by Robin Trent
It was very unusual for a Sidhe being to write anything down. They didn't even know how to write, nor did they have any real use for it. But Titwell, being a house brownie and being around humans all the time, had picked some things up over the years. He had belonged to many households and had been with many families. Some were good, some were bad. The bad ones, of course, always paid the price of him turning into a boggart and scaring the pants off of them. He even had a few try to capture him. But they had failed. Titwell was, among other things, extremely smart. Something else that was also unusual for a house brownie.
He couldn't give the journal to Elizabeth. That would break his vow. But if he were to leave it out in the open, in the attic, and she just happened to find it, well he couldn't do much about it, could he? The journal would take Elizabeth some time to read, but to anyone else, it would just look like a book. That included the nasties that visited Elizabeth all the time. He'd glamour the book so it couldn't be traced back to him. Then she would know the truth. And he wouldn't have to watch her go mad slowly over time.
Elizabeth was sitting in the nursery, staring at the changeling. Ophelia looked perfectly normal. Her daughter's wispy hair was turning black as night and growing. Someday her daughter should have a luxurious head of hair. Her skin was pink and healthy, and her little cheeks were chubby and adorable. Elizabeth couldn't help wondering what Euphemia looked like. To her, the changeling looked ugly and bent and a hundred years old. Everyone else saw a child, probably as beautiful as her other daughter.
Elizabeth had heard stories of mothers who rejected their children, developing some phobia or hysteria that caused the mother to be unreasonable. Now she wondered if any of those mothers experienced what she had; knowing the child was not theirs, knowing that their real baby had been stolen. It was cruel beyond imagining, and Elizabeth had nowhere to turn. She wanted nothing more than to hold Euphemia in her arms, to take in the smell of her, to rock her to sleep.
Elizabeth could feel the nagging doubts pulling on her. Was she sane? Did she imagine all this? Was her daughter lying there in that crib, and for some inexplicable reason, Elizabeth couldn't see her? Why would she replace her own beautiful daughter in her mind with something so ugly, so sinister? Elizabeth was doubting her own senses. She wasn't sure about anything anymore because no one else could see what she saw. Should she be trying to ignore all this and pretend that thing was her daughter? Would this sickness in her mind go away eventually if she just played along?
The changeling stood up in the crib and held onto the railing while it leaned back and laughed. It took off its bonnet and dressing gown and climbed up on the railing to sit, feet dangling over the edge, grinning at Elizabeth. "Feeling a little out of sorts, are we?"
Elizabeth felt a jolt of electricity in her body as the horrible thought this thing could read her mind occurred to her. No, not possible. "I am trying to figure out if you are real or just a figment of my imagination."
"I am here, yes? You see me, yes? Why doubt it?" The changeling actually looked puzzled and it tilted its head. It was almost comical, and Elizabeth would have laughed if she didn't feel like crying so much.
"Yes, I see you, but my mind... It could be playing tricks on me. How do I know you are real?"
"Humans always doubt us. Never sure we are real. But we here. You don't see us because you don't look."
"But I see you." Elizabeth was more confused than ever.
"Yes, you do. That's interesting, isn't it?" No longer laughing, the changeling's eyes glittered like hard pinpoints of dark light. The change in expression scared Elizabeth.
"Why do you hate me so?" Her voice sounded raw as that monumental truth welled up in her throat.
"Humans nasty. Humans hate earth. Humans mistreat home and dirty it up for everyone. Don't care what they do to hurt others."
"What has this to do with me? What have I personally done to you?" Elizabeth sat forward in her rocking chair, finally getting angry.
The changeling shrugged its shoulders. "Doesn't matter. What's done is done. Can't change it now."
Tears started to form in Elizabeth's eyes as she felt frustration mounting inside her. "But my child. She's innocent."
"Innocent? No human is innocent. Ever."
As if in response, a loud scraping across the attic floor sounded at that moment. Elizabeth's head jerked toward the door, and the changeling scrambled back into the crib, throwing the dressing gown back over its head and snatching the bonnet to tie back in place. The changeling lay silently as Elizabeth cocked her head to listen. The scraping noise sounded again, this time ending with a thud.
Elizabeth got up to leave the nursery and looked down at the changeling in the crib. "We're not done yet. We will continue this conversation later," she said.
Titwell hoped he had made enough noise to attract attention. He knew Elizabeth was in the nursery, and he wanted her to come to the attic. He carefully laid his journal on a bench near the door where it could be spotted. His stomach twisted in knots as he waited in anticipation. The journal was glamoured so that no human could see the writing in it. But Elizabeth could see faery, therefore, he was sure she would be able to see past the glamour. If she couldn't, then all she would see would be a blank journal and probably think it may be handy to write in. All he would have to do then was retrieve it at night. No big deal. But he was hoping she could read it. This would help her understand she wasn't crazy. The queen would kill him if she knew what he was doing, but he firmly disagreed with Oonagh and thought she should help Elizabeth. Well, if she wouldn't, he would.
He heard the door to the nursery shut. All was quiet for several moments. He wondered what her hesitancy was. Titwell was getting antsy and was just about to crack the door and peek outside when he heard Elizabeth mount the stairs. He rushed to the back of the attic hiding behind the dresser, tripping and falling into a lamp stand. The resulting crash was loud, and Titwell knew Elizabeth heard it. Her footsteps quickened, and he scrambled to hide. The door swung open, and Elizabeth stepped triumphantly inside the room, exclaiming aloud, "Ah-ha! I've got you!"
The only sound in the room was a fly bouncing against the windowpane of the port window. She scanned the room, looking for clues, and she was surprised not by what she saw, but by what she didn't see. It looked like the attic had been dusted. There were no cobwebs, and the floor looked swept. Nothing seemed to be missing, even though the items in the attic were rearranged. Neatly stacked boxes were against the wall, and what furniture was up there was now arranged like a sitting room. Even the bed was made. She so wanted to know what was in the house with her other than the changeling. Elizabeth put her hands on her hips and spoke in the most authoritative voice she could muster. "Where are you? I know you're in here, come out and show yourself."
Nothing moved or made a sound. She stood stock-still and waited for several minutes, hoping whatever it was would reveal itself. So, she decided to venture further into the attic. Not knowing who or what was in the attic with her, caused Elizabeth to shake. Whoever it was, all they seemed to have done though was clean and rearrange things. Elizabeth realized this probably was not someone dangerous. Who would clean like this and then attack her?
She stood in the middle of the room and slowly rotated, taking in every nook and cranny. To her disappointment, nothing revealed itself. Finally, she gave up, and her shoulders slumped in defeat. She wasn't going to get to solve her mystery today. Elizabeth turned to go when she spied the leather-bound journal on the bench.
"Hello, what's this?" She picked up the journal and fanned the pages. Titwell peeked out from behind the dresser to get a glimpse of her reaction. She was smiling. Elizabeth immediately went back to the first page and started reading. Titwell could see her eyes moving back and forth as she read the page. He wanted to jump up and down for joy but didn't. He remained hidden.
"Is this what you wanted? Do you want me to read this?" Titwell nodded his head in the affirmative even though she couldn't see hi
m. "I'm taking this to my room now. I will return it, I promise." She paused for a minute before leaving, hoping still to see something. Well, at least she had a journal to read, and it looked interesting. As Elizabeth closed the door, Titwell let out a sigh of relief.
17
Rhys spied a glint of silver coming from the ornate box. He lifted the lid further and felt excitement wash over him. There, lying amid all the gold jewelry, was the perfect polished silver amulet. It had not one scratch, nor one mark of black tarnish. It had all the craftsmanship that a piece of fae jewelry should have, except one thing. It did not appear to have a mark on it signifying its maker.
Rhys could hear footsteps of the guard in the corridor above him, and he knew he had to act. He grabbed the amulet and stuffed it into his pocket. Lowering the lid to the box, he retreated to the shadows, and there he hid, waiting for the guard to pass.
When Rhys exited the building, he made sure no one saw him. He traversed the market and made his way back to his tent, patting his pocket to remind himself the necklace was there. It was strange to find a piece of fae workmanship among the artifacts, but Rhys felt justified in taking it. Something such as this did not belong in human hands. He couldn't wait to examine it.
Rhys sat on the edge of his cot in his tent. Since the necklace was of Sidhe make, he had an instant affinity to it. It felt warm in the palm of his hand, not cold like ordinary metal. He traced his fingers over the intricate Celtic knotwork and smiled as he appreciated the design. One thing that was strange about the square piece, the knotwork ran off the edge like it should be continued on another piece. The square looked like it interlocked with another. In the center of the silver square sat a flat piece of golden citrine which contained carvings. The designs depicted the element of air. Wispy clouds, birds and dragon flies graced the front of it.
He closed his hand over the necklace and followed the energy pattern deep into the center of the amulet. He could feel himself sinking into the past, into the center, into the amulet ready to uncover what secrets lay there. And as he sank into the energy, he felt its own energy rise to meet him. They converged, and there was a flash of blue-white light that lit up the entire tent. Rhys opened his eyes to the scene before him.
There were fae and humans, walking together, living together in what appeared to be a community of sorts and the fae and humans existed as equals. In one scene in particular, Rhys watched as humans tended to one of the energy wellsprings of life. It was high in the mountains where a cave had the wind blowing through it. The humans were reverent and observed the old ways. They knew the ways of the fae.
Rhys wasn’t sure what he was watching, but if it was from long ago, it was a part of history that he had never heard. He didn’t remember ever reading about humans tending to the well springs of life. The collective fae knowledge about past events was known as the Histories. There were those who kept the Histories alive through song or story telling. These strange events were something Rhys would have to investigate when he got back.
Elphame, removed from the human world, is another plane of existence that overlaps the physical world of Earth. In some places, known as the thin places, Earth and Elphame touch. It looks like Earth, and it doesn't, which is why sometimes humans can accidentally cross over to Elphame and not even know it. When they cross over, they pass through the In-Between. They might get lost, lose their sense of direction, not be able to recognize the landscape, and then walk out of the In-Between as they backtrack until they end up on terra firma once again, never making it to Elphame.
It was the In-Between where Oonagh now stood. The colors of the plants and animals were duller here; in fact, everything seemed muted, even the air. The stillness in the silence felt almost reverent. Oonagh wondered what effect this would have on the human child growing up. Would she be as severe as this place? Oonagh did not want the child to be morose. She would have to give it a playmate. Something to keep it company, so it didn't get lonely; an exceptional guardian. Oonagh tucked that thought away in the back of her mind. When she found the proper guardian, she would know it.
Sunlight filtered through the fog, giving a luminous quality to the landscape. Oonagh raised her hands in the air, and the morning fog dissipated. She thought on her task at hand. The area looked right; she had been searching the In-Between for days looking for an out of the way place where the baby could live and not be discovered by intruders. The site had to be close by. The queen could not just abandon an infant in some faraway remote place. But still, she wanted it to be challenging to find.
She finally settled on a copse of ancient oak that looked as though no one had traveled through there in many years. Oonagh knew for certain that the oak trees only existed in the In-Between and Elphame for the humans had cut them down long ago on the Earth plane.
Oak was one of Oonagh's favorite trees as she loved their smell and their strength. There was wisdom in oak if one knew where to look. Oonagh spoke to the trees, a kind of humming sound similar to bees but at a much higher frequency. The surface of the oaks began to move and undulate. Bodies formed out of the ripples and separated from the trees down to the waist. The dryads who lived in the trees had mossy hair, bark-like skin, deep-set eyes, and limbs like branches. They communicated using images one could see in their mind.
Oonagh put forth her request. She showed the dryads what she wanted: a house built out of trees and vines. The branches from different trees overhead came together and wove themselves into a roof. Vines and roots rose out of the Earth, growing and twisting, weaving and circling around and around, forming circular walls that reached up to the roof. The tendrils were so tightly packed together even a drop of water could not get through. Inside the house, floors and stairs were forming, creating living quarters that could shift and change as the need arose.
While the house was forming, Oonagh walked around the perimeter, doing some weaving of her own. She created a barrier, wards to protect the newly constructed home and its occupant from prying eyes. The ward was invisible, but it would keep the child in a confined area where she wouldn't be able to wander off. Satisfied with her work, Oonagh took a step back to admire what she and the forest dryads had made. It was good work, and the child would be safe and dry.
With a wave of her hand, the house disappeared, hidden from view. It was still there, but the glamour would hide the house not just from humans but from fae and every other creature as well. Oonagh considered it to be perfect. Now to go back and get Oswald to supply the house with a few creature comforts, and it would be ready to house the baby. Here the child would grow up at an average human pace, which for fae would be the blink of an eye.
Oonagh made to leave the place and journey home. She checked her surroundings once more, careful that no one had seen her, and no one had followed. She felt confident all was well. What she didn't see and what she hadn't detected was someone high up in the trees, casually floating and observing everything that happened. The sylph, barely a smoky waft, patiently waited for Oonagh to leave. Queen Maeve was going to want to know about this.
Elizabeth sat in her rocking chair, scanning the journal. A stray tendril of hair brushed her cheek as she bent her head to her task. The journal contained tiny penmanship, and at times it was hard to read the tight letters. She ended up holding the journal very close to her face, turning it this way and that to make out the lettering. After a few pages, she began to realize that the journal was a record of sorts. It did contain pieces of faery lore, but that was not the most exciting thing in it. The journal contained meticulous notes dating back almost five centuries, records concerning human families, and some sort of testing. As it was all the females, the names kept changing as the women married and took their husband's name. And yet each generation was accounted for. The journal did not spell out exactly what the testing was for, but it did show that the examination had been conducted on all the female members of the families shortly after birth. If she had been into genealogy, this would have been a fantastic f
ind because the journal listed all the family member's names, dates of birth, and location of delivery.
While this was all incredibly interesting, Elizabeth didn't see where this had anything to do with her. She sat sort of dazed, and her eyes glazed over while reading about failed test after failed test. Realizing this was going to take forever to go through, Elizabeth decided to skip to the end. Her breath caught short when she saw her name and the name of Nikolai as the parents and the girls as the last test subjects. Beside the test entry was written the word SUCCESS. But what did this mean?
Elizabeth looked at the previous entry, the one right before her girls, and she saw an exam on her sister Charlotte. Elizabeth's heart began to race. The record before Charlotte’s was her own, also a failed test. She looked at the next previous entry and raised her hand to her mouth. Helen's name was there, indicating that she too had failed the test. This journal, this was her family; all her female ancestors. Elizabeth sat in shock. The abduction wasn't just something that had been out of her control. It was something that was the culmination of five centuries of testing--but testing for what? She needed to study the journal further, go back to the beginning, and look for clues.
Elizabeth jumped at the sound of the doorknob turning. She assumed it was Rebecca with lunch and turned to look over her shoulder only to be confronted by the scowling visage of her mother. Elizabeth shut the journal while her eyes remained fastened on Helen. "Yes? What is it, Mother? Is everything all right?"
