Slip into Sleep

It was midnight in the Forest of Aelaa. Calyx lay awake in her hammock as she usually did, listening to the sounds of insects and frogs. Sometimes she heard owls, or the musical screams of foxes. These woods were crowded. Tonight the howls of coyotes crossed the far fields near the low hills of Suvennoc to reach her ears.

Her hammock was strung between two noble trees, an oak and a beech, though the surrounding trees were spruce. The trees were nearly a century old, and had been chosen by her father Gleod long ago for a sleeping place. She was following his ways--she always had.

During the day there were spells to cast and spirits to appease. The sunlight revealed many things, but Calyx, absorbed in the world of the invisible, had little time to notice. Therefore, once each season she would set aside a day to simply observe the natural world and note any changes, such as a grove languishing, or too many Green Snakes near the Pond, though usually she was kept informed of these developments by her lizard friends.

At night she lay and listened. The creatures were speaking; sometimes she understood. She usually remained alert until the song of the Nightingale began. It was then she’d let herself drift on the lovely melody for long, heavenly moments, until the bird’s concluding whistling crescendo marked her drop into sleep.

She had not ever seen the Nightingale, and thought perhaps it was a Spirit. Usually she could tell the difference. It had been singing its love to her for eight seasons now since the disappearance of Gleod. But there had been a few weeks both winters during which the Nightingale was either in some other locale, or chose silence. During those times, Calyx had found it almost impossible to slip into sleep. She was part Elvanian, so sleep was not physically necessary, but she enjoyed it.

Just now it was Midsummer. The Nightingale would soon begin. Yet it did not. Three owls were trading solos. Other sounds had subsided. Calyx waited. It was a dream's length before sunrise--so late--when the call came. This time the Nightingale’s song had an urgency not felt before.

Calyx descended from the hammock, and moved toward the sound of the Nightingale. She could feel her way along a path that might have been merely a pattern of the undergrowth. She had come this way before, following her father. The way led to the Pond, and the place of the Green Snakes, who were both friends and enemies.

Against the moonlit night sky, black silhouettes of spruce beckoned to Calyx. She moved through them to the shore. The soft lapping of the honeyed water accompanied the intense chanting of the Nightingale, still unseen. The ending of the song was near. The sound flew higher and higher until it became a keening whistle. It became louder, filling the entire Pond and its earthen bowl with vibrations. Then, the song faded. This was the moment Calyx would fall asleep, but she was not in her hammock now.

Calyx felt that she was now emptied of her desire to see the Nightingale. It had been enough, after all, to hear the bird. She was certain now, too, that her father Gleod had returned. He would be waiting for her near the two trees.

— Macoff