Page 183 of The Knucker King

The midwife’s fingers twitched to hold the Queen’s. She wanted to offer comfort as the Spriggan snuffled sadly behind her skull. Avice reached for her hand and passed right through. Bewildered, she held her up her palm to her face.

The midwife was translucent.

“I am here, but not really here,” she murmured.

Avice glanced around but could see nothing past the vivid green of the surrounding forest and the behemoth Dragon before her. It was disconcerting; the midwife could see and hear, but could not touch, smell, or taste. So often, she depended on all five of her senses to navigate the human and Faerie world, but she had been robbed of three.

“The Queen must be showing me what happened to her,” Avice guessed.

There was a rustle in the emerald leaves, and a big male Spriggan waddled over carrying something large and oval. He laid it reverently between the dead Drake’s behemoth paws. The egg’s shell matched the red of the Dragon’s scales.

“Is this where it all began to go wrong?” Avice wondered.

She watched the male Spriggan as he marched over to his Queen. His pelt was a fluffy green, in contrast to his Queen’s mossy bark skin. While she was slender and tall, he was all muscle and bulk. He dipped his heavy skull at his leader. Avice could understand their buzzing, yips, and chirps as easily as if they were speaking Cornish.

“First the Sidhe King, and now you must undertake your cycle,” he whimpered. “What will become of the Green? Who will wake Eostre?”

“So…” Avice tapped her chin. “We are in the Green and Eostre is sleeping here.” She looked the Spriggans up and down. “I wish I could ask you two directly, rather than just watch what you are showing me now.” She knew the Queen was exhausted, but surely it would have been easier to simply tell her. “Faeries and their nonsense,” she tutted.

“It must be done,” the Queen said. “I used too much of my magic trying to save King Draig, the Sprigganlings…” She let out a sigh. “And try as we might, his egg will not hatch.”

The male Spriggan dropped his snout. “And I could not find the dam.”

“The mother could be from over the sea, passed Land’s End for all we know. Draig was gone for a whole turn of seasons,” the Spriggan Queen grunted. “I am both angry and sorry for him. He clearly knew his time was at end—”

“And Nature knows…” a second male chipped in as he scurried out of the bushes. He was much smaller than the male who had carried the egg and was missing an ear. “Dragons are rare these days.”

The Queen let out a grunt at the interruption. “That is correct, Derrowen, just like we are. My seeds have barely sprouted, and the ones that have did not fruit into Sprigganlings.”

“It was the iron, was it not?” the big male asked. “The iron we pulled from him that finally took his life. We must not have removed it all.”

“The Drake King must have been attacked by men,” Avice surmised. Her chest felt warm as she said it, like the Spriggan Queen was confirming her statement. “They are all connected: the Sidhe King, the safety of the Otherworld, the Sidhe that surrounds it…” She tapped her chin. “… and the Good— I mean, Folk who live there. But how does Eostre fit in?”

“That is correct, Pren,” the Queen squeezed his bulky shoulder. “We tried our best, but we could not save him.”

The Queen wobbled then and fell forward. Pren dove to catch her, cushioning her fall. Derrowen tugged her back up and offered his shoulder for her to lean on. She was weak, that much was clear. Her legs trembled like leaves in the wind, and her neck could barely support the weight of her skull.

“Queen Fawen, we must get you to the Birthing Tree,” Derrowen said, his voice sharp with concern.

“Yes, yes, we will help you!” Pren agreed.

The scene dissipated in a waft of mist and a gusting of wind, forcing Avice to squeeze her eyes shut.

When Avice opened her eyes, the memory changed. She stood next to the Queen – who was flanked by Pren and Derrowen – in front of a colossus of a tree.

The Birthing Tree towered above. Her emerald branches kissed the grey cloud, and her trunk was wider than Trewoofe was long. Avice looked up for so long, that she had almost forgotten why she was here, until Derrowen spoke.

“I do not like this. I know I insisted, but I did not know it would be like this,” he squeaked, wringing his clawed hands. “The Birthing Tree is no longer protected, the Sidhe has retreated, and the ward is broken.”

Pren rattled his skull in agreement. “You will not be safe while you start again.”

Avice frowned up at the Queen. She was thin and would blow over in a stiff breeze. Her orange eyes were dull in their sockets and moss fell from her bark-like skin.

“What does he mean ‘start again’?” Avice pondered.

“It must be done, and I will ensure my daughter will be strong enough to wake Eostre by Annis’s end,” Fawen promised, limping over towards the behemoth Birthing Tree. Her bark was old, gnarled, and knotted with all the turns of seasons she had seen.

“Annis…” Avice squeezed her pendant. “I know that name.”