Bad Fairy

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright 2011 Plot Roach.

Bad Fairy

By Plot Roach

You have read the fairy tales, no doubt. You know of my kind. We are feared, but never loved. The hero or heroine comes to us with requests of magical aid, yet when the day is saved, we are no closer to being accepted by society than we were before. Some work their magic through herbs, stones, or musical instruments. Some have familiars of other magical creatures, or of mankind’s mundane domestic beasts. Most were gifted with their magic upon reaching adulthood, coming to power under the tutelage of an elder fairy with patience and wisdom to guide their young prodigies through their difficult transformation.
I, however, had no such luck. No kindly old woman to guide me through my tough years. No animal could be immune to my charms, and no human either. All of fairy kind turned its back to me, an outcast among outcasts. I need no spells, no charms or instruments, for I am myself the weapon.

When I was born, my first cry of life sent both my mother and the midwife into a deep sleep. They remained in their permanent state of hibernation, never growing old or infirm, until I released them years later. By then, I was nearly as old as my mother. And though I sorely missed what this woman might have offered to me as I grew up, I knew as an adult that no relationship would have been possible. Not only had I robbed her of the life she should have had with my father and siblings, but anything I could have said to her to ease the pain would have sent her back into her sleeping prison.

When the village realized that I had the gift (or curse) of sending those who heard my voice to sleep, they sent a deaf boy to come into our home to gag my mouth, so that I could do no more harm. He was paid to take me to the ocean, and drop me in. The village wished to be rid of this burden, but the boy found that he could not comply with their instructions. He, too, had been banished, when his infirmity could not be cured by medicine or magic. He was seen as a mistake by nature, and did not fit into their perfect fairy tale kingdom. He tried to raise me as best as he could, but he was still a boy.

I found that I could not live in the forest, for my singing would send the animals to sleep. And though it might make quick work for hunters looking for a day’s kill. Animals that lay sleeping do not repopulate the forest with their own kind, and the forest ran dry of all manner of beasts until more could imported at great cost to the kingdom.

I tried living on the edge of the kingdom, with the deaf boy -now a man, but no matter how much I tried not to speak, the inevitable would happen. I could stub my toe and swear, I could laugh at a joke, or sigh under the weight of a burden, and I would send all those around me into a deep slumber. Through time I learned how to reverse the consequences of my magic, though that was of little consequence to the townsfolk. There are some things that cannot be undone, as when a falling maiden hits her head upon a rock before I can wake her, or when a woodsman strikes himself instead of the log before him because sleep has taken his eyes from his task.

So I returned to the ocean which was once to be my grave. I sang to the waves that crashed at my feet. Fish, sent into sleep by my songs, relinquished their fight with the water. I gathered the creatures that washed ashore and the deaf man went into town daily to sell our bounty. I bid him good luck on these trips, praying that the one gentle soul I could commune with would return safely. “I always do.” he would write in the sand. For a woman who could not speak and a man who could not hear, we had learned over time to bridge the gap between us.

On one of these trips into the nearest town, he learned of a vast army come to claim this kingdom. Their numbers were far superior to our own little land. And far more than I could ever send to sleep with my vocal prowess. Those not killed would be enslaved or sold to other lands. And though these same people had once wanted me dead, I could not let them come to destruction.

Through the deaf man I learned that some had already begun abandoning the smaller villages that skirted the main kingdom. They left with nothing more on their backs than some food and clothing. It was said that these warriors that came to conquer us would not kill those that could not face them in open combat. The peasants that left and carried no weapons would be allowed to cross the borders unmolested. I prayed that these rumors were true.

That night I left my little hut by the sea and wandered throughout the kingdom, traveling as fast as I could by foot as no horse could carry me upon my mission. I sang until I ran out of words. I hummed until my voice left me. And I sighed until my lungs burned like the bright rays of the sun that rose the following morning. Though dawn had come to the land, the people would never rise to see the new day. All sent into a deep slumber. My curse to be their gift. For if the men could not fight, then the army could not invade.

The deaf man met them at the border, telling them of the curse laid upon the kingdom and how no fighters could face them. The leader of the army vowed to keep his men at that very spot until the kingdom could be freed of its spell. And there they have stayed for many years, each generation taking on the duty of the last, though the people of the kingdom have not aged. The oxen sleep in their pens, the peasants in their huts.

And here I stay, in my hut by the sea. The deaf man grows older as each season turns into the next. When he dies, I will be filled with sorrow at his loss. Not because he was anything more than a friend or a guardian, but because he was my last link to a kingdom that ever sleeps. One I hope to keep from harm if it takes my last breath.