I drew a map from my leather satchel and busied myself with the same futile endeavor that had kept me awake in the dark hours, nestled under an overhang beside a weak fire. No matter how often I traced a numb finger over the yellowed paper, the paths never led to the same place twice. A map was of little use amid endless rock and strangely shifting stones.
From a bundle of cloth, I took the last piece of sugared bread I’d saved and crumbled it in a circle around me. Perhaps it was a vain effort toappeasethe faeries, but what ofluringthem to me? If I could strike a bargain with one, I’d ask it to lead me safely to the Green River.
It was a foolish hope. The faeries were not inclined toward benevolence and I had precious little to offer their greedy hands. Only the desperate sought to strike bargains with the faeries—I had struck a hundred and more.
I hummed an ancient tune as the final daylit hour trickled past. The faeries of the mountain adored this song, but those of the wastes seemed not to care. Nothing stirred amid the heather and nothing in the stone either. I hummed until my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and every breath burned my throat like a swig of liquor. I knew better than to check the flask dangling from my belt, but I caught my hands wandering restlessly to its lid.
It had been empty for a night and a day.
Back then, I’d foolishly assumed that only a half-day trek kept me from Eldevale and from the foothills of Mount Windrest.There, on a treeless plain tucked between two white peaks, waited a shelter amid everlasting snow. A refuge to conceal me during the blooming seasons. It was the safest place I knew—up there in the snow, my cursed magic never stirred and the lordling’s hounds could not track me. It was the loneliest, too.
In the autumns and winters I worked my hands raw on the fishdocks of Kresting, a crowded, sullied harbor town far in the south. At the dawn of spring, before the thaw awakened my powers, I chased the snow deep into the northern mountains. For a decade, this routine had kept me well-hidden from the lordling.
This time, I’d suffered a streak of misfortunes that had begun with a reckless captain and ended with a mastless ship. I should have known better than to entrust my life to a man who claimed to be a master at something. Alas, I’d been desperate. We had washed ashore on a far, abandoned strip of land. For a slim chance of reaching Mount Windrest before the bloom, I had risked the perilous trek through the wasteland.
It was going to cost me my life.
Twilight crept quietly over the land. The wind had scattered the breadcrumbs.
No one was coming.
The truth stung sharply and echoed bitterly in my bones. I climbed with a feeble curse to my feet and continued my ill-fated march. I could not afford to waste these fleeting moments of light. A vantage point was what I needed. From there, I’d glimpse in the near distance the evening lights of Eldevale and the looming twin peaks of Mount Windrest, beckoning me home.
Well, not quite home—but as close to one as I had.
I would not make it back.
I knew it by the chill in my bones and by the weakness veiling my thoughts. Death had been following me since dawnand it drew close, clutching with cold, impatient fingers at my heels. In my absence, my shelter would collapse and bury my few belongings beneath rotten planks: a straw bed draped with frayed blankets, a humble collection of books, hundreds of paper flowers tied to makeshift rafters. The harsh winds would gnaw at the ruins and erase all traces of my small, miserable life. In this world, nothing would remain of me but bones, ground to dust here in the wastes—
“Oh,” came a gleeful, sing-song voice from a near crack in the rock. I froze, pulse throbbing wildly with hope. “Oh, such miseries and sorrows and sufferings. Come close. Come close. Let me see a tear, brittle-bone.”
A faerie peered with curious, hollow eyes from its hiding place. It was not one of the mountain faeries I knew well and had expected to meet here. Those were small, bearded creatures with gnarled fingers as long as blades who were easily pleased. I’d bargained often with them in the lonely seasons on Mount Windrest. No, this was a faerie of the forest, slender and no taller than my shins, with shimmering wings peeking out between golden hair. When I looked at it too closely, it blurred and shifted into a mayfly. How strange that a faerie of the woods had strayed so far from its home.
I mustered my most woeful expression as I squinted at it. “Hello,” I said sadly. “I am lost.”
The faerie snickered. “Oh, lost lost lost. Poor brittle-bone. Lost and without a drop of water and without a crumb of bread. The wind ate it, I saw.”
“I left it just for you.”I’d learned, from many bargains with the mountain folk, that the faeries enjoyed little more than humans scrambling to please them.
This faerie seemed not amused by my efforts. Its delicate features twisted into something full of teeth and venom. “I donot care for such things, brittle-bone. The forest nourishes me well. I care only for your miseries and sorrows and sufferings.”
I stifled a wry laugh. “I have much to offer in that regard.”
The faerie mustered me with eyes as black and round and lifeless as buttons. “Yes, brittle-bone. I can see it. I can sense it. I think we shall be good friends.”
“We shall,” I said, shaping my features into a mask of despair as I settled down on a near rock. I had to be clever and cautious not to anger the faerie lest it vanish—or worse. “Do you have many friends like me?”
“Oh, many many many. I like all the sad brittle-bones. The smiles make me ache. I pluck the smiling lips from their faces.”
I tensed to conceal a shiver. The faeries were a fickle sort, and I did not wish to find out whether or not this particular one spoke in metaphors. “Now I know what you do with your enemies, but what do you do with your friends?”
The faerie smiled hollowly as it stepped forth from the rock, wringing its little hands as if nervous. Its translucent wings captured what little light lingered in the chasm, shimmering like starlight in the gloam. It wore a dress woven of spiderwebs and dew.
“I like to play games with them. A game of hide hide hide and seek, and one of run run run and find.”
“I like to give my friends gifts,” I said.
“Oh!” screeched the faerie with glee. “Oh! I love gifts!” It took a step. The space between us blurred and warped, as if the faerie had stepped behind a veil. I blinked once and it stood right before me, a sharp nail slicing into the leather satchel I clutched. “What did you bring me, brittle-boned friend?” it cried with impatience. “What did you bring me?”
