Secrets of the Fae

9

It was 10 days after I brought her home that I took the stitches out. I told her she must wait at least 12 hours before her bath and not to scrub away any of the new scabs that would form in that time. She promised and eagerly watched me fill the tub with pots of boiling water. I left the cabin once the tub was ready, and gave her the privacy she surely craved after so long without true clothes or doors and me constantly assessing her naked body.

It is hard to explain the mental separation between work and desires, when I am working I see only the wound and how to fix it, not the body as a whole. Desire is bound up in appreciation of the whole, something my little Fae charge seemed to understand without explanation, though she would often avert her eyes and blush when I had to assess certain areas, I studiously ignored such reactions and kept my features mostly blank though often they were mostly concerned. It was only a few days for her to understand and become less shy as I worked and checked, poked and wrapped.

I spent most of my time away from her cleaning linens, refreshing my stores, creating medicines, and even healing the few creatures that continued to come to my door. A rabbit with a broken forepaw, a fox with a disjointed tail, a bird with a cracked beak; she watched me care for them and talk to them, easing their pain and giving them ways to survive their small hardships. I think she found it all rather fascinating, that I could do so much for them without showy magik or calling for Mother’s intervention as I knew most Fae did when they saw such sadness in nature. Glamour and spellcraft fix everything in Fae, create everything too, I abhor it all but I didn’t explain or express that to Sadie, instead I let her observe me and come to her conclusions. She would ask if she wanted to know more, she had already requested to know what was in my sleeping draught, and my teas and medicines. I told her everything about them, where they grew best, how to harvest them, what portions to mix things in to maintain potency without overshadowing the individual powers. We managed to pass many hours in this way, so at least there wasn’t complete silence always.

I continued to reminisce the last few days, pacing along my path at the door, waiting as she relaxed and basked in the luxury of a bath. Though I had cleaned much of her over the days, there is nothing quite as satisfying as soaking in a tub of hot water with a good soap for washing hair and in between toes. I continued pacing, determined to wait for her to come to me, as impatient as I was to see her clean and moving around without so much assistance. She insisted that she could undress herself well enough and that her bath was more a soak than a scrub so she would need no assistance from me, thank you very much. Though her actual words were kinder, her intent and meaning were quite clear. So here I was pacing and thinking, letting my imagination run around problems and fears as I waited, impatiently, for hours and hours, though it was just one.

She knocked on the door frame as she pulled the curtain aside, she stood straight, in a dark green wool tunic that I recognized from my winter clothing stash. The sleeves came down to rest at her elbows, the collar buttoned to the base of her throat, and the length ended around her calves. She was quite radiant with so much of the cuts and bruises hidden beneath the cloth, and only her face showed clearly the abuse she had endured. She glanced away from me, shy again, “I can not seem to untangle this mess,” she held up her hair in a fist, “could you help me?” Her voice was slightly embarrassed, and I couldn’t help but smile, “Of course,” I replied. I went to her and took the comb from her hands, I led her to the stool and as she sat down I gathered a bit of starch powder, and a few oils. I put a few drops of oil in my hands and gently rubbed chunks of her hair between them. Then I oiled the comb, and starting at the ends, slowly unmatted and untangled her locks. The dull black and stark white strands had regained their luster and now shined raven blue and silvery-white. I spent several minutes with the comb, until I could run it through, scalp to end smoothly. Then I took a brush and let the remnants of the oils I had used spread throughout her strands, using a light dusting of starch to soak up the excess as I finished. I sighed then, I didn’t have a mirror for her to look into to see herself. I wondered if she were as vain a Fae as I remembered my fellows to be, but then I also thought that perhaps she wouldn’t mind the lack of sight, considering.

She stood up then, since I had stopped brushing, and looked at me, clearly wondering why I sighed. I shrugged at her, “I don’t have a mirror or glass for you to see yourself.” She laughed, “I don’t need a looking glass to know I look better than I have in years, I feel better, cleaner,” she laughed again, with only a hint of hysteria as she briefly considered the length of her ordeal. She gathered her hair together, pulling it over one shoulder, and finger combing it to make it smooth again. “It’s so soft now, thank you,” she said quietly. “You’re welcome,” was my equally quiet reply. I put the brush and comb away, then placed my oils and the starch on their shelves as she gathered her thoughts again.

“Could we go for a walk?” she asked me suddenly. I looked at her in surprise, then contemplated her stance. She stood straight and strong, perhaps a walk outside in nature would bolster her spirit, she had only been out of the house to use the privy in the last 10 days. I slowly nodded my acquiescence, “A few turns about the house, or garden, you don’t want to overdo it.” She smiled and headed for the door, I followed her, catching her arm as she tried to speed away toward my gardens. “Slowly, please, I just took the stitches out this morning, remember?” She grimaced, clearly remembering the unpleasant tugging and pulling of the process. “You also need to maintain your shallow breathing, otherwise I will bind you again.” She actually rolled her eyes at me, as though I were a parent and she a petulant child!

“Come on,” she said impatiently, “I want to see the herbs and medicines you’ve been teaching me.” I held fast to her, twining her arm around mine and taking slow deliberate steps towards the gardens. She sighed once but complied with my resolve to go slowly. As we came into view of the herb garden she gasped in surprise at the amalgamation of flowers along the path. It seemed much like chaos to the untrained eye, all these different breeds and types of flowers running amok along a wide path. It seemed patchy in places where certain flowers had yet to bloom and others had already fallen into their slumber or fruits, but it had a certain beauty as well, one I believed Mother would appreciate. Mother was a ruler of chaos and loved to see it flourish in seeming disarray. This part of my garden was self-maintained, I let every plant do as it wanted and they stayed well in balance. I merely added a bit of extra water if the rains stayed away too long and helped the more stubborn of plants prepare for winter, picking off heads and mulching roots, but even then it took very little work. Once a week I would peruse the flowers and pick what I needed to replenish my stores, but never did I harvest it all.