Clara and the Faeries
They came for her in the night. Dancing, darting, a response to the dreamer’s pleas, the faeries came, and spirited her away.
But let us start at the beginning, for
faeries do not often come at anyone’s call.
Only the ones who
might give them what they want.
And Clara had something they wanted very
much indeed.
She had woken that morning, slipping
silently out of her bed to see out her window.
Frost had come during the night, biting every leaf, twig, and blade of
grass. The world was painted over with
milky ice. Clara thought it achingly
beautiful. She put her little chin on
her hands and sighed, her warm breath making a cloud on the window until she
had to wipe it with the edge of her nightgown.
Descending from the window’s ledge slowly,
and tiptoeing to the door, she twisted the brass handle with her hand in her
nightgown’s sleeve to keep her hand from getting cold. Clara willed her feet to silence as she crept
along the hallway. She loved her house,
and especially the bright rugs that lay on the wood floor of the hallway that
led by all the bedrooms. But more than
that she loved her brother, whose door was just a few tiptoes more. She opened his bedroom door with much
practiced care, and gazed at his sweet face, almost more pale than the frost.
Closing the door, Clara went and sat
beside her brother’s bed. She did not
notice that she was cold for being out of bed in only her nightgown. Nor did she notice the wooden toys that stood
in the corner that on a normal day would have beckoned her to them. She only had eyes for the rise and fall of
her brother’s wee chest, and let out a breath of relief. Leaning against his bed, she pressed her lips
to his small, flushed cheek, and then sneaked out of the room in much the way she
had sneaked into the room. And moving as
quietly and quickly as she could, went back to her own room, knelt by her bed
to say a little prayer.
When she was sure she had satisfied God,
she climbed again up to the window’s ledge.
Looking out at all the icy world, she spoke the words she had said
yesterday, and the day before. ‘Faeries
good and faeries bright, make my brother quickly right. If an offering you must take, I’ll give of me
for his sweet sake.’
For she knew it was the
only way to make sure her little brother got better.
And because she knew that, they came.
Clara awoke in Faeryland. And she knew what the faeries wanted.
When her eyelids fluttered, and then
flared open, it was because of a curious warmth that made its way in and around
her little body. That, and a smell that
seemed to intertwine cinnamon and vanilla in the most delicious way.
But the view before her gave none of that
away.
Clara was not alone. And her little body did not seem quite so
little. At least, not compared to the
tiny houses and the tiny winged bodies that seemed to belong to the bevy of
faeries that lit up a forest’s floor; though compared to the tall fir trees
that towered above and around her, she thought she was still her same size.
Assured that she had not changed, she
looked about her. Glistening pools,
rooms carved within trees, and bouncing lights that moved like fireflies captivated
her eyes. But there was something that
stole her breath when her eyes found it: a palace that seemed carved of glass,
and a faery sitting on a delicate throne, a tiny crown upon a small head with
the most beautiful face.
Clara gasped, and could not help but move
closer.
‘Are you the queen of the faeries?’ she
asked in a soft voice.
‘Are you the child who offers herself to
save her brother?’ the faery countered.
Clara felt a little shocked at this
reminder, and gulped. But she bravely
nodded.
‘Come with me,’ the faery queen said, and gracefully
flew off her throne.
Clara followed. She wandered through Faeryland, following the
tiny queen. Her eyes filled with enough
beauty to last a lifetime. It was all
her dreams were made of, and she was content.
For she knew what was to happen next.
They came upon a clearing with a low table
made of wood, and carved with patterns of flowers and vines. It was just Clara’s size. And along side it was a knife, long and
glittering.
‘You know what you must do?’ the faery
queen asked, her voice stern.
Clara’s chin dropped. She did know.
It was time. She nodded.
And then Clara climbed onto the table just
her size, and lay down.
The faery queen seemed to grow as she
moved over Clara. The knife appeared in
her tiny—and yet tiny no longer—hands that fit around the hilt, and its edge
seemed almost to sing with its sharpness.
Clara closed her eyes, and heard the blade
move. Heard it slice into the wooden
table.
A moment passed.
Clara opened her eyes.
The faery, tiny once more, held something
large in her hands. It swayed in a gentle
breeze.
‘You’ve cut my hair!’ Clara exclaimed,
marveling that she had yet a voice.
‘That is the price, hair for the strings
that make the faery harps. This you knew,
of course, when you called for us as you did,’ the faery queen said in her
regal way, dusting off her robe in a commonplace way.
‘No, I…I thought…you would take…the rest
of me,’ Clara spoke, her soft voice astonished.
The faery queen gazed up at her for what
seemed like an age, a curious look upon her face. Then she spoke. ‘Take your life, you mean?’ the queen asked.
Clara felt her hand brush her throat. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
All at once the queen grew big, bigger
than Clara, big enough to kneel and take a child’s hand in her own. The faery queen gazed softly at the girl who
felt small again. ‘That is quite an
offering to make, child. It is not needed
now. But for the gift you would have
given, I offer you one in return: if you would always want to give of yourself
to make others well, well they will be.’
Clara felt the faery queen’s arms around her and kiss her brow. Clara closed her eyes, and the wind changed.
All at once she was home. In her own bed, just her size. Looking about the room, Clara found herself
alone. Had it all been a dream? She slipped out of bed, and down the
rug-strewn hallway, and into her brother’s room. And there he sat, his small body propped on a
pillow, a picture book held between his hands and a smile on his face.
Clara felt her own hands move to feel her hair. A small piece was missing.
She smiled.
And that was that.