The Summer Solstice

Prologue

"The good-folk came in the night, and they
Have stolen my bonny wean away;
Have put in his place a changeling,
A weashy, weakly, wizen thing!

-Dora Sigerson

    ~

     They crept into the house with grace.

     Their quilted shoes did not scrape the floor; in fact, they hardly touched the floor at all. A spring-fresh smell followed them and acorns jumped from their pockets without a sound.

     One was certainly a Hob. He was short and squat with a red-tinged beard that swayed as he moved through the hallways. Perhaps his gait, which swayed left from the massive vials strapped to his belt, was why the other one held the bundled baby.

     This second Faie, a Merrow, did not grasp the baby with any trace of care. The Merrow's webbed fingers did not support its thin neck, nor did it cradle its small head. Her orders were to deliver the child and take the other for its place, and the Merrow would do that and nothing more.

     So the Merrow and the Hob continued, casting elegant shadows on the walls of the mortal home. A candle, its wick nearly snuffed, flickered on a coffee table.

     "Oh, let me steal the wax," the Hob whined, his wizened eyes a shade lighter. Gnarled fingers hovered over one of his empty vials.

     The Merrow gave him a nasty look. She turned her crooked nose down at him. "We are to take naught, save for human flesh."

     The Hob frowned. "But the Isle's wax is so bland! It does not have such colors or scents."

     "That is because we stray from chemicals," the Merrow said gruffly.

     The two Faie returned to silence, though the Hob's shoulders sulked.

     At last they came to a door, slightly ajar. Its wood was painted a new, lilac purple. The brass knob shined, barely tainted by greasy fingerprints.

     "These humans took great care in welcoming their child home," the Hob commented.

     The Merrow ignored him. One hand pressing the baby against her chest, she used another to slowly push the door farther. Pale moonlight sidled through the window in the room, though the Faie could see quite well without it anyway.

     Sleeping in its cradle, the mortal infant was as beautiful as West Queen Nardiello had said. Even so young, the child had thick strands of brown hair. Her skin was warm bronze, smooth and untouched by age. The baby's lips, supple and pink, were parted slightly.

     The Hob and Merrow alike listened to the tiny tufts of air as they were taken into the infant's lungs, her tiny chest swelling like a watered flower, and then released back into the atmosphere. There was something about mortality, in its frailty and simplicity, that the Faie couldn't help but admire.

     After a stilled moment, they moved quickly.

     The Hob reached into the cradle, terribly gentle, and lifted the mortal baby from her crib. His crooked fingers furled around the tiny thing with an intense elegance that only their kind had.

     When the baby was snuggly curled in the crook of his arm, the Hob pulled a silk blanket from one of his coat pockets. It was the color of fresh green leaves with a pattern of butterflies and flowers stitched across it.

     As the Hob enswathed the baby in the fabric, the Merrow placed her bundled hold inside the crib none too gently, though the child did not cry out.

     "Perhaps the changeling knows this is its rightful home," the Merrow whispered to herself.

     As the two Faie crept from the house, their new package securely retrieved, the moonlight shined upon the changeling as it squirmed in its adopted crib, illuminating its face: slightly pointed ears, long eyelashes, and the strangest birthmark, stretching from mouth to ear.