The Exchange

As he extended his arm before him, the sorcerer approached his dagger’s blade.

“Would this be enough ‘tasty’ for you?”

     The blade flashed as the edge brushed the edge of the fabric.

     Taking a step towards him, the Gyre Carlin’s smile broadened.

“Don’t do this…” The little fairy breathed while shaking her head, desperate. “I don’t want you to do this for me…”

     And she was wiggling like a fly on a spider’s web. Though it was vain.

“Do it… Do it…” The Gyre Carlin urged.

“No!! Leave! Leave! Go away! I don’t want to travel with you any more! I… I don’t like you at all any more!”

     For the first time, she strived to lie with conviction.

     Blood had begun to stain the sleeve of his cloth when Henox stilled his gesture. He smirked. Letting out what was for half a breath, for half a laugh.

     Then, he sliced it. With one clean blow. Above his wrist.

     There was blood. There was soreness.

     And the Gyre Carlin who, taking back her hideous features, pounced on the hand of the sorcerer like a dog would pounce on a bone. She had released Gretel, catching in the palm of her hands his limb before it fell to the ground. Her nasty eyes contemplated her catch, drool dripping from her ill-fitting teeth.

     Henox held back from falling to his knees or even backing off. Out of pride. He merely clutched his wound convulsively.

     Eventually straightening up, the Gyre Carlin tore with difficulty her eyes off her booty to cast a few glances at the sorcerer.

“The contract is concluded! I let you die by another hand rather than mine.”

     And in the blink of an eye, she disappeared. Giving way to a cloud of dust fled by a few poor spiders, their legs wriggling until they retrieved contact with the ground. Hurrying to disappear in between grass stalks and stones strewn along the soil.

     No more moves.

     No more screams.

     Merely the sorcerer, the little fairy, and the silence between them.

     Gretel needed a few moments to stand up, to approach Henox. She raised her eyes towards him, unable to talk. So, instead of this, she began to cry her eyes out. Spluttering, she almost choked on her sobs.

     Teardrops… One learnt to cry even before being able to speak. It was ultimately the most sincere act. Thoughts, feelings shared without any disguise.

     Slowly, Henox leant against a rock. Taking the time to prevent his remaining blood to leak out of his body. After all, it would be foolish to die right now. So he used the fabric of his shirt to compress his gaping wound.

     His breathing was heavy. Laborious.

     Despite his precautions, the bracelet made by the little fairy had been marred by some crimson drops.

“It seems I haven’t been able to take care of it.” Henox noted.

“Silly… I’ll make you another.”

“Hmm. Still, I will keep this one.”

     One more senseless decision. He, sentimental? Come on… It was legitimate to assume that the treats Gretel shared with him contained dubious ingredients. To begin with, did they contain anything else than fairy’s dust? Ah. Mystery solved.

     Though whatever one might say, it remained the first gift she had offered him. If you avoided falling into those vices in which her company would be considered as the first one.

“There, stop crying. I would rather avoid you dying of dehydration.”

     Nodding, the little fairy somehow chased her tears away from the back of her hands.

     One thought, however, kept coming back to her. Until she dared to ask the question.

“Sir Henox… When the bad witch changed her head, it was someone you knew?”

“Yes.”

     A pause.

“Where is that person?”

“She is dead.”

     Gretel lowered her head, feeling guilty for asking the question. A clumsiness the sorcerer didn’t scold, though.

     Instead of it, he had observed Gretel for a moment before he resumed.

“Griselde. That was the name she bore.”

     To his words, the little fairy raised her head to meet the sorcerer’s gaze.

“She was a Gwyllion, a branch of the elven family. Able to morph into a goat at their own will. Not inclined towards kindness, to say the least. Indeed, their hobbies consist on luring beings devoid of magic near a chasm and throwing them down there. Gwyllions live in mountains and steep places. And that’s where I met her.”

***

I went training to master my necromancer skills in a remote place, where rocks are abundant. Even though little frequented, there were enough wandering souls to allow me practising my powers. They were the ones who met their death because of the malice of a certain creature…

     She ended up by showing herself to me. I heard her scoffing voice first.

“You’re a big boy, and you’re still playing with dolls? Say, you have time to waste.”

     She had perched on rocks, eyeing me scornfully. An amused smile upon her lips.

     Without my consent, she kept on spying on me and mocking my efforts to bring back my brother. One must believe she had nothing better to do along her days… Or mostly.

“Whether I had pushed or not, they would have fallen over there one day. To die a few days sooner or later, what does it change for a being devoid of magic? Their life is either way so brief. It’s not like on their side they do worry about each insect life their footsteps squish. Their life is longer, so that they don’t have consideration for what is ridiculously shorter.”

     At that time, I still had to argue about such comments. To remember it seems almost foreign to me. Like thoughts that wouldn’t really belong to me.

“It’s not up to you to decide. We live as best we can. It may be clumsy or ridiculous in your eyes, yet we can do nothing but try. To look for a way of making life less absurd. So I will become immortal, and you’ll see, I will have enough time to change this world. To bring back my brother.”

     That was what I told her. It made her smile. Oddly, I can’t remember any sardonic spark in her gaze that time.

     At last we became friends, in the nature of things. She promised me never to hasten again the end of any being devoid of magic. It was our agreement. A form of respect. The only one she was able to show, to be honest.

     Griselde taught me numerous things about this world and the creatures inhabiting it. I was a bit of her disciple. Mastering better and better my necromancer skills. However, my belief that a life wouldn’t be sufficient to bring back my brother only strengthened. The problem was I couldn’t find any viable track that would allow me to get rid of the limited time the beings devoid of magic possessed. At least, none that would not have gone against my principles.

     Then, one day, Griselde’s nature caught up with her. She broke her oath. I found her near the lifeless body of a child. She betrayed me… And didn’t show an ounce of remorse. A Gwyllion can’t be changed.

     So I challenged her in a duel. We thought, we clashed unbridled. At last, I took her life. My blade had pierced her heart.

     Just before giving up her ghost, she told me to retrieve her skin and to craft with it a coat I would never take off. It would bring me immortality. These were her words.

***

The little fairy remained silent for a long while. Couldn’t he have done otherwise? To be betrayed was painful, but maybe Griselde didn’t do that on purpose. Maybe they could have talked about it and made up. Though if they had done so, maybe Henox wouldn’t have been alive already for a long while.

     It was a lot of maybe, and Gretel decided to keep her thoughts to herself.

     As for him, Henox thought back to what the goddess Kishar had shown him. To the discussion they had.

     There was little time left. Despite that, he realised he wanted to protect this fairy until the very end. Until the last day. Anyway, someone had to devote himself.

“Gretel.”

“Yes?”

“Would you like us to try preserving some fragments of this world?”

“Fragments?” She tilted her head to the side.

“Lifes.”

     Gretel blinked. She wondered if she had heard correctly. If these words had really come out of his mouth. If his wound hadn’t given him fever.

     He almost felt offended.

“B-But… how can we do that? The brambles are already everywhere…”

“There is nothing more we can do for this world.” He granted her while extending his hand towards his neck, pulling on a chain. “Even if we managed to get rid of the brambles, Kishar would end it in another manner.”

     Retrieving from under his clothes the pendant he purchased in the Bergfolk’s village, the sorcerer held it out in front of him. Letting gleam the glittery stone. The lapis-lazuli framed with little ships standing out of the silver base.

“This said, I have an idea…”

     Gretel addressed him a bright smile. Of course, if she could help even a few people to live a bit longer, then she would gladly do so.

     It was the Gretel he knew. The Gretel who loved this world. The one for whom he would silence the memories she didn’t need to know. It was better like that.

     She smiled.

     She smiled, right?