Daphne's Quest

You’re not comin’ with me!” Daphne growled over her shoulder, “Just go home already, Liam!” Her agile brown fingers gripped the straps of her backpack tighter as her eyes focused on the path ahead, resolute and determined. She stopped walking and puffed out her cheeks, turning her green eyes skyward at the creak and clank of Liam’s crutches crunching through the underbrush behind her. The noises stopped when she stopped, replaced by the soft puffing of the heavyset boy the crutches belonged to. Daphne let out her breath slowly and counted to ten in her head before turning to face Liam. His pale face was bright pink from effort and the chill December wind stinging his cheeks. She thought he looked a bit like an overstuffed sausage in the wool parka his mother knitted for him, which he had outgrown already. He stared back at her expectantly, waiting most likely for her to keep walking so that he could keep following her.

Daphne shook her head and set down her heavy pack on a rotted, frost-covered stump. “Faeries are dangerous, Liam,” she warned, “they live deep in the brambles, too, where you can’t go. Please… go home.”

“You can’t go alone,” Liam insisted, shifting his weight on his crutches with a frown. His speech was slow and thick with a heavy lisp, disguising the intelligence he possessed. Liam was by far the smartest boy in their grade, but his clumsy speech often made him a target of ridicule so he didn’t speak often at school. With Daphne though, things were different.

Daphne stood on tiptoe as she dusted the dry leaves and snow off his shoulders and adjusted his woolen stocking cap, making sure his one good ear was left uncovered. “I can’t be responsible for you all the time,” she tusked, “besides, your mum will be cross if you’re late for supper.”

“So, we’ll be back before supper,” Liam shrugged, knocking her hands off, “You don’t have to coddle me. I’m not an idiot.”

A smile curled Daphne’s lips, “No. You’re not.” She chafed her arms against another icy breeze and stamped her feet to restore the blood flow to her toes, then shouldered her pack again. “Come on then,” she sniffed matter-of-factly, “if we’re going to find the Faerie Hollow before supper, we’ve gotta move fast.”

Snowflakes began sticking to Daphne’s eyelashes the further they tromped through the forest. Her mother would scold her severely if she knew her daughter was out in the cold hunting for the Fae. Of course, that was assuming she wasn’t still angry about Daphne cutting her fringe. Daphne pulled the brim of her father’s service cap lower over her eyes at the thought. It wasn’t her fault. It was the Fae’s fault. If they hadn’t given her such a hideous blotch on her brow, then her mother wouldn’t have been forced to keep it hidden. How was Daphne to know cutting off a few centimeters of hair was so difficult? It wasn’t her fault either that the scissors were dull, and too big for her to hold properly.

The most embarrassing thing was that Aphrodite Greenwood was by far the best hairdresser in the village. She could have trimmed Daphne’s fringe herself if she wanted to, but purposefully chose to keep it long to hide the mark. Daphne could almost feel the blotch rubbing against the band of her father’s cap as she walked; it was like a great, ugly rosette on her face, situated squarely in the middle of her forehead. She had seen photographs that her late grandfather had taken during the time he was stationed in India, of women with similar marks painted upon their brows. Theirs were small, decorative and beautiful though, nothing like the mark she had been born with… the mark the Faeries had cursed her with.

Granny Rose understood. Granny Rose always understood. She knew things, things about the Faeries that very few people did. Often she’d told Daphne stories, about banquets she’d shared with the Fae Folk and courting Faerie princes in her youth. She spoke fondly of one Fae prince who was so enamored with her that he’d asked her to be his bride, and gave her a wealth of gold for her hand. Daphne wasn’t sure if she believed that tale, but it made for a lovely story anyway. Granny Rose also told her the mark she bore was magic, given to her by the Fae as a blessing the evening she was born. That was most certainly not true. If it was a blessing, why had they made it look so ugly? At this point, it didn’t matter. “The Fae gave this to me,” Daphne reasoned, “so they can take it back again. Then Mummy can finally fix my fringe.”

A scream and a thud behind Daphne pulled her suddenly from her thoughts. She whirled around to see Liam in the mud, one crutch at his side. The other was caught in a tangle of briars, hanging just over his head. She rushed over and started tugging the crutch free, but once it was loose Liam took it from her immediately. “I got it,” he mumbled sheepishly, “thanks.”

Daphne nodded, but offered her hand anyway to help him up. He balanced awkwardly on his unevenly-sized feet until his crutches were under his arms again, then his blue eyes widened with awe. Daphne followed his gaze over her shoulder, just in time to see the object he was looking at dart into a hazel thicket. She only caught a glimpse of them, but a glimpse told her all she needed to know: they were smaller than she was, and had bright blue hair… and she was almost positive she saw a pair of gossamer wings glittering upon their back. Quick as a shot, she started running after them. Her pack banged uncomfortably against her back as she ran, her arms pumping furiously at her sides. Liam’s cries rang out behind her, unheard due to the rushing of her own heartbeat in her ears.

The Faerie dashed nimbly over the uneven ground at breakneck speed, always keeping just out of sight. Daphne knew every inch of these woods backward and forward though. Had it been warmer, she would have kicked off her mink boots to better traverse the muddy, root-covered terrain barefoot, and probably would have caught her quarry already. As it was the middle of winter, however, she had no such option. Her feet flopped around inside her slightly oversized boots as she ran, making her strides across the snowy, brush-laden path awkward and slower than she would have liked.

Liam's voice grew softer and more distant in the heat of the pursuit, and only then was Daphne aware of his absence. She skidded to a stop without thinking and looked back, then again at the object of her quest. The Faerie, surprisingly, had stopped running as well. It was staring at her curiously, its eyes dark and sparkling with mischief. It wasn’t a bit winded, and actually looked disappointed that the chase had ceased so suddenly. After a moment, it cocked a pointed ear toward Liam’s fading voice. Daphne’s hands balled up into fists and her jaw clenched agitatedly. She had to go back for Liam; there was no questioning that. If she did turn back though, she had no guarantee the Faerie would stay and wait for her to resume the chase. Granny Rose told her Faeries were fickle, and easily bored, traits which the Fae before her was already displaying. Daphne placed her hands on the top of her head and loosed a guttural scream of frustration at the canopy above her, then raced back for Liam.

She found him sitting in a small glen by their favorite stream. The boughs of the pine trees all around bent low under the weight of the snow upon them, almost like they were bowing reverently to her friend. It was incredibly peaceful, but also eerily quiet without the sounds of birdsong and crickets chirping that filled the air in the warmer months. Liam was at the mouth of the stream, with his rump in the snow and his back to a rock. His crutches were on the ground on either side of him, as if he had thrown them down out of anger. His left leg was bent up, resting on his bulbous, twisted foot, showing off a deep bloody gash on his knee. He was scowling and sniffling glumly, and poking spindly little cracks into the iced over stream with a stick when Daphne arrived. “You left me behind,” he whimpered.

Daphne took off her pack and knelt down with a sigh. “Yeah,” she admitted quietly, “but I came back, didn’t I?” She rummaged through the pack for a few minutes, pulling out a roll of bandages and a kerchief-wrapped bundle of sandwiches. She bound Liam’s knee with the expertise of a Red Cross nurse, then untied the bundle and offered it to him. “I brought your favorite,” she murmured, surprised at how warm her face felt all of a sudden.

Liam’s button nose twitched toward the stack of sandwiches, then he sullenly reached forth a paw to take one. Daphne took off her father’s cap and helped herself to a sandwich next, scooting her scrawny frame closer to Liam’s broad right flank for warmth. They ate in silence for a while, until Liam let out a sniff. “So… did you catch it?” he asked, “the Faerie, I mean?”

Daphne tossed the rest of her sandwich bitterly into the stream, and pushed up her jagged mouse brown fringe with a scowl. “What d’you think?!” She spat, “I’ve still got this bloody thing, don’t I?!”

Liam eyed the deep red blotch a moment, then shrugged. “I dunno why you complain about that ruddy thing so much. It’s just a spot.”

Daphne froze, confused, then brushed her fringe back over the blemish angrily, “Is not! It’s ugly, and… a-and I hate it!!”

Liam took off his stocking cap and smoothed his untidy blond locks, scratching his good left ear with another shrug, “So? It’s a part of you. Makes you special.”

“Special?” She repeated incredulously, “If that’s true, I don’t want to be special! I’d honestly rather be dead!!”

Deafening silence followed her declaration, as if the forest around them was absorbing every wrathful, pained syllable. Daphne didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt like crying. She hung her head, studying the navy and gold wool cap resting on her knees. She meant what she’d said with all her heart. If she were dead, then she wouldn’t have to listen to her mother and Granny Rose argue constantly about money anymore. She could finally meet her father, too. She had seen pictures of him in and out of uniform (but mostly in), and heard all sorts of stories about him. Lt. Greenwood seemed like he was a good, kind man, and was very handsome, too. She'd always hoped he would have liked her, despite the hideous mark she bore. Daphne hugged the cap to her chest with a sniff, trying vainly to hold in her tears. She hated crying in front of anyone, especially Liam. She was supposed to be the strong one, after all, the one who took care of him. What would he think of her, suddenly bursting into tears like an infant for no good reason? It was absolutely mental.

Her breath caught softly when Liam reached over and took her hand without warning. She looked up at him, confused for a moment, then was completely caught off guard by the intensity and warmth in his eyes. “You don’t mean that,” he insisted, “I know you don’t.” His chubby fingers gently brushed her fringe to the side, and he studied the mark beneath it for a moment. Daphne wanted to turn away, but was held firmly in place by Liam’s stern, intelligent gaze. After a handful of seconds, he withdrew his hand and settled back against the rock, wiping his nose with a sniff, “Honestly, I don’t think it’s all that bad. It’s just skin, right? I kind of like it, actually.”

Daphne blinked, then rubbed her own nose on the back of her hand, “You… you do? Why?”

Liam scratched his good ear pensively, “I dunno. I just do. It’s not as ugly as you think it is, for starters. It looks kind of cool, like a flower almost. I like flowers.” His eyes lowered then, and his expression darkened a bit, “You’re a lucky one, Greenie… much luckier than you know.”

Daphne froze, puzzled for a moment, as she allowed Liam’s words to sink in. His expression was terse and grim, but there was no malice behind it. She followed his gaze to his malformed left foot, and in an instant she realized what he had meant. In the three and a half years she had known him, Liam had never once complained about his own physical impairments, and his were by far worse than a little skin blemish. It never occurred to her that he might have resented the way he was born, too, because he just never talked about it. Looking at him now, it was clear he did, but there was something else in his expression, too. It took her a few minutes to recognize what it was: acceptance for what he couldn’t change about himself, and also a kind of subtle pride in the parts of himself that made him different. His words echoed in her head again as if he’d only just spoken them that minute: “...It's a part of you.... Makes you special... Special....”

Daphne sniffed quietly, then moved closer to whisper in Liam’s deaf right ear. “You’re special, too,” she said, “in fact, you’re perfect just the way you are. Never forget that.” Without fully realizing what she was doing, a second later her lips delicately brushed against his round, ruddy cheek.

Liam jumped and turned his head sharply to look at her, his eyes wide with surprise. “What’d you do that for?!” he asked, his features wrinkling into a grimace as he scrubbed away the kiss roughly with his wool-clad fist.

Daphne stood with a shrug and stuffed her cap back on her head, “No reason.” She dusted the snow and dirt off the back of her skirt where she’d been sitting, then picked up Liam’s crutches for him. “I think I saw a fox den up ahead. Want to look at it?”

Liam's expression of disgust shifted in an instant to a broad smile, and he nodded vigorously, “Yes, please! Where was it? Were there baby foxes inside? Could you tell?”

Daphne just shrugged again after she helped him up and started leading the way. While they slowly walked side by side, Liam chattered on excitedly, musing whether or not his mother would allow him to keep a fox pup if he brought it home. Daphne stayed quiet at his side. She didn’t know what had compelled her to kiss Liam, but thought she liked doing so. Again, she quickly dismissed the thought. “That Fae must have put a spell on me,” she decided. Still, as they walked, her arm threaded itself through Liam’s, and stayed there for most of the afternoon.