To Bargain with the Fae

Trystan’s cold fingers clutched the surprisingly intricate compass, fiddling nervously with it in his pocket. It dug into his hands and would later leave a mark. Trystan cast a furtive glance around the dark, moonlit forest before pulling the compass out. The Grakans, those loan sharks he was indebted to, couldn’t know what he was doing. Trystan stared at the compass for a moment. Its needle, made of silver wood, pointed slightly to the left. He adjusted his course accordingly.

Trystan was a boy, though he’d call himself a man, of 19 years old. He wore a thin, worn cloak, unfit for a night as chilly as this. Trystan pulled the cloak tighter. Hanging off said cloak was a dagger. It was clean and sharp, as if new. It hung loosely at his side, bouncing against him as he ran.

He continued quickly, hopping over dark steams, running through troops of purple-spotted mushrooms, and winding under the towering trees. The forest seemed to press around Trystan, long branches like slender arms. All the while, the compass needle taunted him, urging him forward. Trystan did his best not to look at the compass, to focus on the path ahead. He knew his actions tonight would cost him. But they were necessary. Trystan had gotten himself into some trouble. This could be his only way out.

The needle began to quiver, signaling that Trystan had almost arrived at his destination. Trystan steeled himself and took a few tentative steps forward. It quivered again, this time for a second. Trystan took a few steps forward, growing in confidence. The silver wood needle now made a slow revolution around the compass face. Trystan looked around him as buildings began to materialize, as if from nothing. After two days of travel, he had finally made it.

Now, lit with dancing lights, sat a small market built of painted stone. There was no sign of the forest Trystan had just walked through. The air felt warmer. Around the market, managing stalls and buying a vast array of unearthly items stood beings. They towered over Trystan, some gazing down on him with faces made of bark, grinning with a hundred pointed teeth. Trystan shook slightly.

He stood for a second, taken aback. When he had first made his way in the world, tried to make bargains, and follow in her footsteps, Trystan hadn’t expected to go so far as to meet with the Fae; the Fae were not creatures he had wanted to meet. There had always been something fantastical about those stories. They were something for a child to marvel at. Now, however, he would need to rely on the stories and the Fae. Trystan was nervous and felt inadequate compared to his grandmother. He would try to live up to her and her stories if he still could.

Quickly, Trystan made his way through the strange market; he wanted to complete his task without delay. He looked around, hoping to find something familiar. There were other humans in the market, a surprising number. However, many had strange tints in their skin or a glassy look in their eyes. A few stared at Trystan for just slightly too long. He would not ask for aid.

Trystan recalled his grandmother’s stories, of the faded green tent that smells of rain, strangely carved figures dangling from strings, silver circles that pulsed with radiant light. Hopefully, such stories would provide him with the path. He shuddered to think about what the Grakans would do to him if this mission failed- if they caught him.

The market was a blur. After a few minutes of walking, he came to what he thought was the right tent. His initial worries subsided. Trystan recognized that mark from his grandmother’s stories. Tentatively, he entered the green tent. Inside, everything glowed softly. There was an almost inviting feel to the tent, surprising Trystan. From his grandmother’s stories, he had gotten the impression that everything about the Fae was slightly malevolent. When he saw the Fae behind the desk grinning with too many teeth he decided his fears were confirmed.

“Hello, dear friend, who is it that has decided to enter my humble shop?”

Faint music seemed to play with every word the Fae spoke. Soft undertones spoke into Trystan’s mind. He took a deep breath, tried to stand straighter, and tried to clear his head. This he had rehearsed. And Trystan knew better than to give his name to any Fae.

“My name is not important. I am the grandson of Altris. I have come to make a deal, just as my grandmother did.” 

Out came the words that he had practiced many times before. Trystan wondered if he had said them too quickly. He looked to the Fae, trying to read the being’s face. For some reason, the Fae looked not defeated but bemused. 

“Giving one’s name is considered polite. My name is Rorac. Yours is…?”

Trystan still didn’t want to give his name. One of the lessons he had heard from his grandmother’s stories was that one should never share their name with the Fae. If one did, they could steal it. Whatever that meant.

“My name isn’t important. What is important is that I am the grandson of Altris and that I have come to make a deal.”

For some reason, the Fae, Rorac, continued to look confused. He shook his head as if clearing his thoughts and then spoke. 

“The grandson of Altris,” Rorac drew out the sentence as if he was tasting the words as they left his mouth, “So, her lineage has finally come back to me. How interesting.” Long gnarled fingers tapped on the table, “I assume you have the token?”

Trystan tentatively reached into his pocket and took out the compass with the silver wood needle. There were red marks on his hands from where it had pressed into his skin as he clutched it tightly.

Rorac’s long fingers reached out and grasped the compass. Delicately, holding the compass in only his fingertips, Rorac inspected the item. He ran his fingers down the design, perhaps looking for some flaw or discrepancy. He found none. 

“It appears that this is the token I once gave Altris,” he said. “I suggest you keep it. It is likely the only thing that has safeguarded your life while in this market.” 

Trystan was quite relieved to hear this. He was unsure as to whether or not this Fae would ask to keep it. The compass was the only wondrous item from his grandmother that wasn’t in a pawn shop. 

Rorac paused for a moment and then asked. “So, why is it that you have decided to grace this tent with your presence?” A grin slowly made its way across the Fae’s face, revealing each of the hundreds of pointed teeth. 

“For love? Or vengeance? Or glory? Or is it for knowledge, like your grandmother stole? I assume you know well that everything here comes with a price- often more than one is willing to pay. So, I’ll give you a different piece of advice: Whatever you ask for, ask with strength and confidence. I’ll latch onto any weakness and rip you into pieces.” 

Then came another pause. “Go on, ask. I expect great things from you.” 

Trystan took a deep breath once again. Here he was, making the pact; he’d never dreamed that it’d happen. Everything had to go better than his last bargain. The one he had made with the Grakans had been poor, as had the two before that. If this deal didn’t go well, he didn’t know what he’d do. Trystan now wished he had never made that first deal, that he had stayed in his small farming village.

And yet, this Fae expected great things from him. Trystan had no noble deeds or great ambitions. Even his purpose for his request had to be hidden from the Fae- for fear of anger and disappointment. That was what worried Trystan, for he had heard that Fae could sense falsehoods. Still, he had practiced this next part. He knew that the Fae would ask this from his grandmother’s stories. Trystan had spent many hours in front of a mirror, practicing, preparing. He only hoped that he could keep the quaver out of his voice.

“The Fae are known for their powerful Glamour. I need a second face, something that I can easily put over my own, something that’ll stand up to scrutiny. I trust your judgment on the specifics.” Trystan did his best to say the last sentence with a dismissive air. He wasn’t quite sure he succeeded.

“Intriguing,” said the Fae, with a hint of a smile that Trystan didn’t like or trust. “Would you humor me and explain your need for such a gift? The exploits of your grandmother were always entertaining.”

Hear was the part where Trystan would need to be creative in his stretching of the truth. He did his best to adopt a hearty style. Trystan had always said that, with enough confidence, most people would believe you. The tricky part, however, was believing it yourself. Although, Trystan wasn’t sure he had any confidence in himself left. It had been beaten out of him in the last few months. The air in the tent felt hot as Trystan began to answer.

“Well, just like my grandmother, I’ve made some enemies.” True. “Some unpleasantly dangerous people consider my deals a cause for concern.” Definitely true. “And there are an unfortunate number of such people. As such, fighting them would be difficult, not to mention inefficient. There are more subtle ways of dealing with them, ways more suited to my talents.” Mostly true – as long as running and hiding counted as dealing with an enemy.

Trystan let the implication hang for a second, then looked towards the Fae. Was there a twinge of disappointment on the Fae’s face? Trystan couldn’t quite tell.

“That sounds simply wonderful.” But the Fae’s voice was guarded, even. “Now, of course, comes the matter of my price.”

Trystan held his breath. The Fae smiled.

“I hold great respect for you and your family. Your grandmother was quite skillful, even useful at times. My current hope is that you will be so as well.” There was a short pause. “Like other Fae, I need champions. If I grant your request, I would require your services in return. You would be called no more than three times to either kill a Fae, steal an item, or impersonate someone.” Even before Trystan began to interrupt, the Fae held up his hand. “No, you need not worry. I will not order you to attack your fellow humans.” He said the last word with evident disdain.

Trystan began to breathe more evenly. This was a standard demand. And, he thought he could do those things, mostly. In any case, the mask would give him some breathing room.

“Of course,” Rorac began again, almost startling Trystan. “Any champion of mine would need to prove their worth. Do not worry. It is only a formality for someone of your lineage, I assure you.” Trystan once again was subject to a view of those gleaming teeth. “I simply require that, in one year and one day, you provide evidence you have used your gift for the purpose it’s designed for. You may, of course, use it for other things. But, seeing your success in dealing with those unpleasantly dangerous men will be proof of your skill and courage.”

Courage was a word that those who knew Trystan didn’t often attribute to him. He was sure Rorac knew what he was doing, even if Rorac didn’t directly say it; the Fae were well known for their ability to cause fear simply through implications.

Almost as an afterthought, Rorac said, “If you fail, I of course will extract a price from you. Although, a description of such things now wouldn’t be polite.”

Trystan’s worry grew. If he took the Fae’s bargain, he would have to fight the Grakans that he had angered and risk renigging on yet another promise, this time to a Fae. But if he refused the bargain, he would be at the Grakan’s mercy and at the mercy of the other gangs and loan sharks he had angered along away. There was a reason he had turned to Grakans and made a bad deal with them. And Trystan didn’t think that he could evade them for long.

Knowing he was making another awful decision, Trystan shook the Fae’s hand. It felt tight, like a noose.

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