Leaplings Lost

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Every single night. But only every 4 years. The rest of the time, the night sky was the typical black velvet dotted with tiny points of light.

Claire looked up at the dark expanse above her. She inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of salt on the ocean breeze.

At night, when it was quiet, she loved this place, Southwestern Croque. To the rest of the world, it was a little slice of nowhere, just a chilly shore on a chilly rock in the Atlantic Ocean.

But to her, and the entire village of Saint Anthony, it was special. It was a place for family picnics by day, fun swimming adventures, and whale watching. By night, it was a place of blissful solitude and quiet meditation.

But each leap year it transformed itself by the light of the night sky. Solitude and silent introspection gave way to bonfires, dancing, and lively jubilation.

The purple clouds really did dance in a come hither kind of way, beckoning revelers closer and closer, lighting up the night sky as they went.

They were brightest on February 29, Leap Day. In fact, from midnight until 3 am, their brilliance gave the night a lavender-tinged noonday feel.

Everyone from town, and many from surrounding communities came to the beach to take in the magic, to give thanks for the year passed, and to ask for luck in the year to come. Some brought offerings while others simply danced and chanted.

At the centre of the festivities were the Leaplings, anyone born on Leap Day, those lucky, or unlucky people to have a birthday only every 4 years. parents of these special children offered them to the clouds, temporarily.

To have such a child was a gift from the clouds, and seen as not only a great honour but a boon of tremendous good fortune.

Whoever possesses a Leapling Child possesses an eye to the universe and all its secrets.

As midnight struck, they'd walk, young Leaplings in tow, toward the purple billows and into the frigid sea. It was a risky proposition. Many a local heart had been stopped by the arctic chill of the Atlantic in February.

If they got close enough, the clouds served as a portal, taking children from the arms of their parents into the fairy realm. It was their legacy as Leaplings, children that as a result of their birthdate lived a type of hybrid existence, part human, part fairy.

If taken, the young Leaplings were taught the secrets contained in the Big Book, healing of ailments, shapeshifting, summoning strength, and manipulating their natural environment. They were returned at 3 am to anxiously excited parents with no memory of their trip but filled with knowledge.

Claire was one of those parents on February 29, 1996.

She braved the icy waters, wading in well beyond the capacity of her hip waders with her son Isaac.

She remembered the night like it was yesterday. It was bitterly cold, the kind of cold that freezes exposed skin within minutes. But the line of fires, mostly in metal drums, the strange heat emanating from the purple haze, and the excitement in the air concealed the chill.

The rhythmic chanting still rang in her ears. An ode to the other realm as she and 4 others braved the harsh waters to gain the secrets of the world.

She remembered the joy she felt as Isaac was enveloped by the clouds, a tiny boy in the warm, welcoming arms of purple love. His face was calm, almost happy as if he knew he was going to his second home.

It was the same feeling she had when she was exchanged (that's what they called it) in 1984.

Being a Leapling herself, she felt it important that Isaac experienced both the human and fairy realm. Mags didn't get it. In fact, she was against the entire ritual. Barbaric and superstitious was what she called it.

Claire smirked at the thought. Mags couldn't help it. She was from the city. But true to her loyal form, she was right there, beside her beloved, waiting, tears welling behind both their eyes.

It was the only thing she smirked about. It had been 20 long years since she'd seen her boy.

She waited on the shore that night, waiting for 3 am to come. It did, and it went. No Isaac, nothing. Not one of the children returned. The polar vortex, with its record low temperatures, had somehow frozen the continuum, making passage between the realms impossible.

Claire's skin prickled. She choked back the lump in her throat as she remembered the panic she felt that night, the deep sense of loss and confusion. Surely it couldn't be. Isaac was part fairy, yes, but more than that, he was part of her. They couldn't keep him. They couldn't keep the others. That wasn't the deal.

She and the other parents believed that as soon as the vortex subsided, their young would be returned. That belief faded with the passing of the purple clouds.

Four years passed. She sat, along with her wife, at the sea's edge every single night waiting for her son's return, hoping against hope, her heart aching a little more each time they walked home without him.

She worried about what he'd become. Had he forgotten his human side? Had he become a full fairy? Would he want to come back? What about the others?

More and more people came to the beach as she sat contemplating the fate of her family. The chatting, the fires, the joyous celebrations began as purple lit up the sky once again.

Mags grabbed her gloved hand, her brown eyes sparking, somehow taking up some of the sky's violet, "Three more hours, baby, just three more hours."