The Night Fairy

by Laura Amy Schlitz

  Flory jumped straight up into the air, catching the bottom branch of the juniper bush. She swung back and forth until she hooked her legs over the branch. “I’ve come to set you free,” she said breathlessly. “I’m going to pull the web off you. Only you must promise me something first.”

  The hummingbird twisted its head to look at her. The feathers under its chin were pearly white. It was a female.

  “I’ve seen you,” said Flory. “You come to the water feeder.”

  “I’ve never seen you,” said the hummingbird. She craned her head for another look. “Why are you awake? You’re a night fairy.”

  “I used to be a night fairy,” Flory said. “Now I’m not. Will you promise?”

  “Promise?” asked the hummingbird.

  “Yes,” said Flory. She felt her cheeks grow warm; she was not often ashamed, but she felt a little awkward about what she was going to say. She took a deep breath and spoke very clearly so that she wouldn’t have to say it twice. “I’ll set you free, but after I set you free, you must be my very own hummingbird and let me ride on your back.”

  She waited for the hummingbird to agree, but the hummingbird was still. The glittering wings were motionless. When they didn’t catch the light, they were plain gray. Flory gave a nervous little laugh.

  “No,” said the hummingbird.

  “No?” echoed Flory.

  “No,” said the hummingbird. “I won’t belong to you. I belong to myself. And I have eggs.” A note of pride came into her voice. “If I get free, I shall have to look after my nestlings. I shan’t have time to bother with you.”

  Flory could not think what to say next. She reached upward, pulling herself closer to the bird. “But I want to cut you free,” she said. “I’d like to. If you don’t get free, you’ll die.”

  The hummingbird’s throat moved. Her beak was open; she was panting for breath. “If I die, the eggs will die,” she said hoarsely. “Night will fall, and it will be cold — and the chicks will die inside the shells.”

  Flory felt a funny ache in her throat. She was not the kind of fairy who cried easily, and she didn’t think the hummingbird cried at all. But the words “the chicks will die” made her feel queer, as if her heart were swollen and sore. She gave herself a little shake, trying to replace the queer feeling with crossness. “It’s your own fault,” she said. “I’m perfectly willing to set you free. All you have to do is promise to be mine. Then you can warm the eggs, and the chicks won’t die.”

  “I can’t promise,” said the hummingbird.

  “Why not?” demanded Flory.

  “Because I can’t lie. Hummingbirds don’t.”

  Flory inched closer. “I wouldn’t make you serve me all the time,” she coaxed. “Only sometimes. I want to ride on your back.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you want,” said the hummingbird in her low, scratchy voice. “I can’t think about that. My eggs are growing cold.”

  Flory glowered at the hummingbird. All at once, she wanted to burst into tears. She wanted to stamp her feet and shout and kick. She realized that she was going to free the hummingbird and get nothing in return.

  “Hold still,” she said furiously. “I’m going to set you free. You don’t deserve it, but I’m going to help.”

  She yanked one of the strands in the web. But the web would not break. Instead, it stretched. When Flory tried to jerk away, the sticky silk glued itself to her forearm.

  “You’ll get caught yourself,” said the hummingbird.

  Flory could see that this was a real danger. All the same, she wasn’t going to give up. She thought for a moment. “I could cut you loose if I had my dagger,” she said. “I have one up in the cherry tree. It’s sharp. If you’ll wait till I fetch it —”

  “No,” said the hummingbird. “Listen to me. There may not be time to save me — the spider will poison me soon — but if you would go to my nest and warm the eggs —”

  Flory caught her breath. “I could do that!” she exclaimed. “If you tell me where the nest is, I’ll go and warm the eggs — and they won’t die! — and then I’ll come back with my dagger and save you.”

  “Will you?” Something gleamed in the hummingbird’s eye. Her throat moved in and out. “Will you save my nestlings?”

  “I will,” Flory promised. “Tell me where your nest is.”

  The hummingbird twisted her head, staring hard into Flory’s face.

  “It’s all right,” Flory told her. “I don’t eat eggs. Ugh.”

  “I built my nest between the fence post and the wall,” whispered the hummingbird, “the fence post close to the fishpond. It’s hidden by the barberry bush. You’ll have to climb the barberry bush to get to it.”

  Flory nodded briskly. “I can do that,” she said, though she knew how prickly barberry bushes were, and she feared the climb. “Don’t worry. I’ll find the nest and warm the eggs. And then I’ll come back.”

  She yanked her arm away from the spiderweb. The sticky thread left a red welt on her arm. Flory was not going to fuss over a minor wound like that. She set her teeth, turned her back on the hummingbird, and set forth on her quest.

  As Flory tore though the tall grass, her thoughts flew ahead of her. She knew she must work quickly. She had to fetch her dagger, warm the eggs, and free the hummingbird before the spider came back. When she reached the cherry tree, she flung back her head and bellowed, “Skuggle!”

  The cherry leaves shook. Skuggle peered down at her.

  “Have you anything to eat?” asked the squirrel.

  “No,” answered Flory. “Skug, would you do me a favor? I need to get to my house — quickly.”

  “Will you give me something to eat?”

  Flory rolled her eyes. “No —” she began. Then she changed her mind. “Yes. If you carry me up to my house, I’ll give you some dried cherries and sunflower seeds.”

  The squirrel was at her side before she finished the word cherries. “Cherries,” he chattered. “I love cherries. You’re mean, Flory, to keep them all to yourself. I love them, I want them. Give them to me.”

  In two seconds they were at the door of Flory’s house. “Don’t go away,” Flory commanded, sliding off the squirrel’s tail. “Wait here.”

  She scrambled into her dim little house. She found her dagger and slipped it into the sash around her waist. Then she picked up the grass quilt she had woven. She rolled it tightly and lashed it to her back.

  Skuggle’s paws were in the doorway, groping wildly. Flory went to her little store of food and hauled out four dried cherries and five sunflower seeds. One by one, she passed them to the squirrel.

  “That’s enough,” she said, after the fifth seed.

  “Don’t you have any more?” asked Skuggle.

  “Yes, but you can’t have them now.”

  Skuggle’s paws went on opening and shutting.

  “I said, that’s enough,” Flory said. “Later.”

  “But now is when I’m hungry.”

  Flory was tempted to sting him. “If you take me where I want to go, I’ll give you more seeds tomorrow. I’ll give you all of them,” she said rashly.

  “And all the cherries?”

  Flory looked over her little stock of food. She had had to lug the sunflower seeds up the tree two by two. The cherries had been even heavier, and it was hard work to pit them. She sighed. “All right. But tomorrow, not today.”

  “Tomorrow morning?”

  “First thing,” Flory promised. “Now, get your dirty little mitts out of my house. I’m coming out.”

  She climbed through the doorway. Skuggle was just outside the house. He nibbled the grass quilt. “Dry,” he said sadly, and took another little nip.

  “One more bite and I’m going to sting you,” warned Flory. “Let me onto your back.”

  He turned his tail to her. She climbed on and let him flip her to the space behind his ear.

  “Where to?”

  Flory hesitated. She wanted Skuggle’s help, but sh
e didn’t want him to get close to the hummingbird’s eggs. “The fishpond,” she said, after thinking it over. “Hurry!”

  The squirrel leaped to the ground. With dizzying speed he arrived at the edge of the fishpond. Flory gazed into the glassy water. She saw the goldfish gliding below.

  “I hear they’re good to eat,” remarked Skuggle, “but I’ve never been able to catch any. Raccoon catches them.”

  Flory felt a pang of fear as she thought of Raccoon. She recalled the thing that no animal and no fairy should ever forget: the world is full of predators. She glanced up at the sky. The blue was dimmer, and the air was growing cool. Soon the bats would come out to hunt. “You can go now,” she told Skuggle, but he squatted down next to her, his eyes fixed on the goldfish.

  “We might be able to catch ’em if we worked as a team,” he said hopefully. “We’re a good team, aren’t we, Flory? Remember how you used your knife to get the suet out of the grease box? And how I ate it? That was teamwork, wasn’t it?”

  Flory wanted to scream. She didn’t want to sting Skuggle — she didn’t even want to hurt his feelings — but she wanted him to go away. She could see the barberry bush from where she stood. It was going to be a hard climb, and every minute the eggs were getting colder. She dared not begin until Skuggle left. He could whisk up the fence post and gobble the eggs before she climbed to the first branch. She closed her eyes, trying to think of something that would distract him.

  The door of the brick house opened. The giantess came out with a jar of seeds. “Look, Skuggle!” Flory cried. “The giantess is going to fill up the seed tube! Hurry up, so you can be the first one there!”

  Skuggle bounded to his feet and scampered to the top of the fence. Flory blessed the giantess as she lumbered down the porch steps. Once the seed tube was full, Skuggle would be busy. Then a frightful thought crept into her mind: what if the giantess stopped by the fishpond?

  Heavy footsteps shook the ground. Flory crouched down, making herself smaller. The shadow of the giantess passed over her. But the giantess didn’t see her. She sauntered past the fishpond, up the stairs, and into the great house.

  Once the door closed, Flory breathed a sigh of relief. “Now for the barberry bush,” she said, and sprang to her feet.

  The climb took all her skill. The barberry bush was leathery and tough, with purple leaves and cruel thorns. One of the thorns raked Flory’s forearm, leaving a long, painful scratch. Flory stopped to lick the blood away. Then she looked up.

  Her heart stood still. A praying mantis squatted in the barberry bush. He was less than four inches from the nest. As Flory gaped at him, his antennae twitched. He turned his head as if he knew she was there. His head was triangular, with bulging green eyes on the sides.

  Flory went cold. She knew how dangerous he was — how suddenly he could strike. She also knew what was in store if he caught her. His spiky forelegs would dig into her flesh. The mantis would lift her to his bristled mouth and bite through her neck. Then he would eat her body, saving her head for last.

  She opened her mouth to say her stinging spell. Then she shut it. If she stung him, he would dart away from her — closer to the nest. She wondered whether he was climbing toward the eggs or away from them. She wished she could work her seeing spell and find out if the nest was empty or full, but she dared not close her eyes.

  “Night fairy,” hissed the mantis, “where are your wings?”

  The word wings gave Flory an idea. She backed up against a thorny branch. “My wings!” Her voice was high and panicky. “Help me! I’ve ripped my wings on the thorns! I can’t fly!”

  It worked. The mantis turned his long body toward her. He was eager for easy prey. Flory wanted to flee; he was a dreadful thing, and her skin crawled as he came closer. But with every step he took, he was farther from the nest.

  “Night fairy!” His voice was as soft as a lullaby. “Night fairy, will you be my prey?”

  His huge green eyes seemed to be casting a spell over her. He swayed back and forth. In spite of herself, Flory began to sway with him.

  All at once, he struck. His spiked legs sliced the air. Flory sprang to one side and shrieked her stinging spell. Never before had she stung so hard. The mantis’s body jerked.

  “Go!” shouted Flory. “Go, or I’ll sting again!”

  The mantis’s eyes were full of hatred. He lurched back as if to attack. Flory drew her dagger. Instead of leaping backward, she threw herself forward, under his forelegs. She slashed upward, missing his throat by a hair. The double attack — dagger and sting — was too much for the insect. He spread his wings and flew away.

  Flory watched until he was out of sight. In spite of her victory, her heart was sick. She was afraid she had come too late — that the eggs had been eaten or grown too cold. Nevertheless, she sheathed her dagger and began the last part of the climb.

  The nest above her was the size of a walnut shell. The hummingbird had woven it from dry cobwebs and covered the outside with lichen, so that it blended in with the old wooden fence. Flory caught hold of the edge with her hands, hooked one ankle over the rim, and slid down inside.

  The eggs were still there. Two of them, as white as pearls. When Flory touched them, she knew at once that they were too cold. They ought to have been warmer. But the creatures inside were alive. She could feel them, curled tight inside the shells: one male, one female. As she spread her fingers over the shells, she felt a glow of triumph and something else, something strong and sweet and steady. She had saved the unborn birds from the praying mantis. Now she would save them from the cold.

  She pressed her palms flat against the shells and began to sing. She sang a spell of comfort for small living things. As she sang, she thought of the warmest things she knew: strong sunlight on black stone, heat lightning on summer nights, the candles that the giantess burned on the patio table. The heat of her thoughts surged through her hands. She could feel the unhatched birds yearning for it.

  By the time she finished singing, the two little eggs hummed with life. Flory pushed them together and tucked the grass quilt over them. “Now,” she said, “you must stay warm until your mother comes home.” She stooped down and kissed the quilt twice. “I’m going to bring her home soon,” she added, “but you’ll be warm through the night.”

  She felt to make sure her dagger was still at her side. Then she wrapped both hands around the nearest barberry twig, kicked off from the nest, and swung herself down through the branches.

  It was later than she thought. Night would come soon.

  Never had the garden seemed so large. Flory’s legs were scratched and aching, and the rough brick of the patio scraped the soles of her feet. Nevertheless, she set a good pace, sprinting and leaping over the cracks between the bricks.

  It was growing dark. A pale star winked in the sky, and the colors of the garden were fading. The white roses glowed in the dimness like the star overhead. By the time Flory reached the juniper bush, she had a stitch in her side, but her footsteps never slowed. She must cut the web and free the hummingbird before the bats came out to hunt.

  She had forgotten about the spider. While Flory had been warming the eggs, the spider had returned and found the hummingbird trapped in its web. Now the spider was wrapping its prey, creeping around and around the open wings, wet silk dripping from its spinnerets.

  Flory stood stock-still, gazing upward. The spider was a large creature — a female, no doubt, as male spiders are puny. Her black-and-yellow body was as long as Flory was tall, and a good deal fatter. She was beautiful, in a scary, black-and-yellow sort of way, but she was deadly. Flory thought of the spider’s fangs digging into her and shivered. Nevertheless, she spat on her hands and caught hold of the bottom strand of the spiderweb.

  The spider’s head jerked up. Although she had eight eyes, her eyesight was poor. She couldn’t see Flory, but she felt the web move under the fairy’s weight. The spider swung downward, hanging from a thread. She grumbled something that sounded like
“feast or famine” and “always the way.” The hairy forelegs twitched, testing the air. “Why, it’s a fairy!” cried the spider. “What’s a fairy doing in my web? Are you stuck?”

  She did not sound unfriendly. It took Flory a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’m not stuck,” she answered. She took care to speak more politely than usual; she had an idea that spiders must be treated with respect. “I came to free the hummingbird. Don’t you think she’s a bit big for you to eat?”

  “I can eat her,” said the spider. “I’ve never caught anything I couldn’t eat. For that matter, I could eat you.” She gave a low chuckle. “Mind you, I don’t want to. They say it’s bad luck to kill a fairy, and I don’t fancy bad luck. But I could eat you, missy — if I wanted to.”

  Flory didn’t doubt it. Seeing the spider up close, she was tempted to leap down from the web and shriek for Skuggle. She cast a nervous glance at the hummingbird. The bird hung limp, eyes closed. “You’ve poisoned her!” Flory said accusingly.

  “Not yet,” answered the spider. “I like to wrap ’em before I bite ’em. That way you don’t waste so much juice.”

  Flory’s thoughts raced. If the hummingbird hadn’t been bitten yet, there was still hope. “If you haven’t bitten her, why isn’t she moving?”

  “She’s gone into torpor,” the spider explained. “Hummingbirds do that. When they run out of strength, they slow their bodies down. That’s why she looks dead — but she’s not. A good thing, too. I don’t like dead meat. I like it hot and juicy.” She nodded toward a grayish bundle on the other side of the web. “Take that wasp. He’s still alive and kicking. What I say is, a dead wasp is nasty, but —”

  Flory forgot about being polite. “Why not eat the wasp?” she interrupted. “You don’t need a whole big bird to eat. Why don’t you eat the wasp and let the hummingbird go?”