"The Itch Never Lies" by Siobhan FalconStorm Locke

            Maribell leaned against the trunk of the massive tree and scooted up and down the rough bark, scratching at the incessant itch between her shoulder blades.  Sighing in frustration, she allowed herself to slide down the bark and lay on the gently curved surface of the join between branch and trunk.  The tree towered over her, several hundreds of thousands of times her height and couldn’t do a thing for that itch.

            Far down the branch, a small squirrel perched, nibbling on an acorn.  The creature was easily one and a half times Maribell’s height.  It looked over at her, as though sensing her eyes on it and grabbed the nut up.  Flicking its tail, the squirrel zipped around the branch and down the trunk. 

            Smiling at that little reminder of fall, Maribell got to her feet.  The weather never changed more than twenty degrees in the cool protection of the faerie grove, but nothing could assuage a squirrel’s instinct.  Stretching, the young faerie brushed tiny bits of tree bark from the flower petal skirt about her middle.  Making a face, she stared down at her front.  She wore nothing above the waist…she had no need of anything yet.  Her body was still the straight, stick-like figure of a growing girl child.  Soon, though…soon, she would get her wings, and other things.  The itch never lied.

            Dancing on feet that could balance on the head of a pin, she drifted to the trunk of the tree and scrambled down to its base with the practiced ease of a master acrobat.  Moss grew in clumps and mounds, like an expanse of untamed velvet grass.  Her legs sunk into the springy mass up to her knees and her bare toes wiggled in the cool, earthy loam of the root-bed. 

            “Ho!  Fire-face!!”  Her brother’s pet nickname for her was her only warning as a figure only half a head taller than herself swooped down on her.  He already had his wings.  She ducked instinctively, knowing that he would be snatching at the fire-colored curls that were the source of his pet name for her.  To her satisfaction, he missed and went careening into a puff of soft, velvety moss.

            “You know, I’ve heard back-winging can prevent things like that,” she remarked sarcastically as Tarm picked himself up from his springy landing, “Let me guess…you’ve been taking lessons from the flying squirrels again?”

            “Oh, hush, you!” he growled, sourly.  He didn’t often miss, but lately, Maribell had grown wise to his tricks and wasn’t falling for them as often as he’d like.  “You’re just jealous because I have wings and you don’t yet!”

            It was a cruel remark, but Maribell shrugged it off with the secret knowledge that it wouldn’t be much longer before she also sported a beautiful pair of wings.  The itch never lied.

            “Maribell!  Tarm!  Time for dinner!”  The voice was their mother’s.  Blowing a raspberry at Tarm, Maribell took off running on swift, tiny feet.  Naturally, her brother caught up in moments, as soon as he was airborne.  Together, they headed for the cluster of toadstools that disguised the ground entrance to their tree home.

            Ducking under the heavy caps of the sturdy fungus, Maribell hurried past the arched root that described the entrance to the cozy room beyond.  A stair formed of smooth river pebbles and hardened tree sap led up to the second floor with the bedrooms and hallway leading to the landing porch.  On this lower level, her mother’s cooking hearth, eating area and common room created one huge area.  Behind her, a rush of wind and muffled curse heralded Tarm’s landing.

            “Mo-om!” whined Maribell, “Tarm’s trying to fly in the house again!”

            “Tarm, what have I told you about flying in the house?” asked their mother, her normally gentle face stern.  Her butterfly wings rustled warningly at her back and Tarm climbed to his feet, head bowed in contrition.

            “Aww, mom. Now that I’ve got them, you won’t let me use them!” he protested.  Lilybell looked sternly at her son.

            “Tarm, you have all day to fly.  You could bruise a wing, or even break one in the house.  You know how hard it is to heal a wing, and then where would you be?  Grounded like your young friend, Marck, that’s where!” she scolded.  Tarm’s wings drooped.

            “Dad does it,” he grumbled.

            “And don’t think I don’t lecture him every day for it,” insisted Lilybell, “Your father runs the same risk you do, but he has more flying experience than you.  I don’t want to hear any more about you flying in the house.  Is that understood?”

            “Yes, ma’am,” mumbled Tarm, scraping his foot on the ground.

            “Good,” said his mother and turned back to the mushroom stew simmering on the hearth.

            “Tattle-tale!” Tarm hissed at his sister.  Sticking her tongue out at him, she turned her back on him and sauntered over to the hearth.

            “Mmm…smells good!” she said appreciatively.  Lilybell smiled at her daughter.  The girl didn’t know it but she was growing more and more beautiful every day.  Instinctively, the older faerie knew that her daughter would be coming of age soon.  The slick patches of hardened skin over her shoulder blades were just part of the changes in store for her.

            “Itching much?” asked Lilybell quietly so that Tarm could not hear.  After all, the changes of the body that preceded adulthood were a very sensitive subject.

            “Horribly!” exclaimed Maribell in a whisper, “I don’t know how you could stand it!”  Lilybell chuckled.

            “Your brother thought much the same,” she said gently, “But we all go through it.  Trust me, it will be worth it.”  Maribell sighed.

            “I know,” she said, watching the leaping flames of the cook fire, “I just wish it would hurry up and finish whatever it has in mind!”

            Lilybell laughed and sent her son and daughter scurrying up the stairs to prepare for dinner.

            It was still dark when Maribell woke.  Frowning, she tried to think what had woken her.  Sitting up, she tried to open her eyes, only to find them sealed shut.  Reaching up, she felt two smooth surfaces where her eyelids should be.  A thrill of excitement and not a little touch of fear shivered through her.

            “Mom!!” she shouted, knowing that it was best to call for her mother instead of trying to find her way blind.  “MOM!!” she shouted again when her first call didn’t bring an immediate answer.

            “Coming, dear!” she heard her mother’s voice faintly, as though through an earful of cotton.  Reaching up, she found similar smooth surfaces over her ears.  She could still hear, but not well.

            Suddenly, a vague lightening informed her that her mother had arrived with a candle.

            “What is it?” asked Lilybell, and took a good look at her daughter.  “Oh,” she said, then, “OHH!!  It’s begun, has it?”

            Maribell nodded, her heart hammering with fear and excitement.  She faintly heard the door shut and the vague brightness moved as her mother set the candle on the little table beside her daughter’s bed.  Quickly, she pulled Maribell up from the bed, peeling bedclothes off of her skin which seemed to want to stick to them.  Blindly, the girl stood as her mother pulled her skirt off and then followed as she was lead to a small indentation in the corner of her room.  She had been hollowing out the area since her twelfth birthday and was glad to remember that she had finally gotten it sanded smooth a month ago.

            Almost trembling with excitement, the girl laid down in the hollow chipped into the root of the massive oak tree that was their home.  Though the tree was not necessary for what was about to happen, it would be a familiar and comforting presence during the change.  Her mother settled next to her as she pulled her knees up to her chin and clutched them there.  In a couple of minutes, she was stuck like that as a strange, sticky liquid sweated from her body.  Quietly, her mother began humming a lullaby from her childhood and Maribell knew she would not leave until her daughter was safe in her cocoon.

            Soon, her knees grew numb from the uncomfortable position but just as a dull ache started in her joints, a blessed numbness that carried no taint of pain began to spread up her legs from her feet.  It flowed up, through her middle and the light from the candle dimmed as the plates over her eyes grew thicker.  Soon, the numbness reached her head and all feeling fell away.  Moments later, she drifted away in a dream of sweet smelling flowers, wide open spaces and glorious, glorious flight.

            Sighing with happiness, Lilybell rose from her vigil beside her daughter.  The young faerie was now encased in a cocoon of amber-colored material that shimmered ever so slightly.  If you held a candle to it, you would be able to see the outline of the girl contained therein.  Maribell would be safe for now, although her mother would move into her room until the day came for her to break free from the cocoon.  After all, it was good to have family there in the first, disorienting moments of rebirth.

            Humming softly to herself, the girl’s mother stripped her bed of the sticky bedding and hauled it downstairs for washing.  Dumping it in the wash pot, she turned to preparing breakfast for her son and husband.

            Before very much longer, the pair came stumbling down the stone steps, rubbing the sleep from their eyes.

            “Where’s Maribell?” asked Tarm plaintively.  Usually, the girl would be helping her mother with the morning’s breakfast.

            “She is indisposed today,” Lilybell informed him non-chalantly.  Their father, Darck, chuckled under his breath.  He had recognized the signs as well and knew exactly why their daughter was indisposed.

            “Why would she be…” began Tarm, and then his eyes grew very wide.  “Ohhhh…she’s cocooned, hasn’t she?” he asked in wide-eyed wonder.

            “Yes, she has,” said Lilybell and she gave her son a stern look, “And I will NOT have you tapping on her carapace.  She was good enough to leave you alone when you were cocooned and I expect the same courtesy from you.”

            “Aww, mo-om,” he whined plaintively.  Secretly, he was pleased that his sister was growing up.  As much as they fought, they were still the closest of friends and she would finally be able to fly with him.  Of course, he couldn’t let their parents know that.

            “No.” insisted Lilybell, “If I even catch you in her room, you’re in deep trouble, young man.”

            Tarm drooped.  He didn’t have any intention of tapping on his sister’s carapace, but he would have liked to listen to her inside her amber shell at least once.  However, Lilybell’s word was law and there was pretty much nothing he could do about it.

            After breakfast, Tarm hurried out the door to visit friends, eager to stretch his wings again.  Darck settled down on a stool and watched his wife as she cleaned the breakfast dishes.

            “They’re both growing up so fast,” he said with a sigh, “Where do the years go?”

            Lilybell laughed.

            “You talk as though they’re the only children we’ll ever have,” she said, smiling at him.

            “Maybe not,” he conceded, “But they ARE our first and there’s always something special about the first brood.”

            Lilybell set down the plate she had just finished washing and dried her hands on her apron as she sat down facing Darck.

            “What’s really troubling you, dear?” she asked gently.  Darck shook his head.

            “I don’t know,” he said, appearing very introspective, “Just a feeling, I suppose.  It’s almost like they’re going to be leaving the grove.”

            Lilybell chuckled.  “You’ve got empty nest syndrome!” she accused, “Don’t worry, dear.  Everyone gets to thinking that about their children and none of them have left yet.”

            “Perhaps,” muttered Darck, “But I’m still worried.”

            Days, then weeks passed and Tarm found himself staying home more and more.  He was eager to see his sister when she finally emerged from her cocoon.  Everybody’s wings were different when they finally got them.  His own were like those of a dragonfly with a sparkling metallic sheen while his mother’s were brown with faint markings and shaped like a butterfly’s.  His father sported strange, almost feathered wings that were a soft, silvery gray.  What would Maribell’s wings look like?  Curiosity kept him tethered to home like nothing else could.

            It was just after lunch on a cool, crisp day in full winter when a resounding ‘crack’ echoed through the house.  Darck and Tarm who had been warming themselves at the fire jumped to their feet.  Abandoning the remaining dishes, Lilybell pulled of her apron and hurried up the stairs to Maribell’s room.

            The cocoon sealed to the floor of the room was pulsing and she could just make out a crack in its surface.  Grinning radiantly, Lilybell eased the door shut and hurried to her daughter’s side.  Darck and Tarm might want to watch the proceeding, but this was not a time that they were welcome.  In the same way, Lilybell and Maribell hadn’t been welcome at Tarm’s rebirth.

            Humming the same lullaby that had followed Maribell into her cocoon, her mother sat beside the shell and stroked its warm surface.  Movement inside informed her that the girl was drifting up, out of the cocoon dream.  The quiet strains of the lullaby were a comforting presence as Maribell woke in her uncomfortable position.  As her awareness grew, she convulsed and the shell split with another loud crack.  Lilybell reached out to touch her daughter’s pale skin, soothing the girl with her voice and touch.  A pair of brilliant autumn colored wings slowly lifted, still wet from the nurturing fluids of the cocoon.  Like all faerie wings, they were in two parts, but these more resembled the wings of a butterfly than Tarm’s dragonfly wings.  Spreading to their full span, a faint trembling began…the instinctive drying process.  A soft moan escaped the core of the shell.

            “I’m cold,” whispered Maribell, her voice a little harsh after two months of no use.  Lilybell grabbed the blanket she had brought, knowing that Maribell would be cold.  Quickly, she helped the girl from the remains of the cocoon and ushered her over to the bed.  Being very careful of the new, damp wings, she wrapped her daughter in the blanket and pressed a bowl of warm soup into her hands.  Maribell blinked and looked up at her mother.

            “Is it over?  Do I really have wings?” she asked, her eyes wide in wonder.  Lilybell nodded, her eyes bright with tears of pride.

            “You do.  You really do,” she whispered with a smile.  Maribell smiled querulously.

            “I don’t itch anymore,” she remarked.  Lilybell laughed outright and her daughter grinned back at her.

            “The itch never lies,” said Lilybell, pride welling in her chest for her daughter who was now a woman.