The world is moving sideways, and up and down. I am floating. Am I dead? I smell trees. Perhaps I am in a nest in heaven. I open my eyes, a tree, a face, a tree warrior, Baldric, Balthazar's cousin. He is a border guard. He carries me in his hand. The giant thorn barrier parts for him. We are traveling through the forest. I close my eyes. I know nothing. I hear murmuring. I no longer smell trees. I smell cave. I hear Morella.
"'Tis a good thing Baldric found him, a few hours later and he'd be dead."
I hear Maleficent.
"What would cause such a wound?"
"An arrow, Maleficent. I can treat the wound, but he's lost so much blood. He could still die."
"Please, what can I do?"
"Humans are more resilient than birds. I've seen men come back from wounds far worse than this. He needs plenty of bed rest and broth. He needs be human too."
"Morella, please place him on my bed."
I am carried and then set on something firm but soft. It smells like wool. Maleficent speaks.
"Into a man."
My body grows. I can feel them rolling my body over and undressing me. I open my eyes to see Morella washing my wound, then wrapping my arm in a poultice of healing herbs. I am on my back covered in a blanket. The pain is gone, but I feel so weak and thirsty.
"Water," I croak.
"Welcome back from the River Styx," Morella says. Maleficent is just behind her. She is pouring water from a pitcher into a mug.
"River Styx, where is that?" I whisper.
Morella chuckles.
"The ancient Greeks believed that when you die, you travel to the underworld in a boat guided by the ferryman on the River Styx."
"No, no river. A ferryman?"
Morella and Maleficent both chuckle. Then my mistress hands me the mug of water.
"Here drink this."
I drain the mug and hold it out for more. Maleficent refills it. Then my stomach rumbles. Morella speaks.
"Me thinks our patient is in need of broth. I will fetch some from the fire."
It was then I took note of a small kettle suspended in the fireplace. I could smell the aroma of warm broth. My mouth watered. My mistress watched me, a small smile played on her lips. But the mood on her face changed. She looked confused and touched her forehead with her hand. She spoke.
"Morella, that medicine you gave me no longer works. I hear voices again."
Morella returned from the fireplace with a bowl of broth and a spoon.
"Diaval, you have only one good arm. Let me feed you."
She blew on the broth to cool it and spoon fed me. As she did so, she addressed Maleficent.
"Do you recognize any of these voices?"
Maleficent seemed to mull it over.
"Why yes, if I did not know better, it is King Stefan, the others, no."
"Male or female voices?"
"Male, they are talking about me."
"What are they saying?"
"They are planning to kill me. Morella, am I going mad?"
"Do you wish to discuss this in front of Diaval?"
"I trust him with my life."
"Very well then, you are not mad. I had a suspicion for some time of your malady. But I wanted to be certain."
"What is happening to me?"
"Maleficent, in my centuries as a midwife of the healing arts I have had many patients, human and faire folk. Among humans there is a condition we call 'phantom limb.' When a human loses a limb, an arm, a leg, a hand, a foot, his brain tells him that it is still there. That limb may have long since rotted away but he feels it; he can flex his non-existent fingers and wriggle invisible toes. And if the man is blind you cannot convince him the limb is gone."
"With faire folk, however, the limb that is lost tries to return to the body. We have five senses just like humans, but as faire folk we also have a sixth sense. When a limb is severed the sixth sense arises. Your wings hear these voices because they are nearby. Your wings are sending messages to your brain to let you know where they are."
"Then I am hearing Stefan, even as he speaks?"
"Exactly, and it will continue as long as your wings are not destroyed. When you hear the voices, do they have a dull, thunking quality, or do they sound soft and echoing?"
"Soft and echoing."
"That means your wings are in a glass vessel. Since your wings are very large and I know of no glass vessel great enough to contain them, I must assume that these are panes of glass and they are bound by wood or metal. But if bound by wood, I do not doubt that the wings would have broken through by now. Therefore the bindings must be metal. And Stefan used iron to sever your wings, so he must have used iron to bind the panes of glass. It is probably a glass box, and he is displaying your wings like the spoils of war. And if you are hearing his plans with other men present, it is likely the glass box is in a council chamber or what humans sometimes call a 'war room'."
"So I can overhear whatever he plots against us and plan accordingly."
"Yes, your wings can act as your spy."
Hearing this I was most unhappy. I stopped the spoon that Morella was feeding me and spoke.
"Mistress, am I no longer to spy for you?"
Maleficent turned towards me.
"Diaval, I will always need you. For outside the council chamber my wings can hear nothing. Is that not so, Morella?"
"Indeed, Maleficent. And my good raven, although her wings can hear for her, they cannot see. Only you can do that. A sight that is seen is worth many words spoken. Are you still hungry?"
"Yes, more broth please."
Morella began to spoon feed me again. Then Maleficent spoke.
"Oh this is interesting. Stefan is ordering the confiscation of all spinning wheels in the kingdom. They are to be burnt and brought to the castle dungeons."
I stopped Morella again.
"Mistress, I bring you news. King Stefan told lies about your missive."
"Really, what did he say?"
"He stated to Queen Leila that you demanded their firstborn or you would curse the child."
Maleficent hissed between her teeth.
"Well, he got his wish, didn't he?"
Morella gasped. We had not told her about the curse. Now she knew.
"Aw, the wee bairn," she murmured as she fed me and clucked her tongue sadly.
"Poor Queen Leila," I muttered. The dark faery looked at me sharply. I cast my eyes down.
It was three weeks before I felt strong enough to move about the cave. Maleficent changed me to a raven and I practiced flying from room to room. Then I progressed to short flights outside the cave. Soon I felt like myself again, my right wing was perfect, with Morella's poultice it healed without a scar.
Then one day the dark faery was watching me fly, when suddenly she looked thoughtful and gazed off into the distance. My mistress motioned for me to return to her. I flew down as she waved her hand changing me. I managed to land with only a couple of hops.
"Mistress?"
"Diaval, Stefan is speaking to the pixies. They are to take the princess away for 16 years and a day. He is providing them with horses, a covered wagon loaded with household goods...and a map. Oh, they are leaving today! You shall depart at once. Follow that wagon to its destination."
"But mistress there must be many covered wagons on the roads. How shall I find the right one?"
"Good servant, look for a wagon driven by pixies."
My face flushed as she stated the obvious.
"Of course, mistress."
She waved her hand. I became a raven and flew off to the kingdom of men. My mistress was right. It was no real trouble finding the covered wagon. First I heard their buzzing, then I heard their chatter, then I heard them quarreling over the directions of the map they were following. It took several days of driving to reach their destination because they rode in circles. No one it seems knew how to follow a map. Yet I never heard a peep from Aurora. Until they finally reached their destination: a little cottage in the woods.
"Oh no, is this it?" gasped Knotgrass.
"Looks dreadful!" exclaimed Flittle.
"Tis a far cry from the manor," complained Thistlewit.
"We had our own bedchambers," pouted Flittle.
"And servants, oh well. Get over it," said Knotgrass.
Knotgrass hopped off the wagon, "Come on."
With much difficulty the three pixies half carried, half-flew the basket, with baby Aurora, (buzzing madly to keep from dropping her), from the wagon to a stump in front of the cottage.
"Oh we need a smaller--baby," Thistlewit huffed and puffed, as she barely held on to the side of the basket.
"Or bigger body," said Flittle.
"No what we need is a proper disguise," exclaimed Knotgrass.
"What do you mean?" asked Thistlewit.
"We have to blend in," explained Knotgrass, "We have to get big enough to look after this baby."
They carefully set the basket on the stump. Knotgrass continued.
"So gather round ladies."
The pixies flanked Knotgrass. Knotgrass spoke.
"Get ready, one...two...three-grow!"
All three spun like tops. Suddenly they grew large. No longer of faery proportions, their caps had disappeared, their ears were round, their hair quite normal (though Flittle sported blue tendrils), and wearing charming peasant frocks. Yet Flittle's blue butterflies still hovered about her. They giggled delightedly at their new appearance. Knotgrass spoke.
"There, that works very well, you look very nice. Now there'll be no questions asked. We are no longer faeries. We are three peasant women looking after our orphaned child in the woods. So, uh, no more flying."
Thistlewit and Flittle cried out, "No flying!"
"No, no flying and no magic!"
"No magic!" Flittle and Thistlewit protested.
"Yes you heard."
"Well, at least no one will find us here," said Thistlewit.
And all three pixies walked together through the doorway of the cottage, leaving the infant princess on the stump. I flew to the basket and perched on it. Looking closely at Aurora, I wondered why she wasn't crying or fussing after days of travel. Then I observed that the pixies had placed her in a charmed sleep. I decided to hide in a nearby tree. When would they realize they had left the babe behind? Thistlewit rushed out of the cottage.
"There you are. Why are you always hiding?" she said as she picked up the basket and carried the child into her new home. Satisfied, I flew off to apprise my mistress.