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Including one to my newest question:Who was laying all the damn eggs?
Chapter 23
In Which I Question My Answers
‡
Evolutionary change, in my understanding, occurs slowly over many generational iterations. In Faerie, however, with the profound influence of magic on the flow of time, evolution can be so accelerated, and organisms so long-lived, that evolution can occur within a singleindividual.
~Big Book of Fairyland, “Flora andFauna”
Not Titania.
I was pretty sure of that. Ninety-five percent. It didn’t make logical sense. No, she wasn’t the mother, but the mad scientist. My monstrous reflection, running her brand of human trials on her own people, cross-breeding the sexually mature fae nobles with human to, what end? World domination, no doubt, but through what method?
Also, where were the juveniles? I’d seen Rogue in his memories as a boy, but no others. Starling, too, had images of being a young girl, growing up at Castle Brightness. But then she’d been born human-style to Blackbird. Who had taken care of the young Rogue?
The next cavern held part of the answer to that.
Only a few eggs in this one, larger and set on the ground like stalagmites. More encrustation on these and larger forms inside. Child-sized. It gave me the chills, in that horror-movie way. I even found myself casting a nervous eye at the deeper shadows, half expecting the alien queen to emerge.
The floor of this room, also that same warm rose color, gave me more of a clue. With more gaps between egg sacs, the surface showed itself to be not rocky, but fleshy, pulsing with the beat of fluids. The cavern wasn’t simply reminiscent of a womb—itwasone. Spontaneous generation? I’d likely have to observe over time to determine that.
Rogue took my hand and let me know we had to leave.
I didn’t want to, but I had a great deal to contemplate as it was, so I let him pull me along. He did so slowly, at least, allowing me the opportunity to take in as much as I could as we drifted by.
And there. Serendipitously, a grouping of pastel eggs hatched.
Like minnows, the hatchlings poured out, swirling in a cloud and heading for the surface. I swam closer. A rush of sheer delight filled me. Few joys rivaled having a theory supported by experimental results. The hatchlings resembled tiny dragonfly girls, with bulging bellies. Following them to the surface, I saw them pop above the still surface, taking in their first breaths.
Careful not to interfere, I observed from below. Also because Rogue stopped me from putting my own head above water with a stern warning. Probably I couldn’t breathe airandwater at the same time. Alas.
The dragonfly girl hatchlings drifted in a group toward a rocky outcropping. I imagined some sort of beach and crevasses, perhaps tidal pools for them to continue their next life cycle. From fish to amphibious to land-dweller. Though safe enough in this hatching cavern, like the enclosed nursery bays in my own oceans, they’d no doubt face danger once they emerged. Thus the large numbers of eggs and hatchlings. Without parental care, they depended on numbers for some individuals to survive to maturity.
It explained so much about the fae culture. The careless disregard for life. That the lower forms of fae were simply another tier of the animal kingdom in Faerie. Only the noble fae fit the same top-of-the-food chain position as humans did in my world.Barely intelligent fruit,Blackbird had once carelessly dismissed the fairy girls like Athena.
I mulled it all over as Rogue swam us out of the cavern. The fish thronging the outside, past the magical barrier, took on a sinister aspect. They were waiting to feed on the newly hatched that wandered out. Or who grew big enough to take their chances and seek the greater world. Probably the swollen bellies of the dragonfly girl hatchlings were part of the egg sac—nurturing them for a time as they grew.
But they’d have to leave the safety of the nursery cave eventually.
It made me sick and despondent to imagine those feeding frenzies, like the gulls swooping on the hapless sea turtle hatchlings as they made their long, desperate way down the glaringly empty beach to the water. Comfort brushed through my mind, much like the sensation of Rogue smoothing his hand over my hair, along with a sense of the baby elephant, heading into the desert.
My thing, apparently.
And he was, right, I couldn’t save them all.
I could however, do those things thatwerein my power.
The water grew dark again, that peculiar ink-black that was simultaneously as clear as glass. We popped up into the bathing chamber, the light of the familiar torches. I took in a breath. And couldn’t.
My lungs weighed heavy, full of water and I panicked, turning blindly to Rogue. He lifted me, carrying me to the stones. I collapsed there, still unable to draw breath, unable to cough out the water as I knew I should. My ribs and sternum ached and terror filled me with the certain knowledge that, even should I wish the water away, my lungs would collapse.
Rogue needed to help me. I showed him and he picked me up, bending me over one strong arm by the waist and thumping my back, so the water poured out. I managed a gasping breath and coughed, more water coming out of me, more than seemed possible.
Finally, I could draw a deep breath again, the air burning the tissues of my lungs, as I lay on my side. Rogue sat beside me, rueful.
“Well, that was a terrible idea,” he said.
