The Traveller and the Fae by Louisa Bath (First Prize)
The cool sting of frost still hangs in the air, despite how the early Spring has already decorated the branches with rich green. You shiver lightly, pulling your shawl tighter around your shoulders, though the cold is not nearly as sharp as that of the months gone by.
The path you take is familiar by now, worn down underfoot and known by heart. The branches part around you, welcoming you deeper into the forest, the sun mottling the ground and guiding your way. Here, the wind almost seems to whisper to you, singing sweet stories of the forest’s beauty, enticing you to stay a little longer, to wander a little deeper off the path.
You should not be here.
The village tells stories of those lost to these woods; warnings of what happens to those who stray too far, who let the forest’s beauty beguile them into overlooking the danger just beneath. You shouldn’t be here, and yet you have been many times, despite knowing there is truth to the warnings they speak.
Most of the village calls you a fool. Some call you a witch, though you’re lucky such rumours hold little weight around here. To them, you’re a cautionary tale waiting to happen, the woman who ignores the wisdom of those before her and enters the forest without care:
The stupid girl whose hubris will one day get her taken.
Perhaps one day it will. But they’re wrong about your lack of caution or belief.
You make use of their stories. You believe.
You step off the path. Knowingly. Deliberately.
There’s a subtle change in the air. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and if you were truly as ignorant as the village believes, you might mistake it for the wind.
You know better, though.
“You’re mighty far from home, little human.”
A voice rings clear through the trees, resonating oddly, a lazy smirk clear to hear in the words.
“Must you keep calling me that?” you say with a snort, rolling your eyes and stepping further from the path.
“Well I wouldn’t have to, if you would only give me your name.”
You shake your head, the villagers’ warnings ringing in your ears. “As I’ve said before, you may call me Traveller.”
The voice sighs, and you can vividly imagine the exaggerated pout that would accompany it. “Very well, Traveller. You’re no fun.”
You grin, peering between the trees for a glimpse of the figure you know hides just out of sight. “I’m plenty of fun. You wouldn’t keep putting up with me otherwise.”
“I suppose you’re not the worst company. For a human.”
“I’ll take the compliment,” you laugh lightly, your skin prickling as you finally sense her presence.
There she is. A figure in the trees, leaning languidly against a mossy trunk, her skin as rich and dark as the freshly tilled spring soil and hair as gleaming white as the snow that’s only just melted. She greets you with a dangerous smile, sharpened canines glinting in the mottled light.
“Well?” the Fae smirks with a delicate raised brow. “I haven’t got all day.”
You chuckle again, rolling your eyes lightly. For all the carelessness of her words, you can hear the genuine intent behind them, her concealed joy at your return.
However, you know better than to tread so carelessly this far from the path.
She rolls her eyes with another haughty sigh when you don’t take another step, your feet paused barely a hair’s breadth outside the perfect circle of bright spotted toadstools that surrounds her tree. You raise an eyebrow with a smirk.
“Like I said, no fun,” she grumbles exaggeratedly, pushing off the tree and striding easily past the confines of the faerie circle.
“Must we play this game every time?” you sigh.
“We wouldn’t have to, if you would simply indulge me by losing.”
You follow her to a calm little spot by the river without any further tricks, perching beside her on a fallen log and setting down your wicker basket. The sound of running water washes the last remaining tension from your shoulders as you both begin to relax.
The Fae’s wings hang softly behind her today, draped like a cape alongside the gossamer white dress that floats around her in the breeze. She watches with thinly veiled interest as you rummage around in your basket.
“I brought some honey and fresh bread from the village bakery,” you announce, holding them out to her.
Her silver eyes noticeably light up, zeroing in on the treats, and you think that if they’d had pupils, they’d be blown as wide as dinner plates like a cat eyeing off a bowl of cream. Even so, she doesn’t reach for them.
“What is the cost?” she asks instead, her eyes flicking back up to meet yours.
Nothing comes for free with the fae. A price not stated is a favour owed. You wonder if it ever gets exhausting for them, navigating every interaction as if it is a trade. Or perhaps it’s simply second nature.
“Nothing much” you reply easily. The same dance, the same steps, the same outcome every time. “Only that you allow me to enjoy your company for a short while.”
“Deal,” the Fae nods, all but snatching the bread from your hands.
You smile, setting to work buttering your own serving, while the Fae nibbles daintily at hers.
“So, how’s your sister?” she asks finally between bites.
Your smile widens, warm with the memory of affection and love, and you notice the Fae softens at the sight of it.
“She’s doing well.”
This conversation is one you have navigated many times now, though the path continues to change. Your sister is an easy topic to talk about, made even more so by the way the Fae seems to hang on to every word of life outside of her forest. You tell her about the apprenticeships the village has set up; how they’re taking turns to teach your sister their trades to discover what she enjoys. You tell her about the first loaf of bread she’d presented you this morning, fresh from her trial at the bakery, her grin tinged with pride and excitement as you’d carefully wrapped it to bring with you today. You tell her about how her collection of stones has grown to fill her dresser, and how she spent hours describing how she acquired each and every one.
The Fae listens intently, chiming in with stories of her own, and before you know it, the light of day is fading ever closer to the horizon.
“I don’t suppose I could persuade you to stay a little longer?”, she says with a smile that is just slightly too strained.
“If only I could. You know I’m needed at home.”
She watches you pack up your things, words seeming to hover unspoken on the tip of her tongue. You can tell there is something on her mind, some silent war raging between her thoughts and the urge to speak them. Sometimes you wonder how such a creature not of this world, ethereal, delicate and dangerous, can at times seem so plainly human.
“You are… safe, at home, yes? You and your sister?”
The question catches you somewhat off guard. You turn to the Fae with an eyebrow raised, which seems enough to convey your confusion.
She turns away, attempting to maintain her facade of uncaring decorum, but you know well enough by now that it’s just that; a facade.
“There are Witchfinders around these lands, you know. If word of your sister reaches them…”
“It won’t,” you assure her, even as your heart clenches at the very thought. “Our village may be superstitious, but they’ve raised her for years knowing what she is. They won’t turn her over.”
“And what about you?”
The Fae stands, the air around you shifting as her wings flare behind her – a pointed reminder that for all the Fae may seem human in the quiet moments between them, she’s still far from it. She circles you, slowly, that dangerous mischief back in her eyes.
“What of the ‘witch’ who defies the village warnings? What of the ‘stupid girl’ who tempts fate to play games with the fae?” She leans close, her hair drifting in some unnatural wind. “You could stay with me, you know. I could offer you safety. Hide you away from those that would see you burn.”
You stand your ground, meeting her gaze evenly. She is clever with her words, but you know not to let them get to you.
“My village is safe. It’s kind, and it’s my home. And now it’s time I return.”
The Fae sighs, pouts, rolls her eyes with a haughty flutter of her wings, but she takes a step back to let you leave.
“Traveller, wait,” she calls out as you go. You turn back to find her holding something out to you, cautiously hidden nerves once again showing faintly through her carefully schooled expression.
She holds out a palm-sized stone, the gleaming surface glittering with marbled colours.
“I found this by the river, and thought of you. For your sister’s collection.”
“What is the cost?” you reply softly.
“Bring your sister with you some time,” she says, and you’re close enough to see that there are a thousand other words she wants to say swirling behind her eyes, none of which you can read. “I would love to meet her.”
You smile, curling your fingers around the cool, smooth stone. “Deal.”
***
“One day, you will lose her,” the village had told you. “One day, the fae will come and take her to be with her own kind.”
It was never denial that brought you to the edge of the forest path, but rather defiance. The fae would not take your sister, would not break your family apart, not because you didn’t believe they would or could, but rather because you would not let them.
“My, my, it seems a little human has strayed too far from the path,” a dangerous voice had purred, and you’d known then and there that you were playing with fire, but you continued on regardless.
“I’ve come to bargain for my sister’s safety.” You remember your voice shaking, no matter how hard you’d tried to pretend otherwise. “I’ve come for a promise that the fae will not claim her.”
You’d sensed a change in the air at that, a faint tinge of curiosity which soon worked its way into the Fae’s voice.
“Alright. You’ve piqued my interest, human. Why would my people claim your sister? What deal could you possibly think to strike?”
“She’s a changeling,” you had answered. “One of your kind exchanged for one of ours. But she is still my sister. My family, my village, has still raised her. She’s not the fae’s to take.”
“You speak boldly, human. Perhaps foolishly. But I admire it, and so I will make you a deal. The fae of these woods do not venture into human lands without reason. Prove to me that your sister is cared for, that she is loved, that she is happy and fulfilled in her human life, and we shall see no reason to claim her.”
“Just like that? That’s your deal?” A thought had occurred to you. “Wait… how do I prove it to you?”
“That, little human, is up to you.”
***
You’re barely a step back into the village before a familiar figure barrels into you, latching around your middle with a giggling squeal.
“Hey Little Faerie,” you laugh, the nickname falling easily off your tongue.
Your sister peels away, flashing you a gap-toothed grin, though her bright eyes stop just short of meeting yours, drifting somewhere off to the side as if seeing more to the world than you’re capable of.
There’s still flour dusting her clothes and face from the bakery, a faint white cloud wafting from her unruly mop of hair when you ruffle it. You’re the only one she’ll let touch it, and her laughter when you do is like music to your ears.
“How was your day?” you ask softly as she twines her fingers with yours.
“The Baker spilled 104 grains of salt today.”
You snort. “Whoops. You stopped to count again?”
“I can’t help it, I have to,” your sister pouts exaggeratedly.
You shake your head, still smiling as you rummage around in your basket. “I know, Little Faerie. Here, I brought you something.”
Her hands dance through the air in excitement as she lays her eyes on the Fae’s river stone.
When she takes it, it is with a reverence often reserved for jewels of the highest quality.
For as long as you can remember, she’s been drawn to collecting such things. Tiny pieces of nature, each containing their own unique sort of magic. With the right push, she can talk about them for hours, and you love every minute of her gushing: The smile she gets on her face as she talks, the distant look of wonder in her eyes, the way no matter how many times you’ve heard her talk, you always learn something new.
‘Prove that she is loved.’
You’ve long known that your deal is secure, that there’s nothing left for you to prove that isn’t already plain to see. There’s no need for you to keep returning to the forest, no defiance or spite left to fuel your foolish travels. In truth, you simply enjoy it; ferrying stories between two worlds. You see the same joy in the eyes of the Fae each time you visit as you do when you bring her tales home to your sister. That, in itself, is worth the dangerous trip.
***
You continue to delve into the woods, and to your village’s surprise and relief, continue to make it home unscathed. The Fae pulls fewer tricks each time, as if realising she does not need to ensnare you to see you again, and in return, you begin to let down some of the guard you’ve steadfastly held all these months.
Eventually, you decide it’s time to finally invite your sister along on your travels.
The excitement in her eyes burns bright and uncontained for all of a brief moment before it’s cut short by the ringing clamour of the town’s great iron church bell.
Your sister cries out, slamming her hands over her ears as your heart begins to pound like a war drum in your chest.
This isn’t right. Your village has barely used that bell in years, all too aware of how the toll of iron assaults your sister’s senses. Nowadays it rings only on rare occasions where it’s important to gather the whole town’s attention.
It takes several minutes to calm your sister, so by the time silence resumes and you make it to the window, you’re running late for whatever meeting must surely be happening. Before you can investigate further, however, the cottage door abruptly opens.
“Oh, thank goodness, you’re both still here,” hisses the Baker, quietly latching the lock behind her. “Quickly, away from the window.”
Dread creeps its way up your throat and you grip your sister’s hand tightly. “What?”
The Baker fixes you with a grave expression, herding you to the next room. “The Witchfinders are here, Love. We’re keepin’ ‘em distracted, but they’re looking for a Changeling and a Witch. Gotta get you both out of here.”
The next few minutes are a blur. The Baker grabs your travel basket, shoving it into your hands before yanking open the cellar trap door. For a moment, panic chokes your throat as your sister’s hand disappears from yours, only to return clutching one of her beloved stones.
By the time you’ve processed just what, exactly, is happening, you’re being bundled into the basement below.
“You know the forest,” the Baker says from above. “Take your sister, go through the tunnels, get somewhere safe.”
Safe. Your village was supposed to be safe.
Tears threaten to fall, but you hold them back, for your sister’s sake. The path into the forest is muscle memory by this point, and most of the journey passes in a hurried haze.
Finally, when the trees obscure any remaining view of the village, you grip your sister’s hand tight and lead her off the path.
“I was wondering when you would… What’s wrong?” The Fae appears immediately, forgoing her usual games.
“You were right,” you breathe, your voice cracking. “The Witchfinders came for us.”
She stares, no smugness in her gaze, only concern.
You take a shaking breath and continue. “You offered safety, before. For the both of us. What are the terms? The cost?”
In a blink, she’s there in front of you, gently cupping your cheek before she turns to take in your sister.
“That’s a beautiful stone,” she smiles warmly. “May I see?”
Wordlessly, your sister holds out the smooth river stone she’s been gripping like a lifeline: the very stone the Fae had given her.
The air fills with the electric tang of magic, and before your eyes the stone transforms, an ornate necklace settling in the Fae’s palm.
“This will allow you safe passage to and from my realm. You’ll be able to come and go as you wish. That is my deal, Traveller. Safety and freedom, for your company.”
“My company?” you stare.
The Fae tilts her head, a second necklace materialising in her hand. “Or, if you’d like to think of it this way; your friendship. Do you accept?”
A laugh bubbles its way uncontrolled from your throat. “Aila,” you say softly. It’s a risk. A show of trust.
“Pardon?”
“My friends call me Aila.”
The Fae blinks, realisation settling in her eyes. She smiles, all teeth but no danger, and offers you and your sister her hands.
“A beautiful name,” she breathes.
You accept her hand, and she leads you both into the trees, into her world, to safety