Reluctantly Rogue Pt. 01

WARNING: This is a long story, but it is unfinished, and likely to remain in that state.

Also, it contains:

-Low levels of erotic content

-Slow Pacing

-Annoying characters

-Unsatisfying events

Consider yourself forewarned, dear reader!

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RELUCTANTLY ROGUE:

The Indecent Adventures of Atyr Bracken

PART ONE

In Exchange for a Hound

***

CHAPTER ONE

Blood in the Water

Atyr was having feelings. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say instead, that feelings were happening to him; they were as though a thing external. And they were weird feelings. They were only fleeting; there for a moment, then gone again, but they were weird. They were feelings like a sense of almost remembering, or perhaps of smelling delicious food when hungry, or maybe more like the spinning fuzziness at the edge of sleep. More than anything though, they were like realizing that the world all around was more exciting, more stimulating, more arousing than he'd ever before been aware. It was the sudden knowledge of sex in all things.

But it was only for a moment. Only for a flicker of a moment, and then the feeling would be gone. This was the third time he had felt the feelings, and it was starting to cause problems.

The first time he had felt it had been mid-morning. He'd been clearing brush in preparation for felling a tall, straight oak, when for a brief instant, he'd felt an exhilaration at being shirtless and free under the sky, with the breeze caressing his naked skin. His wiry frame had shuddered slightly, and the weirdness had passed.

The second time it had come it had been weaker, barely noticeable. He had been seated on the trunk of the felled oak, eating a quick midday meal of fish and sour blackthorn berries, when the food in his mouth had taken on such a satisfying richness that a little moan had slipped from his lips. He had shaken his head and it had dissipated, perhaps no more than an effect of his yet-unsated hunger.

The third time was the strongest, and it caught him now standing on the trunk, hatchet in hand, hewing the wood into shape to serve as the ridge beam for his new cabin. He could almost have sworn he heard a tiny, bell-like whisper of a voice. For a moment, he was struck by exactly how everything he was doing felt, the sensation of grasping the haft of the axe, of the smooth, sensual flow of his body in motion-- it was all overwhelmingly arousing. Distracted, the blow of his hatchet came in side-on, and the bit caught and snapped in the dense wood, a chip of the freshly sharpened blade flying off erratically and catching him high on his inner thigh.

He looked down at the dark, reddish patch beginning to spread through the course weave of his pants and swore. He looked at the large divot in the head of the hatchet and swore. He looked at the timber he was standing on, not yet half hewn into shape, and he swore. He looked back at his leg, feeling the hot drops of blood already trickling down inside his pants, headed for his bare toes, and swore again. He guessed there was going to be a lot of swearing today.

Washing his leg and stopping the bleeding came first. The hatchet blade had been clean, but Atyr had seen what could happen to even small, neat wounds that were left untended. Out in the Brookwood, nearly two days walk from town, he didn't need to deal with a cut going sour on him.

He looked across the clearing to the wide, slow-spinning pool, nearly waist deep. It was, he had been assuming, fed from an underground spring. Presumably it outflowed somewhere, back down through cracks in the rock. The strange fish he had found there were fat, lazy, and greedy for his bait; on most days it was a perfect spot to catch a quick meal. But today, it would be a perfect spot for cleaning what he hoped would prove to be a minor leg wound.

He stripped out of the worn and bloodied work pants, chucked them onto the stump next to his discarded vest and boots, and slid on his bare feet down the small, steep bank, plunging in immediately over his knees into the sun-warmed water. He carefully splashed at the wound, washing away the blood, and was relieved to see it was small, and shallow. Atyr's breath caught for a moment and slowly he swore again, noting that the cut was barely a thumbs-breadth below the tip of his cock. Thank the fates for luck in unlucky times! He tried not to dwell on what that slice might have looked like half a hand higher, breathed out long and slow, and waded deeper into the water.

It was always strikingly colder in the center of the pool, and Atyr gasped as the ripples of the eddy reached his wounded thigh, and, at the same moment, other sensitive parts of him. He began to rub gently at the cut, cleaning it as much as he could, the water turning faintly pink around him.

He startled slightly as he felt a fish brush against his ankle, and kicked to shoo it away as he cleaned the wound. A moment later it wriggled between his knees and he jumped in surprise. No wonder these things were so easy to catch; they were fearless! Immediately after that the fish grabbed his thigh and Atyr swore yet again, loudly, and in a voice much higher than he would have preferred. "Fates, what is that!"

Atyr grabbed wildly at the water and to his surprise, actually caught hold of something. He yanked it up with a splash, and froze. Instead of a fish, he held a long, slender, hand, pale green like the shells of the little emerald snails on the banks. It was attached to a long, smooth green arm, which proved to be attached to the rest of a slim green... woman? She surfaced in front of him, and gave him a look somehow both reproachful and arousing. Her hand slithered out of his grasp, and she bobbed there directly in front of him, with the water right at the level of her opalescent lips.

Since the water level was at her lips, and since the water level was also right at Atyr's... well the water came just below his waist, and since she was floating directly in front of him, he couldn't help but notice his soft cock was bobbing around in the water less than a hands breadth from her lips. Her pearly, glistening, slightly parted lips.

Something in the back of the back of his mind was trying to say something muddled about how it was rather odd that there was a green woman just hanging out under the surface of his little pool, but that something was smothered and extinguished by something else, something hot that washed through Atyr, from his feet up to his head, and back down to his hips, and pooled there inside his pelvis like a hot, liquid pressure. His head began to swim, and all thought left him, replaced with an irresistible desire for this strange woman in the water. He watched as his cock began to stiffen in the cool water, growing, growing, and as it grew and hardened, it stretched closer and closer to the green woman's parted lips.

She ran a pointed tongue along those lips, a moment before the head of Atyr's cock reached them and pressing against them ever so slightly. She opened her mouth, and he half noted her pearly, white teeth, pointed, in double rows.

"Do you want me?" Her voice, when she spoke, was soft, breathy, a world of pleasure promised in the simple word "want".

He nodded slowly. Yes. She was the only thing he wanted, the only thing he could want right now.

She smiled up at him, her pale green eyes locked to his. The tongue snaked back out, wrapping around his shaft, impossibly long. It gripped him with its slick length and began to writhe. Atyr felt that pressure in his core building fast, his balls were tightening up against him, pulsing, ready to drain themselves into her mouth.

The woman moved forward slowly in the water. He felt her hands trailing up his thighs to grip his ass, guiding his hips forward. Her mouth was hot as he entered it; the slick warmth alone nearly caused him to tip over the edge of release. Already, his head was swimming. He couldn't think, he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, his thoughts were more and more clouded. He couldn't breathe. All he could register was soft, slippery heat as she began to suck slowly along his length, taking him deep. He felt the resistance of the back of her throat. She swallowed, and took him all the way, pushing herself forward until her nose pressed into the patch of short hair at his base. She pulled slowly away then, lips sealed around his shaft. As his cock slid free of her tight throat, he felt the orgasm nearly sucked from him. She opened her mouth wide, grinned, and plunged back down, eagerly swallowing him once, twice, again. He couldn't think, he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe...

He couldn't breathe.

Atyr's head cleared slightly, and all about him and above him and below him was water, water and the woman, still grasping him with her strong, thin hands, and with his pulsing cock still buried deep in her face. The world was darkening and brightening at the same time. He gasped as her throat worked around him, and a cloud of bubbles shot out of mouth. Water filled his lungs with a wet fire, and he tried to stand, but there was no bottom. Something in him knew he had to leave, to get back to the surface, but all he wanted was to remain deep in this strange woman, deep in the water. He moaned with pleasure and more water filled him, and everything was fading until all he could feel was the burning pain in his chest, and the burning cum about to flow out of his cock and down her throat.

Then that weird feeling was back, stronger than he'd yet felt it, and it was angry now, pulsing through his mind and body like a waking dream, and suddenly she was thrashing away from him, and he felt the floor of the pool once more beneath him, and he lunged for the surface and the pool was shallow again, and there was the green woman flailing about in the water, grabbing and swatting at something flying erratically around her face, and he was coughing up water, and he was vomiting, and then something was flying at his face, and a tiny, clear voice was urging him to the bank, and he staggered out of the pool and collapsed, and everything was dark.

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CHAPTER TWO

Consciousness and its Absence

Light forced its way between his fluttering lids. He was staring up at the leaves of the Brookwood, dark against the bright afternoon sky. His chest burned. His unkempt hair was still dripping with water. His thigh throbbed where he'd cut it. His head was filled with sloshing, painful waves of something disorienting and unpleasant.

Above all his balls hurt. They hurt like a donkey had kicked him straight between the legs. And no wonder. He'd never felt the need to come that fiercely, and judging from his cock, still straining towards the sky, he hadn't quite managed it during the... experience with the woman in the water. His vision was clearing, and as it did, he noticed what was probably the second, no, third weirdest thing of the day so far.

Seated on his leg, just a hands-breadth from his twitching erection, and roughly the same size as it, was a miniature woman. She looked almost translucent, faintly glowing with a fuzzy sort of light. She had wings. And she was grinning at him.

"Hello, you woke up fast! I thought you'd be out for a while. Would you like to be my adventurer?" Hers was the same tiny, ringing voice that had urged him to get out of the pool, moments ago. As she spoke, that weird feeling of pure arousal hit him again, but this time it didn't wash across him and disappear. If the previous times he'd felt it had been waves of sensuality, this was a tide. The world went dark again.

***

"Sorry!" came the bell-like voice, pulling him up through blackness. "I really should have toned it down, with you in your current state."

Atyr drifted back to full consciousness, the weird, erotic feeling still there, but muted now. He lifted his head, staring down at the tiny woman on his thigh. Faerie? Was this a faerie?

Head still muddled, he just asked. "Are you a, um, a faerie?" This was apparently immensely humorous, for she broke into a burst of tinkling giggles, jumping to her feet and dancing around on his thigh, unperturbed by her proximity to his erection.

"Am I a faerie, am I a faaaaaerie." She spun in a circle and bowed to him. "Yes, of course! But no, because faeries aren't real, you dummy." She paused, looked thoughtfully at the sky, and continued, "But yes after all, because I'm what you probably think a faerie is." She smirked at him, and then repeated, "Dummy."

As his senses trickled back, Atyr was becoming progressively more uncomfortable with the fact that there was a tiny, maybe-faerie dancing around right next to his penis. Which, he noticed with dismay, was leaking a bead of pre-cum. It began to ooze slowly down the shaft. The maybe-faerie followed his mortified gaze, and watched in interest as the sticky liquid stretched its stringy way down to his stomach.

He tried to brush her away, but she danced further down his leg, still laughing at him. He sat up to try again, and the eddy came into view, barely a half stride from his feet. That sight pushed him to full wakefulness, and he skittered backwards across the grass in a sudden panic. The maybe-faerie laughed aloud again and flitted up to his shoulder as he settled a half-dozen strides further away.

"Don't worry!" She was laughing in his ear, and the weird feeling trickled over him again. Actually, maybe he wasn't so frightened after all -- maybe he even enjoyed the fear, the thrill and excitement of it? He shook his head, and the feeling vanished.

"Sorry sorry sorry again!" she said. "I don't mean to, it's just that I like you. Anyway, don't worry, she can't leave the pool. Or, she won't anyway. And she won't bother you anymore unless you go in bleeding again. Dummy." She paused thoughtfully. "Unless you want her to bother you, in which case you could probably just ask." She giggled mischievously and flitted to his other shoulder, whispering in his other ear, "Doooo you want her to bother you again?"

Atyr's cock jumped as he remembered the first part of his brief encounter with the green woman. Another, larger bead of pre-cum forced its way out of his cock, and dripped lazily down to add to the mess.

The voice came in his ear again, "That," she pointed at his erection, "won't go away unless you do something about it, you know. That's how she works."

Atyr jerked his head away. "Do something about it?" His heart was pounding with a lingering fear, a fearsome arousal, and a rapidly returning sense of embarrassment. Then he caught her meaning. "Do something about it?"

A giggle in his ear. "I'll watch."

"You won't!" Atyr stumbled to his feet. "I wont!" He swayed a bit, but managed to remain upright.

She was fluttering an arms-length in front of his face now, bobbing about cheerily in the air. "You won't what?"

Atyr stared at the small woman, equal parts aghast at her forwardness, and surprised at how he was managing to react so relatively normally to this absolutely not normal afternoon. He stalked over to the stump where his clothes lay. Or rather, he intended to stalk. In reality he staggered, knees wobbling beneath him.

From behind him, a giggle. "I like your butt." A quick shot of that weird, sleepy-horny-hungry feeling caught him.

Anger was mixing with his embarrassment now, as he began pulling on his pants.

"Good luck!" came the little voice, now just above his head. He flinched, ducking involuntarily, and swore again.

"Fates, what is wrong with you? Are all faeries like this?"

"Like me? No. We're all different. And we're all not faeries."

"You're not all faeries?"

"No, dummy, we're all not faeries. I told you faeries aren't real."

Atyr stared angrily up at the not-faerie, painfully trying to stuff himself in.

"Like I said, good luck!" She seemed amused at his awkward attempts.

He managed to fit his still-hard cock into the garment, where it throbbed uncomfortably against the laces.

More titters from above. "Ok, I'm impressed, that's a lot to fit in there. That problem is still not going to fix itself though. Once you start with her, you um... have to finish." Flitting down to hover in front of the pulsing bulge she poked with a tiny finger at the sticky mess already starting to soak through. "See?"

Atyr leapt backward. "What is wrong with you!?" The fierceness with which he had intended to speak was undercut slightly by a squeak from his disloyal voice.

Pressed tightly against the fabric, every twitch of his aching shaft sent a jolt through his body, and caused his balls to tighten eagerly. He could feel the cum getting ready to explode out of him. His breath was beginning to shake, his thin stomach tensing. His hips began to thrust slightly of their own accord, sliding the head against the slick, pre-cum soaked fabric.

A tiny weight alighted on his shoulder again, and a voice chimed in his ear, "Oh. Um, actually, I think the problem might fix itself after all." And then again, now with the full force of that weird feeling behind them, two words, "I'll watch."

That was all it took, in that moment the bizarre idea of the little faerie watching him was the most erotic thing he could imagine. The orgasm rolled through his slim body. All his muscles tensed as one. He felt his balls draining, his pelvis spasming, a heated river of pleasure coursing through his core, blinding him as his already achingly hard cock swelled somehow larger and began to eject an immense amount of hot, wet cum, gush upon gush, almost without pause; a nearly steady stream as seemingly every drop within him spurted forth.

It was a long moment before he began to register the world around him. He was lying on his back once again, feeling drained in every way he could be. Lifting his head, he noted the front of his pants, drenched with more cum than he would have believed himself capable of producing. And of course, still there, standing on a dry patch of fabric, and grinning devilishly at him, was the not-faerie.

"You might want to wash these." He felt the world begin to melt away again, but he heard her giggle. "I would recommend someplace other than the pool."

***

When Atyr woke up again he was shivering, it was almost full dark, and he was still half naked on the dewy grass. He felt as exhausted as he ever had. He tried to think about exactly what it was that had happened to him that afternoon, but his mind wouldn't focus. It kept slipping sideways to other topics: topics like food, like warmth, like sleep. Oh, definitely sleep.

"Well, that's a question for the morning." On to practical matters. His pants were, he found, definitely in need of cleaning, and still unpleasantly damp in places. He recalled the whatever-she-was's words about the pool, not that he needed the reminder. He looked around for his tiny visitor but couldn't find her anywhere. That didn't mean much, as small as she was, but he couldn't summon the energy to care right now. Laundry and not-fairies, both morning problems, he decided, stripping out of the pants and dropping them mindlessly on the ground.

Nude, he stumbled over to his makeshift hide shelter and grabbed his cloak, wrapping it around himself. He scrounged some dry tinder and kindling and started a small fire from the afternoon's embers. Just enough to warm him, and to see by. No matter what the not-faerie had said, he didn't trust that pool at all. Cold, and naked aside from his cloak, alone in the dark, he had never felt quite as vulnerable and exposed as he did in that moment.

He collected his small knife, and braved the shadows near the eddy to retrieve his chipped hatchet. He leaned his short hunting bow on the half log where he sat by the fire, unstrung but easy to hand. Glancing over at the darkness where he knew the water lay, hearing the soft, sinister lapping at the bank, he no longer had any desire for food. He settled down with his makeshift arsenal, rough weave of the cloak against his bare skin, fire at his back, and turned his watchful gaze to the night. However much he wanted sleep, it could wait until the sun returned. He would not be closing his eyes this night.

***

When he opened them again, he was stretched out long on the log bench, noon sun warming his bare skin, axe, knife, and bow on the ground around him, and a painful hunger in his stomach. The sun was a pleasant feeling, until he remembered how exactly it had come about that he was sleeping naked in the open. A spasm of panic launched him to his feet, which landed on the bow, which rolled, which sent his feet back out from under him, and planted his bare ass firmly back down on the log. The absence of giggles confirmed the absence of his... rescuer? Luck in unlucky times, he supposed. He couldn't deal with more fae mockery at the moment.

The clear, eddying pool looked as lazy and innocent as it ever had in the hot sun, and the gentle ripples once again lapped playfully at the bank. As he looked around, it was hard to take the previous day seriously.

Atyr got up and thought about breakfast. However much confidence he had regained, he didn't quite feel up to fishing in the pool just yet. Food was low. He looked at the hatchet. It would need a smith. He sighed. To town then?

"To town," he confirmed aloud. He scrounged some blackthorn berries, and the dregs of what food stores he had, snacking as he filled his pack. There wasn't much to scrounge. Then, supplies in order, it was time to confront the inevitable. Water. He was desperately thirsty, and the pants were disgusting. Between the grime from his labors with the cabin, the blood from his wound, and now all his... well the most recent mess he'd made, they were not exactly something he felt comfortable wearing on the Road. Or in town, for that matter! He stared at his only source. The eddying pool. Where did the green woman live? The water was clear and shallow; he couldn't imagine she was hiding in there. Yet... once she had seduced him, the pool had seemed immensely deep, extending in all directions...

Feeling once a coward, and more than twice a fool, he cut a forked branch and tied the legs of his pants around the crotch. He walked to the bank of the lazy eddy and stared at it. Knife in one hand, he threw in an acorn. It splashed, and then bobbed lazily on the surface, carried away and around by the gentle current. The ripples faded. He threw another. Nothing unexpected. Extending the pants on the branch, he tapped the surface and drew back, knife at the ready. Nothing. Ok. Time to go for it. He dipped the pants under, jiggled them slightly in the water. He tensed. Still nothing.

It was hard work, trying to to control the soggy weight at the end of a long stick with only one hand. He managed some awkward side-to-side swirls in the slow flowing water, before giving up and dragging the pants back towards him, predictably bumping them into the bank, and smearing mud across the drenched mess. Trying again, he put the knife in his teeth and both hands on the branch, swishing the pants back and forth to rinse them as much as he could, and then carefully lifting them back out, swinging and dripping.

That weird feeling flowed softly over him again, and he flinched, grabbing the knife from his mouth, and dropping the pants off the edge of the bank into the water. The eddy was still slowly spinning, placid and nonthreatening. Right. That feeling meant his other new acquaintance was around. He looked about swiftly, but saw her nowhere. As his pulse slowed and the moment of panic passed, he became aware of how he must appear. Crouched, armed with a belt knife, fist hauling a pair of sopping pants on the end of a stick, then spinning in circles, staring wildly around. Still completely naked. His pants drifting away around the eddy.

A giggle came from directly overhead. "Only have one pair of pants, or what?"

His head snapped up, and she tapped him on the nose with a tiny, translucent foot. He sneezed.

"Oh, sorry. Faerie dust?"

Atyr frowned. "I thought you weren't a faerie? And what is wrong with you?" He paused. "And yes, I only have one pair of pants and--," He chewed his lip, embarrassed and unwilling to finish the thought.

"And they're absolutely disgusting and covered in a disturbing amount of dried cum?" Her tinkling voice sounded helpful and earnest, as though she really thought he might want help finishing the sentence.

Slowly, he responded, each word a curse. "I. Was. Trying. To. Clean. Them. May I continue?"

"Of course!"

"... In private."

She preemptively fluttered out of reach above him before responding in a voice that dripped with delight.

"I think I'll watch." This time her voice carried the weird with it again, and Atyr, mortified, found his cock begin to respond to the arousing part of what the feeling was. She flitted down to inspect, then beamed up at him. "Seems like you don't mind?"

He swatted at her. "Get away from me!"

A giggle.

He frowned and stalked away, but she flitted back around in front of his face.

"I like you."

"I don't."

"You don't like you?" Her little form drooped theatrically. "How tragic!"

"I don't like you."

"I believe you more about the first thing you said."

Atyr paused, jaw tense and jutting forward, slim form shaking with, well, with several confusing things all melted together. "You believe I don't like myself." His voice was flat, a barely restrained shout hidden within it.

"No, the first thing you said."

"What? That is the first--"

"Yesterday."

Atyr didn't find the clarification to be particularly clarifying. He turned again and began to walk around the pool to where his pants had caught up against the bank, still tangled around the branch.

"Yesterday, the first thing you said to me was, 'Are you a, um, a faerie?'" Here she attempted to mimic him, a strange effect with a voice as high as a reed flute

Atyr didn't respond immediately. He crouched on the bank, reaching cautiously down to the water's surface and scooping out the mess of sopping fabric.

Pants in hand, he stood and rolled his eyes at her. "And you told me you were not."

"Exactly!"

He yanked the soggy pants free, snapping the stick in the process. Trying to keep up with her nonsensical speech was frustrating in ways he wasn't prepared for. He glared, garment dangling from his hand. "... So... If you're not a faerie why, what, I mean..." He sighed and growled at the same time. "Then why would what I said be true?"

"It's not."

"You just said it was!"

"I didn't."

"You. Just. Said it."

"I said I believe you more. That's different from its being true."

He breathed in a long, shaky breath. "You believe me that you're a faerie even though you're not a faerie, I-- what are we even talking about?"

"No, I believe you more that you asked me."

"That doesn't even make any sense. As spoken language, those words do not make sense."

"That's because you're not a faerie."

"And neither are you, you just said!"

"No, I've decided now I am."

Atyr stared. He had never before actually found his mouth hanging open in disbelief, but he did now. He decided he was done talking to this not-a-faerie that was apparently a faerie after all. Realizing he was still holding his pants dumbly at his side, he began, again, to step into them.

"Stop."

He didn't.

"Stop." This time her words were filled with that weird eroticism again, and he shuddered. Maybe he liked the idea of remaining naked.

"I like you," she said, still pouring that weird feeling over him. His cock began swelling again.

"I like you." Her fae words washed through him, and he noticed just how pleasurable the warm sun was on his bare skin. She flitted in close to his face and whispered, ever so softly, "I want you." His eyes fluttered, and he breathed out shakily, moaning softly through parted lips.

Then her voice was normal again. Mundane. "I want you." She winked. "To be my adventurer!"

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CHAPTER THREE

When a Horse is Not a Horse

Atyr blinked, still lost in the sensuality of her voice.

"Wha...? Your what?"

"My Adventurer!" Her voice was perfectly ordinary now, and its physical effects on Atyr's body began to subside. "I can help you."

He looked down at the solid chub he was still sporting, and his cheeks colored yet again. "Please. Let me. Put my luckless pants on."

"Ew, but they're all cummy!" She scrunched up her pointy nose.

"Ok, then help me wash them. Which I was trying to do when you showed up and did whatever you just did to me, fae take you!" He paused realizing the in-aptness of his choice of words. She smirked, and wiggled happily in the air.

He threw the pants at her and she flitted easily out of the way.

"You know, she won't come after you if you don't walk in all naked and sexy, trailing blood everywhere like a dummy. It's the blood she really likes." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Mostly the blood, anyway."

"That's not at all comforting." He looked down at his bare inner thigh. The wound looked fine, although after his exertions it was bleeding slightly again.

"She wont grab you from the bank, dummy. Go wash your stupid pants so we can get going."

For about the tenth time that day, Atyr stared in confusion. "We're not going anywhere."

The maybe-a-faerie-after-all flitted over towards his camp and his readied pack. She shrugged. "Then why the pack?"

"I, need to go to town." When she nodded happily, he added. "By myself."

"To town, and then onwards to adventure!"

"No, to town by myself. Then, I trade work for supplies, get my hatchet fixed at the smithy, and I come back here. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a little busy building a cabin." He pointed to the half-constructed timber frame. "No adventures."

She was silent.

Atyr made a disapproving, expectant face at her. "Ok?"

She was still silent.

"I want you to say 'Ok'."

She landed on the felled trunk of the oak tree, and said, more seriously than he had yet heard her, "I cannot lie."

"Good." He nodded. "Wait. So, wait, does that mean you're giving up on this 'adventure' thing?"

"I can deceive." She drew out the 'deceive' in an unsettling, mischievous way, and shadowed it with a hint of the weird. Atyr's cock twitched slightly, as though there was something titillating about the idea of deception.

"And stop that! You already made a mess of me yesterday, I would like today to be a little more normal. If that's possible."

"You made the mess, dummy." She stuck her tiny tongue out at him. "Go clean it up already, you're taking forever!"

Atyr inhaled, closed his eyes, shook his head, and stalked back to the pool, pants in hand. He paused at the bank. The water was only knee deep at the edge, but the bank was steep, so washing his clothes generally required him to jump down fully into the water. Normally, this wasn't an issue, but he realized now that he'd have a chest-high scramble to escape should she come back. He was sure this little faerie creature knew more about the green woman than he did, but he wasn't about to trust his life to her advice just yet.

He lay on his stomach in the grass, and reached down as far as he could with both arms, awkwardly trying to scrub the pants clean in the water. It was muddy, difficult work, and he wasn't making much progress.

"By all means, keep trying this way. The view is exquisite. As I've already told you, you have a very cute butt." She giggled. "And I cannot lie." Atyr rolled to his feet and threw the pants at her for a second time, spraying water through the air. He threw them harder this time, and his target barely escaped a mid-air collision. She laughed at the attempt, and buzzed in circles around his head, avoiding his angry swats, before flitting up to hover at a safe height above his head.

"Goodness but now you're a muddy mess. Into the pool with you! Wash your gross pants and your gross self."

"I am not going in there."

"You'll be fine, she just wanted your blood."

"I'm still bleeding!"

She flew down to inspect, hovering just below his soft cock. She looked up at him. "Well, it's only a little blood. Anyway, if you just don't go sticking this big dumb piece of meat in her mouth this time, there's really not much she's going to do to you. Everyone knows you never try to fuck a kelpie. Dummy."

"A what-- a kelpie? A kelpie is a horse! That thing was a woman!"

"She isn't a woman."

"She sure as fates isn't a horse!"

"Of course she's not a horse. She's a kelpie, dummy."

"I don't, I-" Atyr paused, calming himself down. "Look, my name isn't dummy, ok?"

"That's nice Atyr, I know."

"How... you know?"

"I know."

Atyr picked up his pants once more, not sure what he intended to do with them this time.

"How do you know my name?"

"We met yesterday, remember?"

"I never told you my name. I never told you anything."

"I still know it. It's how we are."

"We?"

"Us."

"That doesn't help. What is 'us.'"

"You and me is us. A group of which one is part."

"Fae take you, I know what the word means, I meant--" He stumbled as she tittered once again at his choice of curse. "I meant what are you?"

"My name is Pesky."

There was a long pause. A long, long pause. For the first time in two days, a smile began to pull at Atyr's unwilling lips. A laugh, a small, stifled, but actually real laugh forced its way out of him.

"Your name, your real name. Is Pesky."

"I cannot lie."

"... But you can deceive?"

"My name is Pesky."

"Well. Huh. That's the first luckless thing that's made any kind of sense since the night before last. Pesky."

She beamed at him.

"Ok, Pesky, since we're getting somewhere, let me ask again. What are you?"

Pesky beamed at him. "I'm a sprite."

"I've never heard of a sprite."

"We're what you would call faeries."

Atry paused. He looked at the sky and willed himself to be patient. He looked back down at his naked, mud streaked body and sucked his lower lip in frustration. Then, for the third time, he threw the pants at her.

***

The soggy, filthy, cum and blood and mud caked pants lay on the ground, wriggling slightly. Atyr walked over and looked at them with a savage satisfaction. He pinned the pants to the ground, reached under with his other hand, and extracted the sprite.

"Got ya."

"That was uncalled for." Staring up from within his fist, Pesky actually seemed put out. "I rescued you from death, offered you adventure, and you trapped me with soggy cum pants."

Atyr was unmoved. He kept his grip firm around the tiny figure.

She pouted. "Of all the ways I might have hoped to first get your cum on me, this was not on the list."

Atyr refused to let her embarrass him out of his advantage. Or, whatever it was she was trying to do.

"Ok," he said. "Now I'm in charge, and I want some answers about all this." He stared in what he hoped was an intimidating way down at the little sprite. "What is going on?"

Her response was swift, and concerningly unconcerned. At most, she sounded a touch hurt. "You trapped me with your cum pants, and now you are holding me uncomfortably tight." When he didn't respond, she continued, "That, is what is going on, currently."

"Ok then, step by step. What was that woman in the pool."

"Elatla."

"Elatla?"

"Her name is Elatla."

"You know her?"

"Yes, of course, she lives right here."

"Right. Ok. So. Elatla is a, a kelpie? And she likes blood?"

"Yes. Well, she certainly liked your blood. And she also seemed to like your--"

"Ooooookay. Moving on. You're a sprite. Which is a faerie, correct?"

Pesky tilted her head and snapped at him. "I just told you." She didn't need to add the "dummy" at the end.

"Right. What do you keep doing to me with your voice?"

She grinned fiercely up at him, almost manically, and the words came drenched in the wierdness. "My voice? Like this? When I talk to you so that you actually feel the world as it is?" With every word she emphasized, a blast of that feeling slammed through Atyr, tingles racing across his skin. His muscles tensed, and a heat grew in his core, and flowed down to his balls, which tightened, and to his cock, which leapt up, throbbing and hard, and to his mind, which fuzzed and blurred with desire.

"Is this what you mean?" she continued, and a string of sticky pre-cum oozed from his tip, stretching down towards the ground. "You want to know about my Voice?"

A wave of pleasure crashed through the young man's body, dropping him helplessly to his knees. He realized, blearily, that he was no longer holding her, but he couldn't tell where she'd gone.

The feeling began to subside. Atyr was lying on his back in the grass, trying to figure out if the sky was always as vibrantly blue as it now seemed, and whether or not it was weird to find the color blue as arousing as he currently did.

He felt a tiny weight land on his heaving chest, heard a giggle, and then the utterly normal voice of Pesky. "Hey. You've got questions? Ok. But, don't think you can control me. Alright?"

Through a clearing fog of lust, Atyr remembered that this small creature had driven off the green woman, the kelpie, that had nearly drowned him just yesterday.

Pesky continued, still in her casual, conversational tone. "I'm making you an offer. I want to help you." She smiled at him from where she stood on his chest, then fluttered into the air. "But if I choose, I can do whatever I want with you." The weird came back and lanced through him. He wanted that now. He wanted her to do whatever she wanted with him.

Everything in him tensed, and his back arched wildly off the ground. Her voice brought him right to the edge of orgasm, holding him there, throbbing, twitching, pulsing with lust and desire, letting him ride wave after wave of desperate need, before she finally released him and he collapsed back to the ground, shaking and twitching and dripping.

The tiny, pearlescent figure landed on the ground beside his head, and in the most normal voice he'd yet heard from her, she spoke into his ear. "So let's stand up, get all clean in that pool, and head into town. Ok, dummy?"

***

Head swimming with lust, body on the verge of overwhelming release, Atyr felt he would do anything she wanted just then. Without making any decision, he nodded, stood, and slipped his muddy, naked form into the water of the pool.

"Deeper" she said in the weird voice. His cock dribbled helplessly, thick strands trailing down to the rippling surface, and he walked forward to the center of the eddy. The colder water just barely reached his balls and his desperately twitching cock, restoring some small amount of coherence to his thoughts.

Pesky hovered in front of his face. "Hmmm, I might have gone a little hard there. You're not going to be much use, are you? Should I have Elatla take care of it for you?"

He nodded, so aroused that even the risks of the kelpie seemed as nothing compared to his need to release the pressure within him. She studying his face, giggled, and then flew out over the water and slapped the surface several times with her miniature hand.

"Elatla! Come on up! I'm sorry about yesterday. Can you finish him off for me?"

Atyr had barely enough mind left to wonder precisely what 'finish him off' might mean, or to fully recall yesterday, but he had just enough left to panic. He spun for the shore and began wallowing back frantically, when slim, strong hands wrapped around his torso from behind. He started to speak, but a pale green finger reached around and touched his lips, silencing him. He felt cool, wet breasts pressing into his back, as the kelpie held him tight from behind. The hand on his stomach began drifting lower, lower, teasing with its fingers, and all his fear and resistance boiled away into steaming lust. He pressed back into her.

The long fingers on his lips began tracing back and forth, before smoothly slipping into his mouth, sliding across his tongue. His eyes widened at first, but then fluttered and rolled back, and his lips closed around her.

Somewhere distant, he heard a high, flute-like voice saying firmly, "And do NOT eat him. I mean it!" Nothing important.

Then her face was pressed against his, leaning over his shoulder, and she was turning his head and kissing him, her long tongue replacing the fingers in his mouth, sliding around and around, across his teeth, his tongue, his gums. The hand slid down his chin and held his neck loosely. Her other hand traced lower, across his tight stomach, then lower still, just grazing the base of his cock. She pulled him back against her, grinding her hips hard against his ass, as her other hand on his neck squeezed just a bit. The tongue explored deeper, deeper, to the back of his mouth, and then slid deeper still. He choked a little, gagging at the novel sensation, but the hand on his neck squeezed harder, holding him in place. A strangled moan vibrated from his filled throat.

The fingers running themselves through the soft patch of hair traced slowly out to the tip of his cock. She rubbed her palm into the pre-cum coating his head, and began to squeeze and twist. He felt her push her hips forward against his ass once more. Within an instant, Atyr felt the orgasm begin to swell in his balls, and he moaned again, louder. Immediately, the tongue slipped free from his throat, the hands were gone from his neck and his cock, and the pressure of the grinding hips behind him vanished.

Atyr's eyes popped open and he gasped, balanced on the edge of a cliff, not sure if he was about to cum into the open air.

Then Elatla burst from the water in front of him, grabbing his ass once more and slamming him into her mouth, cock disappearing down her throat in one motion, her nose smashed against his stomach. He felt her swallowing around his shaft, milking him as she kept him buried deep in her face.

He came. He came and came. The power of the ruined orgasm the day before was as nothing to what he now felt. His eyes were fixed on the beautiful green face below him as he emptied endless spurts of his seed into that spasming throat. The kelpie's green-pearl eyes stared into his, until he saw them roll back in her head. Her eyelids fluttered and she gagged. Atyr saw his cum leak, dripping slowly from the corner of her mouth, but still she remained latched to him. Still he pumped her full, pulse after pulse.

He came down from the peak of the orgasm slowly, each throb weaker than the one before, the gushing jets becoming less, until only small drops oozed out with each clench of his drained balls. Finally, he softened in her throat, and his fat cock slid limply from her mouth to rest, still oozing cum, atop her barely conscious face.

A few moments passed, before a tiny voice chimed near his ear. "Well, normally you'd be dead right around now. Good thing you had me here to watch and make sure everything stayed safe and above the surface!"

Atyr's head spun slowly, trying to understand the words.

"Ahhh... dead?"

"Of course, dummy." A giggle. "Ok, now will you finally wash your dumb pants?"

***

The reality of it all began to worm its way back into Atyr's sloshing mind, as he stared down at the partly glazed face of his would-be predator from the day before. She was rousing as well. Her green lips split wide into a devilish grin, revealing the double row of tiny, pointed teeth. The long tongue slid out and pulled his thick, floppy cock back into her mouth. He whimpered weakly as she cleaned him in one long, slow suck, letting the soft length pop out from between her lips and splash back into the water. She stared dreamily up at him as it floated beside her face.

"Hiiiiiiiiii. I'm Elatla. It's so veeeeery nice to meet you. Again." Her lips twisted at him, sinister, yet playful. Just a hint of a threat. There was not however, a hint of remorse, or even of embarrassment in those shell-green eyes.

Atyr began to feel very uncomfortable once more, and backed up slightly. Elatla dropped her eyes to his cock, and watched mournfully as it moved away from her face. She looked up at him, her eyes now deep green whirlpools of enticement. "You don't want to go agaaaaain?"

"Not right now, Elatla." Peksy's voice chimed from over head. "Also, you can't possibly still be hungry."

The green eyes widened, and the long tongue slithered out. "Oh, I'm aaaaalways hungry. For boys like himmmmm." The kelpie moved lightly toward Atyr, who backed away now in earnest, splashing towards shore in a clumsy rush, until he stumbled into the bank and slipped down to land, seated, in the shallows. She laughed at him. "Plus, I didn't get to taste aaaaaall his fluids."

Pesky moved over to hover in front of Atyr. "Ew. 'Fluids.' What a word. But no, thank you, I think we're all set now. I need to get my adventurer cleaned up so we can head out. On his very first adventure."

Atyr, looking from the woman in the pool to the tiny woman in the air, wanted neither to be drained of all his fluids, nor to be dragged on whatever bizarre "adventure" this little sprite had in mind. He began to protest. Both women ignored him.

Elatla looked surprised. She stood up now, and slunk over to stand in front of the pair. "Oooooh, an adventurer? Oh, oh really. Oh, I seeeeee." Atyr's eyes helplessly wandered up and down her dewy skin, entranced. He was suddenly grateful to be seated, water hiding his immediate physical reaction to her body. Elatla seemed perfectly aware nonetheless. She smiled at him, and turned around, swaying and swinging every soft, smooth portion of her anatomy that would swing. Snakelike, she slipped back to the center of the pool, pausing just as the water tickled the bottoms of her perfectly round cheeks, and looked back over her shoulder with a parting murmur. "If he's to be your adventurer, I guessssss I'll have to make suuuuure our next Encounter is more... formal."

She turned to face him, and sunk slowly down into the center of the eddy, pausing just before her head went under to slide two fingers into her mouth, sucking them, moaning slightly and staring straight into Atyr's wide, unblinking eyes. He swore he could almost feel her lips on him again. Then she was gone, only gentle ripples left. Atyr sat frozen for a long moment.

Pesky broke the silence. "Well! She's always like that. But she's nice enough, if you can keep it above the surface." Atyr shivered. He had a pretty good idea what happened if she managed to get someone beneath the surface. Pesky continued on. "Alright, let's get you cleaned up, and your pants washed, and we'll be on our way!"

Atyr remained sitting in the water, cheeks reddening. "I'm... I'm just gonna stay here a minute."

The sprite began to roll her head around in impatience, then looked down at the muddy water hiding his lap.

"Really? Again? How do you have anything left?"

Atyr stared down, saying nothing.

"And honestly," the sprite went on. "I just watched you cream-pie a Kelpie's face. Yesterday I watched you jizz buckets in your pants without anyone even touching you. And now you're embarrassed to be a little chubbed up in front of me? You're such a dummy."

Atyr kept staring. Spelled out like that, he couldn't really argue. But, the last day and a half had been a whirlwind of being thrown helplessly from situation to chaotic situation, completely out of his control. Something about just standing up of his own free will and revealing his embarrassingly hard cock just seemed... more pervy, somehow?

"Look. If you want me to stand up, at least look away, ok?"

"I'll watch you from here." She flew around behind him

"Go away, Pesky." He turned around. She was gone. He blinked, and searched around the clearing for some sign of her. Nothing.

He vaguely remembered something in childhood tales about faeries, and the power of knowing their names, and something about needing invitations; had he forced her to disappear? He looked around once more, decided sitting in the mud at the edge of the pool all day wasn't an option, and stood.

With more than a hint of apprehension, he waded out just to mid-thigh, on the lookout for savagely arousing, greenish women, and began to splash water over his body, rinsing off the mud, as well as everything else that had accumulated on his skin. His cock still stood straight out, bouncing around comically as he cleaned himself. He couldn't resist a few extra strokes as he cleaned that portion of his anatomy, then just a few more, before he considered the possible, or maybe probable consequences of releasing any more of his 'fluids' into the water. He waded back to the bank, picked up the pants from where they still lay on the ground, and began washing those too, chafing them clean in the sunny water of the eddy. No kelpie grabbed at his ankles. No tiny, translucent sprite buzzed around his head.

He laid the pants to dry on a flat rock near his hide shelter, spread his cloak on the ground in the full sun, and dropped down on it with his pack. He began pulling out bits and pieces of his remaining food supplies: a small piece of cheese, a hard travel biscuit, a pouch of roasted acorns. He looked at the blackthorn bushes at edge of the clearing, wondering if any more berries were ripe.

Returning with a respectable handful of the tart little fruits, he settled down to truly enjoy a nice, peaceful meal. For the first time since the morning before, he was beginning to feel slightly relaxed.

"Normally clothes-washing day is my favorite day to watch you," At the whispered voice in his ear. Atyr yelped and stumbled clumsily to one knee, eyes wild. "But we really do need to get going on our adventure." Pesky flitted around in front of him, something incredibly self-satisfied about the soft buzz of her wings.

"Fates!" Atyr stood up angrily. "I told you to leave! I used your name!"

Pesky just smiled angelically at him, hovering now in front of his face.

Atyr stood, trying to look dignified and imposing, which was tricky while standing nude in the middle of a picnic. He cleared his throat with a growl, and spoke, loudly and clearly.

"Go, Pesky. Leave here, and leave me in peace. Pesky, I command you with your name!" With the last word, he pointed imperiously at the small sprite. She drifted slightly up and down in the air, still placidly smiling at him. Atyr tried again, voice more tentative. "I have your name. Leave this place, Pesky. You are not welcome!"

A warm breeze gently rustled through the leaves overhead. The ripples of the eddy lapped lazily at the bank. The sprite turned a slow backwards somersault in the air, and then stared at him.

"Seriously?"

Incredibly, Atyr felt more embarrassed now than he had soaking his pants in cum in front of this sprite yesterday. "I- it. I used your name before... you disappeared..." He mumbled his way to silence, looking now at anything other than the small woman just an arms length from his face.

"I cannot lie..." she said, a giggle in her tiny voice.

"... But you can deceive. Right."

"It was a very nice show that you gave me. I liked the part where you almost decided to jerk off into Elatla's pool." Atyr swallowed and looked awkwardly up at sky. Pesky fluttered up into his field of view. She looked at him pointedly. "That probably would have been dumb."

Atyr stared at the infuriating little sprite. He carefully picked up his uneaten meal, and placed it on the rock next to his drying pants. He wrapped himself in the cloak. It was rough against his skin, and uncomfortably hot on such a sunny summer day, but if there was anything the young man craved more than food right now, it was modesty. Silent, he sat beside the rock, sweating but covered, and began to eat.

Pesky made repeated bids for his attention, talking about adventure, and many things he didn't understand; Classes and Levels and Abilities. He ignored all of it, refusing to even let himself consider whatever it was she thought she was offering him. She even resorted to using her weirding voice on him, but Atyr knew what to expect now, and having had the most powerful orgasm of his entire life just a short while before, he was as prepared as he could be to ignore the swells of pleasure. His breathing became heavy at times, and he was sure his face was flushed, but he kept his throbbing penis hidden under the cloak, pretended to ignore the sprite's existence, and ate his meal.

He stood. He felt the pants. Still damp, but they could finish drying as he walked. He looked at the cut on his thigh, considering whether it was worth cutting a strip of his cloak for a bandage. It was small, shallow, and already scabbing over. It was fine.

Now, at last, he acknowledged his nagging companion.

"Look. I don't know what you want. I don't understand anything you're talking about. I don't want to go on whatever adventure you have planned. Go by yourself. Go with someone else. Take Elatla. I don't care. I have one thing I want. I want to build my cabin. I want to finish it before the frost comes. I am going to town now, and I am going by myself." Pesky made some dismissive noises and began to talk but he cut her off. "If you follow me, I will ignore you. If you talk to me, I will ignore you. If you use your... your voice, I'm sure you can have your effect on me. Ok. So I'll get hard. You like seeing me hard? Fine. Great. Maybe you can make me jizz in my pants again. That was awesome. I loved being humiliated like that. Thanks. I guess I can't ignore it if you use your fae whatever to force my body to respond, but Fates take me if I won't try. And then I'll keep walking to town. And I'll walk back. And I'll build this cabin. And you won't stop me. I choose my own way."

The tiny figure had stopped fluttering and landed softly on his pack. She was staring at him, motionless for the first time since he had met her.

Atyr felt some small hint of guilt. "Look. Thank you for saving me. I would have died without you. I know that." He paused for a moment, then shook his head suddenly. "But honestly, the only reason I was bleeding in that luckless pool in the first place is because you startled me with your fae-cursed... thing you do and made me break my hatchet! But thanks, I guess. You could have let me die, whether or not it was your fault to begin with."

The sprite's shoulders lifted slightly, a hopeful posture to her tiny frame. Atyr shook his head.

"I'm going to town. I'm coming back here. I'm going to live my life like the past two days didn't happen, and I'm going to do it without you."

He stared straight at her, and spoke softly, slowly, and clearly.

"I don't like you, Pesky. Leave me alone."

========================

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CHAPTER FOUR

Walking to Town

As Atyr trudged his way along the route he had marked back to the road, he felt a growing sense of relief, of peace, of a return to real life. No green-skinned kelpie leapt at him trying to murder him for his 'fluids'. No giggling sprite buzzed in his face, teasing him, and forcing his body to respond to the whims of her weird, lust-soaked voice. It was familiar. It was normal. It was the life he had been leading until less than two days ago, when the Oldwood tales of his childhood decided to force their way into his plans in a decidedly not-child-friendly way. After a short while, it all began to seem almost unreal. He might have doubted the whole experience if not for the lingering dampness of his pants, chafing unpleasantly at his legs.

He hit the road just as the gloom began to settle over the Brookwood. He was grateful for the better light the clear way provided, after the looming shadows of the trees. Walking swiftly, he hoped to make the halfway mark before full dark. The small wound on his inner thigh was beginning to ache, protesting the swift travel and the damp friction of the fabric each step brought with it. He worried again that he should have dressed it before leaving. But, it was a small cut, and he had been eager, desperate really, to be away from the clearing, away from the eddy and its murderous inhabitant. Away from Pesky. As the last light melted from the sky, and his thigh began to throb more and more insistently, Atyr started to second guess that decision.

A ways on into the darkening night, he stopped at a small hollow in a clearing to the side of the road, with a jagged boulder at the bottom of it. He'd camped here a number of times in the past. Settling himself under a shallow overhang of rock on the far side from the road, he set about building a small fire. The warm, midsummer air breathed softly around him, but he still felt chilled, likely from exhaustion and wearing damp clothes all day.

After a quick meal, he dropped some dry forest detritus and small sticks onto the fire. The flames flared up brighter. He unlaced his pants, apprehensively sliding them down to his ankles. He tried to examine the cut on his thigh. It throbbed with heat and pain, but from what the light of the fire would show, he couldn't see anything worrisome. In the flickering glow of the flames, he thought perhaps it looked a touch redder and more swollen than he would like, but that was probably just the irritation of the long, damp walk. He pulled the pants back up, spread the fire out and smothered it with dirt, then settled back, wrapped in his cloak, and swiftly fell down through consciousness into a land that was vibrant, erotic, and disturbing.

***

Atyr woke shivering, with no memory of his dreams, but a strange sense that he was somehow still in them. The early morning sun gleamed blindingly across the ground, long shadows and beams of light alternating in a disorienting pattern. He wrapped his cloak tighter, and began to dig in his pack for something to break his overnight fast. He pulled open the pouch of roasted acorns, and an immense distaste for the small, brown pellets filled him. Teeth chattering, he placed one in his mouth and chewed it slowly, the texture unfamiliar to his tongue. He tried to swallow and his stomach tensed in rebellion, warning him not to. He spat it out.

Through the shivering, and the unpleasant bubbling of nausea in his stomach, he realized his entire thigh pulsed with a painful warmth. Fear flooded his body, and a floating, sinking feeling washed through him. Long moments passed, as he tried to think of reasons he might feel this cold on a warm summer morning, for reasons he might feel sick at the texture of a familiar food between his teeth, for why he might not be able to shake the feeling he wasn't fully awake. No reasons came to him. Fingers trembling, both with fear and with cold, he fumbled with the laces of his pants, and finally managed to pull them down, exposing his thighs.

The wound was red, swollen, and oozing, streaks of pink running out and up his leg. Vision blurred and he caught himself just on the verge on unconsciousness. Fear was the only thing he now felt, erasing the sensations of cold, of nausea, and of pain. Hands shaking so hard he could barely manage it, he dressed himself again, stuffed what he could find of his possessions in his pack, and staggered back to the road.

Once back on the packed dirt and headed towards town, his mind began to clear. Fear faded, and was replaced with a simple-minded determination: reach the town, and whatever healers there must be there. That single purpose kept him going, trudging, step, after step, after step. They day wore on towards noon, and the blinding sun began to beat upon him. At times, he was sweating and panting under his thick cloak, and at times he shivered so violently that his steps became erratic.

During the morning, the few people he met coming in the other direction eyed him warily, and walked wide around him. It was custom on the road through the Brookwood to acknowledge other travelers warmly, but to show no undue interest, and certainly never to stop to talk unless absolutely necessary. And, it was entirely proper to completely ignore anyone who did stop and try to engage in conversation, and to walk right past them.

Generally, the road was safe, but part of what kept it safe was this strong culture of enforced disinterest. Out of desperate necessity, a traveler might break this rule to beg assistance, but it was considered polite for anyone asking for help to wait a distance back from the road, and to call out for aid without approaching. Therefore, the only people who might stop as they met you on the road were those with a reason to break these rules, and that reason was often nefarious. If anyone ever did stop, it was generally a good idea to start running.

So, while he heard some mutters and warnings among them, it wasn't surprising that, looking as ragged as he must have, no one said a word to him.

A little after midday he had to stop. He gave in finally to exhaustion, and set himself down in the dust at the edge of the track. Another group of figures passed him, but he saw only their feet, thumping into the packed earth like a nightmarish drum.

After a while, he stood, and fell immediately back to his knees. He shivered violently, and sweat dripped from his soaked hair onto the dust of the road. He stood again, more slowly, and stumbled around in a circle on his feet. He took a step forward. Another. Another.

Time passed, figures passed, and Atyr continued his way down the road. He shook with cold, he dripped with sweat, and pain growled from his leg and through his body like a starving animal. The sun filled his eyes with glowing halos and shining auras, and he fell on his bloodied knees for the hundredth time.

He crawled to the grass beside the road and kept crawling, away from the dust, away from the exhaustion of it all, away from hope. He crawled towards peace and fell into darkness.

As he fell, he saw a swirling eddy of water, and a green face, and he saw that face pressed against his crotch, swallowing him, draining him. Everything was sucked out of him, and he was pulled down into that whirling water, down, spinning, falling, down, down, dying, around, around, and all throughout a small, flute-like voice twinkled at the edge of perception, just beyond comprehension.

It was teasing him, he thought. Laughing at him, laughing, mocking him gently as he fell into what he knew was death. He struggled to understand the words, to make sense of it all, to know what he would hear as he left this life behind him. As nothingness took him, he strained for one last moment, needing to know, in his final moments before darkness everlasting, and the words flickered into his mind as the world disappeared.

"You dummy."

=========================

=========================

CHAPTER FIVE

Making a Choice

"I think he's waking!" a young, clear voice said.

"He won't wake up," said a scratched, tired voice. "They don't when they look like that."

"But he said something just now, he was mumbling in his sleep."

"They do that. But he won't wake up."

Silence. Darkness.

***

"He was talking again, real words this time!" The young voice was hopeful.

The older voice. "Kella. You're young, and you have been here but a short time, but you have seen death. Much death. He will die. We are here to make that as comfortable as death can be. That is all. He will not wake. They do not."

"But he should have been dead yesterday, you said as much!"

"Kella, he will die. We save those we can, but many we cannot."

"But--"

"Be at peace, as he soon will be."

***

"Again, Mother, he spoke again, and I really understood him! He was speaking of strange things: something of a pool, and a green woman, and--"

The old voice was harsh now. "Kella, he is dying. He will be dead tomorrow, and nothing in our knowledge can change that. You hope for what cannot be, because he is young, because he is pretty. But he will die. You know that. You must know that."

"Last night you said he would be dead by morning."

"I was wrong. I was wrong about his time here. But I am not wrong about his Fate. You would know this for any other patient, were he old, or were he ugly."

"Mother I--"

"I will watch him now Kella, until the end. Take your care elsewhere."

"Mother--"

"Go, Kella." A pause. The old voice softened. "I love you. We all see hope where there is none from time to time. As you age you will learn to see it less often. Go, Kella. They need water in the Healing Room. There is only pain here. For this young man and for you."

***

Another voice now. A tiny bell, ringing, ringing. A flute, dancing from note to note, playfully. Mockingly.

"Wake up, Dummy."

Atyr didn't wake up, but the swirls of dark and color and pain and dream settled, and his mind focused on the tinkling, chiming words.

"You don't really have a choice now. You made so many choices, and every one was dumb. So now we're here."

The darkness pulsed black around him, but the ringing voice cut through.

"You're dying, dummy. And you can do that, or you can come with me. What'll it be?"

It was too much effort to keep listening to the words, and he drifted back into the comfort of pain and oblivion. The voice brought him back up again.

"Come on. Falling asleep on me is one thing. Falling dead on me is another. I need an answer."

Back down into darkness, but a thought happened to him then, the first in a while. Death was an answer, wasn't it? It was so easy, so close. He settled back, sinking into blackness. Again the voice dragged him ruthlessly up, sharper now, its bell-like tones brazen and insistent.

"Answer me, answer me now. Will you come with me?"

Sweet, comfortable darkness fought against the pain and confusion of the light within him.

"Come with me!"

Back into the darkness.

"Please come with me!"

Sinking down into comfort now. The voice was faint.

"Don't go yet."

The light was nearly out. He drifted down. He chose peace. He chose stillness. He chose Death. It was close now.

"Atyr." Her voice came now strong, and filled with weirding, but his name as he heard it wasn't 'Atyr', it was some other thing, something realer, deeper, something truer. Light and pain flickered back.

"Atyr, come with me. Let's go on an adventure."

Night took him, and he slept.

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CHAPTER SIX

In the Birdhouse

Atyr opened his eyes and sat up. He was in a room. Pink morning light glowed in through arched, glazed windows in the white plaster walls. He looked down, and found himself naked, in a bed, thin blankets pooled over and around him. Four other beds were spaced across the floor. Three were empty, rough, grey blankets neatly folded atop them, but the farthest held a covered figure, face to the wall, snoring with whistling, uneven breaths.

He was unimaginably thirsty, and his stomach felt as though it had given up on ever again seeing a meal, and so was dining on itself.

Sitting on the edge of the foot board, a miniature, winged figure sat, bouncing its tiny heels playfully against the rough-hewn wood. A soft white glow drifted off her as she stared out the window.

"That's twice now. I think you owe me a pretty big favor."

Atyr blinked, unsure what she was referencing. "Where are we? And why are you here?"

"We're exactly where you wanted to go. And your second question is inside out, so I'll answer it turned around the right way." Now she looked at him. "You're here because I am." She flitted over to his knees and alighted on the rough fabric. "So you owe me."

"Pesky, I am so tired, I don't know what you--"

"It was a lot of work getting in here." She gestured over at the window closest to the bed, and Atyr noticed that a pane on the lowest row had been broken out. "So maybe you owe me even more."

"I mean it, I really have no idea--"

"Atyr." The sprite's voice was serious, firm.

He stopped, losing track of his thoughts.

"Elatla almost ate you." She paused, looking up thoughtfully. The brief seriousness vanished entirely. "Actually she did eat you. Very impressively."

Atyr sighed and rolled his eyes, flopping back on the bed.

"She almost killed you, and I made her stop. Then you decided to die on your way here." She stretched her tiny arms dramatically, as if trying to envelop the entire room. "You kept on trying, so I made you stop. But, but I had to--"

Atyr cut in, exasperation already taking over. "I did not, decide to die. My leg turned sour on me, it's not like I decided that should happen." Her last words caught up to him. "Wait... but you had to what?"

Pesky stood very still, opened her tiny lips to respond, then her head snapped up to look over his shoulder, and she vanished out the broken window.

"You're awake! I knew you wouldn't die, Mother said you would but I just really knew you wouldn't!"

Atyr jumped and twisted to look behind him. A young woman stood in the doorway, an unkempt grey robe and stained smock draped over her slight shoulders, and a rough scarf of the same material bundled about her head. The look on her face was one of open-mouthed delight. She moved smoothly across the floor towards him, dance-like fluidity at odds with her lumpy, unshapely attire. At the bedside she stopped, looking down at him.

"I've been here for over a year now, and there's just so much awful that happens I really can't tell you how happy it makes me to see you awake." Her smile was more restrained now, becoming almost reserved and polite, though losing none of its sincerity. "I am very pleased-- We all are so pleased at your recovery. You did come in looking so very poorly, I was really the only one who believed you--"

"Kella!" A distant, scratchy voice came through the open doorway. "Kella, I told you that I would be taking care of the young man in the Ending Room." The voice was getting louder, shuffling footsteps approaching. "I understand he's a good looking boy, but death doesn't care a feather's weight about beauty. And fae take me if I don't wonder if you're half smitten just because he has such a large--"

The old woman stopped in the doorway, voice and feet coming to an abrupt halt. "Oh. Oh. Well." He creased face smiled widely under her grey headscarf, and she patted her hands on a grey smock and robe such as the younger woman was wearing. "Well, well. Well." She glanced from Atyr to the petrified young woman, and then back. "Well then." She looked straight into Atyr's face, and her bright eyes narrowed slightly, her smiling lips parting as though a curious thought had hit her.

Kella, her cheeks red, squeaked out, "Mother. He's awake."

"And we're all very glad to see it." The old woman's voice was earnest and pleasant. "And he looks far more healthy and hale than he has any right to be." She looked back intently at Atyr. "I've rarely seen a body come back from death once the blood soured, much less sit right up, as though a good night's sleep was all he needed."

Warm and soothing though her voice was, her stare made the young man feel that he was supposed to know something which he didn't. That she was letting him know she had found out his secret. Only, he didn't think he had a secret. Well, unless being stalked by the world's most annoying sprite was a secret, but honestly, he would happily tell the world about Pesky. He felt no responsibility to keep secrets for her. He looked around the room, his gaze pausing on the broken pane, but she was still gone. That was the only thing that stopped him from saying, "yes, I'm being followed by this faerie here that won't leave me in peace." It would sound ridiculous.

"Kella." The older woman was speaking again, raspy voice now brusque and professional. "Alertness is no guarantee of health, or even survival. I've seen many a patient spring vigorously away from death's threshold, only to stumble backward into death's open cellar door. That dressing will need changing, and we need to make sure the wound itself looks as much better as..." She blinked expectantly at Atyr, who stared blankly back.

"You are...?" She prodded, smiling like a teacher bemused at a student's failure of memory.

Atyr realized he hadn't yet said a word to either woman, and had been staring dumbly from one to the other this whole time.

"Oh! Oh. I, um, I'm Atyr. Bracken. I'm... thank you?"

"I'm Bird. You're very welcome." She turned her amused gaze back to Kella. "We need to make sure the wound itself is as recovered as Atyr here seems to be." She looked back at him, and her sparkling eyes crinkled tighter with a hint of youthful mischief. "You're in good hands. Kella here has been at your side caring for you every spare moment of the day. Even after I told her to leave you in my care, and to attend to her other duties, it seems."

Kella stared down at her feet, apparently very interested in rubbing the toes of one shoe against the other.

Atyr swallowed, breath catching slightly. "Oh, no, thank you. I-- I feel perfectly fine! I can just, I don't have any coin, but I'll be earning-- I came to work and trade a bit so I can pay you in a couple days. I'm really fine. I'll just go and--" The young man paused and looked around. "Um, where are my clothes?"

Bird ignored the stream of words, and patted Kella's arm. "I have to go to the Leaving Room; another reckless boy is waiting. He has one of his fingers on sideways." She looked back at Atyr and smiled, warmth and a hint of a knowing question on her face. "And I would very much like to talk to you again before you flee."

She turned away, walking to the sleeping figure. She bent over the bed for a brief moment, checking some thing or other. Kella and Atyr both watched her, not looking at each other, until she straightened and sighed, then, with no further words or acknowledgment to either of them, shuffled back out of the room and away. They heard her voice come back faintly through the door. "Well, young man, would you like me to put that finger back right, or were you trying to fully remove it? We can do whichever you prefer!" There was a brief protest in response, then a door shut, and it became quiet in the Ending Room.

It was very quiet. Very, very quiet. Actually, there were plenty of noises: the ragged, choking snores from the other occupied bed, the distant sounds of the town outside, a brief, muffled yelp that carried through the walls from the direction Bird had left in. But there were no noises of the sort that could mask the uncomfortable fact that neither Atyr nor Kella seemed to have any intention of being the first to speak.

Finally, Kella coughed gently and broke the stillness of the room. "Um, you really don't have to pay for any of this, you know."

Atyr flushed, and shook his head, frowning. "No, I can! I came in from the Brookwood because I need a few things here in town, so I'll be finding what work I can anyway. I earn my way." He looked up at her. "This is Woodstead, right?"

Kella seemed relieved to have a solid question to answer. "Oh yes! This is Woodstead. You're in the Birdhouse, sorry, we call it that, you're in the Healing House here. Have you been here before? Well, not here in the House I mean, obviously, because I would know, because I'm always here. Well, unless you were here a while ago, I've really only worked here a year and a bit, Mother doesn't let anyone apprentice until they're full adult, which she says is a score of summers. She says, and I really think she's right, she says no child should grow up knowing death like we have to." The young woman paused, and glanced down at Atyr where he sat on the bed. "I really am happy to see you healthy."

Atyr was quiet for a moment, trying to sift the torrent of words. Before he could pick a topic to respond to, Kella raced on.

"Oh, but sorry, you really don't have to pay. It's not because you're poor," She reddened again, "Not that you're poor of course! I didn't mean that, just that you came in with only-- I mean, if you were poor, which would be fine, really, most people are poor, but if you were, that wouldn't matter because no one pays here. If the Lord and Lady themselves were sick and came to us we wouldn't make them pay here. Well, of course we wouldn't, they're the Lord and Lady, and also why would they ever come to Woodstead, but what I mean is, even if say, a landowner or, or a wealthy merchant..." She trailed off. "Woodstead takes a collection at the start of every season. Everyone in town gives what they can, and we use that to cover costs here. That's what I'm trying to say. I'm really sorry, I really don't usually talk quite this much."

It was quiet again for a moment. Atyr nodded slowly, chewing his bottom lip.

"So, you're Kella?" A nod and a smile. "And Bird is... your mother? And, I'm sorry, her name is, she did say 'Bird', right?"

Kella laughed, "Oh, no no no, she's not really my mother, my mother is probably the age to be her granddaughter, Bird is much older even than she looks. She's The Mother, here at the Birdh- at the Healing House. Oh, and no, her real name is Abarabirdadellet, but you really can't expect people to remember a name like that, especially sick and injured people, and I guess over the years everyone just started calling her Bird. Only the oldest folks in town call her by her full name." Kella met his eyes again. "Your name was Atyr?"

Atyr nodded. She nodded back at him. After the chaotic flurry of conversation, silence returned. Kella smiled at him. He smiled back and they both looked away. The moment dragged long. Atyr shifted around and then looked down at his hands, running his fingers uncomfortably around his palms.

"Soooo, I'd get out of this bed but..." His face heated. "I uh... Could I have my clothes, please?"

Kella responded quickly, "Oh, it doesn't bother me, I've already seen--," She choked. Atyr's face burned. They both looked away.

Swallowing, he steadied his voice. "I should really get going, I-- I have a lot to do in town before I head back into the Brookwood. Could I have my clothes, please?"

"Yes of course! I can get them from the first room. We have your things there as well, only..." There was a long pause, and Atyr looked up at her, finding her face as red as his own.

"Only, Mother did say I should make sure you're really fit to go and..." She faltered, but adopted a poise of nearly convincing professionalism. "She really is right, it is very unusual for someone with sour blood to just get up and go back to living their life. Mother really is right that you really should be dead. We need to make sure you're really going to be ok." She looked at his face, questioningly. Atyr shifted and without realizing he was doing it, drew the blankets a bit higher about him. "I have dressed and cleaned your wound several times these past three days," she continued. "I, it, I mean..." She cleared her throat softly. "This is my work. This will only take a few moments."

Her fingers rested on the edge of the blankets and her gaze met his, brows raised in a polite, questioning manner.

Atyr froze. He stared back into her eyes. They were a deep, dark brown, nearly black. Looking into them, his heart beat hard and he tried to steady it. He blinked.

"Honestly, I'm fine. If I can just have my clothes and my things I'll be all set to go."

Kella's fingers were trembling where they touched the blankets at his waist, but she smiled up at him. "I do really need to make sure you really are better."

Atyr looked at her earnest, questioning expression, swallowed, stared at the ceiling, and nodded.

His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, studying the fine craquelure of the plaster between the dark wood beams that spanned the house. He felt her draw the blanket down to his knees, baring him to the room.

"I'll just remove the dressing on your wound now. Please tell me if anything is painful or uncomfortable." There was a pause. Atyr realized she was waiting for a response and glanced down to see her face looking up at him, the careful objectivity of her tone and expression undercut by the color of her cheeks; as bright red as his own must be.

He looked swiftly back at the ceiling, and managed a curt, "Mhm." He stared at the beams, and tried to think about weight, and bearing, and all the knowledge relevant to building that, a few days prior, had been fresh in his mind. None of it seemed able to hold his attention now, as he felt fingers delicately pulling at the knots of the bandage around his upper thigh. For a moment, and for the first time since waking, he realized with curiosity that he felt no pain from his leg at all. That welcome distraction was swiftly dashed however, as Kella's calm professional voice spoke again, with only a slight quaver at the end.

"Excuse me, I will just have to adjust you slightly." Soft fingers gently lifted his penis and moved it to the side, flopping it across his other leg. It was a fleeting moment of contact, then gone, and she was carefully unwinding the dressing. With horror, Atyr felt himself begin to stiffen. Beams, he thought, posts. Weight, plaster, how thick must hundred-year oak be to hold a ceiling at this span? If there was a floor above, how did that change things? He felt his penis relentlessly continuing to fill. The fingers unwinding the dressing paused, but Atyr was too afraid to look down.

The unwrapping resumed. The erection continued. Atyr risked a quick glance now, and found Kella's burning face staring away at a wall as she removed the bandage.

Should he say something? Surely she saw... this sort of thing all the time, no? Before he had time to consider, he heard himself blurt out, "I'm really sorry. I didn't-- It's not you, it's--" he choked on his words and the hands stopped moving again. Kella said nothing, and the hands continued.

He felt the full weight of social horror on him as he realized what he'd said. It's not you? He tried to fix it. "I mean, not that you aren't-- that I don't find you..." He stopped short again. And just how had he planned to finish that sentence?

The hands kept working. How could it take this long to unwind a bandage? Surely it had been an eternity already?

Kella cleared her throat. Her voice was as calm and unaffected as could possibly be desired. "It's really not a worry. It is not uncommon for men to-- please don't worry."

Then the bandage was off, and Atyr heard a small gasp. He looked down. He saw Kella's surprised expression. Then he saw his erect penis, pointing mortifyingly into the air. And then he saw what she was looking at. His wound was gone. Not just healed over, but gone. No swelling, no redness. Perhaps there was a faint white line, like an old scar, barely visible.

Kella sat down heavily at the foot of the bed. She looked up at his face, the redness fading from her cheeks, replaced now with a look of surprise, almost of shock.

"Last night-- last night you were bleeding. There was pus, and swelling, and your whole leg was streaked with the sour blood, it--" she stared at him. "You don't know how weird this is. I don't..."

Atyr just stared back at her. Slowly, he reached down and pulled the blankets up over his lap, restoring whatever modesty it was possible to. Thankfully, her reaction and the weirdness of the situation were quickly killing off his penis's untimely disobedience.

The two of them sat there for a long moment before Kella spoke again.

"I, um, I'll go talk to Mother, but I think you should be all set to leave." She stood up. "Let me go get your clothes. I'll be right back."

Atyr was dressed, sitting on the bed, trying to wrap his head around several things when Bird came back into the room. He stood up to greet her.

"Hi. Thanks for everything. I understand I wouldn't be alive without out your healing."

The wise, old eyes stared straight at him. "Oh, I don't think that's true. There's nothing I can do for a wound once the blood goes sour." She tilted her head. "And yours was as sour as sour gets when they carried you in here. All we did, all we tried to do, was to make your end in this world a little less painful."

Silence fell in the room as Atyr tried to digest that. Bird continued.

"Kella tells me you have hardly a scar. She says you looks as if nothing had happened to you." The warm eyes twinkled at him as the elderly woman waited patiently for a response.

"I, I guess I must have healed up while I was here. Kella says it's been a few days?"

"Three days, yes. On the first day, I looked you over, and I thought you'd be dead by the second. On the second day you looked worse, and I knew you'd be dead by morning. On the third day, you were fading quickly, very quickly, and I knew it wouldn't be long. I made Kella leave you then; she has been overly invested in your care." She tilted her head and met his eyes.

Atyr chewed his lip and looked down at his hands, and she continued. "Yet, here we are, the morning of the fourth day, and... I would say you are recovered, but that's not exactly right, is it? You are restored. You are fully well, almost as if you were never hurt."

A long pause followed, and Atyr knew she was waiting for him to speak, but he had nothing to say. There was clearly something she expected him to tell her, he had realized that earlier in the day at their first brief meeting. But now, as then, he had no idea what it was. If anything, he was more confused than he had been then.

Bird sighed, and spoke again. "When I was a young woman." She twisted her lips at him. "And that was even longer ago than you think. When I was a young woman, I had a very strange experience. I met a man-- I thought he was a man, but he wasn't." She looked at Atyr, as if expecting a reaction. Finding none, she carried on with the story. "He was not a man, but one of the Fae. I didn't know it then, but he was."

Here Atyr started. Bird took note, and smiled at him. "Yes, I thought as much. And do you know what he offered me?"

Atyr froze, thinking of the sorts of things the two fae creatures he had encountered seemed likely to offer a young girl. He was most certainly not about to start making guesses of that nature to this ancient woman.

Bird frowned at him, noting his sudden discomfort and seemingly confused by it. She hesitated. "... No guesses? Well then, he told me he had a quest, a quest for me, and that only I could fulfill this destiny. He wanted me to travel with him to a distant land, and to delve into a secret cave, where he told me his daughter was imprisoned by a spell which weakened her so that, should she leave the cave, she would die. He said that only a true healer such as myself could cure her."

Atyr looked at her. A week ago, he would have smiled at the charm of what was obviously a child's fable. Today, he stared at the aged healer with a curious interest.

"And?"

"And?" She leaned towards him, her voice hushed, dramatic. "He promised me new power, he promised me ability in healing beyond the mundane. He promised me magic, Atyr. He spoke of things I didn't understand; levels and classes and..." She nodded knowingly as Atyr's eyes widened in recognition. Her face looked distant, lost for a moment in old memory. "His voice was the weirdest part of him; it filled me with a feeling of great calmness and trust, of nobility, of the exhilarating desire to help, and to defend."

Atyr thought to himself that that was certainly not how he would describe the particular weirdness of Pesky's voice, but he kept that to himself. "And so you went on the quest, and you... you have fae magic? That's what healed me? Fae magic?"

The old woman seemed taken somewhat aback. "... No. No. I was a young woman, almost a girl, and a strange man promised me magic and adventure and destiny. However convincing he may have seemed, I did exactly what any wise young girl would do, when presented with such an obviously impossible proposition. I laughed, politely made my excuses, and I left. And I never saw him again."

Atyr frowned, "But, but then how--"

"That's not the choice you made, is it Atyr?"

His mind whirled with confusion, but a dreamlike flicker caught at the edge of memory. Darkness, death, and a voice, a voice imploring him to follow it, to go on an adventure. But he remembered more. He had made a decision.

"Bird." She looked at him. "I, I don't understand. I don't know what you... it's been a very strange few days. I did make a choice."

The old healer smiled and nodded at him.

He continued, chewing his lip hard. "I made a choice. I chose to die."

The smile remained on her face, but her brows drew down.

"Let me see your arms," she demanded brusquely.

"What?" She had caught him unprepared.

"Let me see your arms."

He held them out. Bird grasped his wrists, and twisted his forearms this way and that, staring down at them with furrowed brow.

She began an explanation as she examined him, her scratched voice rushing now.

"I may have rejected my own fae quest, but if once you meet one of their kind, you can no longer miss seeing their influence on the world. It is rare, but even here in Woodstead, I have twice encountered someone on a quest of their own. It is in the shadow behind the eyes, a look. It is the music behind the voice. But also, more tangibly..." She kept searching his forearms, and the moment lengthened.

"Aha! See? There." She tapped her finger on his skin, just below the elbow. He looked and saw nothing.

"I don't know what you're looking at."

"There!" She said again. "There!"

He looked again at her crooked, wizened finger, pressed to his arm and still saw nothing. Then, almost as though it swam into being as he watched, he saw a barely visible pattern. It looked like writing of some sort, though different than most he had seen, with wide swooping curves and spirals, and harsh, jagged angles, and with irregular shapes and sizes to the characters, all of it contained within a series of circles of various colors. As he stared, it almost seemed that the pattern darkened and the edges became crisper, and though he still didn't recognize the symbols, a meaning came into his mind.

Ranger - Level 0

Rogue (Subclass) - Level 0

He stared down at his arm for a long moment, then looked up into the kindly face in front of him.

"What is this?"

She smiled at him, almost eagerly. "You have met with the fae."

He thought of Pesky, and of his brief but intense encounters with Elatla. 'Met' was certainly a polite way of describing it, but he nodded. "I have..."

The wrinkled face smiled. "Well. Well then. I think that your question would be better served to them than to me. I can't read this, but I know that it's there." The smile lingered on her face, but a shadow tinged it now, a gentle melancholy at the memory of a life not lived. "You seem to have made a better choice than I did."

He looked up, young eyes searching her old ones, the bewilderment of his gaze meeting a bittersweet hope in her own.

"I do not believe that you chose to die, Atyr."

Kella returned, and showed him out, through three more rooms. In the first room, two patients resting in the beds there smiled and waved as Atyr passed through, wishing him well. In the second room a young boy sat by the window with a woman, presumably his mother, who was fussing over a nasty looking scrape across the majority of his forehead.

In the last room, Kella retrieved his pack and few belongings. A wealthy looking man in odd, black and red garb was leaning against the far wall, staring listlessly out the window as though resigned to a long wait. Kella paid him no mind, and he showed no interest in the two young people. Atyr assumed he was waiting for Bird to attend to him.

He chatted awkwardly with Kella for a few moments until they finally made their farewells, and then lingered, unsure what to do next. They said goodbye again. Atyr made some reference to his need to pick up supplies. Kella said she should attend to the patients. Atyr said he really should be going. They made their farewells again, and fell silent, neither quite sure if it was actually time to part.

The well-dressed man in the corner glanced over disinterestedly, but his eyes caught on Atyr. They widened slightly, and the stare grew thoughtful. That was just the kick Atyr needed to actually leave, and so he said goodbye yet again, and left through the open door.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

In Which We Get Nowhere

The Birdhouse sat at the top of a tall knoll near the edge of Woodstead, surrounded by a few small stands of young-growth birches. From the door, a clear view was afforded of much of the town. The main road was the same that ran East to West through the Brookwood, along which Atyr had traveled. Where it passed through the center of town, over a dozen small shops stood close together, along with a handful of other communal and official buildings. At the eastern end of town lay the small field of the empty market square.

Scattered across several low, gentle hills, the rest of the town was comprised of a few hundred homes, ranging in size from rustic, one-room cabins, to modest timber and plaster houses, and even a score or so of the larger, more refined dwellings of the wealthier inhabitants at the North End. All around, the small town was hemmed in by the trees of the Brookwood, except to the south, where the land flattened and was cleared in small patches of farmland.

To the east, a spire rose, rocky and bare, with a watchtower at its peak, overlooking all the surrounding lands. It crumbled, long in disuse, serving now only as a reminder of a less happy time.

A dusty, foot-beaten track wound in gentle curves from the front doors of the Birdhouse, down the side of the knoll to the main road. As soon as Atyr rounded the first curve, putting a few trees between himself and the building, his tiny, fae companion plopped down onto his shoulder without warning. Pesky was especially agitated, especially excited, and thus especially annoying.

"I thought you would never leave! How many times did you have to thank that lumpy, grey girl? 'Oh yes, I'll return before I leave to say good bye to you, fair lady,'" She was attempting to imitate Atyr's voice again, with the same bizarre effect. "'Oh no, I couldn't possibly leave without returning to thank you again. And again! And Again!'"

By now they had made it to the main road. A few people were out, heading to or from the small assortment of shops that lined the wide dirt way. Atyr was unsure if any of them were close enough to hear, and whether he would appear to be talking to himself if they did. Could everyone see the little sprite? Either way, he didn't feel like dealing with that attention right now. He ducked off the main road and cut behind the buildings, heading for the tree line at the edge of town.

He hissed through his teeth. "I am entirely certain I said none of that." He looked around, concernedly. "Can people see you?"

The Sprite ignored his question. "'Ah, fair maiden, the touch of thine healing hands hath sprung in me life anew! The softness of thy-- '"

Atyr adopted what seemed to be his best defense against the tiny woman: he walked on silently. She chattered a bit more, but eventually ran out of suitably embarrassing words to put in Atyr's mouth.

"Actually," she said after a moment, "If I'm being honest, I thought you were rudely polite and chaste with the young woman."

He looked sidelong at her. "Rudely polite?"

"Yes. Rudely polite. It would have been much more gentlemanly of you to let slip at least a hint of your burning desire for her. You are such a dummy."

"I'm not sure you understand what "gentlemanly" means to us humans. And I do not feel "burning desire" for her. I am grateful that they saved my life, Kella and Bird." Hissing all this between his teeth was becoming difficult.

"They didn't. I saved your life. You saved your life."

Atyr stopped. "Ok. We need to go talk about that. I have no idea what's going on, what's-- let's go."

"I feel like the old one already explained everything important to you. The rest of it is just having fun!"

Atyr looked at her as best he could, seated just beside his ear, then glanced around him at the nearby houses. No one was in sight, but every window could be hiding curious ears. Hurriedly, he walked on, headed for a place he knew well, a wooded clearing by a stream just outside of town, a place where he could talk to the sprite about fae quests without ending up as the most gossip-worthy event Woodstead had experienced in years.

Pesky stayed blessedly quiet for a short while as he walked, before apparently becoming unable to resist one final comment.

"She was absolutely begging you with her eyes to return before leaving town though, even if you were too much of a dummy to notice."

The trees stood tall, straight, and quiet around them, afternoon sun glowing warmly through the leaves, splattering everything with gentle splotches of amber and shadow. A breeze whispered between the smooth trunks. The stream glittered and babbled over the pebbles of its bed.

The serenity did little to still the agitation in Atyr's mind. He sat for a short time, running his tongue along his lower lip, fingers tracing patterns on his palms, trying to figure out what to say, and how to say it.

Through some miracle of the Fates, Pesky allowed him the quietude, flitting restlessly around between the trees, looking at various, seemingly random objects with a playful interest.

Finally, Atyr spoke. "I just want to explain to you what the past three days, no, I think five days, have been like for me." Pesky drifted back towards him, turning a slow cartwheel in the air, before landing on a branch a stride from him, settling down on her back, as though ready to nap. He paused. "Are you listening?"

"Intently." She yawned lazily, and rolled onto her stomach, dangling her arm idly off the branch and drawing small circles in the air below.

Atyr frowned, but continued, certain that she was indeed listening, albeit in the most annoying way possible. He breathed in long and slow.

"Ok. So. I'm working away, trying to build a place for myself. A spot of my own. I can live there: fish, hunt, forage, maybe grow things. I can work wood. I carve, you know? I can bring it to town to sell. Tools, toys, trinkets... maybe I meet a woman, maybe we marry, we have kids, we grow old, we die, the kids live on in the cabin." He paused to look at her. Pesky apparently wasn't planning on responding, so he opened his mouth to continue.

She cut him short. "Sounds boring."

He rolled his eyes. "It would, to you, I'm sure. That's what I had planned though. Well, obviously I can't really plan the family and all, but the point is, I was building a place to live. I was building a life. I'm a full score of summers now. A full man." He ignored the derisive snort from the branch.

"Then, one day, I start feeling all weird. Like, something's really hitting me. It hits me so hard I slip and break my hatchet." He glared at the sprite, who was still feigning boredom. "That hatchet is just about the most important thing to me right now. I can't build without it. So breaking it is a fae-cursed bit of luck."

Now Pesky reacted, just slightly; her arm ceased its lazy swinging. "Fae-cursed" may have been an unusually apt swear.

Atyr continued. "And cutting my leg was no fun either. But here's where the last few days really went into the wilds for me. I go to clean the cut and wash the blood off my pants. Suddenly, I get... I get attacked-- or, well--"

"The word is 'seduced', dummy."

His cheeks began to burn. "That woman, Elatla, she came for me, and--"

"You came for her as I remember it."

"Thank you, Pesky. Ok, fine, she tried to suck my dick, and then kill me. She dragged me under. You saved me, I guess? Then I passed out, I think. Then I woke up, and you did your weird voice thing to me, and I think I passed out again. Maybe a couple times. I don't know, it's a blur. Then I woke up, and tried to get dressed, but you made me, made me get--"

"You came in your pants."

"You made me do it! And then, I don't know, maybe I passed out again? Then I wake up, and it's night, and I try to stay awake, but then I'm out again, then I wake up naked, out in the open. You seeing how luckless crazy this is already, for me?"

The sprite looked at him. She shrugged, then turned away and began swinging her feet back and forth, like a bored child at lessons.

"Well, it was crazy for me, ok? But then you come back, and you use your voice on me again, and you talk me into the eddy, and then she's there again, and..." Face blazing now, he swallowed, as his body began to respond to the memory. "And- and then she, Elatla I guess, she was back and she came for me again, and, and--"

"Like I said, that time it was definitely you coming for her. Right down her throat, as I reca--"

"Will you just listen?" The sprite giggled. Atyr stumbled on. "And, and then maybe I passed out again? And then I tried to walk to town, and my leg went sour, and the world faded, and all I knew were voices, in and out, and then suddenly, I'm awake, and I'm naked again, and those two women, Bird and Kella, they're talking to me, and I'm getting up, and I'm leaving and... and now here we are. For days, I haven't had a moment where I truly understood what was happening to me, and I've just been tossed around, back and forth, with no control, and I almost died, twice, and then I wake up, and suddenly I find out I have to go on some fae quest or something, and that apparently I chose this?" His voice was getting louder than he meant it to now.

"Well I didn't choose it, ok? I just woke up and found out! So, it's time for you to do some explaining, and I mean really do it, explain what is going on. Why are you following me? And what is this?" He yanked up his sleeve, pointing to the symbols Bird had shown him earlier.

Now Pesky dropped down off the branch, fluttering over to land on his arm. "That? It's your Class, dummy."

Atyr bit his lip, trying not to swat the little creature away from him. "I don't. Know what. That is."

"Neither do I, obviously."

His fists clenched, but he kept his voice low. "What do you mean, neither do you?"

"I can't read it. It's just for you."

Atyr stared at her. "But what is--"

"What does it say?" she cut in.

"It says," He closed his eyes. "It says 'Ranger, Level 0."

"Oh booorring, of course it does. I should have guessed. How original. Boy from the woods gets Ranger, and now we get to go look at animal prints and poop and pick dumb plants. So unique, the boy who likes trees gets the boy-who-likes-trees Class. And now I'm stuck with him."

Atyr had no idea what she was talking about, but he was nevertheless annoyed. In fairness, that was to be expected with the frustrating little creature. "Then," he said, "it has 'Rogue (subclass) - Level 0.'"

Pesky turned and looked at him, flying closer. "Oooooh, so you're all fancy, huh? A subclass right away? And a Rogue. Oh, a Rogue! Oh, maybe this will be fun after all..." She flew high up in a spiral. "Oh yes, I knew I was right to pick the sexy tree boy."

Atyr stared up at her, bewildered. "But what does all of that mean?"

Pesky drifted happily through the air, and looked down at him, "I told you, it's your Class. It's who you are. Obviously."

"Do I have to do some sort of Quest now? Bird said your kind send people on Quests?"

Pesky hovered, stopping her looping flight. "Oh, I suppose if you want to. Yes, I could find a Quest for you." She drifted aimlessly in the air. "I really don't have any plans in mind."

Atyr was getting more confused, not less. This was not how he had hoped the conversation would go. "So... so I can just go back to my cabin after I finish what I need to do in town? And, and nothing will stop me? You won't stop me?"

Pesky froze, then drifted back down to his level. "I won't stop you."

"Ok. Ok, that's... honestly, that's very relieving to hear. Ok."

Pesky, fluttering close to him now, beamed innocently.

"Ok, so I'll just... I'll just get my supplies and head back then?"

She nodded, "You're allowed to do whatever you want."

Atyr paused, and looked down at his fidgeting hands. He looked back up at the tiny woman, glowing with a pale, dusty haze, somehow cold against the warm sunlight. "So... so did you bring me back to life? Back at the Healing House there?"

Pesky drifted closer. "I gave you a choice, Atyr. A choice to be my adventurer, or to remain what you were before."

He stared at her. This close, and for once holding still, he could see her clearly. She was beautiful. Tiny, delicate, intricate, translucent almost as though made of tiny points of soft light. Her features weren't remotely human. The face was long and pointed, as were the ears, the white eyes were large and round, wide-set, the nose far smaller than it should have been, and pointed as well, and the lips larger, wide and full. Truly seeing her, he began to feel that same weird feeling of sensuality, of inexplicable eroticism. He pulled back and looked away, disconcerted, trying to remember what he had just asked.

"I... remember choosing... I remember choosing to die."

"Do you want to be dead, Atyr?"

"No! Of course not! I just-- when I was sick I--"

"Then you didn't choose it."

"But I did! I remember it. I remember wanting, wanting comfort, the silence..." His voiced faded, afraid of the words he was speaking.

"It doesn't sound like you chose death to me, Atyr."

"But--"

"Choosing something doesn't make it a choice."

"... What?"

"You're alive, dummy, and the only way that's possible, is that you chose it. I could only offer. Agreeing was all you. No matter what you think you chose."

Atyr wasn't sure he followed, but that was the least of his questions. "So, why am I alive then? If everyone knew I would die."

"Oh, that's easy!" Pesky spread her arms and spun in the air. "Fae-touched heal up like that! A full night's sleep, and most any injury will fade away. Especially a tiny cut like that." She grinned at him. "You wouldn't be much fun for us if you had to take a week or two to recover every time you got a few bumps."

"Fun for you? Is that what this is? That is what this is, isn't it? Some kind of faerie game you've dragged me into?"

"Oh. Yes, that's pretty much it."

Atyr stared at her delicate face, disbelief on his features. She grinned back happily.

"A game," he repeated. "Fine. It's all a game to you. Ok. So, but, what does that mean? I'm part of your game now, so I heal up overnight, no matter what?" That was, Atyr reflected, pretty much exactly what had just happened to him, but that didn't make it feel real, or like something that could be expected to happen again reliably.

The response was bright and cheerful. "Yup, that's how it works!" She paused. "Well, you won't regrow a leg or anything like that, but otherwise..."

Atyr took a moment to digest that. He had made some sort of agreement with the fae, (he still wasn't clear what) and now any injuries would heal themselves as he slept? Maybe he was still asleep, lost in the fevered nightmares, about to succumb to his soured blood. That certainly seemed more plausible. Not entirely sure this was reality, he plunged on nonetheless.

"Ok, so, let's say I decide to climb this tree as high as I can, and jump from the top. What happens?"

"That would hurt a lot."

"But tomorrow I'd be fine?"

"Depends."

"Depends?"

"Depends on how tall the tree is."

He slapped the trunk. "This tree. Tomorrow I'd be fine?"

She looked up. "I don't know."

Atyr thought for a minute, trying to plan out a question that might force an actual, useful answer.

"Why don't you know? Do I only heal up overnight sometimes?"

"No, always."

"So, if I jumped from the top of this tree, tomorrow I would be fine."

"Maybe." Pesky was beginning to drift away across the little clearing.

"Oh come one, just give me a real answer."

"I don't want to."

Atyr looked down at the ground, jaw tense. He looked at the sky, then squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "Ok, can you tell me why you don't want to? You won't give me any answers, or just this answer?"

"This one."

"... Alright. Fair." He stared at her sullenly. "Seems like some fairly important information for me to have though."

Pesky was quiet, still turned away.

He tried a different topic. "Ok then, are you going to explain what a Class is?"

"Oh! Oh yes," she said, spinning three times before coming to a stop facing him, cheerful once more.

Atyr breathed deep, and settled himself. "So, what is it?"

Still beaming, she answered. "I already told you dummy, it's what you are."

Atyr tried a while longer, posing questions to the sprite, sometimes getting answers of a sort, sometimes not, but it quickly became clear that whether not she thought she was explaining things, he wasn't really gaining any further understanding of his situation. Finally, he stood up and looked around him at the trees, light coming through the trunks at a low angle now.

"Ok, well, I guess I need to do a couple things before everyone closes up. Drop off my hatchet at the smith's, see if there's still lodging available at Gant's place. I have a fair bit to do here before I head home and get back to work on the cabin." He looked at Pesky, apprehensive that there might be a protest, a demand that they set out on whatever it was her 'adventure' might entail.

She buzzed distractedly around him, "Ok, sounds good. I probably won't be around much while you're dealing in town."

He glanced over at her as she flitted around, still not ready to believe she was dropping the whole adventure thing. "Any chance you might just not be around much in general?"

Pesky turned a slow, irritating pirouette in midair, and drifted over to one of the birches.

"Alright. Ok then." He looked at her one more time, but she was now apparently fascinated by the process of peeling off small shreds of bark. Shrugging, he set off, weaving around tree trunks to head back to the town proper.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

Errands in Woodstead

Rehamel, the smith, was a smiling, pleasant young man with perpetually tousled, orange-red hair. He had taken over the forge early in his apprenticeship when his master, the former smith, had succumbed to a sudden smelter's cough, lingering barely a week at Bird's Healing House. Now, only a few years Atyr's elder, he was considered something of a metal-working prodigy amongst the folk of Woodstead. In jest, people liked to attribute his youthful expertise to some fae sympathy with fire, due to his blazing hair. In reality, every bit of skill the young man possessed was due to the diligence and hard work which responsibility at a young age can bring.

Flipping the chipped hatchet back and forth in is hands, Rehamel snapped his fingers and pointed cheerfully at Atyr.

"I made this. It must have been a long while back; it has my old master's mark on it, but his hammer strokes would never have been this rough. I'd do much better work now." He smiled at Atyr, holding the blade up between them. "I bet you'd have been a wee little boy when I forged it. Must have been your father's?"

Atyr nodded, smiling back slightly. "It was. He had it made when I was young. You're not that much older than me though, Rehamel, I'm catching up fast."

"Not much older, but enough." He chuckled. "But this looks like my beginner work; you'd have been not much more than half my age at the time I did it." He looked at Atyr. "It was your father's though, so you'd like to keep it? Sentiment, and all that?"

"You're making it sound like he's dead." Atyr screwed up his face. "But yeah, I'd like it fixed up and useful again. I'm building a cabin out in the Brookwood, and I'm stuck without a decent hewing axe."

"Building in the Brookwood are you? Well, you are your father's son, I suppose. And you'd like to keep this bit?"

"It's the only one I have."

Rehamel nodded rapidly, his fiery hair bouncing. "I only ask, because, there's a couple things we can do. If you have the missing chip --?"

Atyr shook his head.

"Ok, well, with the chip, I could forge weld it back together and regrind the edge. Not perfect, but it'd still be a serviceable tool." He shrugged, looking at the bit. "With this much of the blade missing, my options are basically to reshape this into a smaller one." He looked at Atyr closely. "Or, I can just forge you a new hatchet."

Honestly, Atyr hadn't even considered the sentimentality of the ax. He shook his head. "I just need a good bit that'll hew me some beams. My father always says tools are for using. You take care of them, and they'll take care of you, he'd say. But I know he'd rather I have the tool I need, than something that's only partway." He bit his lip for a moment, looking at his palms, then shook his head again. "What's the price?"

"Well, if you want me to beat it out and grind a new edge, five kips. If you want me to forge you something strong, sharp, and useful, a full banner. If you want something beautiful, something you'll save for your children... it depends what you want. Could be a handful of banners, could be more."

Atyr thought. A banner wasn't nothing. "If I make my own haft?" he asked. "I'm good with wood."

"Oh, prices are without the haft. I'm for metal. You know wood has always been a mystery to me." The smith smiled at him apologetically.

Atyr tried again. "I earn my way, but a banner for a bit is a lot for me. Is there anything you need a hand with around here?"

Rehamel sighed slightly, but he was still smiling. "I know you're handy with an axe." Atyr nodded. "Alright. How's this. You split me up the dry hardwood rounds behind the shop, down to the width of your fist, and I'll forge you a new bit for twelve kips. If we use your old bit for material, I'll make it eight kips." He looked back through the shop, out the rear window. "I think there's a good three cord or so back there.

Atyr thought about his hatchet, his father's old hatchet, being melted down in the forge, and he realized there was a hint of resistance in him. He was quiet a moment, but he nodded. "If anything, I'd like it if my father's old hatchet was part of my new one. Eight kips and three cords it is."

Rehamel flipped the axe in the air, catching it in his other hand, and grinned. "Eight kips and some firewood, split and stacked. There's a maul on the stump out back. You'll find it. We both start now, and I'll have this cool and waiting for you before you've got the wood stacked."

Atyr grinned back. "We'll see who's done first." He turned to door and saw a large crosscut saw hung on the wall. He looked back at the young smith. "Hey, how much would that be?"

"The saw? Big saw like that, I have to hire help when I forge it. Takes a lot to grind it to shape. That one's headed out with some merchants in the coming days, but if you wanted something like it, that's a four banner saw, there."

Atyr looked at his palms, then looked sidelong at the other man. "Don't suppose you need a dozen cord split?"

Rehamel laughed, and shook his fiery head. "Don't suppose I do. If you need a saw though, I got a smaller one here, unclaimed. I could give it to you for two banners and six."

Atyr laughed back. "I wish I could. But I'm working my way through what I need in town, and that'd take me weeks to earn. If I ever fall into some luck, maybe I'll take it off you."

Rehamel laughed again, and turned to his work, hatchet in hand.

Behind the smithy, splitting axe in hand, Atyr was unsurprised to find Pesky buzzing around his head once more.

"I was wondering," she said, giggling, "if he'd be interested when you asked if he needed a hand with anything. Right after you told him you were really good with wood." As she emphasized 'hand' and 'wood,' Atyr felt brief flashes of her weird voice, though it was somehow muted now, with less of a direct, physical effect on him. Still distracting, though.

"Don't do that! And ugh. I'm not... I don't go with men. Plus, he's known me since I was too small to lift this." He hefted the heavy maul, wrinkled up his nose, and then, in case she doubted him, added another, "Ugh."

"Sounds like you're trying to convince someone," she said, dancing in the air in front of him. "Why don't you get busy and give him a hand with his wood, already."

Atyr rolled his eyes so hard they hurt, and turned to the task at hand.

A while later, he was back in the front of the smithy sweating and tired. Rehamel was still working on the hatchet, and spared him only a brief glance before turning back to the forge. Atyr was glad for a break, the past days having worn on him, and dropped himself down onto the floor in a corner to wait. The two young men shared a small amount of idle conversation, but for the most part, the smith was focused on his work.

As the gloom drew around, the smith finally lifted his flame-red head, and raised a gleaming bit of metal, shaking it to catch Atyr's attention. He walked over to where the young woodsman was slumped against a wall, and presented the new-forged ax head. Atyr stood, and took it from him, then looked up in surprise.

"This is... surely this isn't what you promised me? This is beautiful work!" The metal shone in Atyr's hands, polished steel fairly glowing in the fading light, smooth, and honed to an edge that would trim a falling feather without disrupting its flight.

"It's solid. It's a fair tool. I don't make anything half good. But it's no nobleman's blade." Rehamel looked at him, a quiet pride to the smile on his lips. "It's a fair tool."

"I'd have split you the dozen cords for this, and felled the trees besides." Atyr paused. "Only, I haven't the coin to pay the rest yet..." He hadn't considered that before, caught up in his eagerness to demonstrate his skill with an axe.

For the first time, the smith's cheerful brows drew down slightly, but only for a moment. He looked out the rear window, eyeing the newly stacked firewood.

"Well. I'll consider that firewood your earnest coin. You take the bit with you, and I'll trust you to return when you've the rest you owe me. Fair deal?"

Taking a lower price in exchange for some menial labor, and then being happy to wait on payment seemed a more than fair deal to Atyr, and he said as much. "I promise, I'll have the coin I owe you soon, as soon as I find some work in town. A day or two, no more. I earn my way."

The other man smiled, as he always did. "I'm sure you do. But I'll not fret it if you need longer to pay. I'm the only smith in Woodstead, so I'm not hurting for coin."

Atyr was more than grateful for the trust, and his face showed it. He looked at the darkening window, and hefted the axe bit in his hand. "Well, my thanks for this. And I promise I'll have the coin for you as soon as I can. Even if I have to forgo food or lodging. I don't mean to hang on charity."

Rehamel laughed then. "Please, don't go hungry, or sleep in a ditch on my account! Pay me when you're ready, and not before. Really, I'm fortunate in my place here, and waiting a couple days for a few kips won't hurt me. You take care of your affairs first, then you see to what you owe me."

With a few more assurances on Atyr's part, and a few more smiles and laughs on Rehamel's, he found himself back on the darkening road outside the smithy, bit in hand.

A short walk across town brought him to Gant's lodging house, the only inn in town, and a bit of a local attraction for Woodstead and the surrounding country. This evening it was quiet inside, though Atyr knew it could get more than a little rowdy on occasion. He walked to the bar and caught the innkeeper's attention.

Gant was a small, elderly man, short, thin, and perpetually hollow cheeked and sunken eyed, with a personality to fit his mournful appearance. The townsfolk joked that long ago his parents had meant to name him "Gaunt" and that only their poor spelling had saved him from a more appropriate appellation. Jokes aside, the small innkeeper was well liked in Woodstead, and his lodging house was held in high regard.

"Hullo, and what can I do you for tonight?" Gant eyed him, then cocked his head in recognition. "Arlet, isn't it? The Bracken's boy?"

Atyr smiled. "That's me. It's Atyr. Atyr Bracken. I've been in a couple times lately. I used to come in with my father when I was a boy as well, when we made trips to town."

"When you were a boy? Are you not still?" Gant looked at him wryly. "But at my age, you're all boys to me, all boys..."

Atyr smiled slightly, not sure if it was a joke or true melancholy of age.

The old innkeep continued. "You'll be wanting a bed, I imagine. And meals as well? I can have you in for both, though the bed may be crowded." Gant frowned. "The nice weather brings the travelers in thicker than usual, but if ye'll take a bed that's a bit over-filled, I can have you in for three kips a night. And that's dinner and breakfast included."

Atyr was no stranger to uncomfortable lodgings, and an overcrowded bed under a roof was better than dirt and no roof any night, even if the weather was clear. "I'd be more than grateful for a bed and a meal. Only -- " he paused, hating to make the request. "Only I haven't the coin now. I'll need to work a day in town to earn it. I earn my way. If you know my father, you'll know I earn my way." He looked up at the gaunt, sullen innkeeper, ashamed at having had to ask.

The old man looked back somberly. "Aye. Aye, I remember the Brackens, and your father in particular. You'll pay, I've no doubt, if you're anyways like to him. And if not, I'll let him know next I see him. You'll stay the night, and we'll feed you, and you can pay on the morrow, or as ye can."

"On that note," Atyr raised a brow hopefully. "I figure you must know a fair bit about the goings on in the town. Everyone always swinging through here, and all that. Normally I just knock on doors and offer help when I come through, if I need to earn some coin, but it was a rough trip on the way in." The old innkeeper eyed him sadly. "Long story, but basically I ended up spending several days in the Bir- the Healing House. Now I'm a bit rushed. If you had any leads on work for a young man not afraid to sweat and hurt a bit, I'd be grateful."

"Several days up at Abarabirdadellet's place, have you? Well, can't say you look it. Must have done you up right, she must have. But aye, there's some work to be found. Few things I can think of that come to mind easy.

"You good with wood-shaping, like your father? The old Teggums, they've a farm out of town just a short walk to the North. Fire got into their hen house, burnt it right up. How I don't know. Hen's ain't usually got much use for fire. But anyhow, the Teggums are on in their years, though still young to me. Their children all live up at the city now. Don't suppose you can replace the hens, but the house would be a help I've no doubt. I'm sure they'd be well pleased if you offered to build them a new one. They've run a good farm for generations; they'd be able to pay you well.

"Also, that young boy Rehamel often needs an extra hand at his forge, if you wanted to check in there."

Atyr smiled and held up the spotless axe head, hanging at his belt. "Just came from there. Split him a few cord to help pay for this. But I already owe him some coin, and he didn't offer any other work."

Gant nodded dourly. "Well, can't say you aren't busy I suppose. And stacking up the debts too, if you don't mind my mentioning."

"I did say I needed work, and swift."

"Right, right. Well, those two would be my only thoughts for real work. There's also a witch taken up her home in the old watch tower. You clear her out, and I've coin for you."

Atyr blinked, smiling incredulously. "I'm sorry, a witch?"

Gant frowned back at him. "What's this about a witch?"

The younger man opened his mouth, then paused. "You said, just now... in the old watch tower?"

The sunken-eyed innkeep was squinting at him. "Aye, aye there's an old watch tower just east of town. Been falling in on itself for a generation now. You telling me there's a witch in it?"

Atyr was likewise squinting in confusion now. "You said there was a witch? I thought-?"

"Now boy, don't go confusing me. You're the one as brought up witches. I've no doubt those fae creatures are about, out there in the wide world, in the Oldwood no doubt. But I don't go talking about them here in Woodstead." His aged chin jutted out, as he tilted his head reproachfully at Atyr.

"Now Abarabirdadellet, since you know her, she'd no doubt talk to you about witches, she would." His voice got quiet and conspiratorial, and he leaned in across the bar. "Few folk remember now, but when we was both young, she started going about talking as she'd met some fae beast or other, in the guise of a man, she said, who'd offered her great magics, no doubt in exchange for her..." He squinted meaningfully at the younger man, "well, she was a beautiful girl then, if you follow me. Folk thought she'd gone a bit off for a while, but then she dropped it. Won't talk about it for nothing or to nobody for three score summers now."

Gant straightened up, and patted the bar with both hands. "No, but you'll get no luckless chatter about faeries and ghouls from me. Ain't seen a sign of one in all my years, and I mean to keep it that way." He scowled now, eyes seeming to sink yet deeper into his skull. "Talking only tempts the fates, you hear?"

"Right, right. Of course. I guess I misheard." Atyr patted the counter as well. "So, sounds like I'm offering to build a hen house tomorrow!"

"An honest plan that. Don't forget you owe me three kips when they pay you." Atyr nodded, and the old man nodded back. "Well, you'll be wanting food, and then I'll show you to your bed."

A meaty stew and some bread filling his stomach, Atyr was directed up the narrow wooden stairs to one of the small, simple rooms above the main floor of the inn. Late as it was, his three bed mates were already under the blankets, apparently asleep.

He ignored them, affording them the privacy of disinterest which was expected of all who shared a lodging house bed, and stripped out of his vest and shirt, leaving his pants for modesty, ripped and imperfectly washed though they were.

He climbed onto the worn mattress, suddenly exhausted. It was, he realized, the first time in scores of days that he had laid down to sleep in a proper bed, not counting his time unconscious at the Birdhouse. His head hit the pillow, and he drew the thin blankets up to his chin, ready to fall into the welcome void of sleep, when an annoyingly familiar, bell-like voice tinkled in his ear.

"Good night, dummy!"

He jumped, snarled to himself, and faded almost instantly into the dream world.

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CHAPTER NINE

Threesomes and Hen Houses

Atyr was bounced gently back to half-wakefulness by the rhythmic movement of the bed, and the heavy breathing of his bed mates. All three of his bed mates. His own breath caught, and his eyes popped open. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head to the side, lifting it just barely off the pillow.

The were all pressed together on their sides under the blankets. The two men were panting and grinding their hips in towards the central figure. A woman. She was turned to face him, panting as well, mouth open. Her eyes, also, were open. Wide open, and staring right into his own.

Bleary, and unable to think of anything else to do, he stared back in astonishment. A wild, open-mouthed smile spread slowly across her features, and she put a finger to her lips, urging him to stay quiet. She reached behind the shuddering back of the man in front of her, and tapped Atyr on the nose.

"Keep it down!" she whispered to her two partners, "You're going to wake him!"

The men didn't respond, but their breathing quieted, and their hips ground into her more cautiously. She moaned then, tilting her head back, but never breaking eye contact with Atyr.

The man whose back was to Atyr hissed. "You're going to wake him if you can't keep your luckless mouth shut."

Still staring into Atyr's eyes, the woman answered with a soft moan, "My luckless mouth would be quieter if it was full." She ran a finger down Atyr's cheek. "Maybe if he wakes up he can help you two really fill me."

"You are insatiable!" whispered the man, a husky chuckle to his voice.

The three of them kept grinding into each other, and Atyr realized his own cock was desperately straining, eager to join them. He shut his eyes, blocking out the woman's intoxicating invitation, and rolled over to face away from the trio. They continued for some time, the pace gradually rising, their attempts at stealth becoming ever more halfhearted, until first one, then the other of the men gasped and tensed, and fell still. Atyr was unsure if the woman had come as well, or if she was just lying there, speared from both sides, pulsing with unfulfilled lust.

He tried to ignore his own throbbing arousal, and finally floated back into darkness.

***

Atyr woke early, and slipped out of the bed as quietly as he could, throwing his vest and shirt back on and grabbing his pack. He had a grip on the door handle when he heard the woman's voice calling softly from behind him.

"Sorry. About last night. We weren't expecting a fourth in the room and I... we got carried away."

Atyr froze, but didn't turn to look at her.

"It-- it's fine," he said, still staring at the door. "I've been through weirder the past few days."

"Oh really?" She was speaking barely above a whisper. "Sounds like a good story...?" When Atyr didn't turn around or elaborate, she dropped it. "But really, I am sorry. I assumed a young man like you would be eager, but I... I hope you could at least get some sleep?"

He half turned. Looking at her attractive features now in the morning light, and unable to avoid the vivid memories of last night, Atyr found himself stiffening swiftly in his pants.

"I, uh, yes I did." He saw her gaze drop and then flick back up to meet his eyes, a half smirk on her lips. "I, I really need to go, very busy to with work. Work with, um, with... It was nice meeting you!"

He fled.

Back on the dusty main road through Woodstead, he began to regret his decision to forgo breakfast at Gant's. He hadn't wanted to risk running into his three bedmates down in the main room, but now his stomach was yelling at him. And it wasn't the only thing yelling at him.

"'It was nice meeting you?!" Pesky seemed well and truly outraged. "Meeting you?! That woman was taking it in two holes, and begging you to give it to her in the third, and you just roll over and go to sleep? Then you leave with a 'nice meeting you'?" She was flying backwards in front of his face as he walked. "That's twice in two days I've seen a gorgeous woman basically throw herself at you, only for you to wander away, clueless."

Atyr was ignoring her, both because she was annoying, and also because he still didn't understand the parameters of public conversation with the Sprite. Could others see her? It certainly didn't seem like they could. Would he just look like he was walking down the road arguing with himself about bungled sexual and romantic opportunities? Better to stay silent.

Eventually, the tiny sprite's outburst subsided, and she settled grumpily onto his shoulder with a muttered, "Seriously, I've landed myself the least roguish Rogue imaginable."

The Teggums were a pleasant elderly couple, the sort of people who it seemed must have come into the world already as grandparents. They first forced a hearty breakfast on Atyr, then forced a sizable amount of their family history on him, and then forced a clean set of clothes on him, which had apparently once belonged to one of their three sons. They had been some of Hetim's clothes, they told him, their youngest, who had left for the city of Trael's Tor many years back, and was quite successful there doing something they didn't understand with grain contracts, and was married to a lovely woman, and had had two children with her, both around Atyr's age, and...

They payed him handsomely for the rough chicken coop he erected, a full banner. Atyr had been hoping for a handful of kips, but they wouldn't hear of it, telling him they were old, had plenty of coin, and not many years left to spend it.

The Teggums then forced a large dinner on him, along with more family history, and didn't let him leave until well past darkfall, sending him back to town with seemingly endless goodbyes.

Atyr headed to Gant's place, and paid for meals and a bed for a second night. The sunken-eyed innkeep split the banner meticulously, first counting out fully a pile of twenty-four kips, then taking six for himself for the two nights stay, and handing the remaining eighteen back to Atyr.

Back in the same bed, Atyr found that, to his immense relief, his only roommate this night was a portly, older man, who was snoring viciously as Atryr climbed in beside him. He looked at the small pile of kips in his hand, then tucked them away in his pack. Given the antics of the trio the night before, the old man's snores proved no obstacle to a good night's sleep.

***

After a quick breakfast of bread, water and an egg (Atyr had refused the offered ale), he headed straight to Rehamel's smithy. The blacksmith was just firing the forge as he arrived, and smiled cheerily at Atyr. He was surprised to receive his eight kips so swiftly, and said as much. Atyr looked longingly once more at the saw hanging on the wall, and said his goodbyes.

He wandered the town, jostling the remaining ten kips about in his pocket, and keeping an uncomfortable eye out for any of his three bedmates from two nights past. He purchased provisions that would keep, as well as a few other assorted supplies he'd been wanting.

Just past midday, he found himself out of Woodstead, back on the road, headed into the Brookwood. A half day's travel would put him on track to be at the cabin site by dark the following night.

It had been an utterly disorienting seven days, between Pesky, and the Kelpie, and of course the almost dying, and meeting Bird and hearing her story... And, along with Bird, meeting Kella... He felt a low, uncomfortable something in his stomach at having left town without dropping in at the Birdhouse to give his thanks once more.

He stopped in the middle of the dusty road, feeling the gentle weight of the last solitary kip in his pocket. Next trip to Woodstead, he'd need much more than a kip to pick up any meaningful amount of supplies, and out in the Brookwood, there was nothing to spend it on. He was only a short way out of town, he could, moving swiftly, make it back to town, donate the kip to the Birdhouse funds and still make a good distance before full dark. Surely, that would be a sign of his earnest gratitude?

He looked at the small, brown coin in his hand, flipping it over with his thumb. And then what? Barge dramatically into the Healing House to hand over what was less than a day's pay for even the lowest skilled labourers? Bird and Kella must see a series of patients with various cuts and breaks and fevers and other illness, all day, every day. To think they'd show any interest in his return would be... Well, Bird at least had reasons to be interested, he reminded himself. But Kella would no doubt be absorbed in caring for some other set of patients. He was one of many.

Atyr looked at the coin, and slid it slowly back into his pocket. He frowned, and continued down the road.

It was a length of time before he noticed how quiet, how peaceful, how sprite-free his travel had been. What drew this peace and quiet to his attention was the sound of an angry hum behind him, at first barely a whisper, but rapidly swelling until a full beehive's-worth of aggressive buzzing flew up the road behind him and slammed into the back of his head with the force of-- well, actually, with not very much force at all.

"Leaving town without me?" Pesky zoomed in erratic loops around his face, close enough that her wings battered dryly at his hair and ears.

"Yow, woah, hey hey hey!" Atyr swatted at her. "Calm down, will you? Fates." She settled into an irate buzzing barely a hands breadth in front of his nose, tiny arms crossed. She glared at him. He spread his hands at the little fae woman. "Look, I assumed you were with me?"

"Did you see me with you?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then why would you just assume I knew you were leaving already?" She buzzed angrily forward, pushing ineffectually at his nose. "I assumed you'd be making a farewell visit to your gorgeous mistress at the Healing House. I assumed if I waited there, I would catch you as you left. I assumed-"

Now it was Atyr's turn to cut in. "Why would you assume any of that? I never asked you to come with me. I have only every told you to leave me alone." Ignoring the fact that he'd just been considering a trip back to town to offer his pittance of a donation, he added, "You're the one who pretended I wanted to head back to the Birdhouse. I never said that."

Pesky's angry fluttering in front of his face became slightly calmer. She turned away. "Maybe. But you should have."

"I should have? Ok, you luckless faerie, tell me exactly why I should have!"

The pearlescent little figure looked at him, posture clearly indicating her disbelief. "She touched your cock. You liked it."

Artry mouth dropped open involuntarily. "I, wha-, I absolutely did not--"

Pesky was already zooming down the road ahead of him. He snapped his jaw shut, shook his head, and stalked angrily after her.

The long afternoon passed, and it was well into the gloom before Atyr finally settled himself down in a clearing to the side of the road, laying out his cloak and digging through his pack. It had been a quiet walk, Pesky having disappeared ahead of him, and not having deigned to reappear since.

As he began to pull out some fresh fruit and bread for dinner, she suddenly dropped out of the air, landing cheerfully on his knee.

"Sweet apples, my favorite!" She plopped down and smiled up at him. "Cut me a slice?"

Atyr blinked. "We're not still angry at each other?"

"Angry?" The sprite seemed honestly confused. "Of course not, dummy."

He blinked, shrugged to himself, and asked a different question. "You eat food?"

"I can."

"Do you... have to?"

"If I want to."

Atyr was silent a moment, and decided he didn't want to waste precious interrogation opportunities on the little creature's diet. "So, I still don't understand what this mark means. 'Ranger,' 'Rogue'. What is a subclass? What does "Level 0" mean?"

Hugging the slice of apple to her torso, Pesky looked up from his knee. "I told you. It's your Class. It's how you are. A Ranger. Which is boring." Her wings fluttered in irritation. "But subclass Rogue, which is my favorite!" She hovered up into the air for a moment before settling back down.

"But what is a Class? What do you mean it's 'how I am'?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"What is exactly what you mean?"

"That it's how you are."

Atyr didn't feel particularly enlightened, so he changed tack.

"Ok, so quests. I don't have one? There's... there's nothing I have to do for you now?"

Suddenly very close to his face, a pair of minuscule white eyes stared earnestly into his. "I would like you to go on an adventure."

He looked around in exasperation, "But what does that-- Ok. Ok. You want some kind of adventure--"

"For you."

"For me, right. You want an adventure for me, but, but I'm free to just head back home and get back to work on my cabin?"

Pesky was silent.

"Nothing terrible, nothing... fae will happen to me?"

She shook her head, and said, loftily, "I would never bring harm to my Adventurer."

Atyr nodded slowly. "Ok... Ok. Well, that's what I'm doing then. I'm heading home. I'm building a cabin. Then I'm spending my days there, growing old, and passing it on to my children and grandchildren." He stared intently at her. "Right?"

She shrugged at him. "I'm a sprite, not a seer. Perhaps that is your future." He glared at her, and she shrugged again, turning away with feigned indifference. "Couldn't say."

He continued glaring, but he got no further response. "Ok," he said. "Fair enough. I'm going to finish my dinner, and then roll myself up in my cloak and sleep. I've a solid day's travel tomorrow."

=========================

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CHAPTER TEN

Wolf

No fever blackened Atyr's mind, no dreams of green women in the water tormented his dreams, no trio of sexually indiscreet bedmates breathed heavily beside him. He woke feeling rested and at peace for the first time in a week. Sitting up on the ground and unrolling himself from his cloak, the only odd thing around him was the small sprite, who had managed to roll a sweet apple out of his bag, and was now attempting to maneuver his knife, the blade of which was half as long as her body, to cut into the red skin of the fruit.

She looked at him as he sat up. "If you don't mind?"

Atyr blinked, sleepily. Pesky let the knife fall and plunked herself down upon the apple. She pointed at the knife and said again, "If you don't mind."

The young man found himself smiling at the sprite in spite of himself, the annoyance with which he generally held her slipping for a moment.

With a shake of his head, he picked up the fallen blade and cut her a thin slice, taking the rest for himself. No thanks were offered, but she happily sat down to begin munching at the slice of fruit she held across her lap.

Atyr was beginning to eat the remainder of the apple, when he heard a quiet movement in the undergrowth across the road. It sounded large. He paused, peering at the brush. Nothing.

"Pesky," he said. "Did you hear that?"

She was still gnawing contentedly at the slice. "Hear what? And no, I didn't."

Atyr took another small bite, his eyes scanning the opposing treeline. There was a dark flash of movement through the dense leaves.

"Pesky, stay still, and quiet," he whispered. She did.

He kept his gaze fixed on the shadows between the trees. At first he saw nothing more, but then a dark, low shape crept out of the brush on the far side of the road, barely a dozen strides from him.

Wolf.

Fear swelled in him now, and he quickly scanned the trees again. He relaxed just slightly; as far as he could tell, it was only the solitary animal. A lone wolf could be dangerous, he knew, but they were skittish creatures who would run in response to a good shout. A prickle on his neck kept him quiet though; he felt this particular wolf wouldn't be so easily frightened. The posture, the way it sniffed the air, the intent behind the way its head swung from side to side. It was stalking something, searching for something. For him?

Cautiously, slowly, he picked up his pack and stood. He looked up, and finding a low branch, grabbed ahold and pulled himself upwards. As soon as his feet left the ground, the wolf's head snapped up and its eyes fixed on him. Though the sun was up, they glowed with reflective light. The animal sped forward in a blur, reaching the base of the tree just as his feet swung up onto the branch. The wolf leapt, a howl and a snarl in its throat, jaws snapping shut a hairsbreadth from his ankles.

He scrambled to a higher branch, heart drumming a double beat in his chest.

The wolf settled back and stared up at him, as though appraising the situation. It sniffed his cloak where it still lay at the base of the tree, circled twice, and then sat, shining eyes fixed on Atyr where he perched, just out of reach in the branches.

For a while, the two of them stayed that way, staring at each other, the young man unwilling to come down, the wolf unwilling to leave. Atyr pulled himself up one branch higher. He had no plans aside from staying well above the reach of those drooling jaws.

After a time, the wolf curled up on his cloak, and appeared to sleep. Pesky flitted down to Atyr's shoulder. "Well. That was less exciting then it might have been. You plan on just sitting in this tree like a dummy all day?"

Atryr hissed back at her. "If you have any intentions to help me find a different solution, I'm eager to hear about it!"

She seemed unfazed by the situation. She sighed. "Rangers."

Atryr stared at her. "Excuse me?"

"I prefer the Rogue side. But it's your Encounter. You figure it out." She flitted up higher in the tree, and settled on a branch, apparently planning on watching.

Atyr spent a long moment wondering if there was a way to sacrifice the sprite to distract his furry captor below, ideally getting rid of both problems at once. He discarded the idea.

Balanced awkwardly on the thin branch, there was no hope of stringing and drawing his short hunting bow. He looked at his small belt knife, and the hatchet blade, still without a handle. He hefted the knife in his hand, and stared down at the curled up form of the wolf. He heard an excited rustling from the branches above.

There really wasn't anything else he could think of. The wolf seemed to have no intention of letting him out of the tree, and he had no way to attack it from the safety of the branches. Gripping the knife, he breathed deeply once, twice, a third time, and launched himself from the tree.

The reaction was immediate. He had hoped to surprise the beast, hurtling down upon it from above, stabbing in a frenzy, but as soon as he leapt, the beast sprang upwards at him.

They met in midair, flailing arms and snapping fangs and scrabbling claws and wildly slashing blade. The two bodies crashed back onto the earth. Something hard jammed into Atyr's back as he landed, chasing the air from his lungs. The writhing beast was on top of him, saliva spraying across his face, long jaws lunging at his throat. He stabbed blindly at its flank, wherever he could reach.

The wolf yelped and snarled, rolling off of him and circling warily. Atyr scrambled quickly back and away, knife brandished towards the slinking predator.

It lunged at him again, biting deep into his ankle and ripping side to side, worrying the flesh. Pain blasted through Atyr's leg, and he felt something tear, and the bone crunch.

He flailed and kicked with his free leg, but the wolf dragged him roughly across the roots of the tree. He tried to sit up as the beast shook him back and forth. It released its hold on his brutalized ankle and leapt again at his face. He thrust up his arm and the bloodied fangs sank into his wrist. Pain shredded up his arm. His hand sprang open, and the knife fell free of his fingers. Blood gushed forth, splattering down onto his face.

With his remaining hand, he scrabbled in the dirt for the lost blade, the hot wetness soaking him as the wolf ground its jaws on the bones of his wrist, shaking him now by the arm.

He found the hilt and grasped it, slamming it frantically upwards, at the monster's face, mouth, throat, he wasn't sure. Whatever he could reach, unthinking as he stabbed again, and again, and again. At some point, the writhing weight stilled and drooped heavily across him, the jaws slackening on his forearm, but he didn't notice. His blade plunged again, more, deeper.

The wolf was dead.

He gradually became aware it was over, and his arm stopped its violent motion. Rolling the furry body off him, he tried to stand. His savaged leg gave out, and he fell to his knees. Blood soaked him and the wolf, still pulsing from his wrist and ankle, and leaking from the stabs and slashes in the animal's pelt.

He swayed where he sat, staring at the body. Then he jerked back, dragging himself on his elbows away from the mass of darkened, soaked fur. A blurry, colorless mist was rising from the body. It held the vague, distorted shape of a wolf, hovering briefly, then in a flash, the faint cloud rushed at Atyr, vanishing within his chest.

He gasped. A slight warmth rushed through him, a bit of something pleasant and rewarding and indescribable. He felt ever so slightly... fuller? More complete? His forearm pulsed faintly with the same colorless glow, and he saw the symbols there clarify for a moment, before fading back, almost invisible once more.

Staring at his arm, he noticed that the bleeding had already stopped. He looked down at his leg. There as well, the ripped flesh was, miraculously, no longer bleeding. He realized with amazement that the pain, instead of swelling and intensifying, was dulling. Within moments, it was more of a strong discomfort than the agony he should have expected. He stared at the wound. It looked horrific, but...

Cautiously, he stood. It was still highly unpleasant, but it was bearable. He took a few steps. He flexed his fingers. He was-- he was ok. Looking at the ripped and shredded flesh, he didn't know how, but he was really ok.

"Arytr?" A tiny, worried voice sounded above him, and he spun and stumbled in a panic. "That went... much worse than I thought it would."

His breathing was hard and his heart pounded as he looked up at Pesky. He had entirely forgotten her existence over the brief moment of his struggle with the wolf. He wobbled on his feet, pain now throbbing in his ruined ankle from the sudden motion.

"Wow, sit down ok? If you're going to react like that." The sprite's voice had regained its typical mocking tone. "Only a true dummy would leap around like that with his foot half torn off."

Even if Atyr's mind was still flailing and wild, his body seemed to recognize the common sense of the statement, and he collapsed slowly against a tree. "I've... I've never seen a wolf act like that. Like it was hunting me, like some tale about the Oldwood. Especially a lone wolf, they go for... squirrels. Rabbits. Sick animals. Not people." He remembered the wolfish cloud that had rushed into him. "Pesky. I think it may have infected me with something."

"Infected? Ew. Gross. Well, maybe we'll have to go back and visit your true love at the Healing House after all." Pesky turned sideways in the air, as if swooning. "Only she can cure you now."

Pained and exhausted, Atyr still managed to roll his eyes. "About that. I'll be... fine? Tomorrow?"

Pesky looked at him and nodded.

"I'm having trouble actually believing that, right now."

She shrugged.

"Pesky, you said it could depend, that not everything could heal overnight, or something?"

She shrugged again. "You'll be fine after you sleep."

He nodded several times, slowly, wanting desperately to believe it.

"Pesky, just now a shadow, no a grey cloud leapt out of the wolf's body at me, and I felt it go into me." He paused, and looked at his translucent companion, needing answers now more than he had even before. "Pesky, its eyes shone. It's day, but its eyes were lit with night glow. It wasn't a normal wolf."

"It was a normal wolf. You're just really seeing it now."

"But it acted-- wolves don't act like that. They don't hunt like that. It wasn't normal."

"It was." She flew very close to him now, and with a deadly earnestness, stared into his eyes. "You're not normal anymore." An intensity was on her features, and she held his gaze for a long moment. Then she swatted him briskly on the nose and flew up in a dancing spiral. "Dummy!"

"I never know what to think with you, if you're telling me the truth or not."

"I cannot lie." He felt her gentle weight settle on top of his head.

He sighed, breath shaky with lingering fear and the frenzy that comes with violence. Then, looking up at where her feet dangled just in front of his brows, he tried again. "Ok. If you cannot lie, then will you please tell me--"

"But I can deceive."

"Ok, we are definitely looping back to that point. But first, will you please tell me what the cloud that flew into me was? Do you know?"

"Which question do you want answered?"

"... What?"

"Do you want to know if I'll tell you what the 'cloud' was, or do you want to know if I know?"

"Do you know?"

"Of course, dummy."

"Pesky, everything hurts, and I just want to know if I'm going to be crippled the rest of my life, or if I'm poisoned with some sort of wolf-ghost." He looked at his shredded wrist, shaking in front of him. "So what is it? Is it bad? It, it actually didn't feel bad. I think it maybe healed my wounds, now that I think about it. Did it heal me somehow?"

"I already answered the question you said you wanted answered. That was three more questions. That makes five."

He shook his head in frustration, eyes closed. "Well, why can't you answer all five?"

"Oh, that's a sixth question." She drifted idly across in front of him, just out of reach.

"Pesky. I am hurt. I am lost. I don't know what's going on. Will you please just explain this to me, if you can?"

"Seven."

"Please." He chewed his lip slowly and raked his fingers slowly across his palms, staring down at them. "I'm afraid."

Only silence answered. He looked up. Pesky had landed on the forest floor in front of him. She took a few steps forward, and looked up into his face.

"Number seven. Yes, I will. Six. Bad question, I can answer all five. Five. No, it didn't heal you. You already know that you heal up fast now. Also a dumb question. Four. No, it isn't bad. Three. I'll come back to three, which honestly should have been your only question; the others were all pointless. Two. I already answered number two. One. Yes, I will tell you."

She hopped up onto his knee. "Back to number three. Simple, it's Experience!"

"What's experience?"

"That's eight."

He pushed himself up higher against the tree, hissing harshly as he stressed his mauled wrist. "Please," he growled. "Answer question eight."

"Experience means when you've done something or been a part of something, especially when you learn from it."

"I know what the word means."

"Good! Maybe you're learning from experience."

"I don't understandwhat that has to do with the ghost wolf that is currently inside me."

Pesky laughed at him. "Oh, it's not inside you. And it's not a ghost, those are very different." She shook herself, as though revolted by the thought of ghosts. "Ghosts are very boring."

He stared at her, face sour. "I never feel that I learn anything from your explanations."

"Well, I suppose all I can do is explain. It's up to you whether you want to understand." She flitted away, the 'dummy' not needing to be vocalized.

After a little while, Atyr realized that, though he still hurt, he didn't actually feel all that bad. Weak, maybe. A little ill. But stable, and ready to continue on. His wounds had, in apparent direct disobedience to Fate and the rules of the world as he understood them, healed over. They still looked fearsome, and they were agonizingly tender, but he looked as if he'd already been several weeks in recovery from the vicious encounter. The scars were going to be horrific though, that was obvious.

He walked a bit back and forth, testing the leg, and then worked his wrist around. Everything seemed to be working, though he had half expected the bones to be crushed.

He looked down at the body of his attacker, and drew his knife. That pelt, at least, would be worth taking. He might have uses of his own for it, but if he could get it off cleanly enough, it would be fit for trading in town as well. He walked to the blood soaked mound of fur, and rolled it over.

Shock hit him.

The whole left side of the wolf was mutilated. He hadn't realized just how many times he had struck it. The muzzle and face were gashed and torn, and all along its chest and flank were darkened holes and slashes. It was... he wasn't sure it was worth skinning and carrying with him. Actually, he was sure. It wasn't.

As he let the body of the wolf flop back to the earth, he felt something warm and hard fall into his palm from somewhere in the blood-soaked fur. He pulled his hand away and looked at it. It was a banner, the silver metal shining in his hand.

"That's... strange." He rolled the wolf back over, trying to figure out where the coin had come from. It had felt almost as though it had just appeared in his hand. "I suppose it was stuck in the fur, somehow?" He looked around for his fae companion, wondering if it was worth asking her opinion, but she was nowhere in sight. Well, among the long list of odd events in recent days, this was likely the least of them. And perhaps the most fortunate. Which wasn't hard. Luck in unlucky times, and all that.

He slipped the coin into his pocket to join the small kip there, multiplying his current wealth twentyfive-fold. He patted the two coins. A banner and one. Almost worth heading back to town with, to really stock up. He considered, and decided against it. He wanted to be home to the cabin site, in his own shelter, by his own little pool. His thoughts darkened somewhat. The pool was something else he was going to have to figure out. Or, not so much the pool itself, but his apparent neighbor within it. He looked around again for Pesky, but she was still gone.

"Not like she would have had any intelligible advice anyway," he muttered.

He collected his cloak and his pack, making sure everything was accounted for, and set off briskly down the road, ignoring the twinges from his ankle. Even with the delay of the wolf attack, he should still make the turnoff to his rough-marked trail by late afternoon, and be back to the build site before full gloom had set.

He stopped walking. He really wasn't so sure he wanted to be near that pool just as the gloom was settling in. Remembering the green woman's strong fingers, and the water over his head, and the darkness closing around him as his breath left him, he wasn't sure if he wanted to be by that pool at all.

He wasn't sure of a lot of things. He wasn't sure if his wounds would continue to heal at this fae-like pace. He wasn't sure if that fate-spurned sprite would continue harassing him, though he suspected she would. He wasn't sure what the cloud wolf had been, or what Pesky meant by calling it "experience." He wasn't sure what the difference was, to her, between lying and deceiving, and he wasn't sure if she'd been attempting either with him. He still wasn't sure what a Class was, or how it pertained to the symbols on his forearm: "Ranger, Rogue." He really wasn't sure about anything right now.

He felt in his pocket and drew out the two coins again, the small bronze kip and the larger silver banner. A banner would make a more substantial donation. And he really should have paid his thanks again as he left town. And, fae healing or no, shouldn't wounds such as the wolf had left him with be treated by a real healer? And Bird seemed to know a bit about this whole fae quest business, or adventure or whatever it was. Of course, Pesky surely knew far more, but talking to Pesky was fruitless at best. And Kella was there and-- He couldn't come up with a reason he needed to see Kella, but still, she was there...

Atyr dropped the coins back in his pocket, turned decisively, and headed back the way he had come. He was barely a half day from Woodstead; he could be there before full dark if he was swift.

======================

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

An Offer Repeated

A short while later, the sound of angry bees came rushing up the road behind him once again. He looked over his shoulder, and just managed to duck his head in time to prevent a small, very irate sprite from slamming full speed into the back of it.

"Are you trying to lose me?"

Atyr smiled and quirked his brows at her. "Given the number of times I've asked you to leave, I wouldn't think it would be that shocking." He shook his head, and began walking again. "But no. I've decided to return to town."

"Town? Again?" She trailed along beside his head, her tiny temper already cooling as curiosity distracted her. "Why?"

"Not sure." He kept walking. "And lots of reasons. Maybe Bird can tell me some of the stuff you won't explain--"

"I have explained!"

He threw a look at her, and started again.

"Maybe Bird can explain some of the stuff you already explained in a way this dummy can understand. I want to get my wounds looked at. Couple other things."

Pesky flitted ahead. "Oh, don't bother about your wounds, they'll be gone tomorrow." She flitted over to a flowering vine crawling up a tree, and dragged a blossom down, releasing it and watching in pleasure as it bounced back into place. "What other things?"

"I found some coin near where I killed the wolf. Or, maybe on the wolf? In its fur, I think."

"Ah yeah, that'll happen. So we need more supplies?" She landed on his shoulder. "We definitely need more sweet apples. There's only one left."

"No, I still have four. I bought a half dozen."

There was silence from his shoulder. He looked at her, and she looked away at the passing trees, patting her hands distractedly on her knees. "Nooo, there's only one..."

"You're so tiny, how could you possibly--"

"I really like them, ok?"

Atyr sighed. "So do I. It was a full kip just for those six."

Pesky flitted back up in the air. "Ok, so, more apples, and more other stuff, then?"

"No, actually. I... I figured I would give the banner I found to Bird as a donation. To thank them for healing me."

"They didn't heal you."

"Ok, fair, for taking care of me then."

She landed back on his shoulder, leaning against his ear, and murmured into it. "Oh right, the girl." She paused, and then, her voice dripping with weird eroticism, continued. "Kella."

She hadn't used her Voice on him for a while, and he was unprepared. The bewildering, sleepy desire and arousal hit him hard, and he stumbled on the dirt of the track. "Don't DO that!"

"I've no idea what you mean."

"You know exactly what I -- Isn't that lying?"

"No."

"I feel like that's lying. I thought you couldn't lie."

"I can't."

"But you can deceive."

"True."

"How is flat out telling me you don't know what I mean not lying when you very well know exactly what I mean? That's not just deception, that's a lie!"

"It isn't."

"It is!"

"It's pretending." She stood up haughtily on his shoulder and faced away from him, arms crossed.

"So you can lie if you're pretending? If you're pretending what?"

"It's not lying."

"Ok." He stopped in the middle of the road. "Ok. I want to understand this. I want to know if I can trust you."

"You can trust me. That's the truth."

He scooped her off his shoulder, and she let him, sitting cross-legged on his palm as he held her in front of him.

"How can I trust you, if I can't know if you're lying or not? Or if you're deceiving me? Or if you're lying but it's not lying because you're pretending or something like that? You seem to want something from me, but I can't even figure out what it is, because you won't explain it. And even if you did, again, how could I trust you?"

She looked at him, head tilted, with a little smile on her tiny face. "Humans can deceive and lie. Can you trust them?"

"Well, yeah. I mean no, but at least I know they can lie to me, and what that means. With you I don't even know!"

"So you always know when humans lie?"

"Of course not, that's not what I--"

"Then what do you mean?" She laughed at him again. "Maybe I'm telling you the truth sometimes, maybe I'm not. You'll have to guess. It's the same."

"It's really not the same." He knew it wasn't the same. When he had engaged this topic with her, he had known it wasn't. He wasn't sure how exactly it wasn't the same now, but he still felt he was right. "It isn't."

She walked up his arm to his elbow, then reached up to tap him on his chin. "You dummy. It really is." She flew up, and continued down the road towards Woodstead. "And I don't want to lie to you or deceive you." She looked back. "Let's go deflower your maiden!"

Atyr stood still for a long moment, watching the glowing form buzz its winding, distractable way down the road. He shook his head, bit his lip, looked to the sky for patience, and set off after her.

On the walk back to Woodstead, Pesky alternated between fluttering around idly, playing with leaves and flowers, pestering Atyr with largely incomprehensible chatter, and disappearing unexpectedly. Doing his best to keep his annoyance in check, Atyr tried to pry a few slivers of information out of her here and there, but after a half dozen attempts, he had to admit it was largely a lost cause. Whether she actually believed she was explaining his new situation to him, or whether she was being intentionally obfuscatory, the results were indistinguishable.

She seemed to come and go for no identifiable reason. Atyr had thought she might hide from passers by, given her absence for most of his time in Woodstead, but she seemed unconcerned about being seen.

At one point, she had been sitting happily atop his head, teasing him about something (he was ignoring her, so he wasn't sure what) when four suspicious looking men, in dirty leathers and with weapons at their belts came walking towards them from the opposite direction. Pesky didn't even slow her pattering speech as the four men drew level with them. They acknowledged Atyr in a gruff but amiable way and continued past, as though there was nothing more usual than a faerie sitting atop a young man's head as he walked down the dusty track.

As the men disappeared around the bend, Atyr asked her about it. "Pesky, can people see and hear you? Other than me, I mean?"

She continued drumming her heels against his forehead. He'd given up trying to get her to stop. "Oh yes, of course!"

"Really? Its just that, well, people don't seem to take notice of you at all."

"Oh yes. That's because they can't see me."

"But you said --"

"You asked if people could see and hear me. And people can. Some people. But not the people who can't." She kicked back hard with both heels. "Obviously."

"So you choose who can see you?"

"No, they choose."

Atyr was both relieved and dismayed. Relieved that he was actually getting some straight answers out of her. Dismayed that, even with straight answers, he was only becoming more confused. He was trying to think of what question to ask to get clarification, but she continued, apparently feeling unusually generous with information today.

"Some people want to see me, so they invite me, and then they can see me. Some people don't want to see me, and some people don't know they can ask."

"Ok, but, I can see you, and I never asked."

Silence.

"One day, I just started feeling your weird thing that you do, and then I almost got killed by that green woman--"

"Elatla."

"Right, Elatla, she tried to kill me, and then there you were. I could see you. But I never asked to."

"You asked to see Elatla."

"Oh, that is something I absolutely did not ask for!"

"You did. You put your blood in her pool."

"Her pool?"

"She has been there since the eddy wore deep enough into the earth to house her." She hopped off his head into the air and looked him in the face, poking him in the nose sharply. "You don't even really live there yet."

Atyr sighed. "Ok, fair enough, fair enough. So bleeding in her pool counts as asking for her to come murder me?"

"That's one way to invite her." She shook her head at him, disapprovingly. "And she doesn't always murder people. You've met her twice, and you're still here."

"The first time you had to physically chase her away as she tried to drown me, and the second time you had to ask her not to literally eat me."

The sprite sniffed. "Nevertheless, that was a rude way for you to say it."

"Ok, ok." He backtracked, looking down at his trudging feet. "So how exactly did I ask to see you?"

There was no response. He looked up. There was no Pesky. He rolled his eyes and threw his head back in resigned frustration. There was no point. Hopefully Bird knew enough to give him the bare bones of what he was in for.

The Road was busy today, and Atyr passed several more travelers, some alone, some in pairs or small groups. As was custom, no one stopped or exchanged more than a few pleasantries. To stop on the road was to make an explicit threat.

Which is why, when the three figures approaching from the opposite direction halted a short ways ahead of him, and the smaller figure in the middle pointed directly at him, Atyr didn't hesitate to leap off the road and down the bank, sprinting into the trees and vanishing into the Brookwood. He might not be sure what the "Rogue" implied in the symbols on his arm, but "Ranger" was a description he'd heard of himself a fair number of times, and it was appropriate. He'd grown up running, playing, and living in the wood. He could outpace most people swiftly, and lose them among the dense trunks in short order. It gave him a sense of safety on this stretch of road that few others could enjoy.

After diving into the trees, he sped straight away from the road. He was out of sight in just over a dozen strides. He slowed immediately to a stealthy jog, crouching low and slipping through the undergrowth as smoothly as the wolf had earlier that day. He turned and cut back towards the road in an arc that would bring him up behind the trio.

Creeping up to the edge of the dusty road, he peered down the way and saw the backs of the three figures. Two men and a woman, he could tell now. He heard the woman laugh and say something. From their posture, they seemed unconcerned: not about to race off into the trees after him. He darted across the road to the higher shoulder, and slipped forward through the trees, silent from long practice. He swiftly caught up to the three of them.

As he drew near, he began to hear their conversation. A man's voice came, low and rough, with an incredulous tone to it. "Really? He was awake? Weird little shit. Just laying there watching?"

The woman laughed again. "Oh, I was basically begging him to join with my eyes." Atyr stumbled and almost fell as he recognized her voice. Two men and a woman; it was that trio.

"Yes," she was saying, "I think he was mostly just really uncomfortable. He just looked at me and then rolled over and pretended to sleep. I saw him as he left in the morning. He was a fairly young guy, looked very rustic. Probably not used to that sort of invitation."

"Still a weird thing for him to do," said the man.

The other man broke in now. "Because what we were doing was so normal, right?"

All three laughed She swatted both of their backsides, and skipped ahead. Atyr was barely a half dozen strides from them now, as they came to the place where he had left the road. The woman stopped, and turned to face the trees opposite him, her back to where he now crouched.

"Sorry again!" she called loudly into the woods. "We should have kept it to ourselves!" She paused, considering something, then shouted again, "Offer still stands though, if you have second thoughts!"

The two men chuckled and shook their heads, and the trio continued down the road, away from Woodstead. Atyr remained concealed in the brush, watching them go. Just as they were about the fall out of view, thin wisps of grey drifted out of each of their backs, and shot straight at Atyr. He was barely able to react before they reached him and vanished into his chest. He staggered back in surprise, tripping and sitting down hard. That faint, warm sense that something had been accomplished flickered in him again. It was nowhere near as strong as it had been with the wolf, in fact, he might not have noticed the sensation if he hadn't had the previous experience.

Experience. Right. That's what Pesky had called it. He still had no idea what that meant. Of course he had experienced both fighting the wolf, and now this whole... whatever it was that had just happened, but what did experiencing things have to do with grey, ghostly mist burying itself in his chest? Yet more things he hoped Bird had some insight into.

"Can't believe you turned her down a second time."

Atyr leapt in a random direction, as the soft, little bell of a voice chimed in his ear. He slammed sideways into a tree and landed back on the ground, wounded wrist and ankle flaring with pain at the jolt.

"Fates, Pesky!" He picked himself up. "You always show back up at just the right moment, don't you?"

"I've been with you for a bit now."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I thought I could see you. Can I not see you all the time?"

A smirk. "Not if you never look behind you." She drifted off down the bank to the road. "For a sexy tree boy, you sure can be kind of unobservant. You should probably work on that."

The remaining walk back to town was quiet, almost entirely Pesky-free and, unusual of late, uneventful. Just since this morning, he had been attacked by a glowing-eyed lone wolf in the broad daylight and been horrifically mauled, had a ghost-wolf of something called "Experience" vanish into his chest, seen his terrifying wounds knit themselves over in only a short span, been spotted by his overly lusty bed-mates from a few nights earlier, and had three more little motes of Experience fly straight into him. If not for the events of the preceding week, this would have been, by far, the strangest day of his life to date.

And he was tired, well and truly tired. His wounds may have healed over, the pain mostly gone, but he felt nearly as exhausted and weak as if he were still bleeding on the forest floor next to the corpse of the wolf. He trudged wearily on.

He reached town just as the gloom was well and truly deepening into night, and stopped on the outskirts. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the two coins. A banner and a kip, silver and bronze glinting in the wan light of the slivered moon. A night at Gant's was three kips, and three kips meant he would have to beak the banner, or stay on credit once again. Atyr hated doing anything on credit, but he also didn't want to break the banner. There was something solid and meaningful about donating a full silver which somehow seemed missing when he considered handing over a fistful of twenty-two kips instead.

He decided to save the coin, and rolled out his cloak a little ways back up the road in a small glade of bracken and blackthorn. He ate a large handful of the sour berries, and was just digging into his pack for something more substantial, when he noticed Pesky had returned. Unusually, she was silent. She stood on a rounded stone a stride away, staring at him intently.

"Oh, um, hey Pesky." He looked at her uncertainly. "Just camping here tonight to save a bit of coin."

She continued to consider him, then hopped off the rock and flitted to the strap of his pack. "Are you getting out the last sweet apple?"

He raised his brows at her, sighed, and fished out the apple, cutting it in half and laying her portion down on the stone. The sprite tore into the fruit voraciously, a surprising amount disappearing into her tiny mouth. It was a shocking, impossible-seeming quantity of apple actually, but the dietary practices of sprites were pretty far down the list of things he wanted answers to.

After a quick meal, he settled himself on the ground and wrapped himself in his cloak. Sleep was without question the most wonderful thing he could imagine right now. He let his eyes drift lazily across the road, towards the town, then up the rocky spire where the old watchtower stood. A prickle of cold ran along his spine. There was an odd, purplish glow coming from the windows at the top.

"Hey Pesky?" he said slowly. "The other day, Gant, he's the innkeeper, he said there was a witch in the old watchtower. And then he acted like he'd never said it. Um... do you know if there's a witch living in the tower?"

Pesky, who had made herself a nest in the top of his pack, poked her head up. "Wetlyn? Oh yeah, she's been there for a while now." She yawned and ducked back into the bag.

"Ok, well, Gant said he would pay me to get rid of her. Then he said he hadn't said any of it. Is that... I mean.... do you know what was going on there?"

"I do."

"Pesky, I am too tired for--"

"I am also too tired." Her tiny voice was muffled by the pack. "Someone wants her gone. They used Gant to ask you. Gant will have no idea about any of it. You should leave her alone."

"Is she nice? Wetlyn, you said? You know her?"

"No, she's not nice. Yes I know her. I'm tired."

"Ok, so, if she's not nice, then why--"

"Hey dummy, what does it say on your arm again?"

"On my arm? The symbols? Uh, it says 'Ranger' and 'Rogue.' Which I still don't understa--"

"All of it. What else did it say."

"Oh, um... 'subclass' before 'Rogue', I think, and then 'Level 0' after both of them."

"Right. Level 0. A little old wolf almost killed you today. Please leave the witch alone."

Atyr was caught aback. He was also confused, but he was always confused, talking to Pesky. But her mannerisms were... very different than they had been up until now. He hadn't realized she got tired.

"Ok, yeah. I mean, I wasn't planning on marching right over there and demanding she leave, I was just curious what that was all about."

No response came from the pack.

"Ok," Atyr continued. "I'm beat, time to sleep. So uh, goodnight I guess."

Still no response. He lay back down, wrapping his cloak about him once more, and with the greatest of pleasure, closed his exhausted lids. The world began to dissolve into the fractured beginnings of dreams.

"Atyr?"

"Hmmm?"

"Please don't let any more wolves almost eat you, ok?"

=======================

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CHAPTER TWELVE

Borrowing Time

In the morning, Atyr felt as though he had never been injured at all. He was completely refreshed: perfectly healed. Only the faintest of scars remained, and even those would be unnoticeable to anyone not searching for them. Pesky hadn't lied when she had said the wounds would be gone by morning. Then again, apparently she couldn't lie, so perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised.

After a lazy breakfast and a short walk, Atyr found himself alone, climbing the short winding path that lead from the main street up the wooded knoll to the Birdhouse. His stomach twisted around, his fingers tittered as they traced circles around his palms.

The morning was warm and breezy, and the door was open. He peeked into the front room. "Hullo?" He saw a young woman sitting on the bench, hands clasped tightly on her knees. Her cheeks flushed and she looked away when she saw him at the door, but, eyes fixed on the floor, she answered.

"They're both in the other rooms. They said they'd be back out shortly."

"Oh. Ok, thank you." Atyr walked in awkwardly, not sure if he was intruding. "Mind if I wait as well?"

The woman glanced up, brows tense. "Oh. Oh of course, of course. Not at all." Her face said that she definitely did mind.

"I'll just... I'll wait outside." He ducked back out, stopping short when he found himself face to face with a cheerfully glowing sprite.

Pesky tapped him on the nose. "Are you ready?"

Not wanting to appear to be talking to himself in the doorway, Atyr just rolled his eyes at her, and found a warm patch of sun, leaning against a tree to wait.

A short while later, the young woman came out the front door, stepping lightly, almost skipping, relief bright across her face. She caught his eyes again, and immediately looked down and way. She hurried off along the path, her cheeks flushing pink once more.

Atyr glanced after her, then turned to walk to the open door. Pesky chattered in his ear. "She seemed quite relieved."

Atyr looked over his shoulder at the young woman's back. "I suppose."

"And embarrassed. What do you think her visit was about?"

He sighed. "I don't know. I have no idea."

"You could ask Kella." She put her weirdness into Kella's name, causing a brief shiver of arousal to course through Atyr's body. He felt a slight pressure grow between his legs.

"Fae take you Pesky, stop doing that!"

She grabbed herself by the wrist and pantomimed being dragged away struggling. "I'm took! But seriously, I bet she's worried she's with child. Probably by some cute, young man with whom she's not supposed to be dallying, I bet--"

"Pesky," Atyr growled under his breath, "I'm certain that Kella and Bird did not go explaining the details of my visit to that young woman, and I don't expect them to tell me about hers." He glared at her. "Also, it's completely irrelevant to me. And to you." He poked her in the stomach and she somersaulted backwards though the air.

"Hey, dummy, let's not get grumpy, ok? I'll leave you alone." She stuck her tiny tongue out at him. "I have a feeling you'll work better without my interference this time. With luck, you'll need the time alone. I'll see you tonight. Enjoy your date with," she paused, drifted close to his face and whispered, in a voice drenched in erotic weirdness, "Kella." Before Atyr could recover or respond, she had zipped off into the trees, trailing giggles.

A moment later she flitted back out. "Actually, thinking about it more, how about I'll see you in the morning?" She pantomimed some passionate kissing, and danced away once more.

He waited a moment to ensure any lingering physical effects of her voice had subsided, then spun and walked in the door. Kella was in the front room now, putting away a few jars and satchels which were spread about the counter. She looked up, and her face broke into a grin, followed by a flash of embarrassment, before finally settling into an attempt at a professional smile. "Oh hello again! I'm so glad to see you up and still healthy and whole. I trust that you-- I mean I really hope you don't need our services again?"

He hurried to shake his head. "No, no, not at all, I just needed, well I didn't need, I just came to thank you and, well because you treated me here and I felt that I should and all, and..." He paused, trying and failing to imitate her pleasant, restrained smile. "Hi. I'm glad to see you too."

Dark eyes brightened. "I was really hoping you would say goodbye before you left town."

"Oh, I've already left."

She cocked her head at him.

"I left, I mean, but then I came right back, because..."

"Oh?" Her brows were questioning.

Suddenly, looking into her eyes, something about holding out the banner seemed incredibly crass. His lips moved around, testing out several different alternatives, before settling on, "I was hoping I'd be able to talk to Bird a little about my injury."

Kella's smile faded into something more polite. "Oh. Bird. Right, of course. Of course." She nodded. "I'll just go let her know you're waiting. She may be a few moments."

Atyr's chest tightened for no reason, no reason at all. He swore internally at Pesky. "Kella?"

She stopped, back to him.

"I, uh, I just have a couple questions about some things Bird said to me, some things I need to know a bit more about, but... but uh, if you don't have too many duties right now I was hoping to ah..." To what? To talk to her? Why? What for? What reasonable excuse could he have for needing to talk to her?

Kella was still standing in the doorway. She turned her head slightly, but not enough to look at him.

"I uh," he struggled on, "I had a couple questions for you too maybe if you have some time after. Or later. After. Whenever." Then he blurted out. "Oh, I wanted to make a donation too since I'm not part of the town so I obviously have never contributed to the collections for the Healing House."

The young woman remained back-to in the doorway, droopy grey robes completely still. "Ok. I'll just go tell Bird you're here." She disappeared into the second room.

It was several long moments before the elderly healer opened the door and stepped into the front room of the Healing House, a small grin playing on her face, her eyes crinkled up in a mischievous sort of delight.

"Kella has informed me that a young man is here with some questions about his treatment, and that he'd like to make a donation." She raised her aged brows at him playfully. "But surely, that man is not you? I haven't much experience with those of your... type, but I sincerely doubt you have any lingering ailments from that little cut that could possibly require my advice."

When he opened his mouth to explain, she cut him off. "And donations are right out. We are funded by the collection each season."

Atyr opened his mouth again to protest, and again she spoke over him. "The collection is anonymous."

His mouth still open, he attempted to speak once more, but she was ready. "The anonymity of our funding is very important to us, and we cannot accept your donation. Well intended though it clearly is."

Atyr closed his mouth and stood, fingers tapping his palms as he tried to think of a way to contradict any part of what she'd just said. "I like to pay my way." He fished out the banner from his pocket. "And honestly, I don't have much use, any use for this, where I live in the Brookwood."

Bird smiled, and gently pushed the offered coin back towards him. "I'm sure a use will come for it. And I do mean it young man. It is important that our funding remain anonymous. Now! Has your wound re-opened?"

"No, no, nothing like that, I--"

"Any lingering pain?"

"None, it's more that--"

"Fatigue?"

"No, definitely not, it's--"

"Dizziness? Vomiting? Forgetfulness? Other symptoms? New ailments?"

Atyr gave up trying to talk, and shook his head.

"Excellent! Well then, I'm very happy to see you healthy, and without need of my services. Since you won't be making a donation, and since you've nothing for us to treat, I presume you must be here for a quick goodbye." She stepped closer, taking both his hands in her gnarled fingers, and nodded graciously up at him. "Goodbye Atyr, it was truly a pleasure. I wish you a safe journey."

Atyr stood, unwilling to leave, but uncertain how, politely, to remain.

Bird's face took on a look of overly-dramatic confusion. "But you don't leave, surely there's no other reason for your visit?" Her aged eyes were dancing with mirth.

"Bird," he started. "Or, Mother?"

"Bird."

"Can you tell me more of the fae? I have only grown in my confusion since I left here. I still don't know what it means that I have a Class, or what this ghostly Experience is, or, or anything!"

"Atyr." Her smile was much softer now.

"Yes?"

"I didn't accept the quest I was offered."

"I know, but you seem to know about--"

"I know what you know. Probably less than you know. I met a man once, generations ago now, and he offered me an opportunity which I rejected. Everything I know about what such a quest may have entailed, I have told you." She patted his hand as she held it. "As I said the other day, you would be better off directing those questions to the fae themselves, if you can. I wish I could--"

She stopped, listening for a moment. Kella was opening the door behind her. As the younger woman stepped through into the room, Bird continued. "Yes, I'm sure Kella would love to spend some time with you this morning. It was so kind of you to offer."

The young woman stumbled and her head jerked up, meeting Atyr's fast-widening eyes.

Atyr stood frozen.

Bird forged ahead. "You know, I think that girl may have truly fallen for you while you were here; you may have more of a chance than you think. In fact, if you're as much a gentleman as I suppose you to be--"

"Mother!"

Bird turned, not even pretending to look the slightest bit surprised. "Oh, Kella, I hadn't realized you were back already."

Kella's eyes were nearly as wide as Atyr's. She looked back and forth between the Atyr and Bird. Artyr looked back and forth between Kella and Bird. Bird smirked at both of them.

"Well," the old woman carried on, "You two may as well take off right now, we haven't much that needs doing with immediacy, and I'm more than capable to handle those we have in the House this morning."

Kella made some sort of noise that may have been an attempt at speech, but Bird shushed her with her hands. "No, not a worry. As I said, I'm more than capable. Now, you two have a nice time together. I recommend you show Atyr some of the quieter, prettier parts of our town, since he's likely to have spent most of his time in the busy center." A wicked grin was across her face now. "Artyr has come into some coin and has no use for it; you two could have a lovely midday meal at Gant's I warrant.

"And Kella, while you're out, would you mind calling on the glazier? There's a broken windowpane in the Ending Room that needs fixing. I swear this old house shifts and sags and cracks more even than my aging body. Oh, and do hurry back after midday, if you would; I'll want some assistance with the poor young girl in the Healing Room this afternoon."

When the younger two remained silent and frozen, she shooed them out. "Go on, now! If you don't leave soon, I'll need you back before you've yet left!"

Atyr and Kella, not knowing what else to do, began, in silence, to walk down the path from the Birdhouse. Birds chirped. The warm breeze was still blowing.

Artyr spoke first, "I didn't actually, she just..."

Kella nodded without looking up. "I could tell. I really am so sorry. I should really just head back."

"No!"

"No?'

"No, I mean, I mean you can go if you want, obviously I just meant that I didn't actually say anything about you to Bird, but if you'd like to spend some time, or if you have time, and you wanted --"

"Time." A deep, refined voice cut in crisply. "Exactly that, Time."

Atyr's head snapped up, and he saw a tall man standing just off the path, richly dressed in midnight blacks and deep reds. "I do beg both your apologies for the interruption."

"If I wanted...? If I wanted what?" Kella asked.

The elegant gentleman bowed low. "My name is Helliot. Mr. Bracken, would you be willing to lend me just a brief moment of your Time?"

Atyr was already so bewildered from Bird's antics, and now further flustered at trying to explain himself to Kella, that he answered automatically. "Yes, of course." He stopped walking, and looked up at the tall, well-dressed man, clearly a wealthy merchant or landowner, if not perhaps even minor nobility. "I'm sorry, I don't remember meeting, but --"

"Oh, we haven't met before. But I am delighted to be doing so now."

"Of course, yes." Atyr really wasn't sure of how one was supposed to act in this sort of face-to-face conversation with the wealthier members of society. Normally he just smiled and ducked his head and minded his own affairs. "Ummm, this is Kella, she is a healer here at--" He stopped dead in the middle of gesturing to the young woman. She was completely still. An embarrassed look was fixed across her face. Her eyes were turned up and to the side, focused on where Atyr had been a moment ago. He stared at her. "Kella?" She didn't move, not a blink, not a tremble, not a flicker of anything. She wasn't breathing.

"Mr. Bracken." Helliot was speaking again, a tone of apology in his voice. "I am certain Ms. Thorn will be eager to continue your conversation as soon as we complete ours. You two must surely have some delightful plans for the day." He gestured gracefully around at the warm sun and the clear summer sky. "It is truly lovely out today, is it not?"

Atyr noticed the gentle breeze was now gone. Everything was entirely silent, aside from his heart, and the voice of the man in front of him. He was finding it difficult to take a full breath, as though the air didn't want to fill his lungs, or once there, to leave. He stared at the man, taking in the unusual cut of his black and red clothes, close fitting, but with odd drapes and streamers of fabric in places. It was somehow familiar...

"What are you? And what have you done to her?" He looked back to Kella, and tentatively touched her sleeve. The thick, grey fabric moved only slightly, harder to depress than it should have been. "What is this?"

"Mr. Bracken, please believe me that I fully understand your distress. It was abysmally ungracious of me not to have more fully explained the finer details of our agreement. Please forgive me the lapse in judgment." He looked down at Atyr, his expression earnest and searching.

"Our agreement?" Atyr glared at him. He felt that he should be more angry than he was, and more scared, but somehow the tall, dark figure seemed to inspire trust and calmness with every word. "What do you mean 'our agreement?'"

"Just now, Mr. Bracken." Helliot's face now wore a look of politely concerned confusion. "I asked you if you might lend me a brief moment of your Time, to which you replied, if I may quote, 'Yes, of course.'" The darkly dressed man smiled again, gently. "To more fully answer your previous, and may I say, very understandable, question, I haven't done anything to your lovely companion. Rather, you and I decided to take a moment of your Time. And that's where we are now, in your Time. Ms. Thorn's Time is currently continuing unaffected. So again, while your concern is both understandable and commendable, please put any worry for the young lady from your mind."

Atyr wasn't sure if he was entirely comforted, but something about Helliot's refined mannerism was soothing, and he felt the anger draining from him. "You're one of the Fae," he said.

The tall man looked up thoughtfully. "Oh, I am certainly no mortal, if that's what you mean. I thought that apparent."

"So you cannot lie."

Helliot nodded approvingly. "Much like your friend Pesky, I am unable to speak a direct lie."

"Right. Right. Ok." Atyr took a deep breath. "So, can I ask why you've stopped me?"

"Mr. Bracken, I really must point out that I haven't stopped you." When Atyr didn't respond, he opened his red velvet gloves apologetically. "I jest, please forgive my untimely wordplay. Mr. Bracken I have so crudely inserted myself into your lovely morning plans, because I wish to assist you. And I hope that, in return, you might also assist me in a small matter."

Atry nodded, cautiously. "Alright. So, what do you need my help with?"

"Well, that is an interesting story. However it is one which requires some amount of knowledge of the situation you lately find yourself in and, knowing your charming little friend the sprite as I do, I worry that you may not have been as fully appraised as we both might wish, with respect to some of the finer points of..." Helliot gestured vaguely around them. "Your novel place in this realm."

When Atyr nodded slowly once more, a hint of his sudden eagerness showing on his face, the taller man smiled and continued. "What I propose is this. A preliminary agreement. You may ask me whatever questions you might wish, and I will answer them honestly, truly, and to the best of my abilities, wherever possible. And, wherever impossible, I will inform you. I will agree to continue responding to your inquiries until you declare yourself fully satisfied. In return, you agree to listen to a brief summary of my own unfortunate situation, and to consider whether you will be willing to assist me with it. Only to consider, mind you. Should you decide against assisting me, I will consider our agreement complete.

"However, should you be willing to assist me, I propose we then discuss the possibility of a secondary agreement, in which you may, within reason, fairly name your desired recompense for the small task for which I hope to enlist you." Helliot smiled, and clasped his palms together in front of his chest.

Atyr blinked up at him. "Ok. Let me make sure I'm following. I get to ask you as many questions as I want, and you have to answer them fully and honestly."

Helliot broke in, "I do apologize, but I cannot promise 'fully.' The terms would be 'honestly, truly, and to the best of my abilities, wherever possible.' Please believe me that I should wish to offer 'fully' as well, were it not for the likelihood that some questions might be better answered in part, and the further possibility that some questions I may be unable to answer at all. Regretfully."

Atyr wasn't sure he was clear on the distinctions, but it seemed close enough. "Right. So you answer my questions the best you can." He looked at Helliot, who thought briefly and then accepted the summary with a tilt of his head. Atyr continued. "In return, all I have to do is listen to your story?"

"I do hate to offer so many corrections Mr. Bracken. I realize the fault lies entirely with my own initial explanation. However, I also would agree to inform you if I am unable to answer a question. You, in return, would be expected not only to listen to my story, but also to consider whether you might be willing to help."

"Right. Right. And, if I choose not to help you?"

"Then you have fulfilled your obligations in full. I will express my heartfelt gratitude for your consideration, and we will part ways with what I hope will be mutual satisfaction."

"And then the second agreement?"

"We need only discuss the details of a possible secondary agreement after the completion of the first. What I hope to ask of you is, I assure you, a small favor, though one for which I will be immensely grateful. Once you have heard my story, should you accept the preliminary agreement, I am certain you will understand why it is that I should desire so strongly your assistance in this matter, a matter which, I reiterate, will likely seem to you a trifle."

Atyr thought for a moment. The utter bizarreness of this situation, discussing details of potential agreements with excruciating precision, all while standing next to a frozen Kella...

However, it seemed a harmless enough deal to make? At the very worst, he would have to tell this pleasant gentleman that he couldn't help him, and that would be that. At best, he stood to gain a great deal of very important information that he seemed unable to get out of Pesky.

"Ok, I agree, with one more condition. You promise to unfreeze Kella right now."

Helliot laughed warmly. "I do commend your care for her. You two make a fine couple."

"We're not--"

The tall man raised his brows, and Atyr shut his mouth.

"But, you need not worry for her. For our young Ms. Thorn here, nothing has stopped. Were I to keep you here for a year, her life would continue without a hitch. Her conversation with you would even continue, as I said, without a hitch, though from your point of view it would take a year to get back to it, obviously." Seeing Atyr's eyes narrow, he held up a red-gloved hand in placation. "But, to set you at ease, I will promise you now that she will be, as you put it, 'unfrozen' the moment we finish our discussion here."

Helliot glanced at the sky. "And, given that our agreement was for only a brief moment of your Time, I fear that I am nearing the end of what I can, in good conscience, keep you for."

Atyr nodded. "Alright. I agree to the first agreement then."

"Excellent. Let us say we will meet back here at this spot this evening to convene your questioning of me?"

"Yes. Yes please."

"Well then, Mr. Bracken, I must thank you for an excellent chat. Allow me to shake your hand to seal the deal." He smiled broadly, and extended a red-velvet glove.

Atyr grasped it firmly, and they shook. Helliot didn't let go.

"And Mr. Bracken, I do hope you'll forgive a bit of playful behavior on my part, but please accept this small gift as an indication of my good will, and as an apology for interrupting your appointment with the beautiful young lady. Perhaps you can purchase her something nice."

Atyr frowned, uncertain what Helliot meant. He tried to draw back his hand, but the other man held it in an immovable grip.

"Oh, and Mr. Bracken. I hope I can trust you to keep our meeting private? I worry that your tiny, fae friend might bristle at the idea of my encroachment on what, if you will forgive me, she may view as her own territory."

Atyr began to feel a shiver of apprehension creeping up his back, but then they were apart, the breeze sighed across his face again, and his breath was easy once more.

"Yes of course?" Kella's voice came from beside him, and he whipped his head around to face her. She was looking at him, slight confusion in her deep brown eyes. "'Yes of course' what?"

"What?" Atry blinked at her.

"You said, 'Yes of course.' Do you mean, 'yes of course' I should head back inside?"

"What? Oh, no, no! I was just answering--" he gestured to Helliot. Kella glanced blankly in the direction he indicated, and then back to Atyr. Helliot shook his head at him, smiling, then waved a gloved hand, and strolled off down the path. Atyr watched him go. Kella seemed not to have noticed the tall, red and black figure at all.

Atyr shook his head, trying to clear it. "I um, sorry, I'm a bit flustered. Would... would you mind showing me around? I know Bird kind of forced it on you."

Kella smiled and nodded, and they continued walking down the path. Atyr blinked and shook himself again. He noticed a weight in his palm. Three silver banners gleamed up at him. He looked down the path, where Helliot's retreating back had just disappeared around the bend.

"Hah. Huh. Well, alright. I'm uh.... I'm actually pretty familiar with most of the town, I used to come in with my father every month or two. Since I was young. But I'd still love a chance to thank you for looking after me." He slipped the silver coins into his pocket, feeling the solid weight of metal now clinking there. Four banners and a kip, Over a month's wages for a laborer. It might be time to invest in a coin purse for himself.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It's a Date

The young pair went straight to the glazier's and left a message with the eldest child about the broken window. Atyr didn't offer any additional information about the circumstances in which it had been broken. Oh, my faerie companion broke it so she could sneak in and annoy me.

For the second half of the morning, they wandered around Woodstead chatting idly. Kella pointed out various locations of interest, sharing stories of her childhood, and Atyr shared his own in return, whenever he had some memory of a place. Thoughts of the strange man in black and red swiftly faded from his mind.

They paused for a short time in the small clearing beside the stream that ran through the woods around the town, the same that Atyr had visited with Pesky days earlier. It had apparently been a favorite childhood spot of Kella's in which to sit and read. It happened that Atyr also knew it well; he had often run off to play in that same clearing, when his father would bring him into town.

Atyr laughed. "I'm surprised I never ran into you here."

Kella smiled back, her dark eyes meeting his. "You may have, almost. I really liked to be alone here when I was young. I would scamper off and hide whenever I heard anyone coming." She looked around her at the white trunks and pale green undergrowth, glowing in the sun. "I really haven't actually been here in a couple years." She paused, and caught his eye again. "I'm pretty sure I've never really been here with another person until now."

Atyr looked away, unsure what to say. Kella slipped her shoes off, and stepped into the ankle-deep water, tiptoeing out and sitting on a wide, flat rock in the middle of the stream.

She pointed through the trees, up the hill towards the town. "I actually grew up right up that way. My parents' home is just out of sight over the ridge. It's really kind of odd that I never come down here anymore."

Atyr slid his shoes off as well, and joined her in the cool water. He summoned his courage and sat carefully on the rock, leaving as much space between them as possible. She smiled at him.

They sat there for a while, not really talking, letting the sun-warmed water run over their bare feet.

Eventually, Atyr spoke. "Like Bird said, I did find myself with some spare coin, and honestly no real use for it out in the Brookwood. Did you, I mean, would you like to get a meal at Gant's?" He looked fixedly at his toes. "With me?"

Kella was quiet a moment, looking down as well. "We can... if you really like."

Atyr was quick to jump in. "Not to drag you, I mean. I'm sure you need to get back to the Birdhouse, and I've already taken your whole morning. I'm sure I'm not the first life you've saved, or... well or helped save I suppose, or... well, you know. Thank you again for that. That's all I wanted to say." He swallowed, and stood up, then sat back down.

Kella took off her grey headwrap, and long dark hair spilled over her shoulders, rumpled and messed, but glowing where the flyaway strands caught the midday sun. Atyr stood up again.

"No, I'd be happy to go, only..." She looked up at him, lips slightly parted, starting and abandoning several words. "I suppose I've really missed coming down here. I really loved it here as a child. Maybe we could just, stay here instead?"

Atyr nodded cautiously, suddenly completely unsure of what sort of situation he was in. His plan for the morning had been to demonstrate his earnest gratitude for the two women's care, give them the banner, hopefully pick at Bird's memories of her experience with the fae man, and then to say his farewells. Whatever Pesky might think, he was certain, certain, that Kella was just a young woman who had shown him kindness, and to whom he wished to express his thanks.

Somehow, he had instead been swiftly kicked out the door, with no information, and having made no donation, to find himself in a world frozen in time, talking to a strange man in black and red velvet, and now, with more coin in his pocket than he'd ever held before, he found himself on a... date... with Kella? Was this a date? He sat back down.

Kella was smiling at him more broadly now, a bit of a laugh hiding in her brown eyes. "I will really need to head back sometime soon though. Whatever Bird may say, I am needed at the House."

"Right. Right. Of course. Um, speaking of Bird, can I ask why she was so adamant in refusing any sort of donation? She kept saying anonymity was important."

"Oh. Ah, right. Yes. Well, the town takes up a collection every season to pay for, well, a whole bunch of things really. Maintaining common grounds, paying our officials, that sort of thing. The Healing House is funded from that, and we really get more than enough to make ends meet. The way it works is that anyone can just walk in, or I suppose be carried in like you were, and we'll heal them or help them the best we can. If we start letting people make 'donations,' people worry, other people that is, they worry that, even with someone as respected as Bird, it might be tempting to, you know, maybe pay a little more attention to people who might make bigger donations. When really, it should really be the people who need the most care who get the most care."

Atyr nodded. "I guess that makes sense." He bit his lip. "Can't the wealthier people in town just make bigger contributions each season, hoping to get better treatment if they fall ill?"

She shrugged. "I suppose some of them probably do contribute for that reason. I guess that's why the collection is kept anonymous, so we don't really know who donated what."

"Right, but, I mean, it's probably pretty obvious who might have contributed more, isn't it? Some big landowning family, or some poor laborer?"

"I suppose." She shrugged again. "I don't really know that much about all that end of things. But I do know that everyone expects us to get by only on what we get from the seasonal collection. Going against that would be... people would be really angry. That goes for everyone else who is given part of the collection. We're all expected to make do with just that, and accept no other coin for our work."

"Huh. I guess there's a lot that goes on in a town that you don't have to think about when you're just popping in to trade now and again."

A moment passed, sunlight flickering on the burbling water, the breeze hushing quietly through the leaves around them.

Atyr traced his fingertips around his palms, staring intently at them. "It um, it sounded like you payed a bit more attention to my care than Bird thought you should have. When I was ill."

Kella's gaze snapped down to her own hands, cheeks suddenly flushing pink. "I... you... Bird had you in the Ending Room, and I'm sure she really was right to put you there, but I just, I thought..." She trailed away.

"The Ending Room?"

Her eyes flicked up, then back down to her hands. "We have three rooms at the Birdhouse. Well, four, really. There's the first room, the one--" She glanced up again with a wry smile. "That's the one Bird chased us out of earlier. Sorry again, she just does stuff like that to people." Her cheeks were still burning, but she seemed grateful to have something solid to explain.

"Then there are the three main rooms. Bird named them. First there's the Leaving Room, because the people in it will be leaving soon. Usually people are only there for part of a day, or overnight at most. Simple broken bones, things like that. Then there's the Healing Room, which is where people who are sicker stay while we care for them, sometimes for days, or even weeks. Then... then there's the Ending Room, where people go when we are just helping them feel less pain, until... until the End."

"And... that's where I was."

Kella nodded. "Yes. And she really was right to put you there, because you were dying swiftly when you were carried in from the Brookwood. You really shouldn't have made it through the first night, certainly not the second, or..." Her voice faded off again. There was a long silence.

Atyr stood up. "Well," he said quietly. "All I can say is thank you again. Really." He held a hand out to her. "I suppose you need to get back? I know I've kept you a long time."

Kella reached up, her thin fingers wrapping around his palm. He pulled her up and she stood facing him, standing in the stream, her dark eyes searching for something on his face.

She kissed him.

Atyr sat down again.

He missed the rock.

For a moment, he stared up at her, and she stared down at him where he sat, soaking in the shallow water. She giggled. He flushed. She snorted, and he couldn't help but join in. Both of them were overcome with gasps of laughter, as she pulled him up and out of the stream, and the two of them collapsed on the sunny bank. It was a while before either of them could get a word out, and their stomachs were aching by the time they began the walk back to the Birdhouse.

Bird was in the first room when they arrived. She looked up, eyes eager, and took in Kella's loose hair, and Atyr's soaked clothing.

"Well." She said, a smile cracking her ancient features. "Well. Well, well."

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Questions in the Dark

Atyr spent the rest of the afternoon trying helplessly to come up with a clear, detailed list of questions in his mind, to be certain to pick every scrap of information out of his meeting with Helliot. He had no intention of helping the tall man with whatever his problem might be, but so far this seemed like the best bet to actually begin to understand this new, fae situation. Kella's dark hair had a beautiful red-gold glow to it when the sun hit it.

He dragged his mind back. If children's tales held any truth, the details of agreements with the Fae could be very important. That's why Atyr had made doubly certain that he was under no requirement to do anything but listen to Helliot's story. He wasn't entirely sure if Kella's eyes were truly brown at all; they were dark enough they might almost be black. He shook his head. His first question should obviously be to ask about the mark on his arm: what it meant, what a Class was. From there...

He had been completely mortified for a brief moment when he had sat down into the stream like an idiot, but her little giggle, her laughter... from there, the next obvious thing he needed to know was whether or not he had some kind of obligation to Pesky, some 'Quest' to go on as Bird had implied. Pesky said not, but Pesky said a lot of things. For one, she seemed to think Atyr had fallen for Kella, which was obviously ridiculous. Well, after this afternoon, maybe that was different, but before...?

Quests. Quests. Did he owe Pesky one now or something? Oh, and Experience. What was that about?

His stomach groaned a bit. He hadn't eaten since breaking his fast that morning. It was too bad he hadn't ended up sharing a meal with Kella...

As the gloom began to settle, Atyr walked back across town to meet Helliot at the Birdhouse. His list of questions was still muddled in his head, but the time for planning was over. He wondered if he might see Kella, but the door was shut, and only a faint light shone from one of the windows. He briefly considered knocking, but that seemed a bit invasive, especially after dark. Did Kella even spend her nights here? He wasn't sure.

He was still staring at the front door, mind rambling from thought to thought, none of them concerned with his recent fae misadventures, when a deep, refined voice spoke quietly behind him.

"I do so very much appreciate your punctuality. Punctuality is, in many ways, at the most honest heart of an agreement."

Atyr turned around. Helliot's black clothing disappeared into the growing gloom, but the red strips somehow held their rich color, embers against the darkness.

"Oh, hi. Uh, thanks for coming back."

"My thanks to you for your return as well, Mr. Bracken." Helliot nodded his head gracefully at the trees. "Might we relocate off of the path for some additional privacy? I suspect our conversation might be one that could provoke unfortunate curiosity from passers by, should they find you deep in conversation with, as the would no doubt see it, yourself. Unfortunate for us both, but perhaps for you in particular. I could, of course, solve for that problem in the manner we used this morning, but I do hate to waste more of your Time unnecessarily."

Right. That whole time thing. Atyr mentally added that to his list of questions. What exactly had happened there? With all the weirdness of recent days, things like that were beginning to seem less noteworthy.

He nodded, then immediately wondered if he had just made a new agreement with the dark gentleman. Agreements did seem to play a large role in how Helliot liked to interact. Too late now.

Once they were a ways off through the trees, down the backside of the hill, Helliot turned, smiling, and spread his red-gloved hands expectantly.

Atyr looked at him, unsure just what it was that the gentleman expected. "So, do we just start with questions now, or...?"

"My dear Mr. Bracken, the terms of our agreement indicated that, before anything else, I would completely satisfy your questioning mind, to the best of my abilities. I am therefore, eagerly, at your disposal."

Atyr nodded. "Oh. Alright. So, this morning then. Time. You did something, and the world stopped. What was that?"

Helliot smiled apologetically and inclined his head. "I must admit to some small discomfort that you chose to begin with that particular question. I should like nothing more than to answer it, but I'm not certain it is a question that can be truly answered." As Atyr's face grew suspicious, the tall man held his hands up placatingly. "Please do not misunderstand me Mr. Bracken, I will certainly try. It is not that I am refusing the question, only that I do not know whether I can answer it in a manner which will explain it satisfactorily."

Atyr settled back and nodded slowly, calmed by the words.

"Mr. Bracken, we all have a certain amount of Time here. Some more, some less. Though we may often wish it dearly, no person may have more Time than they have. Nor may a person have less. It is the amount that it is."

Atyr was frowning, already confused. "You mean, it's somehow set, how long we will live?"

"Not at all. You see now my apprehension. Already I have lead you astray. Allow me to make a second attempt. It is not that a person's Time is predetermined, but rather that, however long, in the end, it may turn out to have been, that is the only length there is to it." When Atyr still looked baffled, Helliot continued. "Imagine you had died in Abarabirdadellet's Healing House. Oh yes, I know young Bird. Imagine you had died, however. You would no longer be here, correct? No matter how much many might wish it otherwise, your Time would have Ended, and there would be no more of it.

"Now, if we take the inverse, you must also agree that, given that you are here, and that you have not yet died (most fortunately I must attest, Mr. Bracken) that there is no way to take the Time you have had from you. Were tragedy to befall you on the morrow, you would still have spent today as you did. Your Time would remain unchanged, as it must always be."

There was an implied question there, asking if Atyr had understood. He hadn't understood at all, but he nodded slowly anyway. Helliot seemed aware that the explanation was falling short, and smiled apologetically. Nevertheless, he continued.

"Your Time however, is under no requirement to proceed directly from moment to moment in sequence, plodding mindlessly along in order, from one to two to three. This morning, you and I agreed that I might borrow some of your Time from another time, and so we used up the briefest of moments now, when it was, I hope you will agree, most useful."

Atyr thought he understood. "So, you took time from later in my life and used it up now?"

"To be precise, the Time was from 'later in your life' as you put it, and so it cannot be said to have been used now. It is Time from later, and so it was used later, and can only have been used later. We just ordered it between two moments which came earlier."

Atyr's shimmer of understanding slipped away from him. "So now... does this mean I'm going to die earlier or something?"

Helliot smiled at him. "It was but the briefest of moments, Mr. Bracken."

Atyr chilled slightly, remembering that he was, in fact treating with the fae. A simple agreement to lend a stranger a moment of your time might shave actual time off the end of your life. Or... maybe not. He still didn't understand.

"Mr. Bracken, I will reiterate that I remain uncertain I can do this topic justice. Might I suggest we move on? The decision is yours of course. I remain at your service until you are fully satisfied."

Atyr thought for a moment, and decided he wasn't sure he wanted to understand all this about his Time any better, even if he could make it start to make sense.

"I, yeah, maybe that's wise."

Helliot nodded graciously.

"Ok, so... I have this mark on my arm." He pulled up his sleeve. "Pesky says it's my Class, but I have no idea what that means. So I guess the question is, what is a Class?"

"Ah, right into the thick of it!" Helliot clapped his gloves together briskly. "I can answer your question in two ways. I can give a brief answer, which will be accurate and succinct, but may provide you with little of real value. Or, if you will allow me a bit of a preamble, I believe I can give you a truer understanding."

"Can I, maybe have the short version first?"

"Certainly, certainly. The answer, in brief, is that your Class is merely a description of who you are at a very simplistic level. More accurately, it is a description of how you are, and how you are likely to become."

"Yes, Pesky said something like that. Maybe the long answer after all?"

Helliot bowed, velvet streamers glowing dark cherry amongst the shadows. "A wise decision. Allow me to begin by describing the distinction between the mortal, and the immortal. One might say that mortals die and immortals do not, but that, though with a sort of truth to it, is ultimately false. You, Mr. Bracken, are mortal, I presume? And yet, you are not currently dead, and we have no absolute assurance that you one day will be. It is likely, admittedly, and it would be a thing nearly unheard of for a human to continue without end. It does however, come back to time. No person's time is knowable until it ends. Perhaps someday a mortal will continue without an end to their Time." He shrugged. "Only time will tell. A joke, Mr. Bracken, if you will forgive my momentary levity."

Atyr was feeling lost, but he had to assume all this was somehow related to his Ranger/Rogue markings.

"And I, as you may have guessed, am immortal. But yet, I may certainly be killed. Death is no stranger to the ranks of the immortals, I can assure you. No, Mr. Bracken, death is not a distinction which separates the mortal and immortal worlds."

Helliot paused here expectantly, so Atyr nodded again, chewing his lip.

"But age, age one might protest, age affects mortals. Truth! Mortals age, and become old, and die. But do not many among the immortals fade with time, dwindle and diminish? No, aging is no more a distinction than is death. So what, you may be wondering, is the bright line between us?"

Hoping to demonstrate some level of understanding, Atyr offered, "Is it magic? Fae have magic?"

"'Immortals', Mr Bracken, if you'll forgive my correction. 'Fae' is... it is a messy term, and does not describe many of us. But no, 'magic' is not the distinction it might seem. From our point of view, what you call magic is merely a part of the mundane world. 'Magic' is, as mortals most often use the term, only a description of the distinction between the habits of mortal and immortal, and so it becomes tautological. No, that isn't it at all."

This last bit was very much not making sense to Atyr, but he also wasn't certain he much cared. "So, not death, not aging, not magic. What, then?"

"Yes indeed, what then? Well, an excellent question, and one to which I have an answer. It is the difference between inside and out, between the surface of a thing, and the whole thing. Might I have the apple from your pack?"

Atyr blinked, surprised that the strange man seemed to have such intimate knowledge of the contents of his bag. Nevertheless, he pulled it out and handed it over.

"My thanks, Mr. Bracken. Now, if one were to look at this apple, only to look mind you, how might one describe it?"

Atyr was well and truly lost now. "Is this still about my Class?"

"I do apologize if I seem to be meandering far afield, but please believe that this is all in service of a final answer with which I do intend to provide you."

"Ok then, well, I guess I would say it is round, and red."

"Is that all?"

"Ummm, it has a stem?"

"A perfectly adequate description Mr. Bracken. Now, would you say that redness, roundness, and the presence of a stem are what make an apple an apple?"

"I don't follow..."

"Imagine, if you will, that I handed you an object. It is red. it is round, and it has a stem. Is it an apple?"

"I suppose, yes?"

"Imagine that object is a rock, which I have painted red, and to which I have affixed the stem of an apple."

"Well then, no, obviously."

"Precisely Mr. Bracken. It is a rock, a painted rock with a stem affixed. Now, what does make an object an apple?"

Atyr wasn't sure he remembered the original question at this point. "Well, I guess it's round, usually, and red, or green or yellow, and sweet, or maybe sour, and it has flesh and seeds, and skin, and ah, well it grows on trees and... honestly a whole ton of stuff, I'm not really sure. It's just an apple."

"Precisely. As you so pithily put it, 'a whole ton of stuff'. Now, imagine you understand apples as you do, inside and out, where and how they grow, how they taste, how they smell, feel: all the things that make an apple an apple." Helliot smiled encouragingly. "Imagine now, a small infant, too young to speak, or even to eat such food as apples. How might that tiny child experience the apple?"

Atyr thought back. "... Do you mean the baby would only see it the way I first described it?"

"Precisely, Mr. Bracken. May I commend you on your swift intuitions in this case. Precisely. The infant would understand the apple only as something which is red, and round, and, if they are a perceptive child, they might also take note of the stem. You, Atyr Bracken, know what an apple is. The infant sees only the surface.

"And that, I contend, is the distinction. The mortal world is one of surfaces, of illusions, a world viewed as an infant views an apple, red and round. An immortal understands what the world is in all its aspects, flavor, smell, weight, heat, emotion.

"And now we come to it. A Class. Each person has a Class. I do, Pesky does, you do, our dear friend Abarabirdadellet and her charming young assistant, your beloved Ms Thorn both do. Whether a person develops it or is aware of it, it is there. It is, as I indicated previously, the briefest, most general description of how a person is."

Helliot seemed to think this explained things well, but Atyr was as lost as ever. "So... what does the apple thing have to do with Classes?"

Red velvet fingers trailed dramatically through the air. "It is the apple, Mr. Bracken. For the first time, you are able to see a little more than 'red' and 'round', and to understand just a bit of what the apple is. Class is part of how the world works, beneath the surface, a working to which you now have some level of access."

Atyr was not sure whether that increased his confusion, or his comprehension. Maybe both. "I guess... Are you trying to say I can see the world at a deeper level now?"

Helliot was quiet a moment, looking thoughtful. "Mr. Bracken, are you aware of the concept of a lens?"

Atyr shook his head slowly.

"Not a worry, Mr. Bracken, they are an odd, modern implement, of no practical use for the day to day cares of most people. Well, a lens is merely a piece of glass or crystal, plate-shaped, but with a curvature to it, thusly." He indicated a flat, curving shape with his hands. "Looking through a lens at the world, you may see things differently than you otherwise would. For example, some devices utilize lenses to allow one to see farther, and with greater clarity than is usually practicable. Other lenses allow one to view what is small as though it were larger. If you would oblige me, observe this apple. Closely." He held the apple a hands breadth from Atyr's face. Atyr observed it.

"Now, Mr. Bracken, you may notice more about the surface than merely its redness or roundness. You may see small patterns on the skin, blemishes, imperfections, many details that would pass a casual observer by. However, with a lens, a magnifying lens, you would be able to see far, far more detail on the surface, an incredible, unbelievable level of detail. So much detail that to you it might almost seem to be what you would call magic."

Helliot stared at him intently. "But a lens will never allow you taste the apple, to weigh the apple, to know what it is to find bits of apple entrapped in one's teeth. A lens will tell you nothing about the growing of an apple, or of the rotting. What you have now, Mr Bracken, is a lens. More of the surface detail of our world will now be apparent to you. You will notice things that slipped past you before. But, it is different still to know a thing inside. With a lens, Mr. Bracken, it is possible to--"

"Um, Mr. Helliot?" Atry broke in. "I'm sorry, but I'm still not clear. Is the apple supposed to be my Class?"

"I apologize if I have lead you into confusion Mr. Bracken. Please recall that this is only a metaphorical apple. With metaphor, many concepts available to the practical world must be discarded in service of--"

"Mr. Heliot?"

"Eh... Yes?"

"Would it be possible to do sort of a quick, practical version of what a Class is? You know, a short description, and how it might directly affect me? That sort of thing." Atyr bit his lip and made an apologetic face. "I don't think I'm following the stuff with apples and lenses."

"Of course, Mr. Bracken. This is, after all, my obligation to you, and I would be a poor partner in this agreement if I did not ensure that my service was satisfactory.

"At a very basic level, your Class is as I have described it: a brief description of the sort of person you are, in the broadest sense. As, and if, you proceed along your path with your Class, you may gain in skill and ability related to that Class. By way of an example, imagine the Class of Smith. A Smith might gain understandings of metals, dexterity with a hammer, an intuition for the heat of a flame, even an uncanny ability to produce forged metal which is stronger and more flexible than it seems it should be, or better able to hold an edge."

Atyr nodded. This made a bit more sense. Helliot continued. "Progressing through your Class will require you to practice and engage in tasks, especially those related to your Class. Successfully doing so will provide you with something called "Experience." You may encounter Experience in a variety of manners, but it--"

"That's the grey, ghostly stuff that rushes into my chest?"

Helliot smiled at him, and nodded slowly. "Well done, Mr Bracken. Indeed, it is as you say. For a mortal with a lens into the immortal world such as you have, Experience might well be represented as a sort of vague, ghostly echo of the relevant event. As you gain experience, you will gain in what are called 'Levels.'" The dark figure glance inquiring at Atyr. "I should imagine you have noticed the 'Level' affixed to your class?"

"Yes. Yes, they're both a level 0 right now."

"Both? Ah, well my congratulations."

"Right, Pesky mentioned that it was really unusual to have two?"

"Well, Mr. Bracken, I hesitate to disperse any fanciful dreams you may have of superlative ability, but 'unusual' is perhaps too strong of a term. Most individuals will acquire a subclass or two at some point. Some individuals' classes will even shift over time. As young as you are, it is more likely to have only a single class, but having a subclass is still a fairly common occurrence."

"Oh. Alright."

"Now, as you gain experience, you will begin to gain Levels. With each Level, your Attributes will increase, and you will begin to acquire Class-relevant Abilities. A Hunter, for example, might acquire the Ability to always find the heart of their prey with an arrow. Does this all make sense?"

"I think so... except, what are 'Attributes'?"

"My dear Mr. Bracken, Pesky really has told you nothing! If you would look at the symbols on your arm again..." Atyr did so. Even in the dark, the intricate line-work sharpened in his mind's eye, the meaning coming effortlessly. "You see the central symbols? I cannot read your mark of course, only you can, but I imagine your Class and Subclass are prominent, yes?"

"Yes, it says Ranger and Rogue, both Level 0."

"Mr. Bracken. As your partner in this arrangement I feel it is my duty to inform you that sharing such information is both risky and unnecessary. While something as basic as a Class often may be inferred through observation of an individual, more detailed information from your mark is generally considered extremely confidential."

Atyr was surprised. "Oh."

"Look deeper, Mr. Bracken. Use a stronger lens if you will permit my return to the metaphor of the apple. Do you see any smaller symbols?"

Atyr focused on the winding runes around the edges. They swam, not so much into focus, but into understanding, as his mind grasped the information within them, while not recognizing the characters themselves:

Strength - 12

Vitality - 10

Dexterity - 14

Perception - 11

Intellect - 13

Courage - 10

Charm - 8

Fate - 7

"Wow. Ok. Yes, I see a whole bunch of stuff I didn't notice before."

"It is a lens which you are granted, Mr. Bracken. You do not taste and feel and smell the apple as we do, you..." He sighed, thinking for a moment. "Imagine I were to take this apple and inscribe on its skin a brief description of its flavor, its scent, its texture: 'Sweet, crisp', that sort of thing. That description is what you are now reading. You, being you, will necessarily have an intimate understanding of what it is that you now read on your arm, so it should be of no surprise to you to read the values there listed."

"Mr. Helliot? I don't understand what any of this means."

"I will assume, Mr. Bracken, that for the purposes of our agreement, you intend that as a question. So shall I treat it. Let me begin by saying that here we reach a limit to my knowledge. I believe that all the values you see are, for reasons which have never become clear to me, calibrated such that an unexceptional human may be expected to have a value of Ten in each attribute. For a human such as yourself, an attribute higher than Ten is thus to be considered a strength, and lower than Ten a weakness. The values may, as I understand it, extend as low as 1. I am not certain to what heights they may reach."

Here Helliot paused, meeting Atyr's gaze to ensure the young man was following. He continued. "You should see before you the Eight Attributes.

"Strength, which should be well explained by its name. Vitality, a measure of your ability to withstand physical hardship. Dexterity, a measure of your speed, your agility, your physical prowess. Perception, a measure of your awareness: the degree to which the world is laid bare to your senses, to your intuitions. Intellect, your power to analyze, consider, contemplate, and plan. Courage is another attribute which should be well explained by its name. Charm, a measure of your social fluency, your ability to influence those around you, your grace. Do you follow, Mr. Bracken?"

Atyr was not sure that he did, but he nodded nonetheless. It made a certain sense, though the point of it all was still a mystery to him.

Helliot continued. "And finally, Fate. Fate, Mr. Bracken, is a measure of your... Fate. I apologize that I have no better answer for you than that." He paused in thought, almost invisible now amongst the growing dark, except for a flickering light in his eyes, and the glow of the red velvet.

"If you imagine that mortals such as yourself are limited to a perception of the surfaces of the world, as we discussed in the metaphor of the apple, and you further consider that immortals such as myself are invested with an understanding of the deeper, truer reality of the world, the inside world, if you will, you may intuit the following. Mortals perceive the appearance of the world; what it looks to be. Immortals know the what of the world, how it is.

"Please believe me Mr. Bracken, that the what of the world is, and will always be, at some level inscrutable to mortals. Lens or no, you yet see only the surface of things, and cannot understand the interior. If you will forgive the harshness of the term, you have an ignorance of reality to you Mr. Bracken. I assure you, no insult is intended, I aim only to explain. You, being mortal, are ignorant of the deeper workings of the world.

"Now, Mr. Bracken, imagine a level of understanding beyond even the deeper understanding of the immortals. Not the surface experience of mortals, not the inner truth granted to immortals, but an understanding of why. Of that, I and every other immortal, are completely ignorant. We understand what in a way you never will (again, with my sincerest apologies for my bluntness) but even we cannot begin to comprehend the why of it all.

"And that, my dear Mr. Bracken, is in some way related to the final attribute of Fate. It has something to do with Why. Asking of me an explanation beyond that, would be as it would have been to ask of you an explanation of Class before you made your agreement with Pesky. I am, though it pains me to admit it, utterly ignorant."

Atyr was quiet for a long while. Helliot was likewise silent, watching him closely.

Atyr Spoke. "Alright. I think I'm following. Can you tell me if this is right?" He looked at the eyes shining before him in the dark. Helliot nodded.

"So. Class is sort of a description of me, the sort of person I am. Level is... how good I am at that general thing? And then, I get Experience from doing stuff that is related to my Class, and that increases my Level, or my skill. And that... that increases my Attributes, which are just measures of how good I am at... at stuff, and it also gives me Abilities related to my skill in those areas?"

"Mr. Bracken. Mr. Bracken. I really must congratulate you once more on your ability to absorb and adapt to what I am certain must be a disorientingly swift torrent of new information. You have most certainly, if I may utilize the colloquialism, 'nailed it.'"

Atyr nodded slowly. "Right, so here's what I don't get. Isn't that just how the world works without all this? I mean, I have a certain way that I am, my Class, I guess. Isn't that all that it is, the way I am? And experience, isn't that just learning? Practice, training, and all that? And Levels, that just sounds like how good I am at the things I've been learning. Abilities too, everyone gains abilities as they practice their skills and crafts in life... right? Am I missing something? Is this just some weird symbol that describes, you know, how people just normally learn and grow?"

"Of course, Mr. Bracken. Of course that's what it is. Again, as I have said, what you have gained through your partnership with Pesky, is primarily a lens, a lens which allows you to better see the apple that is your life, as it were."

"Ok, but then... really nothing has changed, you're saying?" Atyr chewed his lip, thinking. '"But, but something has changed. I should have died from sour blood, but I woke up feeling as healthy as I ever have. There was a wolf that attacked me just yesterday, and wounded me so deep I would have thought I would be dead, or at least crippled for the rest of my life, but again, I woke up healed, as though nothing had happened." He remembered the faint scarring on his wrist and leg. "Almost."

Helliot smiled. "Mr. Bracken. I understand you have some skill with wood?"

Atyr frowned, but nodded. Yes, he had some skill with wood.

"Precisely so. Imagine that you, a skilled woodshaper, and a second person, one who has never so much as whittled a stick into a point, are both presented with a piece of timber. Which of you will better understand how to utilize such a piece of wood?"

"Well, if they really have never worked wood at all, I guess I would assume that I would have a much better idea of what I could do with it than they would."

"Exactly so, Mr. Bracken, exactly so. It is your understanding of how wood works that affords you such a privileged position from which to analyze the wood. Knowing a thing enables you to manipulate it. With your new lens, you now may understand the world around you somewhat more fully. As such, you perform in it more efficiently. You are still, and will always be, Mr. Bracken, a mortal, that cannot be altered. You are now, however, a mortal with a touch of immortalness to you.

Atyr wasn't sure that clarified much, but Helliot carried on. "Likewise with your Attributes and Abilities; having a more precise understanding of them lends you a great boon. You will find that you are now able to progress to heights that other mortals find unachievable. Note, Mr. Bracken, that though young, you are experienced in the ways of travel and woodcraft, skilled already beyond what may be typical of most humans.

"And yet, your Level is set at 0. This does not mean you are a novice at being a Ranger, it means that you are now privy to a realm of skills which are inaccessible to most mortals. You will find, as you progress, that the abilities which you acquire are often ones which would have seemed improbable, even impossible to you before you sealed your compact with the sprite."

Yet again, Atyr found himself nodding, despite still being unsure what it was Helliot was talking about.

"I guess I have another question."

"Please Mr Bracken, share it. I am yours to command."

"Well, I've heard that meeting with the Fae as I have--"

"We are not all Fae, Mr. Bracken. I do hate to interrupt, but it is a matter of some frustration to many immortals."

"Right. Sorry. So, anyway meeting with immortals, I guess, that people get these abilities because they are being sent on a quest. So, do I have to do a quest for Pesky?"

"That, Mr. Bracken, is a question I cannot answer. Only Pesky can know what it is that Pesky requires of you."

"Right. That makes sense. She kept talking about an adventure, but now she's saying that doesn't matter, and I'm free to do whatever I want."

The tall, dark-clad man nodded and shrugged, spreading his hands.

"Alright." Atyr pushed on. "One last question. Pesky says she cannot lie, but she can deceive. What does that mean? She says things that aren't true, and then claims they aren't lies. I just..."

"Well," said Helliot, looking up at the stars thoughtfully. "That is another question which I must admit I may be unable to answer. As immortals, we know the apple, as I have explained. We do not just see it, we know it. And so, it is a core part of our being that we understand the world. It is not so much that we truly cannot lie, that is to say, there is no thing which forces us to tell the truth, it is that it would be unthinkable to us to do so. Deceive, yes. Trick, for some of us. Misrepresent, certainly. In Pesky's case, I would imagine she has no trouble spewing falsehoods for the sake of a humorous moment.

"But to boldly say, 'This is so' when we know it to be not so? That is an abandonment of what it is that we are. It is not that we are prevented from telling a lie, it is that we would not wish to do so." He looked questioningly at Atyr. "Do you find that answer fulfilling?"

Atyr looked around the grove. "Honestly, no, not really. But I also kind of get the sense it's not something I'm really going to understand."

Helliot smiled understandingly. "And, have you any other queries to which I might respond? Or do you find yourself satisfied?"

Atyr thought for a long moment. "I think I'm good. So, what is it you need from me?"

"Mr. Bracken, you don't know for what a time I've longed to hear those words. Allow me to tell you a story."

===========================

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Helliot's Predicament

Helliot began his tale, assuming a dramatic pose, as though he were performing a long-rehearsed recitation.

"First, I wish you to understand that the passage of time is, to an immortal, not as it is to a mortal. You may measure your time in this world in summers, or in scores of summers. You may measure the histories of your peoples in lifetimes, or even in scores of lifetimes. We measure our lives in histories. So, when I say that I have been waiting for an age, I do not mean a handful of summers, Mr. Bracken. I mean an age of the world.

"And I have been waiting to see my daughter again for an age." He paused to consider the young woodsman.

"She was taken from me. She was stolen. She was imprisoned. She resides now in a location from which she may not remove herself, lest she dwindle, fade, and ultimately come as close to mortal death as it is possible for us to come, short of violence.

"Only with great healing may she be extracted from her prison, healing which I myself am entirely incapable of providing. I have required, for generation upon generation of mortals, a healer of great skill, one who might take my partnership and utilize it to become one such as mortals and immortals alike have seldom seen, and to go forth with me to free my daughter from her endless confines.

"One thing you must understand about immortals, is that we cannot present ourselves at will to those of the mortal world. If you do not choose to see us, it is as though we do not exist. We must be invited.

"I am of a place far distant from this one, Mr. Bracken. My kind cannot come here unless asked to. Without an invitation, this place is inaccessible to us. So it is, that for a long age, I have waited and suffered, knowing of my daughter's imprisonment here, and have been unable to in any way effect change.

"Many a time I have been invited, and I have made many agreements with mortals for fame or success or whatever desire they might hold, and many times have I then been dismissed back to my own realm, my own desires yet unfulfilled.

"So it was, that when a youthful healer of great heart, of great skill, and of great desire invited me here, I could not restrain myself. You may have become aware, Mr. Bracken, that agreements are of great importance to me. They are, you might say, at the core of how I am. But in this case, I could not resist. I did not fully break an agreement, but I strained it. I interrupted it. Allow me to explain."

Here, Helliot halted, looking for something in Atyr's expression. Seeming to find it, he dropped his red velvet hands to his side, shoulders slumping.

"An invitation to this realm from mine is a sort of agreement. The Inviter sends me an Invitation. I, the Invitee, may choose to accept or ignore it, or to reject it entirely. If I accept, I am permitted to appear here, at which point the Inviter makes their request of me. From there, we may haggle over terms, and eventually come to the point of a secondary agreement. Alternatively, we may fail to reach an agreement. In either case, secondary agreement or none, the primary agreement is held fulfilled once I have heard the Inviter's proposal, and we have reached a decision. At that point I may return, in fact am compelled to return, to my home.

"In this particular case, I confounded this pattern of agreements. In my eagerness to free my daughter, I interrupted it in such a way that it has become impossible for me to conclude the primary agreement, and so I am held here until that conclusion may occur." Helliot looked sadly down at his gloved palms.

"It was Abarabirdadellet that invited my here. I see you are not surprised, Mr. Bracken; I had wondered if you would have already come to suspect. Yes, I am her "Fae Man" of whom she spoke to you.

"I knew what she sought; greater skill, greater knowledge, greater ability to help and to heal in this world. These were precisely the things that a partnership with an immortal such as myself could provide. Knowing this, I overstepped.

"Upon accepting her invitation and arriving here, I did not wait for her request. Instead, I advanced my own proposal; she would help me to free my daughter, and in return, I would give her what I knew her desire to be. Skill, knowledge, and the ability to better the circumstances of those around her.

"This would not have been a problem, had she accepted my offer. We could then have clarified the terms and adopted my proposal as her own, completing both the primary and secondary agreements. It also would not have been a problem had she rejected my offer, and proceeded to make her own proposal on her own terms. She did neither.

"Instead, the young Abarabirdadellet grew distrustful. Not just of me, not of my offer, but of the very veracity of the situation she found herself in. She rejected my offer, which again, should have been no issue in itself. However, given that what I had offered her was identical to that which she had intended to ask of me, I believe that she viewed her rejection of my proposal as a rejection of the proposal she had originally intended to make, though it was not, as a technical reality.

"Then, the strangest part happened. I believe she convinced herself that I was not as I am, that I was somehow an impostor, and she seemed to somehow disinvite me. Until that point in my long life, I had not realized such a thing possible, Mr. Bracken. Once disinvited, for her it was as though the invitation had never been." He sighed, and said again, "For her. She could no longer see me, no longer hear me. And yet, our agreement had not in fact been concluded.

"I had agreed to come here and listen to her request, but she had never actually made that request. Not only that, but as she was now unable to see me or hear me, she was thus unable to ever make that request.

"I was left with a terrible decision. Either, I could break the agreement and return home, abandoning everything that makes me how I am. Or, I could remain here. Unseen, unheard, unable to leave. I am bound by my sense of the Agreement of Invitation I began with Abarabirdadellet, to stay by her side, waiting until the Fates should see fit to change my lot.

"And that, Mr. Bracken, is why I was so intrigued to see you walk out of the Ending Room the other day."

Atry started. He'd been lulled into the flow of the story, and hadn't expected to feature in it himself.

"Me?"

"Yes, Mr Bracken. You see, I need to free my daughter. To do that, I must have my liberty from this place. For over three scores of summers I have felt myself bound to Abarabirdadellet, unable to stray far from her. I cannot go to my daughter. I cannot return to my own realm. I cannot even receive the other invitations which have doubtless accumulated, sent, as it were, to my home address.

"Your usefulness to me, Mr. Bracken, is as a messenger. As one who has formed a bond with an immortal, you may see and hear me. As a mortal yourself, you may be seen and heard by Abarabirdadellet. Thus, are you one of the few beings in this world who may speak both to me, and to her.

"Mr. Bracken, I will not hide from you that I have, over the years, become increasingly fond of Abarabirdaellet. You may note that I allow myself the informality of her first name; a familiarity which took me a dozen summers to adopt. I tell you this so that you will understand the bittersweet melancholy with which, for the past three score and seven years, I have been awaiting her death."

A coldness crept up Atyr's spine. He stared fiercely at Helliot, trying to think of some suitably intimidating words to direct at the taller, immortal gentleman.

"Please, Mr. Bracken, do not understand me to say that I in anyway hope for, or relish the thought of her passing. It is merely an inevitability. With age, her Time will eventually find its End. It is with only sadness that I contemplate that event. It is however, the first of three eventualities which would set me at liberty. And so, painfully, for score after score of years, I have waited here, observing her at a remove, admiring her care, her diligence, and her playful love for her fellows, but knowing that at some point, she will be no more, and that at that point I might at last return to my home, with our agreement void.

"It is not an event I wish to hasten, Mr. Bracken, anymore than you yourself would wish it. Less so, in fact. It is only an event which I await for lack of ought else to do.

"Again, that is your place in this, should you accept my offer. There are two other paths forward, both of which would require communication with Abarabirdadellet. The first, is for her to, at long last, make her own offer to me, at which point I could reject it. This would be the simplest way to complete the Agreement of the Invitation. Regretfully, she is now much too advanced in her summers to go adventuring out across the land, and so I could not accept her proposal, even were she still to desire it. This option, however, is made impossible by her inability to communicate with me. Even were she to invite me a second time in an attempt to see me, I am not at home to receive that invitation. I fear that, until my release, I am unable to speak directly with Abarabirdadellet; an essential component of forming a binding agreement. I do not engage in agreements via proxy, Mr. Bracken.

"The final option, is for Abarabirdadellet to pass her stake in the agreement on to another, an inheritor. This would be perfectly suitable. If another, younger healer, one willing and able to venture forth into the wide world, studying and growing and gaining great ability, until strong enough to help me free my daughter... If such a young healer were to be found, one to whom Abarabirdadellet might entrust her agreement... Do you know of one such as this, Mr. Bracken?"

It was obvious to whom Helliot was referring. "So, you want me to ask Kella to go on the Quest to rescue your daughter? From the cave?" He peered at the man's shadowed features. "Bird told me a bit of the story already."

"All that was required of you under our current agreement, Mr. Bracken, was that you hear and consider my request. You have now heard it; I think it wise you take some time to consider it. I will not hide from you that I am an experienced dealmaker, and were the details of the case different, I might now push you for a swift decision. This case however, concerns my daughter, and I am unwilling to risk even the hint of coercion tainting the path forward. I wish you to have time to think. Would you be amenable to pausing at this juncture, the completion of our first agreement, and reconvening tomorrow night to address the matter of the second?"

Atyr had been readying himself for possible unpleasantness, should Helliot press him aggressively for his aid. He was surprised and relieved to be given an entire day to think about the story. They agreed to meet again in the same spot as the gloom fell the following eve. As they shook hands and parted, Atyr saw a tiny grey flicker pass from within their grasp into his chest, and felt a small rush of Experience, warm and satisfying.

==========================

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Alone at Last

Atyr made his way down the dark hill to the main road through Woodstead, trudging along the dusty track, past the silent shops, to Gant's Lodging House. With four banners and a kip in his pocket, the three kips for a night's stay seemed like nothing. He went ahead and paid in advance for a second night.

Gant was his usual dour self, and raised a skeptical brow when he caught sight of the silver in Atyr's hand.

"Seems ye been doing pretty well for yourself, seeing as ye came in kipless not but a few days past. I hope ye've not got into anything untoward your father wouldn't approve of..."

Nevertheless, the inkeep's suspicious demeanor did not prevent him from providing a solid meal and showing Atyr to the same room he'd stayed in days prior. "It's been fateful quiet tonight," Gant said gloomily. "Unless some carnival troupe arrives in town at midnight, ye've the room and bed all to yourself."

Atyr sat on the bed and tossed his pack in the corner of the small room. A bed to himself. He tried to think when it last was he'd enjoyed a full, solitary night's sleep. Surely it had been a fortnight with the obnoxious little sprite as his unwanted companion, or with nights plagued by fever or...

He looked down at the mattress on which he sat, remembering his previous stay, and his three bedmates: the woman and her two male companions. The heat rose to his face at the memory of her invitation in the middle of he night, and her apology the following morning. He felt heat growing lower down as well, as the memories of exactly what the trio had been up to came racing back.

He stretched, eager to rest. Suddenly feeling the strain of the past couple weeks, he stripped off his shirt and vest and spread himself out on the bed, enjoying the soft surface, and the solitude. Not even Pesky around to harass him. He thought of Kella's dark hair, loose strands glowing red-gold in the midday sunlight. He thought of her kiss. He thought how it might be to have her keeping him company right now, on this very bed. Just the two of them, alone. Unthinking, his hand slid slowly down his bare stomach and found its way between his legs, cupping his soft bulge and giving it a squeeze...

Atyr sat up and looked carefully around the room, checking all the corners, anywhere a small sprite might hide. Nothing. He was truly alone. He checked the door. There was no lock, so he grabbed his pack and wedged it against the bottom edge. At least that would give him a moment's warning, should Gant or anyone else decide to barge in for some reason.

He lay back on the bed, and unlaced his pants, pulling them down to just below his ass. His cock, swiftly hardening, bounced free and slapped him in the stomach. He traced his fingers from the base to the head, and back down, and wrapped them around the thick shaft. A small sigh escaped him.

He began stroking, slowly, up and down. Kella's face floated through his mind. She was of course pretty, even in her lumpy grey healer's robes and head scarf, but with her head bare and her hair loose, she was absolutely beautiful. He wondered what she looked like under the rest of that bulky fabric as well.

His imagination galloping away with him, his other hand found its way to his balls. They were already pulling in close, eager to spill their contents out through his cock. He wondered if Kella had been with other men. Or with women, for that matter.... The image of the woman who had been fucked from both sides right beside him on this very bed forced its way back into his mind. The perfection of Kella notwithstanding, he couldn't help remembering the other woman's eyes staring into his, and her words. 'My mouth would be quieter if it was full.'

The grip on his cock worked faster, and the hand cupping his balls squeezed gently. Already he felt the pressure mounting, the need to release. Mind racing, he pictured Kella on the bed beside him, arms over her head, dark hair splayed out, dark eyes looking at him hungrily.

He yanked his pants off the rest of the way, and got up on his knees, seeing himself between her spread legs. Both hands now grasped his shaft. He held them still and began thrusting in and out, faster, harder... He could feel his balls slapping against his hands as he jerked his hips forward again and again, and Kella writhed and gasped and moaned beneath him, her eager eyes staring into his...

The orgasm built fast. He felt his balls tighten, and his muscles spasm, and the hot, white spurts shooting down the length of his shaft and far away. His hips slammed forward into his hands, into Kella once more, and he was locked there, shaking, gasping, as the waves of burning pleasure washed his mind away.

He knelt there for a few moments, coming back down from the peak. His eyes opened. He looked down at his hands, at the bed. That was a mess. He was going to have to do something about that. He looked up to try to find something he could use to wipe up all the sticky, white splatters, and found himself staring right a tiny, translucent, faintly glowing sprite.

She was seated on the rough wood headboard of the bed, elbows on her knees, chin resting happily on her hands. Atyr froze, and a violent, burning heat rushed to his cheeks.

"Wow, what a show!" She grinned at him. "Is there a second act?"

Atyr didn't move. He was sure he should be reacting, but his mind was locked in a loop of panicked impracticalities.

"Although, honestly, I was hoping you'd be doing that into your true love. That is why I left you alone all day, after all." She paused, looking at the ceiling in thought. "Oh, maybe that could be act two!"

Atyr finally found it in him to move. He yanked the blankets up and over his lap, and snarled at her. "What. Exactly. Do you think you are doing?"

The little sprite tilted her head, a beatific smile on her face. "Watching, dummy. I thought that was obvious. Honestly, how did you not notice me here? I was literally right in front of you." She smirked at him. "I guess you were just too into what you were doing."

He shook his head at her, lips drawn into a sneer. No words came to mind.

"So. Was it Kella you were imagining?" Kella's name was, once again, drenched in erotic weird. Recently spent though he was, he felt his cock twitch and swell slightly in response.

"Don't do that. I mean it Pesky. It's not funny."

"Oh, don't be such a lump. It's not like I haven't seen you cum in your pants, and down a Kelpie's throat, and of course--" She stopped.

"And of course what?" Atyr demanded, at once suspicious.

"My, you are full of questions. Shouldn't you be sleepy? I thought men got sleepy after they shot their hot, sticky, wet loads all over the bed where they have to sleep." She wrinkled up her face. "Ew. Enjoy. I'm sleeping at the foot where it's less gooey. Gross."

Atyr decided there was absolutely nothing more that he felt like saying to the abysmally infuriating little creature. He flipped the blankets around, crawled naked into bed, and pulled them over his head.

"Ew, you threw the cummy end at me, you pervert!"

He ignored her. There was a lengthy silence. He figured she must have fallen asleep. He was just about to sink down into dreams himself, when he heard her voice, quiet and soft.

"Good night, Atyr."

He didn't reply for a long moment, but then something got the better of him. "Good night, you insufferable, luckless little pest."

"Pesky." She corrected him. He didn't respond. Sleep took them both.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Daggers and Wildflowers

Something was pinching Atyr's nose. He brushed sleepily at it, but his hand found nothing. Eyes shut tight against the morning light, he rolled over and threw an arms across his eyes. He had the room to himself. He could sleep until midday if he wished.

Something tweaked his nose again. He jerked his head back and swatted blindly, before settling back into the pillow. Something yanked one of his nose hairs right out. His eyes flew open and he shot upright with an undignified yelp. Pesky lounged triumphantly on his pillow, staring up at him.

"Hello my love. Do we leave town this morn?"

"What fate-forgotten, fae-cursed, luckless shitlick of a reason was that for?!"

"I was bored. You sleep so muuuuuch." She rolled over, sprawling in a chaos of tiny limbs on the pillow and faked a loud snore. "I'm Atyr, snoooore, sleeping all day, snooooore."

He just looked at her, then swung his legs out of bed and walked over to the door to grab his pack.

"Hey, dummy."

"What, Pesky." He had hoped to wake up late, feeling relaxed and eager for the day. Now he just felt irate.

"You still have a cute butt."

He ignored her and began to get dressed.

"And a nice cock."

"Fae take you! Do you mind?"

"Not at all. They're both nice."

He threw his shirt at her. Throwing clothes at her was almost a tradition. "I'm not leaving town today. I have something to do this evening near the Birdhouse. I'd like to do it by myself." He glared at her. "Can I trust you to give me some privacy?"

"Oooh, something to do? Or someone to do?'

"Stop."

"Are you meeting Kella again?" As usual, she spoke the name with the weirdness to her voice, the simple word manifesting as an almost impossibly arousing pair of syllables. He pretended to be unaffected.

"No, I'm not meeting Kella. Well, I don't know maybe, but-- Look, can you just agree to give me some space today? We can meet up back here at Gant's tonight. Alright?"

Pesky drifted around the room, stroking her chin dramatically. "Hmmm, I don't believe that I believe you."

"Can we just agree to meet back here at Gant's?"

"Yes." She nodded firmly.

"Yes?"

"I agree to meet you back here at Gant's tonight."

"Oh. Perfect. Thanks." He hadn't actually expected her to acquiesce that easily. He also wasn't sure if agreements were as sacred to Pesky as they seemed to be to Mr. Helliot.

Atyr knew, somewhere in his head, that it was important he spend the day considering Helliot's request, and, should he choose to accept it, figuring out what he would ask for in return. In reality, he spent the day wandering the small town, poking about in the few small shops for something Kella might like. Flowers would have been the obvious gift, but flowers were free, and he was a young man with three banners and nineteen kips in his pocket. Surely there was something better he could find.

He looked first at jewelry; rings, bracelets, necklaces, cuffs... He imagined how each little trinket might look; on her slender wrist, nestled at her throat, sparkling in her ears. There was a pair of earrings with small dark stones the color of her eyes. But, he began to worry that jewelry was a bit too much, too soon. After all, they had only spent a single afternoon together, brief kiss or no.

At the leatherworker's he poked through a variety of pouches, belts, clothing and adornments. The clothing seemed perhaps a bit presumptuous as well. Again, it was only a simple kiss. The rest of it felt... impersonal? Too practical.

For two kips, he purchased a small, rugged, leather coin purse for himself, which fit neatly on his belt. The soft clink of metal on metal as he walked gave him a feeling of importance, but he did wonder how he would go about muffling that once back in the Brookwood. Silence was useful there, and often at unexpected times. That thought put him in mind of the wolf; he realized where his next stop should be.

Rehamel was just breaking for a midday meal, looking tired, his fire-red hair dripping with sweat when Atyr arrived, but as always he wore his cheerful smile. "Atyr, good to see you. How's the hatchet been working for you?"

Atyr held up the bit, as of yet without a haft. "Haven't had the chance yet. I did come into a bit of coin though, and thought you might be able to help me with something."

"Ah, you still longing for a saw, then?"

Atyr looked up at the wall where the big saw still hung. "I am, I am indeed. But actually, I had something else in mind."

"Happy to help as I may."

"I had a spot of trouble in the Brookwood the other day. Wolf came at me, acting all strange. I dealt with it alright and got away, but it got me thinking. Put all those old child's tales of the Oldwood in my head, I guess. Not that I believe any of that, of course, but I guess it's got me on edge." He pulled out his knife, sturdy, sharp, functional, but with a blade just barely longer than his palm. "This is really all I have to defend myself, aside from the hatchet and my bow. But really, you can't defend with a bow up close, and a hatchet isn't ideal either."

Rehamel was still smiling, as he always was, but there was a hint of concern to his eyes now. "Atyr, if you're asking for weapons... I mostly make tools, fixings, findings, clasps..."

"Mostly?"

"Mostly. I make weapons, of course, for those that have a need them but--" He met Atyr's eyes. "That's what you're asking for, isn't it? Weaponry?"

When Atyr nodded uncomfortably, the smith continued. "Look, where do you live again?"

"Just over a day's walk East down the road into the Brookwood, then half a day's trek off the road. I'm building a cabin there. It's why I want that saw so much."

The smith nodded his head side to side. "A wolf, eh? Well, alright. You live that far out I understand wanting something to protect yourself with. Only, don't go waving anything I give you around town, alright?"

"Oh, are you not supposed to? I don't want to get you into a tight spot or anything."

"No, it's not that." Rehamel shrugged, his customary smile in place once more. "I just want to be sure, when someone comes in wanting weaponry, that I'm not likely to be hearing about how some blade I made hurt someone. I just like to be careful."

Atyr nodded to show he understood. "If you'd rather not, I understand it. Lived my whole life in the Brookwood and never felt the need to go armed before. I guess that wolf just has me a little spooked."

"It's fine. You just surprised me is all." He winked at Atyr. "So, what are you in the mind for? Battleaxe? Greatsword? Halberd? Glaive?"

Atyr laughed. The smith's cheeriness was catching, as if the world were a quiet joke. "I don't think I'm even sure what those last two are... kind of like spears, right?"

"Hah. Kind of, I suppose."

"No." Atyr shook his head. "I'm not planning on going to battle in the Brookwood. I'd just like to know that next time I need to stick a wolf, I have a bit more length, more reach. A lot of the forest is dense enough that I wouldn't even be able to swing a proper weapon. Maybe just... a larger knife? The only weapon I've practiced with is the quarterstaff, and that only as childhood sport. I'm a little out of my depth, I was hoping you could help me?"

"Well, I don't tend to keep a lot of weapons around the smithy, you know. I can make you whatever you like, although I'm a bit backlogged right now." He smiled apologetically. "Will you be in town a while yet?"

Atyr bit his lip. "Actually, I was planning on setting out in the morning, early. I guess I might have to make do with my belt knife." He grinned at the red-headed smith. "A score of summers with no wolf attacks, I suppose I'll be fine as I am."

Atyr was about to drop the idea and ask about the smaller saw again, but Rehamel held up a finger. "Hang on a moment, I'll be right back." He disappeared into the rear room of the smithy, returning with a small bundle, wrapped in tattered cloth. He unwrapped the contents and handed over two long, curved daggers, in battered sheaths, blades rusted, hilts worn with use and all over sporting a dark patina of accumulated grime.

"Did some minor work for an elderly gent that came through town last fall. Quiet, bent fellow, seemed down on his luck. Traveling at his age. I felt bad for him. Anyway, he just needed some basic repair work done on his gear. Didn't have any coin, but he gave me these rusty old things. I told him he didn't need to pay me at all, but he insisted. I've been meaning to clean them up, but honestly I don't think they'd be worth much, especially given the condition."

Atyr turned them over in his hands. They had certainly seen better days, but the hilts felt solid, and they were more than twice the length of his little belt knife. These were unmistakably weapons, not tools. He looked up at Rehamel. "How much would you want for just one of them? Can't imagine what I'd need two for."

"One in each hand? Maybe one will break and you'll need the spare? Who knows." The smith grinned at him. "Honestly, what I want to say is that I have no use for them, and you can just take the both of them, but--."

"I pay my way."

"That's what I was about to say. I know you well enough to know you aren't going to let me give you this rusty pair of junk. So how about this. I'll clean them up for you tonight, you come back tomorrow morning with a kip, and I'll give them to you then."

Atyr shook his head, smiling.

"These are worth more than a kip."

"Not to me they're not. The kip's for the labour of cleaning them."

"Six kips, and I only need one."

"Five and you'll take both."

"Five for one."

Rehamel was well and truly laughing now. "If you don't accept my offer, I'm going to pay you, and force you to take both of these junky blades just to clear up a bit of space around here!" He gestured around the clean, well-kept, uncluttered smithy.

Laughing as well, Atyr relented. "Alright. Five, and I'll take both. Though what I'm supposed to do with the extra I don't know."

They shook on the deal, Atyr paid in advance, and still laughing, departed the smithy.

He wandered Woodstead until mid afternoon, with three banners and seventeen jangling in the new pouch at his belt, still agonizing over the perfect gift for Kella.

In the end, he settled on the wildflowers after all.

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Angelic Confrontations

Among the several important items Atyr had forgotten in his rush to be free of his build site by the pool, had been the oilskin weather cloak. He missed it now, as with the growing gloom, a gentle rain began to fall over the town of Woodstead. Atyr made his way through the drizzle to the Birdhouse, flowers in hand. The door was shut. He wasn't sure if he should knock, or just walk in, so he knocked. After a few moments, a tired-looking Bird answered the door. She looked from Atyr to the soggy flowers in his hand, and broke into a wide grin.

"Well. Well, well. You've brought me flowers this rainy eve?" She laughed as he worked his lips into several tentative shapes, trying to figure out a polite response. A mischievous sparkle lit Bird's elderly eyes. "I'm sorry to say you've missed her by only the slightest bit. She's left for home now. But, if you're serious enough to meet her parents, you could always bring the flowers there?"

At the panic in his features, she patted his hand. "Or perhaps it's best if you leave them here. I can tell her where they came from when she arrives in the morning. Although." She winked at him. "I don't suspect she'll need the explanation, will she?"

Several stumbling interactions later, Atyr was back in the rainy gloom outside the Birdhouse, flowers delivered, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Bird certainly knew how to catch him off guard. Had that sweet, elderly healer really just said, 'For all her reserved exterior, I think you'll find Kella is really quite warm inside,' and delivered it with a overly large wink, in case he missed the innuendo? Bird must have been a real wild one in her youth.

"Mr. Bracken, punctual once again. I am so glad you have returned; I do hope this promptness hints favorably towards your decision regarding my predicament."

Atyr spun, and found Helliot behind him, standing just to the side of the the front door of the Birdhouse. The man appeared perfectly dry.

"Oh, my apologies, Mr. Bracken. I had no intentions of catching you unaware. Are you prepared to recommence our conversation from the night previous?"

"Helliot. Mr. Helliot, hi. Yes, let's do that. Should we... are we headed off in the trees again?"

A gracious nod of the head. "If you don't mind, Mr. Bracken. These matters are rather personal to me."

Once in the trees, Helliot launched immediately into a succinct summary of the prior night's conversation. "If I may refresh us both on the relevant portions of our previous discussion." He clasped his red velvet hands. "I cannot, without disregarding my agreement with Abarabirdadellet, stray far from this place. I must be able to leave in order to deal with my daughter's age-long imprisonment.

"If Bird should die, that would free me to return home and to attempt a new course of action. However, I am become dearly fond of the lady, and the long, morbid wait for her passing takes its toll on me.

"If Bird should complete our agreement, that would also release me. However, she is unable to do so, due to the unfortunate circumstance that she can neither see nor hear me.

"Lastly, Abarabirdadellet could pass her stake in the agreement on to another. Ideally, this other might be a healer of good heart, who might undertake the quest I offered Abarabirdadellet over three score years ago. This last option would not only release me, but would set me directly back on the course for which I had initially prepared."

Helliot paused here, glancing at Atyr for confirmation that he understood. "That is where we stand, Mr. Bracken. All that is left to do, is for you to decide; whether you will agree to help me move forward with the matter of this long-uncompleted agreement with Abarabirdadellet; and if so, for you to name what you would require in return."

He looked meaningfully at Atyr. "Again, this may seem a slight task for you, but I assure you, it is of great import to me, and I would not likely balk at your price."

Despite the distractions of the day, Atyr actually had put some thought into this. Meeting Helliot's eye, he began, trying hard to sound more confident in his demand than he felt. "I would like to help you, but I do have a task at hand already. I'm building a cabin in the Brookwood. I often want for supplies, and have to take a week or more off to travel, work for coin, purchase goods, and return. If you give me," He shook water out of his shaggy hair and swallowed, gathering his courage before naming what he felt certain was an exorbitant price. "Two dozen banners..."

That sum was the better part of a year's wages for a labourer. Atyr could live easily until his cabin was built and he was well established in his new location. But there was more.

"And," he continued. "I'll want two good hunting hounds, well trained." He stopped, and forced himself to hold Helliot's eye.

The darkly dressed man smiled, but his brows were drawn down. He looked closely at Atyr, and shook his head slightly.

"Two dozen banners, and a pair of well-trained hounds. Mr. Bracken, I am not prepared to accept this price."

Atyr felt a twist in his stomach. He knew he was demanding too much, but the tall fae man had handed him three banners the previous morning with the same casualness a father might hand their child a kip to spend on a Fair Day. He nodded, and hesitated, wondering if he should come back with a request for a lower amount, or wait for a counter offer.

"I fully comprehend, Mr. Bracken, that we are from different worlds you and I, and that what seems reasonable to you might not to me, as well as the converse. However, I did expect a better proposal from you. I confess that, for the first time in our dealings, I am experiencing a slight sense of disappointment in you."

Atyr's stomach plunged. This was one step off an outright accusation of greed, and greed was a vice Atyr prided himself on avoiding. He bit down on his lip, hard. He opened his mouth to defend the offer, but Helliot rode over him.

"Here is my counteroffer. I will give you a single hound. This hound will be one of my own, from a line that has long been paired with my family. I can guarantee you, Mr. Bracken, this hound will be like none you have ever encountered. The only caveat is that the animal will only be provided once I am free to return home. This is unavoidable, you understand, as the beast is currently at my home, and so I must return to retrieve it."

"That seems fair." Honestly Atyr didn't really need two dogs. He'd just been trying to get as much as he thought he could get away with. It may have been a bit greedy, under sober consideration.

Helliot continued. "The coin, of course is acceptable to me. you shall have it immediately at the satisfactory completion of your obligations under this potential agreement. Although it is a paltry sum for such a boon as you offer."

Atyr blinked, wiping rain from his eyes. Two dozen banners? A paltry sum? Was it possible that Helliot was surprised at his restraint, rather than his greed?

"Lastly, Mr. Bracken, I feel that I would be still too much in your debt. My daughter's freedom, not to mention my own, is worth much more to me than a bit of metal and a dog. However excellent the beast's breeding may be." At the mention of the hound, he smiled at Atyr with a look in his eye that said, 'you're in for a treat'.

"I would like to add to your offer the following: once you have completed your obligations under this agreement, I will be in your debt for a single favor. If, in the future, you should desire my assistance, you need but ask, and I will consider your half of whatever agreement we then forge to be fulfilled in advance. I realize that I am placing myself to some degree at the mercy of your whims here, Mr. Bracken. Know that I do not do so lightly."

Atyr nodded slowly. "Alright, two dozen banners, one of your hounds, once you get back home, and... a favor?"

"Indeed. And from you, I receive your aid in securing a resolution to my outstanding agreement with Abarabirdadellet."

"Right. Fair."

"Do you agree, in this, Mr. Bracken?"

Atyr breathed deeply, feeling that this was somehow more momentous than it seemed it really should be. Likely, it was all the secrecy, the formality, the odd, business-like-yet-fae quality of the thing. A flicker of lightning lit the distant hills, casting a dim light over Atyr's soaked form, and Helliot's still-immaculate attire.

"I do. I agree."

He stuck out his hand. Helliot took it, and they shook briskly.

"Mr. Bracken, may I commend your restraint in this negotiation. I am not certain I have ever had my services engaged for as little as a few months expenses and a dog, in my long existence." He looked up at the rain-dark sky, contemplatively. "I suppose this is an unusual situation."

Then Helliot's gaze snapped down from the sky to focus on something behind Atyr. His expression went from its well-pleased state, to curious, to concerned, to a look of what Atyr was fairly certain was fear, carefully masked. A white light was growing steadily amongst the trees, sending long shadows stretching starkly across the soaked detritus on the ground.

Helliot took a step back, then two more.

Atyr looked behind him and saw... an angel? From every story he'd ever heard of angels, that's what she must be. Moving swiftly through the trees, glowing soft white and silver, as though formed from uncountable points of starlight, the angel was as tall as a man and half again. Great wings were folded on her back.

She looked angry. Very angry. And, despite Atyr's sudden fear, he couldn't help but notice that she was also very, very naked, rain streaming down her shining body. He took several steps back as well.

The angel seemed not to notice Atyr, passing a hands-breadth from him. His head came only to her chest. She stomped past and came to a stop immediately in front of Helliot, who was standing his ground with a mostly convincing air of polite confidence. He tilted his head back to look up at the starlit face of the angel. She flicked water from her wings. It was a gesture of annoyance. And of threat.

Helliot's composure failed briefly, but he recovered. "Ah, I was wondering if we might have the pleasu--"

"I will speak and you will listen. You will speak when I ask you to." The voice of the angel was as if a chorus of flutes and bells had formed music into words. It washed across Atyr, like being physically doused with something inexplicable; like falling asleep, and like a delicious flavor, and like memory. And sex. His fear dissolved into a heady affect somehow made of both extreme desire, and of ultimate satisfaction.

He was aware that the angel continued to speak, but the words ceased to be anything but waves and sparks of that overwhelming mix of sensations. Helliot seemed to be in debate with her, but his voice cut through only as a few tones here and there, equally meaningless, though they yet soothed Atyr's mind with brief flashes of an eager calmness; a sense of trust, and of opportunity.

The two figures were gesturing: the immense, glowing angel with sharp, angry movements, the smaller red and black clad gentleman with smooth, refined motions.

At times, Helliot would seem to take a step back, the angel moving forward to fill the space. Something was being debated, and the angel seemed to have the upper hand.

And then, Helliot was gone. Atyr had missed the exact moment the man had left, but he found himself now alone among the rain-soaked trees with the angel. The tall, sexy, incredibly angry angel.

She turned and walked slowly towards him. As she advanced, Atyr felt that she was becoming less, both smaller, but also just... less of everything she had been. He became aware that she was speaking as she came, and that the ringing words held meaning to him once more, though still dripping with her weird eroticism.

"One day. I leave you for One. Day. And I find you here. With Him." The angel shook her head furiously, and flicked her wings open in anger, a white halo of water flying up behind her, lit by the glow of her naked form.

She reached him, and he found that her head was now just slightly lower than his own. She jabbed him in the chest with a starry finger. "I assumed you were off to have a nice visit with your little lady Kella, but instead, you're here making deals with.... with that!"

Atyr squeezed his eyes and reopened them. Twice. Her voice was starting to sound... but surely not...

"You. Are such. A Dummy!"

"... Pesky?"

"Why. Why, did you feel the need to ask him for anything? And then to ask me to leave you alone so you could do it? Do you really think he can offer you something I can't?"

This was a lot. Atyr wasn't sure where to begin. He still wasn't entirely certainly that this could possibly be Pesky, this star-born angel of anger and fear and sex. Well, the sex part shouldn't be that surprising, but still...

"Look, he came to me for something. I just agreed to help him."

The angel... (sprite?) spun around, stomping a few paces from him, arms crossed. The aura of sensuality she exuded must still be affecting him, because even with the overwhelming tension of the situation, Atyr couldn't help but let his eyes drop briefly down her slender back, to the round, sparkling ass in front of him, wet and glistening in the rain. It was certainly quite a nice butt. He considered telling her so as payback, but pushed the idea firmly away. Now was not the time.

"Fine," she said. "So he came to you. What did he offer you that I couldn't have?"

Atyr shook the water from his hair once more and sighed. "Answers, Pesky. Explanations. All the questions I keep asking you and keep getting only riddles and evasion in return. He actually answered them."

Pesky was quiet and still. She didn't turn around. An uncomfortable moment passed, and Atyr, still slightly addled, decided to go for it. "Hey Pesky. You have a cute butt."

She whirled on him, drops flying from her form, every bit the terrible angel once more, and took two swift stomps directly towards him. He stumbled backward into a tree trunk. Fear rose in his throat, but she stopped, and shook her head at him, a smirk spreading across her translucent features. "You do not understand how much trouble you are in."

"Um.... with you?"

"No, you dummy, this has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with me. This is about you."

"Look, you never said I couldn't talk to other fae. Make agreements with other fae."

She was still shaking her head as she walked up to him where he stood, back against the tree.

"Atyr. Atyr, Atyr Atyr." She was close now, right in front of him. "That man, that lovely, polite, refined gentleman of a man, is not of the fae."

She looped her arms around his neck, leaning in until her bare breasts grazed his chest. She looked up at him, so close her breath brushed hot across his lips.

"That man, my lovely, dumb idiot, is a fiend."

He was having trouble thinking with this naked, heavenly woman pressed against him, and the rain streaming down both of their bodies. 'Fiend' sounded bad though. "Um... Mr. Helliot isn't a fae? What, ahhh, what exactly is a fiend?"

"Atyr. My sweet little boy." Her lips were almost touching his own as she whispered to him. "No, your new friend, Belzekeziol T'zaigog Mazlazeth Helliot, Second Scion of the First House of the Inferno, is not of the fae."

Her white eyes stared straight into his own. Lightning crashed overhead, as though she had summoned it for dramatic impact.

"You've just made a deal with a very important Devil."

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---------END PART ONE---------

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