‘They laugh with sounds like memories, Jolly

The crowns they wear upon their brow, Holly

Travel-sore petitioners reach them at their court, Weary

Speak your desire with great care, Wary

The outcome that you wish, Unlikely

The rewards that they grant, Ghastly

To Bargain with the Fae is Folly’

— Old Locrosian folk poem

It started with a leaf. It was a lonely little leaf, snatched from the safety of its tree by a strong gust of wind. It drifted about, swaying this way and that, as it descended through the canopy, dodging past branches with the grace of a master swordsman. Down, down, down it went before it came to rest on the face of a sleeping man.

He was an interesting sight, this man, the sort that might make you steal a second glance in the street. His shirtless chest was crisscrossed by scars. Some, were simple. Just thin white lines that could be missed if you hadn’t taken that second glance. Others, like the ugly and virulent ridges along his back, were something not so simple. Together these scars, both simple and not, sprawled out across his skin to paint the picture of his life. They hinted at a story, just waiting to be told.

And it would keep waiting.

Anyone who had given one of those scars was too dead to tell the tale, and this man would certainly be telling no stories ever again.

His skin, the parts that were not marred by tales of his past, had the parchment paper appearance of someone who spends their time under the unrelenting gaze of the sun. It pulled tightly over his gaunt figure, accentuating the outline of his ribcage and the muscles on his abdomen. He would have had the physique of an athlete were it not for his half-starved state. His hair, a messy and blackened mop atop his head, hadn’t been washed in weeks and seemed to have grown a mind of its own in the interim.

The lonely little leaf stirred, another breeze taking hold. It drifted across his face in a light caress before taking flight once more, soon lost to the forest. The motion of the leaf across his face caused this man to stir, and he soon sat up with a start; Slate gray eyes surveying his surroundings. It was as he scanned the clearing that he reached, by some instinct, for a weapon that wasn’t there. He looked at the space around him, noting the mossy grass that would trip up his footing. He looked at the thicket surrounding the open space, wondering what could be hiding within. At last, he looked up, as other men seldom do, and locked eyes with a slight, puckish figure staring right back at him, reclined in the branches of a tree.

The man heard laughter of a peculiar sort drift down from the figure in response to his gaze. It sounded like the swaying of tall grass, the clinking of crystal, and the pitter patter of a summer storm. The figure had an appearance that was hard to take in. The eyes of the man wanted to drift away, struggling to focus on any features. The antlers of a buck could be glimpsed growing from their head. Their feet seemed to be hooves.

Fae. The word came unbidden into the man’s mind but he knew it to be true. He was dealing with one of the Fair Folk here. He had to be on guard.

“Wakey, wakey, wakey!” began the Fae in a sing-song sort of voice, “We have much to discuss.”

The man opened his mouth to respond, but only a hollow sound came out that failed to carry to his ears.

That strange laugh sounded again from the Fae, as the man kept trying to speak but failed to manage anything more than a roaring silence. “Oh no, I don’t think I will be hearing much from you. Nor will anyone for that matter. Your voice is just one of the many things you gave to me.”

The Fae’s face sobbered, his mirthful grin drawing to a thin line, “Now, I suppose I must uphold my end of the Bargain.”

“For your memories, you asked a body that will always strive to be in good health.” A weight could be felt in the Fae’s words, something more. “This I grant to you.”

The man’s gaunt appearance filled out, the outline of his ribs fading away. He took on the look of an athlete that had only been hinted at before, now a reality.

“For your voice, you asked a blade that will always be true to you.” The weight of the Fae’s words coalesced about their hand. They reached out to one of the limbs of the tree in which they sat and plucked it free. The wood began to writhe, taking on a new shape as the nameless Fae tossed it to the ground at the man’s feet.

Slowly, the wriggling mass morphed into an elegant longsword, carved of a single seamless piece of wood. The blade shone with a mirror finish, and was honed to an edge that would pass through flesh and bone alike with ease. “This I grant to you.”

The man quickly snatched it from the ground, and felt tension ease out of his shoulders at the familiar feeling of a hilt in his grip.

“For your name, you asked to be unknown to the Aether, never again to be touched by the workings of magic.”

As the Fae spoke, the weight increased ten-fold, and the man was forced to kneel.

“This, too, I grant to you.”

The man felt it then, the Aether. It was the weight around him and from it he felt a different sort of laugh, one that resonated with things beyond his comprehension.

He felt light as a feather as the unbearable weight released him and began to ignore him in the same way a child ignores someone they know is there, but wish not to speak to.

“Thus is our Bargain made.” finished the Fae, once more relaxing amongst the branches.

The man looked up again, at the Fae, his eyes no longer sliding away from its form. It took the appearance of a short, thin man, with hair the color of the midday sun. What the man had previously mistaken for antlers were instead a crown of woven holly. Their skin was the alabaster white of the moon at its fullest.

Then there were its eyes.

They were deceitful, fox-like eyes. They held secrets behind them, and they promised an answer— for a price. They looked down on the man. Pitying him. Laughing at him. Eager to see what would become of him.

“I do say, you might be the most interesting man I’ve dealt with yet— I cannot wait to see what trouble you cause!” exclaimed the Fae, voice once more taking on its velvety timbre, “I believe you may just be a masterpiece in the making…”

The Fae paused, lips pursed in mock disappointment, “Alas, every good masterpiece has a name, and you seem to have misplaced yours.”

Again, its laughter rang out.

The Fae tapped their chin with one delicate, dainty, finger as they made a show of pondering their dilemna before exclaiming, “Ahah! I know what to do! I will give you a new one! One you can’t lose.“

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Something in the Fae’s voice rattled the man to his core. It sent shivers down his back and caused the hairs on his arms to raise up at attention.

Once again growing sombre, and with a dark look in those dreadful eyes, the Fae began to speak once more. “I name thee in our ancient tongue, with the Aether as my witness, in accordance with Tradition.”

The man felt it again, entering the clearing, the Aether that still so dutifully ignored him.

“A name fitting of a man who has lost what he had left to lose. Yes, yes, I know it now. You will henceforth, and forever be known, as Loss.”

And as that last word rang out, the man felt some deeper meaning in it, a sort of sorrow that lurked beneath the word. It had subtle depths, speaking of sadness, of emptiness, of a hollow feeling. It was the anguish of a lover standing before their partner’s grave. It was the desperate cry of a mother as they called for the child they had looked away from for just a minute.

It was the space left behind as that which you held dear was torn away.

There was a finality to the word as it imposed itself onto reality. Loss knew it then, the truth behind the name, and couldn’t help but wonder where things could have gone so unequivocally wrong for him that he would end up in this situation.

Loss’s thoughts were interrupted as the Fae spoke again, their voice once again taking on a lilting tone. “Yes, yes, yes!” they clapped in excitement, “Loss, Loss, Loss!” they sang, “It has the most marvelous ring to it.”

And like the shifting of the wind the Fae’s entire demeanor changed.

“Well, I must be off now, things to do, revelry to be had and such. You’ll be wanting to head that way, by the by.” said the Fae, pointing over Loss’s shoulder.

He honestly couldn’t say what instinct caused him to look over his shoulder. Something about the casualness of the Fae couldn’t help but cause him to follow its direction. It was just a quick glance, lasting a fraction of a second, but by the time he looked back, they were gone. Loss was left in the glade, accompanied only by the fading sound of laughter on the wind.

—

He didn’t know how long he had been walking before he encountered his first denizen of the forest. Time passed strange in these woods, he had come to find. The sun would be above him one moment, and then he would pass beneath the shade of a tree and the moon would be out in full. He at least knew he hadn’t slept, but he also wasn’t sure he needed to anymore.

The wolves had silently encircled Loss, impressive given his constant scanning of his surroundings. They were at home here, having spent their whole lives in this strange place, being warped by the strange currents the Aether left in it. They were the size of draft horses. Why a draft horse sprang to mind for comparison Loss had no idea, that was the cost of having lost his memories, but he was certain that it was a fitting description.

The ambush they laid was perfect, and would have been enough to take home a much larger prize than one human in most circumstances. It was unfortunate for them that Loss wasn’t sure he could be considered human anymore.

White hot agony lanced through him as the first wolf came from behind, mangling his left leg below the knee. His other knee roughly impacted into a rock as he was borne to the ground, sending yet another spike of pain. It was a welcome surprise when Loss found he had kept his grip on his blade through this ordeal twisting around, he met his attackers wide open jaws with a quick thrust of his sword.

Like a puppet with its strings cut it collapsed, blood pooling out between its fangs and down the wooden blade that had taken it through its eager maw. With a grunt of effort, he shoved its body to the side enough to wriggle out from beneath and wrenched the blade out of its head before making to stand.

The flesh on his left leg crawled, stitching itself back together just in time to support his weight. He took to his feet, eyes darting between his two remaining adversaries. They hesitated for a moment, a glint of intelligence shining from behind their eyes as they reevaluated their chances against this man who had dispatched their fellow with practiced ease.

Loss seized this hesitation, body springing into action again. He went for the one to his left, it would have been the smallest of the three, had their number not just been reduced to two.

The runt moved to dance back, away from the arc of Loss’ blade. It did not move fast enough. Without a hint of resistance, one of its front legs was severed where it met its body. It fell over with a yelp, shocked at the sudden loss of limb.

Whirling around to face the other wolf, Loss was greeted by jaws closing around his head and a terrible grating noise of its fangs gouging against his skull. If he thought what happened to his leg had hurt, well, he discovered a new sort of pain.

His sword slid from his grasp as the weight of the wolf bore Loss, once again, to the forest floor, fallen branches digging into his back. He heard a dry cracking sound, like rock being split in twain, as the wolf shook its head, snapping his neck. A numbness took over his limbs, the struggle leaving his body as his mind raced to catch up to what had happened to him. Satisfied that the job was done, the wolf released him and stood up, looking towards its baying companion.

With another snap, the bones in Loss’ neck returned to their rightful place. The wolf turned its attention back at Loss, but before it could fully process its mistake, it was over. Its head landed on the floor with a thump, accompanied soon after by a deeper thud as the remainder of its corpse followed. Loss stared for a moment at his blade that had, by some miracle, found its way back into his hand.

Getting to his feet once more, he stepped to the whimpering runt that had begun trying to drag its way into the undergrowth. He finished it with a clean stab through its back and down into its heart.

Loss’s lungs heaved in air, even as he felt his body begin to shut down. He could hear it playing in his head again and again as he tried to refocus himself. The nails on a chalkboard sound of the wolf’s teeth against his skull, the snap of his neck like the crackle of kindling in a flame. Tears started to streak down his face, his blade slipping from his fingers. He collapsed into the pooling puddle of blood beside the headless body of the wolf. Curling into a ball, Loss’s body shook as he started to sob.

—

When Loss dried his eyes sometime later, the light of the sun had been replaced by the glow of the moon. Not that it mattered, the forest still seemed as bright as ever.

He looked about him, at the corpses of the pack that thought it wise to ambush him, and shuddered at yet another memory of what had transpired. This time, however, he managed to steel his mind before it could get to him.

In a mechanical motion, he rose to his feet, picked up his sword, and walked onwards into the woods.

—

Thaladir languished on guard duty, finding only a reprieve in admiring the beauty of the day, and of course the forest around him. It was almost pleasant, standing there surrounded by nature. Almost but not quite. Why the Elders thought it necessary to have someone watch the entrance to the city of Nature’s Solace, Thaladir could not say. The weaving of Aether around the city was so thick and confuddling that he doubted even one of the Fae could find a way to slither through it, let alone any humans. Thaladir, however, had shattered Elder Elowen’s prized vase in a moment of drunken revelry and as such had been specially selected for the great honor of this year’s position on watch.

He straightened his back, shook his shoulders to loosen them up, and resumed his act of being at attention. His vacant stare stood watch while his mind was preoccupied chasing happy imaginings of what he would do once this year was up. These pleasant thoughts were not at all pleased by the rude interruption brought on by the sight of a human hacking their way out of the undergrowth and onto the game trail that would eventually widen into the main thoroughfare of Nature’s Solace.

Several thoughts raced through Thaladir’s head in that moment, the first of which was revulsion. This cretin had quite a disgusting appearance as he were, blood coating almost every inch of his body. And the places not coated by blood covered in clumps of dried mud! His second thought was shock, how could anyone, let alone this sorry wretch, have made it through the Veil surrounding Nature’s Solace? It is something that should have been impossible and yet, here it was, right before his very eyes. His final thought was less a thought and more an action as Thaladir fumbled for his bow. Well, fumbled as much as an elf can fumble. They had an unnatural grace about them, and even their missteps would put most experts to shame.

In one, mostly smooth, motion, Thaladir drew an arrow to his cheek and released. It took the human straight through its neck, and caused them to fall over, hands clawing at their gurgling throat. Relief flooded through Thaladir. It seemed today wasn’t going to be so boring after all! At least he would have a story to tell. He figured he should go alert the Elders now— given the fact this human managed to pass through the Veil. He relished the thought of the praise they would sing, the only Watcher to ever have to defend Nature’s Solace. The party would be magnificent!

Then, the damned human stood back up and ripped the arrow out of its throat with not a care for the fact it should be dead. Thaladir watched, unable to tear his gaze away, as the human’s throat knit back together in a revolting insult to the natural order of the world. The human looked up then, piercing eyes locking onto Thaladir where he stood on a platform supported by the limbs of an ancient tree.

A shiver wormed its way up his spine, a feeling Thaladir hadn’t experienced before in his two hundred and thirty-seven years safe behind the Veil. He knew it in an instant though.

Fear.

Turning, Thaladir fled in rapid leaps, from one tree to the next, back towards Nature’s Solace. Not that he was fleeing of course— it was just that he had to inform the Elders of this creature. With haste. Great haste.