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Many of his memories either drifted away or folded too compactly within his mind to be remembered. He lived his life enveloped in nothingness. Time brought the nothingness-haze kindly, but still it came.
Until one day, a man in thin, decadent robes with an aging face, stumbled out from between two trees. The fae did not age, so Salas understood, with slow-evolving interest, like waking from a slumber, that the man was human.
“Hello!” Salas said, pleasantly enough. “Will play game with Tirit?”
The man had stood there, his eyes round on Salas, as though struck. Then, slowly, his gaze fell downward, taking all of Salas in.
Salas realized then that he was naked. He had not been in the company of anyone in some time, and a pesky pixie had stolen his skirt one night a few years ago. Still, he was not bashful of his nakedness, especially with the way that the stranger’s eyes trailed over him, the man’s greed evident. It made him feel special.
“Would like touch?” Salas asked, thinking that he understood the look in the way he had sometimes caught himself staring at the scales of mermaids, wishing he could run his fingers across the slimy surfaces of their tails.
“My dear,” said the man carefully, finally seeming to pull himself from his revelation, “I’m not quite sure what you mean.”
When Salas stepped forward, the man almost took a step back, yet held his ground at the last moment. Salas simply took the man’s hand and placed it on his chest, allowing the man’s thumb to tease his nipple, a spot some fae creatures seemed to have enjoyed pinching when he’d passed by. Perhaps the man would like the spot, too.
It seemed he did. His fingers grazed the area gently, his thumbs caressing the nubs ever slightly before he took his hand away, shaking his head. “Dear great creature of Faerie, what nature of fae are you?”
“I am jinx,” Salas said, happy to be able to answer the question, as there were many he could not.
“A jinx,” the man repeated softly, wonder in his eyes.
“Where is name?” Salas reached to grab at the intricate trimming of the man’s robes and studied it.
“My name is Emperor Eldron, dear one, at your service. And what may I call you?”
“Tirit!” Salas announced, dropping Emperor Eldron’s robes and taking up a stick to trace his name in the dirt, proud to show off his spelling skill.
When he was done, he was dismayed by the man’s frowning at the letters he’d made. “My dear, that says ‘Salas,’ not ‘Tirit,’” he said gently.
“Oh,” Salas said, realizing that he had been tricked by the fae once more when they had taught him the southern alphabet. They must have purposely taught him faulty characters.
He had been told once that ‘Tirit’ had been the name of his goatherd-father, who had died many years ago. Salas had decided to take his name.
Now, Salas thought about it. “‘Salas’ is good name?” he asked curiously.
“I believe it suits you,” Eldron said, quickly picking up on Salas’ intentions.
“Then ‘Salas’ is name.” Salas nodded confidently, looking at the name he had spelt in the dirt, proud to have made something that ‘suited him.’
Somewhat unexpectedly, the man seemed to know exactly what Salas was, and of his power, and asked that Salas grant him a wish. Salas had not spoken to anyone in such a long time, he had offered Emperor Eldron more wishes, just to listen to the man talk.
Yet when the time came to offer the snake, they both seemed to hesitate. Finally, though, Eldron took the snake and held it for several solid moments before Salas nodded for him to make his wishes.
The wishes required great magic. One involved cursing the land of the north with a deadly spell. The magic had poured from Salas, traveling up to land far beyond his reach and doing things far beyond his understanding. The curse was deadly, and though Salas did not know what that meant, the magic seemed to understand with brittle surety.
When it came to the man’s last wish, Salas was surprised.
“My last wish is this,” Emperor Eldron said, “You will come to serve me in my kingdom, become my pleasure slave, and surpass the skills of all my other birds.”
Again, Salas wasn’t entirely sure what the wish meant, but as the magic drew him to Emperor Eldron, his destiny creating a path south, he understood that life as he knew it would forever change. It would happen as soon as he breathed thought into allowing the magic to run its course. And in the next moment, the wish was deemed granted.
The pressure at Salas’ neck let him know that the King was still waiting on an answer. “Please,” he gasped pleadingly, as he dared not breathe life into the accusation against him. Not with the violent way King Jareth set his gaze upon him.
“I knew there was something off from the moment I saw you,” the King growled, his voice a dangerously low grumble close to Salas’ face. “I knew that old man liked sticking it into the prettiest of whores, but even he wouldn’t go out of his way to find something as unnatural as you: with your elfin face and crimson hair. Coming into my castle after being spared. Making a mockery of myfather’s crown—”
“Please, that’s not what I—! I—!”
“Silence!” the King barked.
