Lara by Bertrice Small

branch.”
    “If my mother ignored me, how did I survive? Who fed me? What did I eat?” Lara wondered.
    “Your mother bewitched a young girl she found lost in the wood one day, and by magic put her milk in the girl’s breasts. She fed you several times a day, and then would fall into an enchanted slumber. But as the next Midsummer’s Eve approached I saw your mother less and less. She began to wander. I no longer held her interest. In desperation I told her I intended to take you and return to my family. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you understand, don’t you? You are truly the most unique human I have ever had as a lover, John. Thank you! Yes! Yes! Go, and take Lara with you, for she will not be accepted in my faerie world. You have my blessing, which will one day bring you good fortune, and Lara will have my blessing as well. I have loved you both.’ And then I found myself growing weary, and when I awoke I was on the edge of the woodlands, and you were carefully and neatly swaddled, and lying next to me. You were but three months of age.” He paused, and wiped a tear from his eye.
    “So my mother abandoned us both, Da,” Lara said. “If she loved me, but then she didn’t love me. Not really. Not the way Susanna loves Mikhail.”
    “I am sorry to hurt you,” her father said, “but you would know all. Shall I go on?”
    Lara nodded. “Aye please, Da.”
    “It was early morning,” he continued. “The grass and flowers were wet with dew, yet we were not, nor was the ground beneath us. There had been a midsummer bonfire nearby in almost the exact same place as the previous year. I recognized several of my friends asleep about its warm embers. I picked you up, and walked past them back to our farm. The first person I saw was your grandmother. She was drawing water from the well, and seeing me she dropped her bucket to come running. When she saw you she knew immediately who your mother was, and she wept.”
    “Why, Da?”
    “Because you were a faerie’s daughter. You would not be accepted by my family. She brought us into the farmhouse and sat me down to learn the whole story of my disappearance. And when I had related all to her, she told me my father had died in the winter, and my oldest brother was now the head of the family. Dorjan has never been an easy man. He is the first of my parents’ children. I was the last. We had seven sisters between us. He was already grown when I was born. I was scarcely a welcome addition in his world. The first words I ever recall him saying to me were ‘the farm is mine.’
    “That morning when he discovered I had returned he was not pleased at all, and when he learned I had brought my half faerie child with me he grew angry and accused me of drawing disaster onto his house. I would have to go, he said, and take my faerie brat with me. It was then your grandmother spoke up. Indeed, she said, I would have to go to the City and join the Guild of Mercenaries to earn my living, but first she would have me rest myself a few days, for my sojourn in the woodland would have weakened me. And her granddaughter would remain with her after I departed for the City.
    “‘Your brother can scarce apply for the Guild carrying a child in one arm. Lara stays with me, and I will care for her,’ your grandmother said. ‘When John is settled, then his daughter shall join him.’ ‘And who shall care for the babe in the City?’ my brother, Dorjan, demanded to know. ‘I will,’ your grandmother replied. My brother was astounded, but she went on, ‘You have a wife who has resented my presence since the day your father died. Now she will be sole mistress of this house.’ It was then my brother, who often spoke before he thought a matter through said, ‘If you leave my house, Mother, you will not be welcome back. If you leave you choose the faerie over your real grandchildren. I cannot abide such a thing.’
    “I can still remember the cold smile that touched your grandmother’s lips at