Laura Schlitz - The Night Fairy

Once the words were out, she clapped her hand over her mouth. Web-building spiders do not stray far from their webs: the spider must be close at hand. But by a stroke of good luck, the spider was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she was busy with other prey. All the same, she might return at any moment.

Flory jumped straight up into the air, catching the bottom branch of the juniper bush. She swung back and forth until she hooked her legs over the branch. “I’ve come to set you free,” she said breathlessly. “I’m going to pull the web off you. Only you must promise me something first.”

The hummingbird twisted its head to look at her. The feathers under its chin were pearly white. It was a female.

“I’ve seen you,” said Flory. “You come to the water feeder.”

“I’ve never seen you, ” said the hummingbird. She craned her head for another look. “Why are you awake? You’re a night fairy.”

“I used to be a night fairy,” Flory said. “Now I’m not. Will you promise?”

“Promise?” asked the hummingbird.

“Yes,” said Flory. She felt her cheeks grow warm; she was not often ashamed, but she felt a little awkward about what she was going to say. She took a deep breath and spoke very clearly so that she wouldn’t have to say it twice. “I’ll set you free, but after I set you free, you must be my very own hummingbird and let me ride on your back.”

She waited for the hummingbird to agree, but the hummingbird was still. The glittering wings were motionless. When they didn’t catch the light, they were plain gray. Flory gave a nervous little laugh.

“No,” said the hummingbird.

“No?” echoed Flory.

“No,” said the hummingbird. “I won’t belong to you. I belong to myself. And I have eggs.” A note of pride came into her voice. “If I get free, I shall have to look after my nestlings. I shan’t have time to bother with you.”

Flory could not think what to say next. She reached upward, pulling herself closer to the bird. “But I want to cut you free,” she said. “I’d like to. If you don’t get free, you’ll die.”

The hummingbird’s throat moved. Her beak was open; she was panting for breath. “If I die, the eggs will die,” she said hoarsely. “Night will fall, and it will be cold — and the chicks will die inside the shells.”

Flory felt a funny ache in her throat. She was not the kind of fairy who cried easily, and she didn’t think the hummingbird cried at all. But the words “the chicks will die” made her feel queer, as if her heart were swollen and sore. She gave herself a little shake, trying to replace the queer feeling with crossness. “It’s your own fault,” she said. “I’m perfectly willing to set you free. All you have to do is promise to be mine. Then you can warm the eggs, and the chicks won’t die.”

“I can’t promise,” said the hummingbird.

“Why not?” demanded Flory.

“Because I can’t lie. Hummingbirds don’t.”

Flory inched closer. “I wouldn’t make you serve me all the time,” she coaxed. “Only sometimes. I want to ride on your back.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” said the hummingbird in her low, scratchy voice. “I can’t think about that. My eggs are growing cold.”

Flory glowered at the hummingbird. All at once, she wanted to burst into tears. She wanted to stamp her feet and shout and kick. She realized that she was going to free the hummingbird and get nothing in return.

“Hold still,” she said furiously. “I’m going to set you free. You don’t deserve it, but I’m going to help.”

She yanked one of the strands in the web. But the web would not break. Instead, it stretched. When Flory tried to jerk away, the sticky silk glued itself to her forearm.

“You’ll get caught yourself,” said the hummingbird.

Flory could see that this was a real danger. All the same, she wasn’t going to give up. She thought for a moment. “I could cut you loose if I had my dagger,” she said. “I have one up in the cherry tree. It’s sharp. If you’ll wait till I fetch it —”

“No,” said the hummingbird. “Listen to me. There may not be time to save me — the spider will poison me soon — but if you would go to my nest and warm the eggs —”

Flory caught her breath. “I could do that!” she exclaimed. “If you tell me where the nest is, I’ll go and warm the eggs — and they won’t die! — and then I’ll come back with my dagger and save you.”

“Will you?” Something gleamed in the hummingbird’s eye. Her throat moved in and out. “Will you save my nestlings?”

“I will,” Flory promised. “Tell me where your nest is.”

The hummingbird twisted her head, staring hard into Flory’s face.

“It’s all right,” Flory told her. “I don’t eat eggs. Ugh.”

“I built my nest between the fence post and the wall,” whispered the hummingbird, “the fence post close to the fishpond. It’s hidden by the barberry bush. You’ll have to climb the barberry bush to get to it.”

Flory nodded briskly. “I can do that,” she said, though she knew how prickly barberry bushes were, and she feared the climb. “Don’t worry. I’ll find the nest and warm the eggs. And then I’ll come back.”

She yanked her arm away from the spiderweb. The sticky thread left a red welt on her arm. Flory was not going to fuss over a minor wound like that. She set her teeth, turned her back on the hummingbird, and set forth on her quest.

As Flory tore though the tall grass, her thoughts flew ahead of her. She knew she must work quickly. She had to fetch her dagger, warm the eggs, and free the hummingbird before the spider came back. When she reached the cherry tree, she flung back her head and bellowed, “Skuggle!”

The cherry leaves shook. Skuggle peered down at her.

“Have you anything to eat?” asked the squirrel.

“No,” answered Flory. “Skug, would you do me a favor? I need to get to my house — quickly.”

“Will you give me something to eat?”

Flory rolled her eyes. “No —” she began. Then she changed her mind. “Yes. If you carry me up to my house, I’ll give you some dried cherries and sunflower seeds.”

The squirrel was at her side before she finished the word cherries. “Cherries,” he chattered. “I love cherries. You’re mean, Flory, to keep them all to yourself. I love them, I want them. Give them to me.”

In two seconds they were at the door of Flory’s house. “Don’t go away,” Flory commanded, sliding off the squirrel’s tail. “Wait here.”

She scrambled into her dim little house. She found her dagger and slipped it into the sash around her waist. Then she picked up the grass quilt she had woven. She rolled it tightly and lashed it to her back.

Skuggle’s paws were in the doorway, groping wildly. Flory went to her little store of food and hauled out four dried cherries and five sunflower seeds. One by one, she passed them to the squirrel.

“That’s enough,” she said, after the fifth seed.

“Don’t you have any more?” asked Skuggle.

“Yes, but you can’t have them now.”

Skuggle’s paws went on opening and shutting.

“I said, that’s enough,” Flory said. “Later.”

“But now is when I’m hungry.”

Flory was tempted to sting him. “If you take me where I want to go, I’ll give you more seeds tomorrow. I’ll give you all of them,” she said rashly.