Sprite

In the winter, Neistah went home, where it was always summer. That was one of the main differences between this world and his own. The other difference was that at home he was among his own kind. He no longer had to pretend to be a mutated human. His mind was open and so were those of his people, not like the closed, unresponsive minds of the humans. He had never found a human yet, mutated or no, who could hear him mind to mind.

’How can you bear to be near them?’ Leane trailed a languid hand in the cool water as Neistah stroked her hair away from her body in a prelude to kissing the sweet flesh underneath. He paused.

“Eh?” Neistah was startled into speech.

“I can smell them on you, your changelings.” Leane sniffed delicately. “So—human. How can you stand it?”

Neistah’s eyes twinkled as a familiar grin split his face. “You’d be surprised,” he joked. “They’re very—alive.” Diving suddenly down through the mass of light green hair that Leane wore as a covering, Neistah planted a smacking kiss on her belly. She squealed, and squirmed away from him, laughing, and the humans were soon forgotten as the two of them flashed through the shadowed green water, playing the old game of chase and capture, until they both lay, satisfied, on a sparkling white shore.

It wasn’t true. Neistah had not had a human woman since Miriam, had not wanted one since then. He no longer wanted Miriam, either, who by now would be older than what he appeared to be, and had most likely forgotten all about him. But while it had lasted, he had liked lying with a human. Leane was a diversion, a protection against Lara’s unrequited love, which beat at him, internally and externally whenever he came home. Leane was safe. His mother disapproved, although she would never say anything. She disapproved of his choices, and of his life in the human world. His father—Valin was an enigma. He said he hated that Neistah chose to return to the human world, yet he continued to follow him there. For what reason, Neistah did not know.

The way back got harder and harder each time. Valin used his own blood to open gateways to the mortal world. Neistah did not understand that, either. Using blood was dangerous; it left the gates open to any who came near for as long as the fresh blood drenched the ground. When the telltale red flower sprouted from the red earth, the gate became visible only to their own people again. But before that time, anyone could travel through it. Why would Valin risk such a danger, and then turn around and accuse Neistah of just such irresponsibility? It didn’t make sense.

Leane stirred against him. “Am I better than a human woman?” she asked, arching her back as she stretched her muscles.

Neistah grinned. “Much,” he agreed.

During the winter, few changelings from the northern cities made the attempt to escape to the forest, but there were always some who were desperate enough to try. They were just children. A part of Neistah felt guilty that he hadn’t stayed to help the strays find safety, but they would have had little chance, anyway, even if Neistah did find them. He must have leaked a little of what he was feeling, for Leane turned to him in surprise. ‘Why do you care what happens to them?’ She sent. ’They’re not real changelings.’

No, these mutated human children were not changelings. Gone were the days when his people played that trick on unsuspecting humans, and replaced one of their children with a creature of faerie. If anyone was a changeling, it was Neistah. He sat up straight as the realization hit him. “I’ve got to go,” he said, using speech rather than communicating mind-to-mind so Leane wouldn’t catch his thoughts.

He avoided Lara, who waited near his mother’s pool for him to change his mind, and he made his way to the far end of their woods, looking for the gate he had come in through, but not at all sure he would be able to find it. He wanted to avoid Valin, too, lest the elder sprite accuse him of using blood to open a gate. Neistah was tempted, but he saved that method for a last resort and searched out the established gate. There was a red flower on this side of the gate, too. Neistah could see vague shapes just beyond the red flower. He knew he had to turn—so—to pass through the gate, but when he did, it felt as though he were moving through thick, viscous fog. He staggered as he cleared the gate on the other side and suddenly could move freely again. It was getting worse. Was it because of spilled blood, or too many humans again in the world?

Neistah made his way to the hidden village where his young friend lived. He was still clothed only in his golden trunks as if snow did not lie heavily upon the earth. His feet only vaguely registered the cold. Before he made his presence known, Neistah appropriated a coat and some shoes from inside one of the huts. The inhabitants, huddled around a smoky fire, never saw or heard him. As it was, the grown-ups of this small community distrusted Neistah, who occasionally brought them lost children or, better, fresh meat. Neistah didn’t conform to their norm, such as it was. He kept to himself and flaunted his differences when he was among them. By wearing clothing suited to the cold weather, Neistah hoped to allay their suspicions somewhat. The children already thought him otherworldly, and usually, he would not have cared what the adults thought about him, except that now he needed their cooperation.

“Hello, Pup,” he said as he stepped beside the boy with the tail. “Where’s the skinny man?”

“Neistah! You’re back! Did you bring us anything good to eat this time?” Pup was outside throwing snowballs with some of the other boys. He had shot up over the last few months, and now was nearly as tall as Neistah himself. His thick overcoat hid the stubby tail he usually wore outside his trousers, unashamed of it now that he was no longer required to reveal it as a sign of his mutation.

“No food this time,” Neistah said, “but I may have a job for you. I need to talk to the skinny man first.”

Since the time Neistah had led the people to believe the skinny man had caught and hunted a deer which Neistah himself had brought down, the man had gained considerable authority in this village. He was also very aware that Neistah was responsible for his good fortune, so he rarely gave Neistah a hard time anymore when he came to visit. The truth was, the man was afraid of Neistah, and half-believed the rumors and the children’s stories about the Sprite.

Earl was easily one of the older mutants who had escaped the cities to make a home deep in the forest. In his mid-thirties, he looked twenty years older. He was not the founder of this particular hidden village, but he was one of the first to settle here and survive to adulthood. He did that by avoiding any type of risk, even if that meant, as it often had, picking up and moving the entire settlement elsewhere to escape detection by the ever-present hunters who criss-crossed the forest. Earl had been very vocal about not wanting new members for their communities. It was the women of the group, most unable to have children of their own, who had insisted. But he had gotten used to the communal lifestyle, and he bore with the majority, grumbling all the while, until his transformation into the successful deerhunter, thanks to Neistah. Suddenly, people looked up to him as a leader. Earl found that he liked that, a lot.

“What do you want?” Earl asked suspiciously, for Neistah never came without an agenda of some sort. His eyebrows rose at Neistah’s getup. Instead of helping him to fit in, as Neistah had intended, the overly long coat paired with shoes but no trousers except for the golden thing that Neistah always wore made Neistah seem oddly out of place. Earl would have felt more comfortable seeing him in his usual attire.

“Give me six of the older boys,” Neistah said. “One for each of the main roads leading into the forest. I want to show them where to watch for changelings trying to escape the cities.”

“Why?” Earl frowned up at Neistah. “It’s winter. We have enough mouths to feed as it is. I don’t want any of the boys giving away our secrets to the hunters, either.” As he spoke, several of the other inhabitants of the small, hidden enclave emerged from their huts. One woman bit back an exclamation when she saw what Neistah was wearing. The coat belonged to her husband, who was still scrabbling inside their hut trying to find it.

Neistah grinned at the woman, acknowledging who the coat belonged to, before he turned to stare at Earl. The older man blanched at Neistah’s unflinching gaze. “Why?” he repeated. “They’re your kind.” It was, perhaps, the wrong thing to say, but Neistah was angry at the callous remark. It seemed no one wanted these children, not even the other changelings themselves. He turned on his heel. Perhaps Leane was right. Why should he care when even their own people did not?

“Wait!” Pup ran after Neistah. “We’ll go.” Several other boys, Pup’s age or older, came up behind him. “If it weren’t for you, I never would have made it. I want to help other changelings like you helped me.”

Out of the four children Neistah had led from Datro that night, only Pup, the youngest, remained in this camp.

“Come, then,” Neistah said, shedding the bulky overcoat and kicking off the shoes. He bent down to retrieve them and handed them to the woman he had borrowed them from. “Thank you, but I find I have no need of them,” he explained.

Earl followed the group more slowly, resigned that Neistah would get his way despite his objections. “You be careful now,” he admonished the boys, as if the venture had been his idea all along. “If you spot any hunters, you don’t come back. Hear?”

Pup nodded, then ran off with the other boys to gather their things, knives or bows they had scrounged up over the years. Neistah grinned suddenly, and let a bit of his power leak out. Earl’s eyes glazed over and he backed up, suddenly, unaccountably afraid. “You will take care of any children the boys bring back. You will not turn anyone away. You will protect them no matter what.”

Earl murmured, “I will protect the changelings no matter what.” He walked away, still muttering, “Protect them no matter what.”

Neistah showed the boys where to hide near the main ways that cut through the forest. If any changeling children decided to try to find the hidden villages, even in the dead of winter, they stood a better chance of being seen by Pup and his boys, who could notify some of the others. He showed them how to use the forest to avoid hunters, even in the dead of winter. All of the boys watched him with eager expressions, already in awe because Neistah hadn’t frozen to death in front of them.

“My blood runs hot,” he explained, passing it off as no big matter. He did feel the cold, only not as keenly as these mortal children. “You, on the other hand, need to stay warm and switch off with each other so none stay out in the cold too long.”

Neistah had done what he could to ensure that any changeling who tried to flee the cities in the dead of winter would have a chance at survival. He’d set their own kind, if mutated humans of all different sorts could be called a kind, to taking care of the matter.

X x x x x x

Roselle pulled Norah away from the student group as soon as their teacher’s back was turned. “I told you I’d show you Datro,” she whispered, dragging Norah along down the dingy street. “I know a place that sells sweets, down here.” She turned into an alley between two buildings and they came out on another street with fewer shops and fewer people walking by.

“Won’t we be missed?” Norah asked, glancing worriedly behind her. There was no hue and cry from the school group they had left on the other street. The school allowed a select number of students to come to Datro for shopping on the weekends, supervised, of course. Most of the students had generous allowances from their parents. Even Norah had a little bit of money her grandfather had pressed upon her. She needed to buy toiletries, and was hoping to sneak in a razor among her purchases. However, Roselle had had other ideas.

“Not until it’s time to leave,” Roselle told her. “Come on, you’ll love this place!” She led the way into a tiny candy shop set unnoticed between two kitchenware shops. Norah briefly wondered if she would be able to purchase her razors there, but she had no time to look inside. Sweets lined every available space in the tiny shop. A fat old woman with a kind face sat behind a counter. Norah didn’t notice her at first because the counter was filled with large glass jars, and each jar was filled with a different color candy. “Ooh, I want this one, and this one, and this one!” Roselle pointed them out, and the old woman shuffled from behind the counter, placing each of Roselle’s choices into a small brown bag.

“And for you, miss?” the old woman asked Norah.

“Um, some of those.” Norah picked long, red strings of licorice. Daddy had once brought her some licorice after one of his trips to the city, so Norah was familiar with it. She took her purchase and started munching on it idly as Roselle continued to browse the little store.

“Not now, silly! Save it for when we get back to school,” Roselle said. Norah reluctantly put her candy away, and followed Roselle out of the shop.

“Can we stop here a minute?” she asked, indicating the larger shop next door which advertised pots and pans, cups and plates and various other things meant for the kitchen.

“Oh no, that place isn’t any good,” Roselle said, taking her arm and marching her past the entrance. “I know another place that sells much better quality things. It’s this way.” She led Norah even farther away from the school group, down a hill and up a strictly residential road. “I thought it was this way,” Roselle mused, turning around to get her bearings.

Just then a group of people approached on the opposite side of the street, factory workers by their clothes. Norah suddenly recognized the area. They were near her grandfather’s factory, almost on the other side of town! She scanned the faces of the children who marched, accompanied by their single guard, a normal boy hardly any older than they were. Roselle, too, turned to watch the group of mutants walk past.

Towards the end of the line, Will caught sight of them and nearly stopped, before catching himself and continuing on. He passed the two girls without saying anything, although he smiled at Norah’s stunned expression.

“How rude,” Roselle murmured, taking Norah’s arm to lead her away. She hadn’t even recognized Will.

The next time Will snuck back to see them at school, Norah took him aside and asked him about it. “Why didn’t she know it was you?”

“It’s a good thing she didn’t,” Will answered. “Or we’d all be in trouble. Roselle’s a nice girl, but she’s normal. She didn’t expect to see me in a crowd of mutants, so she didn’t.”

“What about me? I noticed you,” Norah said hotly.

Will laughed, and tousled Norah’s hair. “You’re not normal, you’re you,” he said.

,