yell and drops the bowl. Water and vegetable peelings gush all over my feet. He clutches something at his throat and shouts for all he’s worth.

  ‘Wife!’ he yells. ‘Wife!’

  And the scrawny woman darts out of the hut, with a pot in one hand and a long knife in the other.

  No time to think. I’m running, fast as a hare, scrambling back up the hill to the forest.