The Itch Never Lies

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, a hundred thousand times her height and couldn’t do a thing for that itch.


Far down the branch, a small squirrel perched, nibbling on an acorn. It looked over at her, as though sensing her eyes on it and grabbed the nut up. Flicking its tail, the squirrel zipped down the underside of the branch and down the trunk.


Smiling at the creature’s antics, Maribell got to her feet. Stretching, the young faerie brushed tiny bits of tree bark from the spider silk skirt about her middle. She had taken her shirt off to scratch at her back. Kneeling, she grabbed it up and slipped it back on. Pretty soon, it would be unseemly for her to go about without a shirt on. Soon, she would grow her wings…and other things.


Sighing, she scrambled down the surface of the tree’s trunk and dropped to the ground. Moss grew in clumps and mounds, like an expanse of untamed velvet grass. Her legs sank into the springy mass up to her knees and her bare toes wiggled in the cool, earthy loam of the root-bed.


“Ho! Hot-head!!” Her brother’s pet nickname for her was the only warning she got before 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 innocently as Tarm picked himself up from his springy landing, “Let me guess…you’ve been taking lessons from the flying squirrels again?”


“Nope. They usually catch what they aim for!” he called, cheerfully. He didn’t often miss, but lately, Maribell had grown wise to his tricks and wasn’t falling for them as often as she used to. “You’re just jealous because I have wings and you don’t yet!”


“That’s okay. At least I can run without slamming headfirst into the ground!” she shot back, sticking her tongue out at him.


“Oh, I can do that,” he replied, unfazed. He opened his mouth to say more, but was interrupted by the voice of their mother calling for them.


“Maribell! Tarm! Time for dinner!”


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 sturdy fungus, Maribell hurried past the arched root that formed the entrance to the cozy room beyond. A stair built of smooth river pebbles and hardened tree sap led up to the second floor with the bedrooms and hallway that led to the landing porch. On the lower level, her mother’s cooking hearth, eating area and common room created one large, open space. Behind her, a rush of wind and a 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. Tarm climbed to his feet, an incorrigible grin on his face.


“Aww, mom. Now that I’ve got them, you won’t let me use them!” he protested. Lilybell frowned 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 long it takes 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.


“Fine, mom. Whatever,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.


“Don’t roll your eyes at me, young man,” said Lilybell, brandishing a wooden spoon at him. “I’m serious. If I have to, I’ll ground you myself. Absolutely no flying in the house, even to land. If you want to fly in, you use the landing porch. Is that understood?”


“Yes Ma’am,” he sighed, glaring at his sister whom he blamed for getting in trouble in the first place.


“Good. Now, go wash up for dinner,” said Lilybell, turning back to the bubbling pot in the hearth.


“Brat!” Tarm hissed at his sister. Sticking her tongue out at him, she turned her back on him and sauntered over to her mother.


“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. 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 frowned worriedly. “Does it hurt?” she asked, watching the leaping flames of the cook fire.


“Of course it doesn’t,” said Lilybell, “What would make you think it might hurt?”


Maribell didn’t answer right away. Tarm had told her that it hurt when he got his wings. Part of her didn’t believe him. It wouldn’t be the first time that he tried to scare her with stories that weren’t true. She shrugged.


“Tarm said it would hurt,” she finally said.


Lilybell sighed. “Tarm is just trying to scare you,” she said, shaking her head, “I need to give that boy a talking to.”


“No! Please,” said Maribell. She knew she would never live it down if Tarm found out she had confessed her fears to their mother, “I didn’t really believe him, anyway. It’s just...I don’t want to grow up.” She held her breath, realizing she had blurted out her real, secret fear without meaning to.


Lilybell stopped what she was doing and put her full, undivided attention on her daughter.


“Really?” she said with a frown. Pushing the stew away from the fire, she pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. “Sit down and tell me about it.”


Maribell flopped down in the chair and sighed. She didn’t want to talk about it, but she didn’t have much choice since she opened her big mouth.


“I don’t want to grow up,” she muttered, staring hard at the wood grain on the top of the table. “I don’t want to change. I like everything the way it is. I don’t want new responsibilities or new parts to my body. I just want to be me.”


“You are you,” said Lilybell, “You will always be you, just different.”


“But I don’t want to be different!”


“Don’t you want to get your wings?”


“Well…yeah.” Maribell sighed. Of course she wanted her wings. Who wouldn’t? But the price was so high. She didn’t want to be an adult with all those horrible responsibilities. She did not want to have to marry and have children, like everyone expected her to. She just wanted to be left alone.


“Maribell, it’ll be okay,” her mother said, smiling, “I promise. It’s a little scary, but it’s worth it. It really is.”


“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said, although she didn’t mean it. Her mother just didn’t understand. No one did.


“Well, go ahead and wash up for dinner,” said Lilybell, believing that the crisis was over.


Maribell’s stomach growled but she had no appetite. “I think I’m just going to go to bed early,” she said.


“Are you sure, dear?” asked Lilybell, going to the hearth to put the stew back over the fire, “You know you need to eat as much as you can before the cocooning.”


“I know,” said Maribell, “But I’m not hungry. I’ll see you in the morning.” She didn’t wait for her mother to protest but hurried up the stairs, brushing past her brother on his way down. He frowned up at her.


“What’s wrong with her?” he asked.


“Growing pains, I think,” said Lilybell, “Now sit down. Your father is still out, but that’s no excuse for you to miss 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, waxy surfaces where her eyelids should be. A thrill of fear rushed through her. It was like she didn’t have eyes anymore.


“Mom!” she screamed, panic rising in her chest. Her voice seemed oddly muted and she touched her ears, only to discover mounds of the waxy substance instead of skin and cartilage. “MOM!” she screamed again, her fear doubling.


She heard a muffled call that sounded vaguely like her mother, but it was like hearing something from under several feet of water. She tried struggling to her feet, but the sheets seemed to be stuck to her skin. Panicking further, she fought the confining cloth, even as her eyes tried to shed tears behind the plates over them.


A vague glow announced that her mother had arrived with a candle and she paused, a little of her fear ebbing.


“What is it?” asked Lilybell, examining her daughter. Maribell couldn’t hear the exact words, but she heard the questioning tone. She opened her mouth to speak and had to pry her lips apart from a layer of waxy, sticky stuff. “Help,” she whispered past the lump of fear lodged in her throat.


Lilybell brought the candle close to her daughter and realized immediately what was happening. “It’s begun,” she muttered to herself, knowing Maribell wouldn’t be able to hear her. Setting the candle aside, she pulled the girl up from the bed, peeling sheets and blankets off of her sticky skin. Blindly, she stood as her mother pulled her sleeping clothes 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, but had hoped she wouldn’t need it yet. As soon as she realized where Lilybell was taking her, she started trembling. She wasn’t ready for this.


“Mmmfph,” she cried, trying to protest, but her mouth had been shut too long. It was sealed. In panic, she fought her mother, trying to run back to her bed, out of the room, anywhere but that little indentation.


“Stop it!” commanded Lilybell in a loud voice, close to her daughter’s ear. The girl heard her faintly and ceased her struggling. “It’s begun,” her mother continued in a voice she could just barely hear, “Nothing can stop it once it’s begun. I swear it won’t hurt. I swear it. I will be here as long as you’re aware. I promise.” The words were growing fainter, but Maribell understood them. Although fear still gripped her heart, she trusted her mother and drew comfort from her presence. Breathing deeply to calm herself, she followed her mother’s prompting. She settled into the hollow chipped into the root of the massive oak tree. With a resigned sigh, she pulled her knees to her chin and held them there as her mother settled down next to her.


In a couple of minutes, she was stuck like that as a strange, sticky liquid sweated from her body. Her mother began humming a lullaby from her childhood and Maribell relaxed, not even realizing she had already stopped breathing.


Soon, her knees grew sore 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 faint glow from her mother’s candle dimmed as the waxy material over her eyes grew thicker. Soon, the numbness reached her head and all feeling fell away. Moments later, she drifted into a dream of sweet smelling flowers, wide open spaces, and glorious, glorious flight.


#


Sighing happily, 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 sheets and hauled them downstairs for washing. Dumping everything 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. Usually, the girl would be helping her mother with the morning’s breakfast.


“She is indisposed today,” Lilybell informed him. Their father, Darck, chuckled under his breath. He had woken up when his wife was called from their bed and believed he knew 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.”


“But, mom,” he whined, “Why not? Can’t I even see her?”


“No, you may not and I don’t think I need to explain why. If I even catch you in her room, you’re in deep trouble, young man. Now sit down or you won’t get any breakfast.”


Sighing, he did as he was told, a petulant expression on his face. Secretly, he was pleased that his sister was growing up and he just wanted to look in on her. He didn’t have any intention of tapping on her 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.”


“I know,” said Lilybell setting down the plate she had just finished washing. She dried her hands on her apron and sat down facing Darck. “They have to grow up sometime, dear, and it’s not like they’re leaving tomorrow or anything.”


“You’re right,” he agreed, “But I already miss them when they spend all day out with their friends.”


Lilybell chuckled. “You’ll be glad enough to see them go, after the teen terrors run their course. Tarm’s just getting started and Maribell won’t be far behind.”


“Higher Powers forbid! Not the teen terrors!” he exclaimed in mock horror. Grinning, he joined Lilybell in her laughter. She had reminded him that they still had several years before the little ones would be vacating the nest completely. He vowed to make the most of those years as he rose to help his wife finish up the dishes.


#


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; 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 his curiosity overcame him. He just had to see her. Lilybell was busy at her washing and Darck had flown off to attend a council meeting. Trying to appear nonchalant, Tarm made his way up the staircase. His mother didn’t notice as she hummed to herself over the steaming barrel of soapy water in front of her. Grinning like a little kid on his birthday, Tarm sneaked down the hall and opened the door to Maribell’s room a small crack. Peering in, he spotted the amber egg, highlighted by a thin beam of winter sunlight. It looked far too small to hold a full sized faerie.


For a moment, he listened for any change of behavior from his mother. Hearing nothing, he slipped inside and closed the door. Fascinated by the cocoon, he walked across the floor on bare feet and knelt next to it. Hesitantly, he reached out and pressed his hand against the smooth, slightly cool surface. It seemed to pulse under his touch and as he left his hand there, it grew warm. Laying his other hand against the cocoon as well, he discovered that it only grew warm where he touched it.


Smiling to himself, he smoothed his hand over the cool shell, calling warmth to the surface. The sunlight streaming in through the window lit up one end of the cocoon, describing a shadow of the girl inside within an aura of golden light. The shadow moved ever so slightly, as though in response to his touch.


Grinning with delight, Tarm pressed on the shell, wondering if Maribell was aware of his presence in her dream state. Suddenly, a resounding ‘crack’ echoed through the house. Tarm jumped back, hands clapped over his ears. In the floor below, Lilybell abandoned the remaining dishes, and pulled off her apron as she hurried up the stairs to Maribell’s room. Her heart raced as she opened the door. It was happening sooner than she had expected.


The cocoon sealed to the floor of the room was pulsing and she could just make out a crack in its surface. Against the far wall, Tarm looked up at her, fear in his eyes. It took her a moment to realize what had happened and a deep frown creased her face.


“Out,” she ordered, stepping away from the door, “I will deal with you later.” Tarm, eyes darting about nervously, scrabbled from the room, glad to be out of there. He only hoped that he had not done damage to Maribell by touching her cocoon.


Lilybell took a deep breath to calm her nerves and turned her attention to her daughter. 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 a blanket and helped the girl from the remains of the cocoon. She was careful of the new, damp wings as she wrapped her daughter in the blanket and ushered her over to the bed. Helping her to sit, Lilybell pressed a warming stone into her hands. Maribell blinked and looked up at her mother.


“Is it over? Do I really have wings?” she asked, her eyes wide and a little bit worried. Lilybell nodded, her eyes bright with tears of pride. “A-are they…normal?”


“Yes, Maribell. They’re normal, perfectly formed wings. Do you feel any different?”


Maribell thought about the question as she clutched the warming stone to her breast. Color was slowly coming back to her skin as her blood circulation sped up.


“I…I think so,” she said slowly, “But, I don’t at the same time. I still feel like me.”


“See? Didn’t I tell you?” said Lilybell with a grin. “You’ll always be you, no matter how much your body might change.”


“Yeah. I think you’re right,” said Maribell, a slow smile spreading across her face. “So, that means I’m an adult now, right?”


“Physically, yes,” said Lilybell.


“Does that mean I can do whatever I want, now?” she asked hopefully. Lilybell sighed and chuckled. Maribell might have changed physically, but she was still the little imp her mother loved so dearly.


“Let’s get you dressed and get some food into you,” she said, shaking her head.


On the way downstairs, Maribell looked at her hopefully. “So? Can I do whatever I want?”


Lilybell smiled at her indulgently. “Keep dreaming, fledgling. Keep dreaming.”