Taming Ivy

Not every fairy gets their wings.

Sure, that’s what you see in all the photos, hear in all of the stories—but it’s not the truth. Puberty has an extra, debilitatingly painful addition for a young fae: the wings. It’s as though the gods looked down on us and decided we needed punished for the sudden desire to . . . well, procreate.

But just like some humans are born missing an arm, sometimes fairies never get their wings. As if that’s not enough, those without wings never get their powers.

I’m one of those. A flightless, useless, tiny lump of fairy.

“Good gods, Ivy!” Rune let the bucket of water plop onto the table, stray droplets flinging out on all sides. “Will you get out of your head already and help me?”

I glanced up from my scribble-filled notepad. I’d settled down to craft a story, any story, but my anxiety took over instead. 

“Sorry,” I muttered. I tucked the notepad into my apron pocket and trudged to the table, my older brother’s eyes tracking my every movement. “Stop that,” I chided. I took the ladle and scooped the water into a smaller bucket. The dishes were calling my name. As always.

Rune sighed and leaned against the nearest knotted-oak post, his burgundy wings cascading around him. “I’ll do it for you, you know.”

My blood ran colder than ice. “No.”

“They would never know. This would be the last time you have to hide—just while you healed—”

“No, Rune!” I placed my palms flat against the table and screwed my eyes shut. I’d seen it done. They tie the fairy flat on a table, position the sharp knife above their back, and . . .

His voice dropped to a softer level, one that sent warm hugs all around me. “You would never have to hide again.”

My eyes shot open, and I fixed him with my best glare. He had offered this very solution every year. “That last girl died, Rune,” I snapped. “Bled out right there in the clearing. She didn’t have to hide anymore either, now did she?”

He flinched. “Maybe it was worth the risk?”

“No,” I repeated. I dipped my fingers into the water and flicked them at his face. As I expected, a soft breeze blew between us, whisking the droplets away before they had a chance to land. 

Fucking air fairy.

With a humph, I turned on my heel, clutching my small bucket of water, and stalked to the mountain of dishes.

He groaned. “Ivy, how long will it be before—”

I whirled on him, my dark brown hair flying in every direction possible, landing smack across my face. That didn’t stop my glare from slicing through him. “No! I would rather hide in that damn chest every year than die.”

He focused his crystal blue eyes on mine, nearly boring into my soul. “You hiding isn’t the only problem! How long until they—”

He stopped talking only as the front door swung open to reveal our mother, dressed in light pink frills to complement her long, sky-blue wings. She shuddered from head to toe on the porch, as though her self-made breeze hadn’t been enough to keep her dry in the downpour outside. It had been. Not a single drop fell from her.

“I could hear the two of you bickering from the neighbor’s.” She tsked as she brought the armload of vegetables in.

“Sorry,” we both muttered, much like scolded children. Which, we likely always would be to her.

“Rune, dear, the rabbits got into the garden again. Will you go see to the fence?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He strode to the door, fixing one final look on me before stepping off the porch and into the air. With a whoosh, his wings extended, catching him before he moved so much as an inch. I watched him go, the twinge of jealousy nibbling at my gut.

“Ivy, my love.” Mama touched my shoulder. “I talked with Heather, and she swore they won’t be here for another week.”

I let the rag splash into the bucket of water, grinding my teeth against the panic that welled inside. “That would be good,” I managed.

“She’ll continue asking around so we can find the exact date. We don’t need any surprises, now do we?” She chuckled to herself, though the situation was far from amusing. 

Over a hundred years ago, it was decreed that wingless fairies would be sent to the workforce when they reach the age of twenty.

I was twenty-six. 

Still no wings. 

Still no powers.

And they weren’t going to show up, either.

Every year, the officials came to check the colonies. They were to ensure the gardens were operating as they should, lest the fairies be stealing food, and take a general roll call.

As far as they knew, Ivy Fairburn died six years ago.

So, when the yearly inspection came, I stuffed myself into the cedar chest, suffocating under my great-grandmother’s quilts.

If anyone was found to be breaking the law, there were consequences. In the case of wingless rebels, they were taken, never to be heard from again.

My fingers shook as I scrubbed at a dish. They wouldn’t find me. They had no reason to suspect that there was a wingless fairy in this house. I had died with my father in a crash. There had been a funeral for us both. No one had reason to believe there was only one body in that grave.

“Ivy.” Mother set her palm on my shoulder. “Heather’s son has a contact in the ranks. He’s working to get us the exact date so there won’t be any false alarms this year.”

Well, no one other than my family and the neighbor, Heather.

I snorted. I’d been sent running into our treehouse for so many false alarms over the last few years, it was laughable.

I took a deep breath, letting the fresh woodsy sent of the world around me to cleanse our lungs. “Thank you.”

—————————————————————————

“That darn rabbit got through another hole in the fence. Had to weave a whole new section to fix it!” Rune threw his hands into the air, his wings twitching with the breeze he created. “We’re never gonna pass this year’s inspection if they keep coming through! They got to another snap pea.”

Mother groaned her agreement around a bite of baked apple.

“Do I need to start work on more branches for it?” I asked. Fairies prefer to live with the land instead of against it. Everything we do comes from the earth around us. Our fences are created by soaking branches so they can be weaved into fences. These fences create beautiful trellises for the plants, with vines of flowers climbing their way up the outside.

“Maybe,” Rune admitted. “Better to have more in the trough in case we need to fix it quickly.”

I glanced at the open window and made a face. It would have to wait until the morning. “I’ll get to it at sunrise,” I promised.

“Stay close to one of us though, ‘kay?” Rune said.

“Heather’s son said it won’t be until next week, we shouldn’t have to worry,” Mother assured.

Rune grunted. “That doesn’t mean they won’t surprise it all. Happened to Fern Estate last fall. They were months early.”

Mother waved her fork absently in the air. “They only come that early when they are sure there’s a flightless one around.”

My eyebrow raised on its own accord, and Rune’s did the same, an exact replica of mine as we stared at our mother.

The top of Rune’s wing folded down to point at me.

“Thanks,” I muttered sarcastically before biting into my dinner.

“Well, I know we have one. But they don’t!” 

“I only wish I had your naivety,” Run muttered under his breath, so quiet I hardly heard him.

Though our mother likely didn’t hear a word he said, she got the idea. “Rune.”

Rune plastered an over-exaggerated smile on his face and beamed at her. “Yes, Mother?”

Air blasted through the windows, blowing smack into his face. He placed his palms over his food, protecting it from the onslaught, though he laughed through it all.

“Regardless of when they come, it’ll be soon. So she should stay close to someone who can fly her back up here.”

As if being flightless wasn’t enough, it meant I couldn’t enter my own house without help. Every single time, either Rune or Mother had to scoop me up like a child and deposit me on the doorstep.

At least children often had ladders.

But to everyone aside from our immediate neighbor, I was a secret. And that was the only way to survive.

Rune elbowed my shoulder to regain my attention. “Were ya workin’ on a story?”

“Huh?" I glanced at the notebook on the counter. Right. I had been attempting to write when Rune interrupted me. “Was trying. Didn’t get anywhere with it.” The unspoken words rang in the air: I was too stressed about the upcoming inspections to write a word.

“Ah, tomorrow. Getting outside will make your brain work!” Mother reached under the table to squeeze my knee. “Whatever you write, it’ll be beautiful.”