Secrets of the Fae

5

Despite my efforts, the questions circled my mind. Who did this? How could they? Should I check every inch of her for broken bones? Who is she? Will her wings ever regain color? How did she become the subject of someone’s torture? On and on the questions went, so on and on I paced. After several hours I went inside to see her sitting again, and debating whether she could get off the table on her own. I rushed over and tried to get her to lay back, she looked at me in annoyance, refusing to lie back again. She looked pointedly outside then back at me, though I was quick enough to realize my fault by then. I scowled again, and with a huff of frustration at having to move her I slipped one arm around her waist and the other beneath her knees. She winced and inhaled sharply, and together we moved her legs around the table to dangle off the edge. She looked at me with fear of pain, “I’ll hold you, I won’t let anything get worse with walking the twenty paces to the privy,” I tried to smile at her but it must have been more of a grimace. She scowled back at me and made a point to ignore my presence as much as possible as we made a slow path outside. She saw the worn line in front of the door and c****d her head to the side for a moment. Then she eyed the privy and made determined if weak steps toward it. I helped her inside and she pushed me away, using the framed door and walls as support. I left her to it and stood outside, pacing again. I was frustrated with myself and my thoughtlessness. Animals would relieve themselves in my house if they were too injured to move. Yet of course a Fae would demand proper facilities despite any level, or lack of, healing. Soon she was likely to demand a bath and proper clothes as well. The loosely tied shift covered her only from her waist to her knees. Her upper torso was so thoroughly bound in linens that I had bothered covering her more modestly. My mind was too occupied the last few days with healing, not with propriety. I heard the door creak open and rushed to her side again, she let me wrap my arm around her waist to half carry her back inside.

When she stumbled a bit and caught the door frame into the house she hissed in pain. I set her down on my bed this time, if she was determined to get up at any point it would be easier to do so from here. I took her hand in mine and examined it, her wrist was dislocated. Thinking back I realized she hadn’t used the hand at all when she drank or ate last. I looked at her gravely, “It’s dislocated, I need to put it back into place to ease the pain but the action it takes to do so will be rough and painful.” She drew in as deep a breath as the binding allowed, closed her eyes, and nodded to me. I took that as permission to proceed.

Once the joint was set she exhaled her breath and trembled slightly for a moment. When she opened her eyes a tear fell, “Thank you,” she said quietly. “You’re welcome, stay here and still, please. I need to bind that wrist, would you like more tea? It helps with the pain.” She nodded again, eyes downcast as I walked back to the fireplace for the kettle. Still warm enough I filled the mug and took it to her before rummaging in my cupboard for another roll of linen. As I wrapped her wrist from knuckles to forearm I let my empathetic power flow around me.

Though this power was the base for my healing affinity, I barely used it. Feeling pain while trying to treat that pain is often too excruciating and distracting. Better to use it as a test for how the healing is progressing than how and where the pain is. With animals, the pain is usually self-evident and the healing instinctual, the animals know when they are well enough to leave and then they do so. But now I had realized that this Fae would not rely on her instincts, and so I used my powers to feel what she was feeling. It was nearly overwhelming. Though I knew to expect it, I was basing that expectation on her actions, it was not high enough. The ache of pain was everywhere and constant, patches of heat were the only indicators of new pain. I clamped my teeth together as I let my empathy fully surround her, feeling the pain even as I bound the small new ache of her wrist. I tried to find her emotional or psychic pain, hoping to get some insight into healing those wounds as well, but I found only the wall of pain.

I tied the linen on her wrist and set her hand in her lap. She reached up with her other hand then and touched my cheek, I looked at her questioningly only to see the same look in her eyes. “Don’t cry for me,” she said in a whisper. I blinked rapidly, clearing the moisture from my eyes so I could see her more clearly. Her eyes spoke what her wings could not, and I wondered at the strength it took her to bear all of this pain and not scream or die from it. I placed my hand on hers, taking it away from my face and placing it in her lap as I gave her a small smile and shook my head. “If you will not cry for yourself, what else can you expect me to do, love?” I looked away then, surprised at my own words, and stood. Pulling my empathy back into myself as I left her sitting there to gather food again.

I set a tray together with slices of bread and cheese, fresh berries, a few pieces of dried fruit, and a mug of plain black tea. As an afterthought, I added a small stick of cinnamon and a few pieces of dried apple, giving the beverage a spiciness and filling the air of my little cabin with a warmth only cinnamon can give. With my tray ready I turned back to her, sitting on my stool at the head of the bed and her still sitting at its center. She was watching me again, and as I sat with her, the tray balanced in my lap, I asked, “Can you tell me your name?” She sat quiet and still for a long time, I waited patiently, afraid I had crossed some line of etiquette but unknowing on how to fix such a transgression.

“Sadie,” she whispered, as though afraid to be heard.

I smiled a bit in response, it was a pretty name, fit for a delicate creature meant to be looked upon. Nothing at all like who I imagined she truly was, she carried the weight of her torture and pain, the strength it took was more than any could imagine. I could not fathom how she bore it, and yet to look at her now, she seemed that delicate and fragile thing. Easily shattered, meant to be a pretty thing to look at in quiet wonder. Her name was slightly familiar to me, as though I had heard it before though I could not place it. I pondered this small piece of information for a moment before asking another question. “Sadie,” I spoke slowly, savoring the taste of her name on my tongue, “my name is Liam, and I’m a healer, hermit, and outcast. I’ve lived in the forest for several decades now, and I can promise that you are safe here, with me. I don’t know the extent of your ordeal, nor do I ask you to tell me. I aim to help you in whatever way I am able.” I looked at her again and she pondered my speech for a moment. “I don’t know that you can heal me, Liam, I have been broken for a long time.” Her eyes said more than her lips, that she wanted to be healed, to be whole again, but she didn’t know how to begin and couldn’t dare hope it was possible. She didn’t trust herself and so couldn’t trust me or my words. I nodded, expressing my simple understanding of her words, while determining to do everything I could to put this strong yet broken creature back together, to make her the Fae she appeared capable of being. I feared it could take centuries, and I wondered idly if we had that long. How long could a broken Fae endure her broken ties with her affinity to the Mother? How long had her magik and powers gone unused? Could she ever hope to regain those connections, to be a Fae once again? Neither of us could answer these questions now, only time and trial could.