Original Story - The Fae Child

(Image by OpenClipart-Vectors on Pixabay)

To keep up with story writing practice, I thought I’d challenge myself, using the monthly prompt and word count we’re given at ‘Deadlines for Writers’.

So I know it’ll be ready before the deadline, I’ll first work on the story for ‘12 Short Stories’ after which I’ll write a second story to post on the blog.

As I don’t want to mess with the rules, I won’t mention the prompt, but I think its ok to reveal the word count.

So, for August, the word count is 750 words.

One of the odd ways I challenge myself when writing the story to be submitted is to aim for the exact word count even though leeway is allowed either side.

My submitted story is spot on at 750 words, and so is this. As they say, it’s the simple things in life…

Any comments / constructive feedback would be most welcome.

The Fae Child

“Awake already?”

“I heard a noise–”

“Martha, it’s still dark. You should have woken–”

“I didn’t want to disturb you, Ma. But look what was outside our door.” Padding barefoot to her mother, Martha pulled the sumptuous green cloth lower, smiling at the baby swaddled within.

“A baby? But whose?” Her mother lifted the lamp off the table and leaned closer. Then instantly recoiled. “No! Out with it. Now.”

“But Ma–”

“You should have left it; you can see it’s a fae child.”

The solemn infant continued gazing at Martha, its overly large eyes dominating its slender, pointed face.

“But it’s only a baby.”

“I won’t have it in the house. You don’t know what might happen.”

Frowning, Martha didn’t move.

“Who left it here? Why our house? What if the…” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “if… they come for it and find it gone? What will they do to us? Oh. Give it here. If you won’t–”

“No.” Martha stepped back. “What if the town dogs get it? Or worse, old Edna?”

Groaning, her mother sat heavily on the chair, head in her hands. “She finds out, she’ll turn everyone against us.”

“No one need know.” Martha softened her voice as she unwrapped the infant. “We’re too close to the forest for visitors.”

Neither woman said anything as the dark sky slowly lightened.

Tears filled Martha’s eyes. “A boy…”

“This is no way to replace him.”

“I’m not wanting to replace him.”

Her mother sighed heavily. “You’ve had a hard time of it, my girl, losing both of them but–”

“That’s not why I want to keep him.” Her defensiveness caused her to raise her voice.

The older woman shook her head. “I don’t know what their kind are fed as babies.”

Smiling, Martha’s features smoothed out, believing her mother had surrendered her objections. “I’m sure their babies have milk, same as ours. We’ll try Hetty’s milk,” she said, referring to their goat. “Once I milk her, we’ll–”

“Don’t be expecting me to hold it.” On her feet, a deep frown on her brow, her mother faced her, hands on hips.

“Oh, Ma.”

“Don’t you ‘oh, Ma’ me. I don’t want anything to do with it. You’re the one wanting to keep it, you can do all the caring on your own.” Breathing heavily, she marched to her room.

Martha clenched her teeth. “I don’t need your help,” she muttered. “I’ll strap him to me and keep him close.” Looking at the baby, she continued, “I won’t be making the same mistake again. I won’t be letting you out of my sight…”

For the first time since she’d picked him up, the infant turned his gaze away to the door seconds before a knock sounded.

Startled, Martha glanced at the door then at the baby.

Her mother reappeared, cowering wide-eyed in the doorway of her room. “Who is it?”

Shrugging, Martha moved hesitantly to the door, opening it slowly, keeping the baby hidden from view. Eyes wide, she stumbled back.

Her mother cried out at the sight of the heavily cloaked figure; a few indistinct figures stood further away.

“You have my son.” The voice was undeniably male.

Martha looked at the baby who looked at the figure then at her. Without knowing why, she held him closer.

The figure pushed his hood back, revealing his pale face. “He was stolen. We followed the trail of the… thief. Perhaps he thought when I sensed my son’s presence, we would stop the chase.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I stopped; others continue the pursuit.” He held out his long-fingered hands.

Martha didn’t move, sorrow tightening its grip on her heart.

“Give him the baby.” Her mother’s voice was gentle. “He’s not yours to keep, my girl.”

The stranger’s brow lifted slightly. “His mother awaits his return.”

Lower lip trembling, Martha closed her eyes, tears wetting her lashes. Moving jerkily, she handed the baby to his father.

Gazing deep into the eyes of his son, he smiled at Martha. “You held him with love. For that you have my thanks.” He laid his hand against her cheek. “May good fortune follow you all the days of your life.”

Her skin tingling where he’d touched her, Martha watched as he glided away and faded from view with his son and his entourage.

And the deep sorrow around her heart seemed to ease with each breath she took.