(Posted January 2, 2017)
Crossing Thresholds
Autumn of the Bluest Sky Ever Probably - Spring of the Shifted River
Thanks to my past two encounters with the Dame Fergus, I'd known it was going to be bad. But I hadn't prepared myself for this level of bad.
We approached his pink house in his dirty, secluded little corner of Anti-Fairy World knowing full well his fur was green. I had been born at the tail end of the Winter of the Fallen Mountain, but he was the reason the following spring had been christened the Year of the Green Bat.
There he stood on the splintered stoop, using his bare, clawed foot to prop open a lopsided door that clung on by just a single hinge. Shorter than me, although not by much. I'd have been awfully bitter about that fact if he wasn't- I wasn't sure I'd ever met anyone taller than I was since I'd finished with my adult growth spurt.
Still with the default red eyes, of course; he wasn't an aristocrat in their society. Wasn't even close. Instead of thick-rimmed round glasses, he wore orange, squarish goggles with the elastic bands bright turquoise and the lenses tinted an obscure shade of purple like his tattered shorts. His thin, scraggly fur was so matted with the ash that always blanketed Hy-Brasilian clouds that the heavy freckles he shared with me mostly blended in. But the two stripes of black fluff beneath his nose, the curl of it on his chin, and the patches peeking out around his chest marked him as a pilot - the Anti-Fairy equivalent of a gyne - nonetheless.
Then his double-tufted hair glowed with electric yellow like boiled sunshine. His sweeping cloak appeared much the same, only dabbed with spots the size and color of slices of pepperoni or spaghetti sauce. Some of them may have even been pepperoni and sauce stains. His torn pink tie glistened with zig-zags of orange, on top of the stunning teal undershirt. The shirt didn't fully cover the brood pouch on his round belly. Even his leathery wings were ruddy brown instead of the black I'd been anticipating.
It got worse. My counterpart's offspring were dressed not much differently than he was, in clashing vests that in the case of Anti-Hawkins were much too baggy, and for Anti-Sanderson much too small. The latter's curious nature led him to be bold and swagger all the way up to my feet, before I moved and startled him like a lightning flash back into the little pink house. Sanderson and Hawkins each tightened their grip on the back of my legs and fiddled with the collars and buttons of their own wine-colored clothes. Admittedly, that wine color was wearing on me. Faced with all this, I found myself desperately wishing I were colorblind. I could use a little more gray in my life.
"You're the Anti-Fergus," I told the dirty figure in the doorway as casually as I could manage. "I'm the host who breathes magic for you and provides you with your life force. You're welcome."
Anti-Fergus slapped me on the back just beneath my wings, making me jolt. "Well, howdy-do, par'ner! Yer an intristin' fella and yew do an important job in th' world."
He took me by the left hand and pulled me across the rickety porch and into his round cabin. I nearly threw up discolored sludge when I saw the keeping room. The two lime green dining chairs that still had all four legs were lacking most of their backs and were each down an arm. How the florescent orange table remained standing was a mystery I still can't pinpoint an answer for. Was it for eating on? Chipped black and green dishes, dirty clothes, fishing poles, bars of soap, a springcase missing all its dials and most of its ten strings, assorted board game pieces, bashed-in pumpkins, a few soiled napcloths, mutilated stuffed animals, and woodworking tools covered most of it. Every square wingspan was painted a different bright color, so every one of them clashed amazingly with the blue and red beaded curtain in the back that must lead into the actual cooking area of the kitchen. I switched the box of graham crackers I'd brought to my left hand and placed my right on my wand sheath.
"Forgive the mess," Anti-Fergus said cheerfully. "That is, if yew can manage to. I'm betting yer a bit of a control freak."
"I can't imagine what gave you that impression," I said, fighting to keep my eye from twitching. Instead, I floated towards the left-hand corner where one of the green chairs had been shoved against the wall.
"Oh," squeaked Hawkins, his nails pinching my skin. "That's a peryton."
I glanced up. Indeed, a peryton's head, antlers and all, protruded from the wall directly above me. Beads, string, and some of its feathers had been pasted around the edges like a bizarre Spellementary School arts and crafts project. I avoided making a face at its colorful grotesqueness, although I could feel my counterpart's attraction signals lighting up with prideful yellow behind me.
"We only landed ourselves that purty beasty two years ago. It ain't really too bad, livin' in the Barrenglades a' Plane 4."
"Did you now?" I eyed the hefty star-shooter leaning in the corner beside a greasy polishing cloth.
"Yep. Ah've got a good stock a' scamps wit' excellent eyesight underfoot. En? Get yer fluffy tail down 'ere and say hullo right, Ennie."
The Anti-Sanderson had scrambled onto a counter so he might dangle upside-down with his fingers brushing the cinder-strewn floor. His black toe claws were tight around a loop on the wall where a hand towel might normally hang. At Anti-Fergus's urging, he flipped himself over and trotted towards us. Then he tossed his arms above his head like he expected me to scoop him up. "I'm a precious gumdrop and a gift ta the expanses a' the universe!"
In infamous Unseelie fashion, the signature accent he'd carry throughout his life was already thick despite his youth. Somewhat nasal-sounding, it didn't carry quite the low drawl of his sire's. He struggled with his 'r's and left most of his 'o's sounding like 'ah's. I patted his prickly hair. "You're adorable. Now go play somewhere else while the grown-ups talk for a minute." I didn't trust that mischievous gleam in his beady ruby eyes.
"'ey, who's that?" Anti-Sanderson asked, catching sight of his counterpart for the first time. Sanderson tilted his head and crept out from behind my legs. I expected the two to take each other's hands and hit it off instantly, examining wings and ruffling hair, the same way Sanderson and Hawkins had done upon their reunion at the Wish Fixers anniversary party. Instead, Anti-Sanderson took Sanderson's forearm and sunk his fangs into the exposed skin.
"Cute bucko, ain't he?" Anti-Fergus asked, watching as I dropped the box of graham crackers on the table and scrambled to shush the startled Sanderson. "Ah jist wish we knew what to call 'im."
"Oh… Yes. I wrote our Faelumen counterpart a letter, but I didn't have your address so I forgot to bother with you. For… about five hundred and ten years… Anyway. You can call him the Anti-Sanderson. That's the Anti-Hawkins. I suppose I should have told you. I'll write you if there's ever another."
"I want one a' those," Anti-Sanderson said, reaching up for the cracker box. "Grahams are my very favorite."
"Grahams are everyone's favorite," insisted Anti-Hawkins from his perch on the back of the yellow-green couch, his accent smoother and more dignified. He rested his arm over one knee and drummed his claws.
Anti-Fergus pushed up both his sunny-bright eyebrows. "Sanderson?"
"Is something wrong with that?" I asked as I tossed Anti-Sanderson a cracker.
"Nothin'. Just, kinda sounds like a surname, don't it?"
"It's a fine name," I said, stubborn and salty.
My counterpart shrugged and tapped a claw against his jagged fangs. The ones he still had, anyway. "Well. Y'know. Jist makes me think a' things. Int'rstin' choice… Ah've picked their middle names, like we Anti-Fairies do. If yew were wonderin'."
"That's actually why I requested permission to cross the Barrier and pay a visit to you. A member of Anti-Elina's camarilla court will be arriving to escort us back to the Divide in less than an hour, so let's get to it. I have census papers to be filled out, and I was informed that you don't keep a scry bowl."
"Ah keep to myself. Ah don't much like attention." He pointed at Anti-Sanderson. "Up 'til now Ah called that one 'Ennet' and th'other one" - Anti-Hawkins - "'Cecil'."
"Ennet. Cecil. Spelled the usual way? Very well." I nodded and motioned for my fairies to follow me towards the door. "Those will work. Thank you for allowing us to invade. Keep the crackers. Now, I have what I came for and you have their primary names, so if that is all then I will just-"
"Anti-Fergus, don't you let that good drake run out on us quite so soon," called a wispy accent from beyond the beaded curtain. I grimaced as I swiveled around, one palm braced against the table.
"Anti-Kalysta, I presume."
She lifted the curtain away using a black wing dotted with several crimson eyespots in each of the four quarters. Anti-will o' the wisps, evidently, the universe permitted to keep the same wing structure as their counterparts. Dark blue, wild hair that even magic would struggle to do anything with hung tangled in a rope between her shoulder blades. She clutched a blackened cardboard box full of cookies in her claws, and smiled at me.
"And right in the notch a' time, eh? I just pulled this out of the cooking dome."
I examined the overflowing baskets around the kitchen and concluded that Anti-Kalysta must pull a lot of cookies out of the cooking dome. Anti-Sanderson went running for them, but Anti-Hawkins caught my eye and slowly shook his head.
"This looks like one of yer better batches too, lollipop," Anti-Fergus told her, slipping his hand in the box to take three. His mouth went up to kiss the corner of her lips. "And that's sayin' quite the ticket." Sort of to me, "Mighty fine fish yew managed ta hook for us."
She smacked his hand. "What, so you've gone and swallowed your manners now, eh? It's proper to let our guests eat up first."
Unnoticed, Anti-Sanderson slunk away behind her, under the table and over to his counterpart with the stolen cookies.
"Ah," Anti-Fergus sighed, looking at his injured wrist. He pushed himself out of his seat and floated behind Anti-Kalysta. Positioning himself between her wings, he wrapped one arm around her waist and the other about her neck. "Do yew know Fairy-Fergus, my sweet pineapple chunk?"
"Only from what we heard when Wisp-Kalysta visited with little Idona and Ariette," she murmured back, turning her head and placing her mouth over his nose. He kissed her chin for a moment, then pulled away.
"Anti-Kalysta gave birth to 'bout three little kickers in a row not too long back."
"Not yours," I replied, flat-voiced.
"Not mine, and they've already gone off ta live with their proper daddies like the others. Anti-wisp drakes like ta be daddies. But…" He traced a circle over her stomach with a claw and looked up at me, a glimmer of hope behind the tinted lenses of his goggles. "Someday?"
"Not while I wield a wand. The door is right here, and either one of you could fly out of it if you so chose. Not the same for me. It took me three full seasons to escape her counterpart's burrow. Why are you even still together? That was over five hundred years ago."
"Hm… What do yew think, sweet icing drip?" Anti-Fergus butted his head against hers. "Is any mean, nasty tax ever gonna rip us apart?"
"You're synced up," I warned as they kissed again. "Eventually, reality's going to catch up to you. She has other drakes to sap up her time. You can't hide from Da Rules."
Anti-Kalysta handed the cookie box to Anti-Hawkins so she could slide her hands behind Anti-Fergus' pointed ears. She scratched a certain spot that made a chirp jump from his lips. Their kisses deepened and grew more elaborate. I waited, tapping my fingertips against the table, but as minutes passed and it became obvious that they weren't going to be done anytime soon, I turned my attention on Anti-Sanderson.
"How is your life, then? Do you go to school? Do much magic?"
"Life's fun," he managed around the three cookies in his mouth. I noticed then that what I'd thought were chocolate chips were actually dung beetles. "I have a wand, see? In my scabbard? It's shiny and black and it's mine, mine, mine, mine, mine. I can do this." With a sound not unlike a pong, he shifted himself into a yellow spider and crawled away across the floor. Instantly, Anti-Hawkins slammed his shoe down on him- which I presume did nothing for his already-splintered black crown. Hawkins yelped and Sanderson flinched, but Anti-Sanderson ponged out of his squashed form in a roll and tackled the larger anti-fairy to the ground, scattering cookie crumbs. Anti-Hawkins sunk his fangs into his ear. I tapped Sanderson on the shoulder.
"See, that's one of the things Anti-Fairies can do that we can't. If you ever shapeshift into something that small, you must be very careful not to end up underfoot. Unless, of course, you were smashed flat by a magical shoe. Magical objects can't kill you. But anything untouched by magic… no. You'd turn to dust on the spot."
He shivered.
"Boys," Anti-Fergus called, finally dragging his lips free from Anti-Kalysta's, "play nice in front of our guests."
Anti-Sanderson looked up. "Wait a minute! I don't have to fight you." Abandoning his sibling, he charged for Hawkins, who smiled dimly since he didn't understand what the intention was.
"No," I said, scooping the fairy into my arms. Anti-Sanderson pulled up in front of me with a harsh flap of wings and screech of claws on wood.
"Aw, just lemme break his leg, boss! One leg! Puhlease? Look, I'll even break Sandy's too so we're even."
Sanderson grabbed the tails of my suit. "I've never not wanted to break even so badly before, sir."
"Here." I snapped a few more graham crackers in half and handed several to each of the drakes. "Sit on the floor where I can see you, and no one injure each other's assorted limbs. Now, Anti-Fergus, if you don't mind…"
Anti-Sanderson was placated at once by the crackers, and they all munched and talked about childish things beside the door. I clasped my hands and leaned over the orange table.
"We need to talk."
Anti-Fergus turned reluctantly away from Anti-Kalysta, who shortly thereafter began to crawl about on her hands and knees and pluck up the burned cookie crumbs from between wide slats in the wood. "In private?"
"I don't think it needs to be, especially given the values of your society."
He frowned. "S'what's this about?"
"Damsels." I tilted my head towards the little drakes, who had very quickly broken into a scuffle over a torn but soft cushion. "Specifically, do you remember who mothered your Anti-Sanderson? I've been talking with the Dame Fergus, and she's been coming up equally clueless. All she knows is that she hasn't copulated with anyone who carries the color-eye STD, and I can see for myself that you haven't either."
My counterpart's green fingers slid along the table. The claws caught. "Do we really gotta talk about this in front a' the kiddos?"
I stood. "Nope. Let's go for a skim. Aside from the occasional trip to Sugarslew, I'm not familiar with Anti-Fairy World. Care to take me on a tour?"
"Leh's… Leh's jist step outside, okay? Ah don't like leavin' the boys fer long. Sugarcough, Ah'm goin' out for a minute." He stole a last quick kiss from the anti-will-o-the-wisp on the ground and made his slow, reluctant way for the door. We were hardly through it when I rounded on him again.
"So. We can't all not know who the mother is, or the father in our dear stylus sister's case. That's ridiculous. What about your honey-lock?"
He shrunk back. "Ah… Ah mate wit' a lot a' damsels, Fergus, so yew really kin't expect me ta keep track…"
His words made me squint. "You're stalling. Are you lying to me? Is that why you're fiddling with the clasp of your cloak? What, was she an anti-brownie? Is that what you're hiding from me?"
Acidic tears welled up behind the purple lenses of his goggles. The material steamed. And then, before I could react, Anti-Fergus's hand went across his body and for his left hip. His black wand was out of his scabbard in an instant and aimed directly at my forehead.
"No, no! P-promise yew won't turn me in, Fergus! Ah kin't go back to them doctors! Ah kin't watch 'em rip Ennet open again! He's still got them scars- awful scars all down his chest and tum an' back. They'll have Cecil too now. Don't yew tell my dad where we are! Promise me!"
I brought my hands into the air between us and held the palms towards him. "This isn't necessary. Now, please calm down so we can have an informative conversation. I'm supposed to be the rash one here, who sets his mind on the first idea to pop into it and pursues that goal for years. Let's be calm… let's put the wand away… Reminder that you're synced up to my core, so if you wipe me off the map, you'll go down yourself. Then where will your kids be?"
Anti-Fergus didn't blink. His eyes were so wide, his goggles barely covered them. His blond brows had already left them behind. He kept his arm extended, cold magic swirling from his mouth and against my face. I lay a finger on his wrist and directed the star at his wand's tip into the scraggly, dying bushes beyond my shoulder.
"Are you done? I'm here on personal business. I wouldn't even know where to find the high-ranking Anti-Fairies or hospital buildings. I'm only interested in myself, not in what they do to you, so I'm not going to blab you out. Come on. Who nourished Anti-Sanderson's lifesmoke? Whose pouch did you deliver him to after you developed his body in yours? That is how brood pouches work, isn't it?"
After swallowing, Anti-Fergus stared up at the stars and the distant underbelly of Plane 5 and shook his head. His wand went back in its sheath with the scraping of silver against yale leather. "Mine," he said. "I'm broke- All broke."
"Your pouch?"
"Ah din't honey-lock. Not fer Ennet. Cecil either, I think, but Ah don't know. Ah don't know! I-it jist happened. Ah fooled around a bit a few hundred years ago 'cuz Ah was lonesome and breakin' inside, and Ah made these green pups, a-an' now they're out there callin' me the Motherkind."
I blinked. "The Motherkind… Green and yellow people… Why is that ringing imaginary shrine bells in my head?" My fingers moved upwards to massage the bristles on my chin. "No honey-locking… I don't make the claim to be more familiar with your biology than you are, so stop me if I'm wrong. But if whatever damsel mothered my Sanderson died before he was born, you wouldn't necessarily have had the chance to mate with her counterpart three months later. Yep. And if she doesn't have any close genetic match still living, then that means you're left to choose who to breed with, who will nourish the child's lifesmoke. Yes?" I crossed my arms. "I suppose you were off by yourself, here in the Barrenglades of Plane 4, and the universe thought you chose your own pouch."
"Yew don't understand, Fergus. That shoul'n't happen. My genetics shoul'n't be that way. But Ah'm a mutation. Ah got a damsel's pouch. Must've had it since I was small, but Ah only noticed when Ennet was born." He stuck his thumb claw in the brood pouch and pulled it open so I could glance inside. I didn't look or unfold my arms, but a muscle in my cheek did twitch.
"Well… It's incredibly frustrating that I still don't know what that means for me. The odds of all three of us being clueless about the Sandersons' parentage must be astronomical. Hmm. And then, you're so passionate with the Anti-Kalysta that you didn't notice any difference in the honey-lock switching on around the time my Hawkins was born. That's what happened. Yes."
Anti-Fergus tipped his head. "Yew could ask the Eroses for answers, maybe. They keep records a' stuff."
My eyes flicked up to my forehead chamber. I winced inwardly. Anti-Fergus's comment about being poked and prodded by medical personnel had admittedly gotten under my skin, and I would prefer to keep their medical instruments from following suit. "It's not worth the effort. I have too much going on. And…" I squinted through the smeared window glass. Inside, it looked as though Sanderson had collapsed on his stomach after a game to rest his sore wings. The Anti-Sanderson was tugging on his hands, trying to urge him to play a little longer, but the number of time zones we'd crossed to get here was obviously beginning to wear at him. "I suppose that's the most I'm going to get out of you. This visit was enlightening, but we really ought to go. That camarilla representative doesn't want us to keep her waiting."
"Huh. Keep me posted, yeah?"
"Yep."
And so the centuries passed. I homeschooled Sanderson and Hawkins both, and each of them began to blossom. Sure, we had to take things slow due to their status as drones, and I spent many a lunch break physically bashing my forehead against the back of my bedroom door when they failed developmental task after developmental task. But they were grasping other concepts. Hawkins was performing decently in that budgeting work he liked, and there were other tasks to keep him occupied as well. He'd learned to fly. His magic was shakier than Sanderson's, due undoubtedly to his late start. He couldn't hold a shapeshifted form for upwards of a minute. And I never did break him of that thumb-sucking habit; as long as it kept him quiet, I didn't care what he did.
Despite regular conflicts with Ambrosine and Emery stemming from three adults crammed under the same small roof, we got along all right. This was fine. I was gradually paying off my debts to my father. The sailors on my cloudship had yet to dare try cheating me. Emery and I engaged in all the mock magic-slinging fights we could want. Things were finally going my way. One night, I even leaned back in Ambrosine's new favorite chair with an orange cream soda, the awkward noise of Sanderson struggling with Emery's springcase drifting through the house, and cracked my speckled knuckles. Hit me with your best shot, universe.
The days before and the days following the birth of the third child, about four hundred and ninety years after reuniting with Hawkins, in the Spring of the Shifted River, were not in the least bit pleasant. It was, to be quite honest, panic that kept me away from Wish Fixers when the symptoms began to be undeniable. I was sick enough that Ambrosine allowed me temporary leave. Wilcox - though he wouldn't be called that for twenty-four hours yet - was born in the kitchen one day after Ambrosine had left, and then while Sanderson held him, I scrubbed the place spotless and lit all the scented candles I could find. The nymph remained stuffed and sealed in my marsupium pouch for the remainder of the afternoon- his chirps were more muffled in there, so I knew Hawkins wouldn't notice and squeal on me. I wore a baggy purple sweater in the desperate hope that his shifting would go unnoticed by my father and half-sister.
At Ambrosine's return, I sat at the table completing my paperwork. He floated about in his typical painstaking way as he prepared dinner. The meal passed in silence minus Hawkins's perpetual chatter, and when it was over I excused myself to the washroom and promptly threw up again.
We went to bed early. I didn't sleep all night, but kept the nymph quiet by every means I had. The sound of my father's wings whirring past my door would haunt my waking nightmares for a week.
Ambrosine called me into his office the following morning. He rubbed his temple with one finger, staring at some file that one of the others had left in his basket. He didn't even look at me when I sat and he said, "Who's the mother?"
My wings prickled up. "What mother?"
Laying the report aside, he got up and circled my seat. "Is it Staci? Rika? Imogen? Britnee has been stealing glances your way for a time, though I never thought you'd swing for one of the huldufólk."
My right fingers twitched over those of my left, even as I attempted to keep my hands in my lap. "What mother do you mean? I told you before, I met Sanderson's and Hawkins's on Earth and haven't visited her since, if that's who you're referring to."
"You smell of birth," he announced, returning to his tall chair. "I noticed it starting a week ago, but it was stronger last night. You've been getting with the damsels on your break period, I think."
I held my upper lip in my teeth until I could trust my voice again. "I'm sorry, but you're mistaken."
"At home, then, when the rest of us are asleep."
"What, and I expect you think Sanderson and Hawkins are in the room too? Definitely not. I haven't gotten with any damsels for a millennium."
"You're a gyne. Of course you've gotten with damsels. It's in your nature."
I bristled beneath my searing freckles. "Not my nature."
"Then how do you explain the nymph?"
My wings squirmed. Time for the truth to come out, then. Plucking at my sleeve, grinding my teeth, I began.
"Around the time Sanderson was born, I was taken up by a will o' the wisp."
He paused. "You were what?"
"Did you ever wonder where I was, Ambrosine? An entire year locked up in her burrow, used as her plaything, catering to her every precious whim. I escaped only on a technicality. You had your Solara, crown jewel of your life, whom you loved, and I got stuck in what may as well have been the gaping maw of The Darkness itself!" I slammed my palms on the edge of his desk as I shot up. "Did you even notice I didn't send you my usual present for Krisday?"
"It wasn't as though visits from you were a regular occurrence," he replied with a shrug. "I expect I thought you had moved on. Growing gyne. I wasn't about to haul you home by the ear when you were only getting stronger and more rebellious. Still, that doesn't answer my question. Sit down, and try again."
Shivering, grabbing my forehead, I sputtered, "Sh-she must have stuffed me full of so much sperm, it's all still fertilizing my eggs. That has to be it. Has to be."
"I can assure you, that isn't how it works or Emery wouldn't be your only sibling."
"It's the only logical explanation. I haven't had encounters of that nature with a damsel since I left her. E-even when I gave birth to Hawkins, I hadn't more than brushed up against one. I must be storing sperm."
"Sperm dies off."
"Maybe not always! Maybe- maybe my genetic mutation keeps it alive! Believe me, Ambrosine, I haven't been getting with damsels."
He put down his coffee mug. "All right, Fergus. If that's the best you can come up with, then you're fired."
"What?" I asked, assuming like an idiot that he had misspoken.
"I said you're fired."
My palms slid from the desk. "You can't fire me. I'm your son. Your eldest child. It's my birthright. What even for? I've done nothing wrong."
Ambrosine steepled his fingers. "Stop me if this rings a bell. You come crawling back to me with a child, no money, no job, no hope. Despite your being a gyne in your dangerous prime, I willingly take you in and provide for both of you, which shortly thereafter became the three of you. And now, it seems, the four of you, and without so much as a supportive mother watching from the sidelines. Rather, you coax me into hiring the nymphs, thereby securing you additional income so you might buy Wish Fixers off me sooner."
I couldn't protest that.
"All the while, I give food and clothing and shelter for no additional charge, and you attempt to hold down a job you are not skilled in. This is not acceptable in my eyes. If you're going to continue to play the part of damsel-killer and act irresponsible, I have to draw the line. You have taken advantage of me for nearly a millennium, and that's just since your return. Find another job, and get out of my house."
"Now?"
"Now."
"Not really tonight, I would hope?" I asked, lifting from my chair again. "I need time to pack- to think- to look for-"
"I understand. The nymph was only born yesterday. It's cruel to toss you out without something to support you." He swung a shiny briefcase from the floor behind his desk and slid it over to me. "So, I've decided to give you your inheritance early."
"Ah. Thank you for your generosity, Ambrosine. I knew you wouldn't leave me with nothing." After clicking loose the latches, I opened the briefcase. It was empty. I looked up, the resentful question balanced on the tip of my tongue. He inclined his head.
"I want you to go home, Fergus, take a moment to reflect, and then look around. You may take whatever you can fit in that briefcase, and don't bother trying to change its state with your wand. It's been fully dunked in rosewater. Even a school dropout must remember that magic holds no effect over other magical objects. You have until I get off work tonight. Then all of you had better be out of there. If you ever come back, I expect you to have my three million lagelyn in cold, hard cash."
"… I understand that much. I just don't understand you, Ambrosine." I tried to leave before he could respond to that, but though I was in the process of flying out the door, I did not miss his, "You might if you'd studied psychology like I told you to".
In the break room, I snapped my fingers to bring Sanderson and Hawkins to attention. "We're leaving."
Hawkins sat up in the old hammock, scratching at his neck. "What, right now?"
"We have no choice. Ambrosine is throwing us out."
"He's what?" Sanderson was to his wings in an instant. "But why? Is it because of the new nymph?"
"Yes; he doesn't like it. He's upset that I was planning to raise it."
"But that's not your fault! Maybe he'll change his-"
"Hawkins, even if he were the type of fairy to change his mind, I wouldn't go back there after that. The Whimsifinado family line neither forgives nor forgets. Keep up and don't dawdle."
Back in the house - Ambrosine's house - I scoured every drawer and cabinet, tearing things apart and not bothering to stuff them back. Hawkins and Sanderson hovered nearby with mirrored expressions of horror. I finally looked up as I stacked their clothes in the case.
"Each of you can grab one thing besides your wand and what you're wearing. That's all Ambrosine said you're allowed to take."
They scattered as I finished packing. It turned out that I actually didn't have much I wanted. The money was essential. I'd pull the (limited) rest from my bank account once we left. Then I wanted shoes. My selkie coat. Dry food. Water flasks. A fan-folded map of the expanses of the cloudlands. A little medicine. Two needles and a bit of black thread. That was it. Nothing else mattered. There wasn't room for anything else to matter.
As I opened one more old shoe box from beneath my bed, something that gleamed in the lantern light caught my eye. I picked it up. It was the medallion I'd been given after my baptism. Although chipped around the edges, it still had my name scrawled between Ambrosine's and Solara's.
"I want to take this," Sanderson announced. I tossed the medallion around my neck and turned as he pulled my purple nymph blanket off his bed. "We can sit on it for picnics, we can wrap the baby with it, Hawkins and I can both fit under it if we get cold, and if we all squish then maybe you can too, a bit. And, I like it and I want it. It's always been ours and Ambrosine won't miss it."
"I didn't even think of bringing that. You keep me together, Sanderson." I took it from him and spread it out between my hands so two ends fluttered against the floor. "I think Solara left this to me. It won't fit in the case, but we can loop it around us. It's worth taking. Hawkins, have you made a decision yet?"
He wandered in and handed me a thick silver key. I took it with a frown. "What's this?"
"The elves did this to me once. It goes to Ambrosine's special lockbox where he keeps his emergency liquid assets and all the stuff you drew when you were a nymph. These things are expensive to get new copies of, and then we'll have it so we can sneak back and get in anytime we want. Even if we lose it, he'll always wonder if we'll use it against him."
"Good thinking." I rubbed his hair. "And it won't take up too much room. I'm glad I'm bringing you along. Did you grab any of his money?"
"A little. I didn't want him to suspect or he might get a new box."
"It's enough." We filled the remaining space in the briefcase with more food. "Can't we shrink these so more will fit?" Hawkins asked at one point, passing me a packet of crackers.
"That will touch them with magic and instantly drain all nutrients. They'll have about a fourth of their taste, and you'll still be hungry when it's done. The Unwinged and the Earth animals could eat it and be mostly fine because they don't have magic in their blood that will react in defense to it, but that doesn't help us." I closed the briefcase and looked around. "Is there anything else?"
"Bandages?" Sanderson offered.
"Those are cheap enough we can pick them up as needed. If we don't, we're built to heal quickly anyhow." I drew the sleeping nymph from the cardboard box in my room where I had left him while we had all been out at Wish Fixers. "I think we're as well off as we can be. Let's head out."
We were partway through the door when I stopped. Then I turned around, removed the grocery list tablet from its hook by the icebox, and took up the stylus.
Wilcox wouldn't fit in the briefcase. He's yours for now. I'll take him back when I return with your three million. After retrieving the cardboard box, I set it and the baby in the middle of the coffee table while the others watched with owlish eyes.
"I thought Grandpa Ambrosine didn't like the nymph."
"Again, 'Grandpa' is an elf word, and he doesn't. But Wilcox isn't going anywhere unless Ambrosine outright kills him, and it's not in him to do that. He raised me on his own, after all."
"So I guess we can't burn the place?"
"It's not worth the matches and since the nymph is still in there, our wands would go limp on us. He'd sue us for arson anyway. Come on." I locked the door behind me and wrapped the tail of my old blanket tighter around my neck.
"Where are we going, sir?" Sanderson asked.
"The library."
"Why?"
"Because I want to, Hawkins. Don't question my decisions." I pointed down the street and they both flanked me without another word. Hawkins was the only one to glance back, but two snaps of my fingers returned his attention to the present.
The librarian was a brownie, as they often tended to be. I placed my hands on the counter and leaned forward. "I'm looking for information on the Whimsifinado family line. Can you help me?"
She stared back at me, her brown eyes blank and puzzled. "You mean your ancestry? Unless you're studying one of the chosen or pure bloodlines, I don't believe anyone keeps records like that."
"None? Still? In this day and age?"
"No more than Celebrity Families cards."
"You're kidding like a pregnant satyr."
Tapping a finger to her soft floating hat, she said, "I'd seek out one of the churches and ask about the baptism medallions. They might have your answer. Or you could try to contact the Eroses, but-"
"-but it's not worth that much. Alright. We'll work with this. It's high time we got you two baptized anyway."
"Why?" Hawkins asked over Sanderson's "Yes, sir".
"Because maybe the Tuatha Dé Danann will look on us more favorably when you are. It would be nice if they cut me a break."
It was three hours to the Faeheim shrine as the dragonfly skims, but now of all times we couldn't afford to poof. Not three of us and a full briefcase. Neither of them uttered a complaint that I heard.
The little place hadn't changed in the nearly five hundred thousand years since I'd visited it last: about the width and length of the seventeenth-floor conference room nowadays, white, with steps that led up to a platform from four directions. Four thin pillars in four corners and no solid walls, but veiled blood-violet curtains spanning between them. A pair of golden-haired and golden-winged refract-fairy acolytes with pale pink robes leaned against one of the pillars outside.
"They have white crowns!" Hawkins cried, almost giddy with this realization.
"Yes. They're Faelumen. Remember when I told you the first twelve planes of existence are known as the Deep Kingdom, and Planes 13 through 24 are the High Kingdom? The Refracted live up there and stray down here only to attend the shrines, really."
"Their faces are feathered like birds, not furry like bats," Sanderson observed in his crisp, quiet way.
"And their funny noses look like pointy beaks."
"Hawkins, shush."
The two refracts broke off their conversation as we landed. The taller one walked over to us on bare feet, his feathered wings folded tight. "You're approaching a shrine of the Tuatha Dé Danann. My actual name is not to be spoken in your lower kingdom, so you may refer to me as Hadrian, and my kin-sister as Miriel, after the ancient priests. Can we be of assistance?"
"In multiple ways, I hope." I gestured to Sanderson and Hawkins. "I'd like to schedule a time to have these two baptized, and I would also be interested in viewing your records to learn anything I can about my ancestry." My thought process was simple: Ambrosine had turned his back on us, but perhaps if I could find cousins, uncles, aunts, or widows, someone would extend the hand of mercy when I needed it most. Just not Praxis. Never Praxis. Praxis had forbidden either of us from ever attending any family gatherings after Ambrosine had convinced him to spare my life when I was still a nymph.
Hadrian squinted at the two small fairies, pale yellow lips pressed in a frown, but then shook his head and looked at me again. "Of course. We're open for baptisms any time tomorrow that works for you. As for our records, Miriel could help you with that now."
"Thank you. And if you happen to be able to squeeze us in, could you alert us when whoever's in there now has finished? The sooner it's over, the happier I'll be."
"Oh," Hadrian said, placing his hands together within his gaping sleeves. "No one is in there now. Standard policy; we don't want just anyone rushing in because they have a few minutes to kill. We simply ask that they come fasting and in prayer, and so we give them some time to reflect before we proceed with the ceremony."
I thought about that for a couple of wingbeats. "Again, could we please get on with it now? My father doesn't know I never brought these two here until today, and should he get word of where we are, he'll yank my lines."
Hadrian hesitated. "I'm sorry. Return tomorrow. That's the way we do things."
"That seems extraordinarily inefficient."
"There are preparations to be made. The tablets, the water, the medals, their Faelumen counterparts to be contacted…"
"Oh. That's right. The issue of money." I stared down at the briefcase sitting at my feet. All logic insisted that I ought to hold off on the ceremony. Return when Sanderson and Hawkins were older and more familiar with the world. After all, I hadn't been baptized until I was about ten thousand. And yet…
"We'll be here by six Eros Standard time tomorrow morning. Can I at least be allowed to fill everything out in advance? There are things to be written out, aren't there? Information to be provided?"
He nodded and gestured to Miriel. "She will help you with that as well," he said, but when I attempted to move past him, he raised his hand towards Hawkins and Sanderson. "Those two are undeniably under a hundred and thirty thousand. I must ask, as I am permitted to, but did you obtain special permission not to have your tubes stopped up?"
"Pardon?"
Hadrian backed away towards the nearest set of steps. "I'm sorry. If you deliberately disobeyed the Fairy Elder to birth them, that's among the Three Sins and I cannot baptize them while it hangs upon your shoulders. You must clear it with the Council first."
I stilled my wings and landed on the cobblestones. "What's this about the Fairy Elder ordering the stopping up of tubes? As in, fallopian tubes? I haven't ever heard of it in any great detail."
Hadrian stared at me, his hands twitching every couple of beats. "Where were you a hundred and thirty thousand years ago? Did you not heed the summons?"
"Hundred thirty thousand… Ah. I believe I was living as a domestic helper in the home of a reclusive fellow down on Earth at the time. The nearest thing either of us owned to a starpiece was a kitchen wand. Would you explain?"
Biting his lip, he shook his head at the morning sky. "The Fairy Elder has forbidden the fairy race to have any more full-blooded fairy children, after what happened with the Last Fairy Child."
"Which was?"
"A reclusive life you must have had! There was a drake nymph who came into his Terrible Twos phase. His mother attempted to keep him contained, but he got out of hand and escaped into the community. He cut the northwestern reaches of Fairy World off from access to magic entirely, including Queen Shoulath and a large portion of the royal army who attempted to come to their aid and hunt the troublemaker down. There were no survivors, with the exception of himself safe in his bubble. His name is Cosmo Cosma."
I frowned. "All right… So that was a single child. Why should his actions impact the entire race?"
"Fairy magic has become unstable and a danger. I'll show you." He drew a stylus from the pocket of his robes along with a small patch of clay and began marking indents along it. "This is a representation of the passage of magic inside a regular Fairy. Magic from the energy field emanating from the Big Wand enters through the pores, is carried through the bloodstream to the brain and the core of the soul, and powers the body. Everything is in order and flows precisely as it should. However, Cosmo carries a genetic mutation that has scrambled his circuits, so his inner lines are permanently scattered, much like this." Hadrian made scribbles, then tucked the stylus away and took a step back, patting the clay.
"Then forbid he alone from bearing offspring. The strain ends with him."
Hadrian shook his head. "It's a fairy mutation, and he isn't the only one to have it, though none have shown the destructive tendencies to the same level he has. This genetic mutation has cropped up frequently throughout the recent generations, resulting in side effects including mental dimness, impeded communication, poor memory, distractibility, magical particles that fizz out early and result in temporary periods of asphyxiation and may also even disrupt the flow of channeling via a starpiece, and the inability to have stored nutrients gained before weaning. For example, none of these children will ever be able to fly without drinking nursing milk on a regular basis, they're at least five times as likely to develop hiccups with their fagiggly glands during their lifetimes, and their physical growth has been stunted as well."
"Stop the tubes of all the fairies and they may someday go extinct," I said, folding my arms. "We may not die simply because of age, or sickness in our youth, but diseases can still get us when we're older and our immune systems are failing, and of course there is always the threat of being injured by an object untouched by magic."
"It's only a temporary fix to a complicated problem," Hadrian assured me, still using his fingers to press the clay smooth again. "No, we would not make such a thing permanent. Simply, fairy drakes' tubes are plugged and we are all on probation from producing offspring, though not necessarily from copulation, seeing as that is a thing you Deep Kingdomers like to do. The leading hypothesis maintains that the mutation is the result of hundreds of thousands of years of breeding across species and, in case you were unaware, many out there insist that we return to mating only among our own individual kind. I believe that's what Mother Nature always intended. Until the mutation's true causes can be determined or a solution is found, this is the sacrifice you are called to make, for the good of your species, lest all fairies are overcome by it and you truly do set yourselves - and us, your counterparts - up for extinction with no hope of redemption. We don't want it to spread to the other races, particularly if it can't be corrected. You are all asked to comply by the Fairy Elder, and they cannot be baptized until they have, too."
"What if I were only half-fairy?" I asked then, folding my wings, and his simple answer was, "You can produce a full fairy nymph with a fairy damsel. That's fairy enough."
So we flew for the hospital, me muttering things I shan't repeat and rubbing my temples the entire way. They had room for us in the afternoon. I took the pair to get a lunch of fried noodles and biscuits to eat with our crackers, and we sat on the purple blanket in the middle of the street, because I didn't care.
"What does it mean that they're going to stop our tubes?" Hawkins asked, breaking his bread in half.
"Nothing pleasant. Under our skin, there are tubes down our backs called fallopian tubes that lead down our bodies from our forehead chambers and allow eggs to travel through to the uterus. By sticking a plug in them, they're going to stop us from having nymphs now."
"Oh. I didn't know you could do that. How are they going to plug us?"
I chewed on my noodles before I covered my mouth and gave my answer. "They're going to cut open our backs."
Hawkins flinched. "I'm not doing that."
"Me neither," Sanderson butted in. "Sir, I do a lot of things I don't like, but this is too hard. What if I want nymphs someday?"
I looked down at him. "Why would you want nymphs?"
He plucked at his sleeves and shrugged.
"You don't want nymphs, Sanderson. They're loud and wet and don't let you get any sleep. Remember how you didn't like baby Hawkins? It's ten times worse when you're the caretaker. And, nine times out of ten you end up with a mate as a result of it, and then she's another being you have to budget for."
Hawkins tugged on the hem of my shirt. "Does that mean you didn't really want us?"
"No, I didn't. I wasn't sure I'd be very good at raising offspring. But I have you now, and I intend to keep you." I set my noodles aside so I could straighten the collar of his vest. "You're my living, growing responsibility. You are my legacy, my future, who will carry on the memories of me when I eventually fade away into dust. It's my duty to ensure your survival so that you do. Sanderson, don't let your hands shake so much. You're spilling sauce."
"I don't want to do this, sir. Please don't make me. Please don't, sir. I'm too young to have nymphs anyway, aren't I? I don't have a mate. I'm not even courting a damsel! I don't want to get baptized anyway."
I sighed. "Sanderson, as far as I'm aware, I was baptized, Ambrosine and Solara were baptized, and their parents were baptized, all the way back for generations, perhaps even to the time before the Earth was even formed, may the Lost Ancients return from their underground prison. It's tradition, and it's not your place to bring that to an end. It's your responsibility to continue it. And if someday the ban is lifted, and you have a nymph of your own, I expect you to bring them here so he or she can be baptized too. That's the way it's done."
"Yes, sir," he said, swallowing a lump of biscuit. After our meal, we returned to seek our surgeon: an imp by the name of Dr. Ranen, and once we were gowned and in the surgery room he smiled and shook hands with both Sanderson and Hawkins before me.
"We're just going to put a slit down your back, pop in the plug, and zip you up again. Takes ten to fifteen minutes and you'll be sleeping through the whole thing. No pain. Just a bit of soreness when you wake, but that'll be gone within a day. Very easy, eh?"
Sanderson nodded, still clinging to my arm. "Can Mr. Fergus stay with me?"
"I was going to ask if he would. Put him on this table, Whimsifinado. On his stomach. Yes, very good. Arms forward; you're welcome to stroke his head if you wish."
I folded Sanderson's hands in mine and held his nervous gaze until Dr. Ranen lay the tip of his wand to his nose and blew a stream of dust into his face. His blinks began to be fewer, his eyelids closed more often, until they didn't open again.
"Right. If you would let go of him now, give me some ease of movement…"
Hawkins sat in my lap, craning his neck to see what was going on with the unconscious Sanderson. The procedure appeared simple enough. His back was rubbed down in circles with blue and white cloths by one of the assistants. Then came the drape, held in place by metal clamps. Dr. Ranen covered his antennae and tied a cloth around his mouth. Then he rinsed his hands to the elbows, dropped the towel to the floor, slipped on his gloves, and unwrapped a bundle of tools from a green packet. I felt Hawkins flinch when the surgical knife bit into Sanderson's skin, about an inch to the right of his spine. Purple wetness swelled up.
"He's hurting him," he whispered to me. "I can smell it."
So could I. Strongly. I tightened my arms around his waist. "Shh… He's not. He's not hurt; just ignore it. Sanderson's sleeping, and you can see him right there. He's just fine."
Still, Hawkins reached out for Sanderson's hands. I watched as Dr. Ranen continued his careful incision, then dabbed the blood away. He lifted a second wand. And then… he stopped. He patted at Sanderson's bleeding skin. Squinted. Putting the second wand down beside the first and tugging down his mask, he beckoned to one of the technicians who stood in the corner. "Fetch Dr. Savanna for me, please."
He did, and I watched the two lean their heads together, conversing in mumbles too low for my ear. Dr. Savanna pulled her spectacles down from her dark hair and floated over. Her finger ran along Sanderson's spine beside the incision line, and halted. She looked back at Dr. Ranen. Their faces told me what their mouths would not: That's not possible.
"Is there a problem with his tube?" I asked, keeping my tone level as I held Hawkins a smidgen tighter around the middle. He was still whimpering about the sharpness of the knife.
Dr. Ranen and Dr. Savanna communicated with their eyes until the former finally licked his lips. "Um. He… he doesn't have one."
I considered that as Dr. Savanna flew off to contact more specialists. "How can he not have one?"
"He can't. He shouldn't, I mean. It has to be there. It may be on the other side of his spine. A slip-up. Some sort of organ shift. Erm. How are his fagiggly transformations?"
"Shaky," I admitted. "He didn't get his first wand until he was about a year old, and he's never been able to last for long. Hawkins here is even worse at it- raised by elves until he was four."
"Then that's it. It slipped. Easily fixed, eh? Hm." Dr. Ranen floated there, his gloved hands locked together, tapping his fingertips. "What species is his mother?"
"I think a will o' the wisp."
"You think?"
"It was dark," I said.
"And Hawkins?"
"It was dark twice."
He didn't push the question further. Dr. Savanna eventually came back with a third surgeon, this one a red-haired fairy with thin brows pressed together. She slipped her fingers into the gash along his back and gently stroked various bones and tissue. With her wand, she lit as much of his insides as she could see. Hawkins tightened his grip on both my shoulder and Sanderson's hand.
"It's not there," the red-haired fairy pronounced at last, clicking off her wand. "Check his dome."
They looked to me for permission. I nodded. Dr. Ranen placed his thumb a couple of centimeters above Sanderson's nose and eased his forehead open. "There," he said, pointing to a thin, coiled mass near the right ear. "It's right there. And there are all his eggs, sealed in the nest bubble, all tiny and white and healthy… So where does it go?"
"Wait," Dr. Savanna said. "Dr. Luana, what's…?"
She stopped herself from saying 'that' in front of the client, but the inflection in her voice made her thought process pretty obvious. She bit her lower lip. Dr. Luana whistled through her teeth. Reaching in with her fingers, she tugged on a long, fleshy strip.
"It goes under the nest. It's fused into something there. Get me a knife touched by magic."
"Are you just cutting it off?" I asked as the technician produced the blade with a wave of his wand.
"It's magic-touched; it'll reattach itself when I'm finished." Dr. Luana made a quick slit and held the now-severed tube between her thumb and forefinger. She examined the end, then showed it to her two companions. "If you remember your anatomy classes, that section right there where it widens is Gordon's point. Should fall right at the base of his neck, above his shoulder blades. But, this almost looks as though the tube was stretched in rubber-band fashion, then it broke in the middle from strain, and as a result the upper half snapped back up here. It's too short. The rest is just gone. While unattached, I think, it must have died and was absorbed by the rest of the tissue for nutrients. This part I'm holding then latched on beneath the egg-nest and received a blood supply that kept it alive despite the fact it no longer serves a purpose. That's my guess."
Dr. Luana held the tube back near the place she'd sliced it from, and it melted back into Sanderson's flesh as it had before. "I'd stitch him up," she told Dr. Ranen. "Nothing more to be done."
I frowned. "Are you going to place a plug? Those were the Fairy Elder's orders, weren't they?"
Shaking her head, Dr. Luana stripped off her surgical mask and gloves. "There's no point. If the tube doesn't connect down to his uterus, he can't reproduce. Something must have torn it when he was younger."
"Then he'll never have nymphs."
"I'm sorry. There isn't anything we can do. Magic doesn't exactly affect magical structures, and all that - not in a way that would be lasting and safe and not incredibly expensive - and no physical technology will bring the rest of the tube back."
Hawkins began to tremble. "I-it's my fault. When we were smaller- I just wanted to look- I thought I didn't touch anything, but if I did, I didn't mean to!"
Dr. Luana shook her head a little more. "Those things are made to be durable, sweetcore- you'll understand when you're older. Whatever snapped it did so from inside the tube itself. It must have been starved of magic at some point, or someone managed to pierce the bubble, stuck a wand directly in his egg nest, and delivered him a sharp shock. Perhaps we'll see if we can run a very gentle hysterosalpingogram on him after we're finished with you."
He gulped. After the damsels left, Dr. Ranen sewed Sanderson back together. He cancelled the sleeping spell, and the groggy fairy was moved into my lap. Hawkins took his place on the exam table. He braced himself with his hands.
"Down on your belly. You're fine. Sanderson and I will be right here."
"I don't want to, sir. I don't want to be stabbed by that knife. Sanderson was hurt- I could smell it. I don't want to be hurt. I don't want to!"
Dr. Ranen came back over from changing his gloves and instruments, and Hawkins dove off the table and wrapped his arms around my legs. "I can't do this," he insisted, still snatching at my gown with his fingers as I picked him up and returned him to the place he was supposed to sit. "You can't let the crazy guy cut me up like Sanderson. Don't listen to anything he says- it's all lies- He's insane, sir! Those haven't been magic-touched! I saw! He'll slice my brain! He'll cut out my tongue! He'll chop off my hand! Not my hand! Anything but my hand- I love my hand! Help!"
It took a little more anesthesia to put Hawkins under with how frantically he was sucking up the magic, but in the end he plopped down and we were able to peel him away from the cupboard door. The drape and clamps took their positions. Dr. Ranen made another cut down the right of his spine. And stopped again.
"You have to be yanking my lines."
This time, he didn't ask for the damsels before flipping open Hawkins's dome. With another magic-touched knife, he made the incision and took a look at the tube. I was no doctor, but even I could tell what he'd found.
"His is just like Sanderson's, isn't it?"
"Identical."
Sanderson stirred in my arms, chewing gently on my tie. Dr. Ranen hesitated for a moment, then sutured Hawkins up and returned him to the chair beside me. One palm traced along his crinkled mask.
"I don't know," he said. "I just don't. If it's environmental, it hit both of them, and you said one was raised far away by elves. If it's genetic, well… It shouldn't be genetic. They seem to be normal, healthy drakes. Essential bodily systems don't just mimic damage from ancestors. We'd better get those HSGs. But before that, it's your turn. We know that your tube, at least, must connect to the uterus. They're your nymphs, aren't they?"
I set Sanderson down in the chair next to Hawkins, who was still limp and just as out of it, and perched myself on the table. "Don't use the anesthesia."
"Sorry?"
"I want to stay awake the whole time."
"Um. Alright. If you're sure."
I gave him a grim smile as I spread myself on the table. "I just gave birth yesterday. I can put up with a little slit in my back."
My eyes wandered around the white room as he stuck the clamps into the folds of my skin. I bundled the end of my gown's sleeve in my mouth. When he cut into me, I couldn't help but jolt a little, and Sanderson and Hawkins both twitched their legs. "Hold still," Dr. Ranen warned, "or I'll have no choice but to put you under."
I thought I could feel the blood bubbling. Never had someone opened my skin this way. I writhed a small amount, still doing my utmost to keep my body in a firm, straight line.
"I hate you and your family," Dr. Ranen said, lifting his knife away. "I shouldn't say such things in front of a patient, but this can't be happening to me on my birthday."
"Don't tell me-"
"Your tube isn't here either." He moved to my head and checked the inside of my chamber. "Here it is. It curls back under your egg nest. It's exactly like the others. If you just gave birth, then whatever happened has to have happened to you within the last two and a half months."
I lay my cheek against the back of my wrist. "No more nymphs. I suppose it's just as well."
"But that doesn't. Make. Sense. That shouldn't be enough time for the tissue to be absorbed! If the egg made it all the way down to your uterus, then… then… This shift has to have only just taken place, but that shouldn't be possible."
There was a pause. Then, mentally kicking myself, selecting my words with care, I said, "Does it matter if instead of pushing them from my uterus, I pulled the nymphs from my dome chamber while they were still in their amniotic sacs?"
Both Dr. Ranen and the technician stared at me. "You what?"
"That's just where they develop. When they're ready to be born, they let me know by squirming and nipping. I remove them, tear open the sac with my teeth, and then I hold the nymph while the tubes and everything retract."
"That's… not a thing… And you didn't come to us about this before now?"
I frowned, pushing myself up on one elbow. "It didn't seem important? Honestly, I haven't thought about it all that much. I meant to see you about it, I suppose, but between raising them and working twelve hours a day, I just haven't gotten around to it."
"Your firstborn is a thousand years old!"
Making a shrugging motion like I was weighing boxes on a scale, I protested, "Alright, so I can be a little bit of a procrastinator sometimes. I'm a busy drake. I have things to do."
"Dr. Ranen," warned the technician, and he flipped around and began to float back and forth across the room in front of me.
"Okay," he said, "okay. Okay. We need to take those HSGs now."
After half an hour of waiting for the radiologist to arrive and set up - I spent most of it reassuring Hawkins that he wasn't about to have any sharp objects pressed into him again - we did. Dr. Savanna and Dr. Luana returned to observe the process, both suddenly looking a lot more uncertain than they had in the exam room. "The dye stopped at his uterus," Dr. Savanna muttered, pointing at the screen that showed my image (Sanderson, they had concluded, was too young and small to risk when they had me on hand instead). "He still has one, of course. It's just not connected to his tube. The entry point is sealed and won't flow in, because the whole middle length of the tube is missing."
"And the nymphs growing within my dome?"
They had no answers. The only possibility, Dr. Luana said, was if a damsel had sliced open my egg bubble and dusted them all with sperm. But that couldn't be the case, because the eggs would have died after contact with the cold air, and the nest bubbles weren't built to be broken. We were hesitatingly dismissed, with the promise that I would contact them if "anything of relative interest concerning the reproductive system" should crop up. "Sure," I said, but the way I saw it, if whatever was happening was really serious, the Eros Triplets would have contacted me by this point, and the doctors wouldn't dare go against client confidentiality and expose me themselves. All of us too sore to fly, we left on foot.
Twilight was coming on by the time we returned to the shrine, but I was determined to get started on the search for my ancestors. Miriel led us to a brown storehouse across the street, and I stopped in the doorway so suddenly that Sanderson bumped his nose against my left wing. I'd seen the medallions. Dangling from the ceiling. Dangling from hooks. Dangling from posts set up on the tables. Dangling from each other. Lying tangled in boxes. Lying bundled in drawers. Lying in the dirt if they had fallen from the walls. They covered the entire attic, and the expanses of the cellar below the city streets. If all of them had been melted, it may have taken a year for the river to stop flowing out of there.
"We always make three copies of them for record-keeping and replacements," Miriel explained when I stammered out my question. "Rock erodes, clay smears, and bark rots."
"I see." 'Paperwork' had only recently become a thing in those days. It was a different time back then. Hooking the nearest medallion on the end of my finger, I sighed. "You two, keep your eyes open for the Whimsifinado name. I imagine we'll be here for awhile. Miriel, are these organized at all by date? I want to look at least seven hundred thousand years back, and perhaps closer to nine."
The three of us picked through all we could, reading our favorite names aloud and trying not to make a mess. With some tentativeness, I broke out the first of our water flasks after Hawkins began panting and licking his lips two hours in. Sanderson's cowlick drooped with sticky strands. The most frustrating thing, I thought, was that our search had to be narrow. We were looking for Whimsifinados. Only Whimsifinados. If I remembered correctly, the Gumswood line had died with Ambrosine's two older sisters. I didn't even know the surname of my own mother for certain. For all I knew, relatives could have slipped straight through our combing fingers as we worked.
At last, when I caught the two awkward fairies snuggling together on top of a box, I threw in my crown. "This is entirely fruitless. There is no organization in this place. Let's go home."
"Where's home, sir?" Hawkins asked through his yawn.
I sought out the Refract who had replaced Miriel on duty. She gave us permission to stay in the storehouse for the night when I explained how we'd been thrown out on the doorstep, so I left Sanderson and Hawkins with the purple blanket and continued my search by wandlight for just a few last minutes. That was it. I couldn't afford to let it run any longer. Wasted funds.
Rubbing my eyes, I turned over one more medallion. Solara's name was stamped across it, but the surname was simply 'Nine'. This wasn't my mother.
I returned it to its bin in the attic and crawled back down the ladder to join the others. Then we slept there that night among metal and ribbons, and our fingertips still bore the smell and taste of it all come morning.
A/N: Text to Game - I say this every time I bring up the anti-pixies, but I'll say it again: They appeared in the "Clash With the Anti-World" video game, and yes, they're green with yellow hair and brightly-colored clothes. They cause damage by hitting Timmy with their party blowers. I love them.
Text to Show - And just in case you didn't catch it with the talk of that 'stache and goatee combo Anti-Fergus is rocking, Foop is a pilot, which makes Poof a gyne. Foop actually has canon freckles that appeared in two different episodes ("Spellementary School" and "Love Triangle"). I'll take it!