The Golden Specific (36 page)

“She realized one morning in early spring, to her great surprise, that the absence of it was a relief. She no longer had to worry about it appearing—about what it would look like or how it would feel. She felt wonderfully unburdened, as if a monumental task that once lay ahead had been suddenly performed, unexpectedly, by someone else. It was no doubt this sense of having cleared her mind and heart that allowed her to see what she had not seen in so many years.

“Walking at the edge of the forest that day, with her mind so newly at ease, Edolie happened to glance into the woods and she saw there, clear as anything, a caped figure retreating. Without a moment's pause, she stepped toward it. ‘Hello?' she called. The caped figure turned, and Edolie had a glimpse of a white face before the hood fell forward. It gave a slight whimper before ducking behind a tree. ‘Hello? Are you all right?' Edolie asked. The figure limped on, clearly in pain, stopping to rest against one tree and then another. Edolie hurried toward it, all her thoughts focused on catching up. She gained ground quickly, calling out to no avail. Finally, she stopped just beside
it. The caped figure stood immobile, its shoulders pitifully hunched. Edolie reached out with her hand. ‘Are you hurt? Can I help you?'

“Suddenly the figure turned, and the hood fell away from its face. A Faierie seized Edolie's outstretched hands, and three more Faieries sprang from the trees around her, seizing her by the clothes and hair. Edolie cried out, but she was so surprised that she hardly had strength to resist. The Faierie that had led her into the woods had skin so white one could see the green veins beneath. Her eyes were large and golden, her features pointed—pointed ears, a small sharp nose, and rows of small sharp teeth. The long, translucent wings on her back sharpened to delicate, blackened tips. The hair about her head, fanning and waving as if it moved through water, was golden-white tinged with green. The others were much the same: tall and imposing, beautiful but dreadful, enchanting and yet full of menace. Their sharp-toothed smiles could turn from sweet to wicked in a moment. Edolie was transfixed. Before she knew what had happened, they had wrapped her in their capes, bundling her in darkness that smelled of musty leaves and moss. And then they carried her away, deep into the woods.

“Edolie struggled at first, but the capes seemed to have some magic in them, and the more she struggled, the tighter they wove around her, so she tried to remain still. They traveled for some time, and finally Edolie felt herself drop against the ground. She begged the Faieries to give her air, and after a moment the capes were pulled away. Edolie looked around and found herself in a small clearing surrounded by pines. The four
Faieries were preparing to take their rest on the carpet of pine needles. The one who had led her into the forest took a strand of hair and wrapped it around Edolie's wrists. The golden-white strand, sharp and strong as wire, snapped tightly into place of its own accord. ‘Wait,' Edolie protested. ‘Why have you taken me? I having nothing that you could want. Please let me go.'

“The Faierie gazed at her with a curious expression. Then she spoke in a whisper that sounded like the rustling of wind in a winter tree. ‘You do have something we want. Our king has fallen in love with you, and we are taking you to him.'

“Edolie shook her head. ‘You have made a mistake. It is not me he is looking for. I have never met your king.'

“‘Have you not?' the Faierie asked. Then, to Edolie's shock, the Faierie took hold of her bound hands and bit her once, hard, on her fingertip.

“Edolie gasped, and the Faierie gave her a cruel smile before turning away and settling down to sleep, her long translucent wings trembling and then growing still. Edolie dared not move; the capes had tightened around her when she had struggled, and she suspected the Faierie's hair would do the same. Her finger ached where the Faierie had bitten her; the tiny punctures made by the sharp teeth were bleeding freely.”

Errol paused, taking a moment to settle Seneca on his arm.

“I can see why you are anxious to avoid the company of Faieries,” Goldenrod commented.

“Precisely,” Errol replied. “They are unpredictable creatures.”

“Though as yet I have not bitten any of you. At least that I can recall,” Goldenrod said pensively.

“Fortunately, it is Sophia who rides with you, so I will not be bitten first,” Errol said solemnly. Sophia laughed. “As the Faieries rested,” he continued, “Edolie tried to get her bearings in the forest. It was no use; the sun shone only dimly past the dense tree cover. She could not even tell what time of day it was. The light was gray and violet-tinged, as if it were early morning or early dusk. But as the time passed, the forest seemed to grow darker, and so Edolie surmised that night was falling. The Faieries seemed to be sleeping soundly. Edolie knew this would be her best chance to escape. Rising slowly so as not to cut her wrists, she watched the Faieries for any sign of movement. They slept on. Edolie stepped backward across the pine needles as quietly as she could. Step by step. Still, the Faieries did not wake. Edolie reached the edge of the clearing and went into the woods. She had no idea in which direction her village lay, but it hardly mattered. Taking one silent step and then another, she moved farther from the clearing. It took all her effort to walk slowly when she wanted so desperately to run.

“Then she saw it: a faint flicker of yellow light in the trees ahead. Edolie burst into a run, not caring if the Faieries heard her or if the binding cut her. She ran as fast as she could, restricted as she was, and as she rushed through the trees, the yellow light grew stronger. There it was—she could see it. A cottage, with light in the windows and smoke in the chimney. She sobbed with relief.

“And then she heard a gust of wind and a dim shriek behind
her as the Faieries took to the air. Edolie, with great desperate gasps, ran the last few feet toward the cottage and pounded on the door with her bound hands. She could hear the flutter of the Faieries' wings. She could see them, their white faces and golden-white hair swirling toward her. Their cries were high-pitched whispers, like keening winds rattling in the branches. Edolie watched them with horror, shrinking against the sturdy wooden door of the cottage. And then, at the very edge of the small clearing wherein sat the cottage, they stopped, as if they had arrived at a barrier beyond which they could not pass. At the very same moment, the door opened behind her, and Edolie fell into the room.

“Edolie found herself on a wooden floor that gleamed, honey-colored, in the light of the fire. She looked up to see who had opened the door—who had saved her from the Faieries—and there, standing above her, was a woodsman. He was a stranger. Tall and slim, with dark eyes under heavy brows, he glared forbiddingly. Edolie felt a moment's apprehension. But then, as his eyes locked with hers, the woodsman's face changed. His frown vanished. His dark eyes softened with something like surprise—and then compassion. He had seen the Faierie shackles upon her wrists.

“If you have ever tried it, you know that it is surpassingly difficult to get to your feet when your hands are bound. With some effort, Edolie managed to rise to her knees. The woodsman put out a hand to help her. ‘I'm sorry,' he said, in a voice that was low and courteous, ‘that I did not open the door
sooner. I never have visitors in these woods.' He led her to a chair by the fire.

“‘And I am sorry to intrude,' Edolie replied. ‘I was being pursued.'

“He nodded, motioning toward her bound hands. ‘By the Faieries.'

“‘Yes,' said Edolie.

“‘Let me get that strand off your wrists,' he said, kneeling before her.

“‘I fear it will never come off,' Edolie lamented. ‘It is as strong as an iron chain and as sharp as a knife's blade.' And, in fact, poor Edolie's wrists had been cut to bleeding as she ran through the forest and the tight strand of hair sliced into her skin.

“Unexpectedly, the woodsman smiled up at her from where he knelt, holding her hands. Edolie suddenly felt all of the air leave her chest, as if it had been stolen. The woodsman's face—his clear brown eyes, his smile—seemed suddenly so familiar and dear and at the same time so wonderfully rare that she could not imagine life without it. The malady had struck her at last.

“Edolie gazed at him, stunned. ‘You will feel a fool,' he said, still smiling, ‘when I show you how the Faierie hair is cut.'

“‘Will I?' Edolie asked, wonderingly.

“‘No blade will cut it. No metal scissor or sharpened glass. How do you think it must be done?'

“Edolie shook her head. ‘I don't know.'

“The woodsman bent his face toward her hands, and Edolie stared at him uncomprehendingly. He brought his mouth to
her wrist and bit at the thin strand of hair. Instantly, the bond was severed, and the golden-white thread fell to the floor. The woodsman looked up at Edolie, still smiling. ‘You see?'

“Despite herself, Edolie smiled back. ‘I do.'

“‘What you do not see is this. Just as Faierie hair can bind human flesh, so can human hair bind a Faierie. Tie your hair around a Faierie finger, and that Faierie heart is yours forever.' Edolie was astonished. She stared at the strand of golden-white hair on the stone hearth and wondered at the unknown power of ordinary things.

“‘Now,' the woodsman said, ‘I will clean and bind those cuts, for I can see that they must be painful.'

“And he did clean and bind them, his gentle hands wrapping the bandages around her wrists, while Edolie watched him and told him about the village and how she had strayed into the forest. The woodsman gave her a supper of mushroom stew and dark brown bread. And then he pointed her to an alcove that was tucked away at the top of a ladder: a narrow bed with a railing that overlooked the room. Edolie fell asleep watching the woodsman as he sat by the fire, whittling a stick of wood and humming, just audibly, a tune she could have sworn she knew.

“In the morning, when Edolie awoke, the cabin was quiet and empty. It was an orderly room, with its blue dishes stacked on the shelves and the well-worn broom standing at attention by the cold fireplace. Edolie heard the sound of an ax splitting wood, and she climbed from her perch down into the cabin and peered through the window. There, she saw the
woodsman splitting wood just beside his house. The sight of him filled her with a sudden, calm contentment.
He is still here,
Edolie thought to herself.
He is real.

“Moments later, he entered the cabin, arms laden with firewood. At the sight of her, the woodsman beamed. Edolie felt a murmur in her heart, and she wondered at how the Faieries had been so wise, despite all their petty cruelty, to lead her to this place, in these woods.

“You will imagine how that day passed for Edolie and the woodsman. They spent all morning talking, and then morning gave way to afternoon. The woodsman was wise and funny and just the tiniest bit wistful. Edolie knew she should return to the village, but part of her never wanted to leave. Nor did the woodsman speak of guiding her back to safety. The day grew longer, and finally Edolie felt that she must think of going home, even if she did not want to. ‘It will be getting dark soon,' she said regretfully, ‘and I should go back.'

“The woodsman looked at her—no longer wistful, but truly sad. ‘Do you want to return?'

“Edolie shook her head. ‘I don't want to, but I must.'

“‘Very well,' the woodsman said, his face heavy with sadness. ‘I will lead you back to your village.'

“Edolie did not speak as he made his preparations to leave the cabin. She regretted leaving, but she could not understand the woodsman's grief. After all, she thought to herself, surely she could find her way back to the cabin, or he could find his way to the village. They would see one another again, wouldn't they?

“It was a long journey through the forest. As they walked through the woods in silence, with the pines rustling around them and the still-naked branches of the oaks clattering in reply, Edolie found herself wondering about the Faieries that had taken her captive the night before. She was not sure why it had not occurred to her sooner, but she wondered about the way they had stopped so close to the cabin, when surely they had the power to reach her. And she wondered at how the woodsman traveled through the forest without any concern. How was it that he came to be living there, alone?

“Edolie glanced up at her walking companion and saw, not entirely to her surprise, that his long cape of green wool had taken on the leafy texture of Faierie garments. She could see his strong hands, now and then, lifting aside a branch so that it would not fall upon her, and they were pale in the dappled light. Edolie realized that they were nearing the edge of the forest. She could see, between the tree trunks, the rolling green hills of the field that bordered the forest. ‘Stop,' she said.

“The woodsman turned to face her. It was the familiar face she already loved, but altered. There were flecks of gold in his eyes, and those eyes were filled with sadness.

“‘How could you?' Edolie asked, aggrieved. She gazed with pain and longing at the face of the Faierie King and understood, at last, how that malady she had heard described could be so terrible and so wondrous at the same time.

“He looked back at her, sharing her distress. ‘I did not want to,' he whispered.

“‘Why not just speak to me as you are?'

“‘I knew you had forgotten me,' he replied, ‘and I could not think how to make you remember.' He held out his hand, pale with green veins, and Edolie saw the ring on his forefinger: a strand of hair wound tight, the color of her own. ‘We were only children. I would not have held you to the promise, had I been able to forget you, in turn. But I could not.'”

“Edolie gazed with horror at the ring, and she knew that he was right. Those imagined hours in the forest had not been imagined at all. The beloved figure before her, so many years absent, had been in her heart since childhood. And she could see that the Faierie felt as she did, both of them wanting and not wanting that slim bond between them cut. She took his hand. ‘What will happen if I cut it?'