This son – Nohay, by name – was the only child of his beloved, deceased wife and the captain cherished him as his own peculiar treasure and would allow none but the kindest eye and warmest heart to look upon him, for the boy’s body was twisted and bent and his mind slow and the child lacked all ability speak. So the father kept his son hidden away in the uppermost floors of his lodgings, filling those rooms with rare joys that he had discovered in his journeys – strange delights that a child of limited understanding might enjoy. Always he would resort thither, after his day’s duties, to play with his son.
With the exception of one kindly old matron whose task it was to care for the boy whenever the captain was at sea, the boy had no other human friends. Mark me: I say not that he had no friends, but that he had no human friend. For I will tell you now that he was not entirely solitary.
When he was some ten years old, his father became castaway on one of the Caribe Isles. For two years he lingered thus, alone and exiled, his thoughts turned in on himself. And in the third year, a passing fae chanced to hear him muttering to himself and, being curious about the captain, endeavored through various means to befriend him. This he did by pretending to be a castaway himself. Thus the captain befriended the fae – or, as he supposed, the dark native – and the two became fast friends. The captain taught his new friend all that he thought befitting of a man of such limited understanding of the world: the language of the English Isles, and how to go and fetch for him. Perhaps he thought it good fun. Perhaps he only wanted to see how far the matter would run until the story was played out, but never once did the fae correct the captain or challenge his “master’s” assumptions. At last, after three months passed, what should appear on the horizon but a ship to return the captain to his native lands?
It has been said by many that the fae was responsible for this happy turn of events – and it is very likely that he was. But whether this be true or not, the fact remains that the captain returned home. And not himself alone but with a dark native at his side.
When the fae arrived at the captain’s house, he saw the human child (and as is often the habit and wont of faes), befriended him. Soon after this, the child’s rooms began to be filled with paints, canvases, and musical instruments of diverse sort. Through some fairy magic, the boy – although he could not speak – began to be expert in painting and music. He painted scenes of foreign lands that neither the matron nor the captain had visited, and drew conveyances that no man on earth, save the great Da Vinci, had seen or devised. The music he played on flute, viol, citre, or oboe had an airy quality that hinted at worlds humans had never entered.
Being an astute man, the captain soon began to believe that an entity was influencing his son and – afraid – he set guards to watch the windows, balconies and doors of the boy’s rooms. Soon enough, it was reported to him that the Caribe native he had befriended was nothing more or less than a wood fae and instead of washing pots and scrubbing floors as was required, the fae was often accustomed to visiting the child’s balcony. From there, the fae would call out. In response, the boy would come running to him. Indeed, as he stood on the balcony, the fae never wore the bedraggled rags his master had provided but was often dressed in cotton tunics of green and red.
The fae’s description and mien was reported to envoys and emissaries throughout the British and Caribbean isles. At last an answer came: the boy’s visitor was Prince Hark, a forest fae from the southern seas. More importantly, this fae prince was reputed to be kind and trustworthy and prone to playing tricks on unwary humans.
The captain was of course angry at the deception but being persuaded by those who understood such matters that Prince Hark had no desire to steal his son or replace the boy with a changeling, the captain begrudgingly allowed the friendship. Even so, because he now understood that he had been the fae’s fool, he no longer commanded the fae as he once did. And the fae, in turn, stopped residing in the cottage.
Thus the fae and the captain dealt with the situation and with the boy as if the other did not exist. And this arrangement suited them for quite some time. (Although the captain did seek out a physician who would examine the boy weekly to see if the fae had done the boy any physical harm.)
But one night some weeks after the boy’s twenty-fifth birthday, the captain returned from the sea and found the fae sitting cross-legged on the third-floor balcony. With some trepidation, he wondered why the fae should suddenly desire to speak with him. He stood, wary and bowed, awaiting some word from his former friend.
“Do I have permission to speak, Master?” the fae asked.
“You have permitted yourself much already all these years,” the captain answered. “Why should you ask my permission now? And we both know that I am not your master, Prince Hark.”
“True,” Prince Hark answered. “But know that I cannot take your son away unless you give me permission.”
“Take my son away?” the captain echoed. “But why…?” His voice trailed off and he studied his son’s face, a face that seemed to yearn for greater things outside of his confined rooms.
“Soon, Nonny will begin to speak,” the fae continued. “And you will of course be curious as to what his voice, what his humor, what his intelligence. You will wish to have long discourses with him. You can do that all in good time. But first, I must travel with him to regions far away.”
“Nonny?” the captain said, more to himself than to the fae. For it had not occurred to the father that his son might have a nickname. He shook his head. “No, Nohay cannot travel with you.”
“I have not asked very much,” the fae said. “Give him to me for seven years. After that, he shall be yours forever.”
“Are you the one who will make him speak?” the captain asked. He studied the crippled form of his son’s body. “And will you heal him entirely?”
“It is not I who will heal him,” Prince Hark answered. “The Good Lord of Light will. I have seen that he has already answered your prayers. But I have determined that I also wish to help the boy.”
“Help him?” the captain’s voice dripped sarcasm. “And what will your benefit be? What will you require or gain for this help of yours?”
The fae laughed. “How shrunken-hearted you humans are! And remember, it was not I who called you ‘servant’ when we were on the island, but you who determined I was your inferior. I want nothing but to acquaint your son with the world he will find himself in.”
“When you say ‘acquaint him with the world,’ what exactly do you mean?” the captain asked.
“I will teach him your mores, your etiquettes, your histories, your geographies, and sciences. Only that.”
The captain had no trust of faes but because the fae looked impatiently on him and he wished to be well-rid of him, he answered thusly, “Well, Prince Hark, if you wish, you may take my son. But only for seven years. Then return him safely to me. And give me a week to prepare both my son and myself for our mutual separation and loss.”
“I will give you a day,” the fae prince said.
“What an intrusion you have been in my life!” the old captain cried out.
“You did not consider me much of an intrusion when I was your dark servant,” the fae answered and left, promising to return the next day to take Nohay. But that night the old captain called upon his friend, a duke who had long ago befriended him because he had heard of his adventures during his watery exile. The duke took the boy and hid him in one of the dungeons of his castle, where the echoes of the waves could be heard thundering against the brick walls. As the duke closed the door upon the father and son, the gnarled body of the young man suddenly straightened itself like a tree spreading out its limbs to heaven and Nohay suddenly spoke.
“Father?” he said. “Why have you brought me here?”
Those were the first words the child spoke. The voice was not what the old man had expected. He had not expected the first words from his child to be a challenging question either. But what perturbed him more t
han having to answer to his son was the sight of a suddenly well-formed, muscular young man. The old captain could only stare into the dark room with perplexed eyes. What manner of creature would his son turn out to be?
The young man asked again, “Father, why have you brought me here?”
The old captain managed to speak. “To protect you from the fae,” he answered, not knowing how much his son comprehended.
“The fae?” the young man asked. “Is that what his people are called? I had surmised, even in my unusual mental state, that he was not like us. For he had hair the color of moss and heather and skin dark as the night. But I did not know that his people were called ‘the fae.’ Are there many like him?”
“They are many indeed, my boy,” the captain said, “and it is unclear whether they serve the good Lord of Light or not. Therefore I have determined he will not remove you from me.”
The boy looked at his fingers. His thumb touched his little finger, then methodically counted through the others. “But he has not hurt me these fifteen years,” he said.
“You know mathematics, My Nohay?” the old captain asked, smiling sadly.
“That I do,” the boy said. “The one you call a ‘fae’ taught me much.”
“But how could he teach you so much?”
“He has joined my mind to his in such a way that I can see clearly the thoughts in his mind. In this way, I have learned much.”
“Indeed?” the old man said. “Such strange intimacy indeed! But has he harmed you in anyway?”
“‘Harm?’” the boy echoed. “What is ‘harm?’ It is not a word you have used often in my presence.”
“You do not understand the word?”
“I do not, Father.”
And so the old father explained the meaning of the word and the many kinds of violence that men can use against each other and against young boys, even to the point of death.
Nohay listened, a look of deep surprise on his face. “No, he has not harmed me. Nor did he tell me that men could harm or steal from each other. But he has told me about death and other such matters.”
“Has he?” the old father answered. “About death? Why would he tell you about death?”
“When he explained to me that I had no mother,” Nohay answered. “And that she had gone to live in the sky. He thought I should be made to understand why she was not at my side.”
And there was more the boy knew. So much more that the captain was both thankfully impressed and fiercely, jealously suspicious of the fae’s influence on his son. They spoke at length for much of the night.
Having power and wealth, the duke had warriors and armed guards assembled roundabout his castle, and from the highest turrets to the dungeon. For although the deception was hidden from the fae, it was well-known that such deception could not be long hidden.
The captain spoke with his son until dawn, discovering all manner of truths about the boy. Then when his son fell asleep, he rose and waited for the sun to rise to its height. At noon, the fae returned to the captain’s cottage. And how powerfully he returned! For Prince Hark arrived upon a mechanical dragon from whose mouth dense fiery smoke issued. Beside them was a winged horse with flesh and blood like any other.
“I have come for your son,” the fae prince said. From within the dragon loins, a slat opened and after a series of rhythmical clatter, a series of steps unfolded. The fae stepped upon them and lighted down from the dragon. He stood on the last step looking at the captain.
“He is not here,” the captain answered, quivering in fear. Whether from fear of the dragon or from the fearsome skill required in making such a dragon. For the thing was about three times the length and height of the cottage and it gleamed black like the blackest of oils on a bright blue lake.
“And where might he be, if not here?” the fae prince asked, with a calm that would have startled the hearts of most human men.
But the captain only answered. “What does it matter where he is? All that matters is that I have sent him away because I will not allow him to go with you on your travels.”
The fae prince smiled. An angry smile. “How shrunken-hearted you humans are!”
The old captain muttered under his breath. “If you had such a contraption, why did you not use it to rescue me from that forsaken deserted isle?”
“Are you one who expects a dark one to tell you all his secrets?” the fae prince answered.
“You should have told me you were not human like the others of the Carib isles,” the captain retorted, still seething that the fae had deceived him.
The fae answered, “Old man, I am older than you by three thousand years. I have power to crush you. And you dare talk to me as if I am still your servant? Are you out of your mind?”
With that he left, and as if he had known the young boy’s dwelling all along, he and his dragon flew toward the duke’s castle. There, the fae prince once again descended those steps of wood and iron. Having arrived in the courtyard, he pushed past the duke and the armed guards and down the stairs of the castle to the dungeon where the young man was. Then, without key or word, he lifted his hand and opened the dungeon door.
None approached or challenged him as he took the young man by hand and walked into the courtyard. Seconds later, young Nohay sat astride the pegasi and Prince Hark atop the dragon. And within moments, they had taken to the skies.
Nohay and the fae prince travelled together for half the day, Nohay lost in thought. At last Nohay said to the fae prince, “How are fae and humans different and why does my father fear your kind so much?”
“We are more alike than unalike,” the fae said. “But in our unalikeness, there is nothing of me that you can understand.”
So, Nohay was silent again, thinking. And all his thoughts were known to the fae, but few of the fae’s thoughts were privy to him. Still, enough of the fae’s thoughts were known and Nohay could understand much in the world without opening his mouth to ask a question.
They travelled for many days, Nohay’s eyes being full of sights he had only seen second hand through the fae’s mind. The day came when they arrived at a great river in which the sky of our dear Lord was so keenly reflected that it seemed as if the very sky and water had met.
“See there,” the fae said, pointing at the bright blue water.
Nohay peered downward, the brightness of the water almost blinding him.
The fae directed him toward an inlet near the river’s edge. “There,” he said. “What do you see?”
Nohay saw two human children swimming, their heads under the lake. Without knowing how he knew, he now knew that the boy was seven-years-old and named Pel. And the other, his sister, some five years older, who was named Onada.
“Shall we descend?” the fae asked.
Nohay nodded. Immediately the back of the mechanical dragon opened –its mechanical scales sliding along slots and grooves. The fae gestured for Nohay to join him within the creation. When all – Nohay, Hark, and the pegasi were inside – the juncture closed around them with a thunderous but efficient clatter. Nohay found himself in a dimly-lit chamber through which he could see the sky and land. Yet only dimly, for the skins and scales of the mechanical creature were like a highly-polished metal glass. Before Nohay could sigh his delight, the creature plunged headlong into the lake. At first the little chamber grew dark but after several seconds the room was filled with the biofluorescent lightings of crustaceans from the deep or from the skies. On the walls, which were formed by the creature, shells glowed. Through the skin and scales of the dragon, the sunlight reflected through the water.
Prince Hark directed Nohay’s attention to the swimming siblings. The boy swam with his eyes opened. Not so his sister Onada. She was perhaps too mindful of dirt and filth, for the lake was very near the gardens and farmlands of the rich folk of that region.
Now this was the girl’s thought as she swam with her brother, her eyes closed, “If I am to grow up for hard work, I should have no aversion to the wate
r-weeds, the scattered mermaid scales, and the countless flotsam and detritus that float around me. For I and this scum are one and the same, carried about by the uncaring waves of time.”
“Why have you shown me this?” Nohay asked. “And why intrude on the girl’s musing?”
But the fae did not answer.
So Nohay grew silent and listened as the girl’s brother attempted to convince her to open her eyes under the lake.
“Open your eyes!” the boy commanded, although he was some years younger than she. “True, your eyes will burn a bit. But after a while what wonders you will see!”
The girl did not open her eyes. She only remembered with a shudder a moment when a water fae threw a half-eaten fish into the lake. She imagined herself swimming in fish-meal and mer-folk dung and she shuddered. And because Prince Hark felt her shudder – although he was far from her and resting in his sub-mariner – Nohay also felt the shudder.
“How she scorns your people!” Nohay observed.
“As much as your father scorns the dark people of the Caribe,” Prince Hark said. “But listen and look.”
So Nohay turned his attention again to the siblings.
“Open your eyes,” the brother ordered the sister.
She opened her eyes. And Nohay saw through the thoughts of the fae that the water did not sting as much as she feared. Yet, Onada could not see the beauty of the pond; she only imagined herself surrounded by a sewer.
Her eyes adjusted to the brackish water. Plant sludge floated past her. Nohay watched in silence, waiting. Then, in the distance…he saw little creatures, about an inch long, each with two tiny fins or arms and two feet flapping underneath treading water. Onada saw these as well and could only imagine newts, tadpoles, or leeches. Whatever it was, it disgusted and terrified her.
She lifted her head above the waves but looked in the opposite direction of the creature. “Over there!” she said, directing her brother’s gaze at the creatures behind her. Her brother lifted his head above the water line. “What swims there?” she pleaded. “Look and tell me what it is!”
Rococoa Page 3