The Fae’s Tale

In the greenest depths of the forest, where the moonlight barely dared to reach the floor and moss covered the ground like velvet, Duessa, the forest spirit, prepared to be wed.

Tall and luminous, her hair the color of new leaves and her eyes the clear green of deep water, she was barely dressed in gossamer, branches, and misty ribbons.

The sacred warrior stag, her betrothed, stood beside her, crowned with a majesty of sprawling antlers, while the birch and yew bent their branches to form a regal cathedral. All were assembled: the fox, the wolf, the owl, and all the forest spirits.

And just as they began the ceremony, the wailing began.

It came from beyond the trees. But the wind wouldn’t tell them where exactly. The sound of this grief and heartbreak spilled into wind and rivers alike.

The corruption had come to the world of men, said the wise raven. Their children were dying. Far too many mothers were now standing over graves. And so, the joy of the great fae’s wedding withered away.

And this is when Hauroth, the dark spirit of decay, stepped into the glade, cloaked in wet earth and bringing the terrible fever. His armor was hollow inside, an elk skull for a head. His shifting shadow blackened the flowers as he rode among them on a dark steed of fog. The scythe hung from his grip.

”You cannot marry while the land weeps thus,” he said. “I have sent the rains to carry my corruption into the world of men. Luminous bride, ease their suffering and defeat me in battle, and the decay will stop.”

Duessa accepted the challenge.

“I’ve defeated you before. I will do so again.”

And so, still dressed as a bride, she bid farewell to her sacred warrior betrothed, left her vows unfinished, and walked toward a nearby village.

Once there, she found the last mother, kneeling in the mud inside a low cottage, clutching the small fever-hot body of her dying child. The woman looked up, and upon seeing Duessa’s radiant face, mistook her for another protector.

”Holy Virgin, thou hast come in my darkest hour,” she wept. “Heal my little Agnes. The last child left alive in this cursed village.”

Duessa laid her fair hand on the girl. Green light poured from the twigs and leaves in her hair, and with it, the strength of every root, every river, and the memory of every tree. Eventually, the girl’s shallow breathing steadied as the forest light embraced her.

But once the light dimmed, the child exhaled, and her life was extinguished with it.

Duessa was dismayed. She couldn’t understand.

The mother’s faith snapped in half, and her wrath was swift. Her despair poured over the perplexed visitor. The forest spirit felt darkened and diminished by the shadow of the woman’s grief.

“You are not Our Holy Mother,” the woman accused. “You’re a pagan deception who’s come to make my child’s death unholy!”

Hauroth, the dark spirit, laughed cruelly inside that dark unhappy room as the child lay limp in Duessa’s arms.

“This child you could not save shall give you a life you cannot escape. Her waking shall be your sleep, and her sleep your waking. Bear her face until you stand before me once more.”

Now possessed by a fit of rage, the mother continued to hurl insults against Duessa until the bewildered fae took the dead child and fled into the forest.

She ran and ran, but the great trees of the darkened forest would not open for her. The branches closed, the leaves turned her away, and the animals hid from her presence. From her failure. The woman’s cries of pain and rage still followed Duessa where she went. The woodlands no longer obeyed her. She found no refuge.

For days and nights, through fog and rain, the aimless fae continued to walk with the dead child in her arms, until she found herself on the opposite side of the woodlands that had forsaken her. Now, exhausted and afraid, Duessa encountered a mighty structure of stone and arches.

She could then hear the faint echoes of women singing sweetly inside it.

Their voices sounded merciful. They called to her when her own domain had shunned her. The beauty of their singing caused her to weep.

One single tear fell, which landed on the child’s face.

A few seconds later, the child stirred in her arms.

”Little one?” Duessa asked, looking down.

She felt the gray, cold skin now warm, and even her little cheeks turned rosy. The moment the child opened her eyes, she gazed upon the face of the woodland fae.

”Who are you?” the child asked.

”Duessa,” she replied, putting her down. “I must return you to your mother. She will be overjoyed.”

”Have I a mother?” Agnes asked, rubbing her sleepy little eyes.

”Yes. You… don’t remember?” Duessa asked.

“No. I am too sleepy…to remember,” Agnes said, and let out a yawn.

Yet, upon inhaling, Duessa suddenly became diminished; body turning into air, which was then quickly inhaled by the child. Once Agnes opened her eyes again, the beautiful fae had vanished.

”Lady Duessa?” Agnes asked.

She looked around her.

Nothing.

She walked around, calling her name, to no avail.

Finally, she looked at the stone abbey.

”She must have gone inside,” Agnes deduced.

The little girl then began to walk. Soon, she eyed a couple of nuns working with spades in the orchard.

She waved at them. Both nuns left their spades behind and walked over to the child, hands tucked inside their habit sleeves.

”A fae just brought me here. Have you seen her?” Agnes asked. “She wears leaves on her hair and her dress is made of twigs and flowers.”

The two sisters looked at each other.

”There’s no one else but us here. Are you lost, little one?” asked one of the nuns.

”I don’t… know,” said Agnes.

”Well then, let’s bring you in. I am sure we can help you find your way.”

”Is this a castle?” Agnes asked, as they took her hand.