hwango

“Good evening,” said a voice behind Fen. The words were accompanied by the blade of a knife gently being placed against the skin of Fen’s throat, which led him to doubt the speaker's sincerity.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fen saw a man seat himself next to him at the bar. It was a poor angle at which to study someone, but there was an aura of menace about the man that discouraged careful study anyway. The knife at Fen’s neck hadn’t moved, which meant that there was a second man still standing behind him. Fen wondered if he should feel just a tiny bit flattered that he warranted sending two thugs instead of just one.

The man next to him carefully placed a worthless brass ring onto the bar in front of Fen, and then said “Mr. Cross was not amused.”

“Ah,” said Fen. “I can explain that.”

“I’m certain that your explanation would be fascinating,” the man said. “I find that I’m actually quite curious to hear you explain why you tried to pay your debt to Mr. Cross with faerie gold. Certainly it must be a tale more interesting than you simply hoping that Mr. Cross wouldn’t verify the authenticity of your payment, considering that your unique background is common knowledge. But, lamentably, I haven’t the time to hear your story, as I am a busy, busy man.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” Fen said, knowing even as he said it that it was a terribly stupid thing to say. Indeed, the knife at his throat instantly pressed a bit closer.

“I’m afraid that this incident means that Mr. Cross has lost confidence in your ability or willingness to repay your loan,” the man said.

“Now let’s not be hasty. I just need a little - ”

“You don’t appear to be listening,” the man interrupted. “We have moved beyond excuses and extensions. Mr. Cross will be wanting his pound of flesh, now.”

There was a brief silence during which Fen waited for clarification. Mentally rolling his eyes, Fen finally gave the reply that he supposed was expected of him.

“…Literally?”

“Indeed.”

This answer was an unpleasant surprise. Fen hastily recalculated the amount of danger in which he found himself. Then he was forced to toss out his results and start over when a third thug eased himself onto the bar stool on his other side.

“Where…do you…um…take the…” Fen babbled while he tried to come up with a way out of this predicament.

“Oh ho, sir, I can see that you’ve misunderstood me. Mr. Cross doesn’t have any use for your flesh.”

This should have been an immense relief. And it was. But Fen was left with a strong sense that things were actually somehow worse.

“Mr. Cross is something of a connoisseur of unusual tastes, and you are in a unique position to provide him with a chance to sample one that has otherwise been beyond his reach.” Then the man explained exactly what was expected of him.

Fen had been right. It was worse.

* * *

Fen seriously considered just running away. He was actually quite good at it, and it might even work. But Cross had a long reach, and it would do his reputation considerable damage if he just let someone get away with not paying back a debt. Fen would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder and wondering if it was even the right shoulder to be looking over.

Instead, he found himself heading into what he thought of as simply The Forest, and which many of the other locals thought of by rather more colorful names. These included such favorites as The Cursed Forest, The Haunted Forest, or even Soulstealer Wood.

Smart men did not go into The Forest. Very smart men also did not talk about The Forest or look at The Forest. Extremely smart men moved far away and afterwards did not even think about The Forest.

There was nothing particularly mysterious about the place. It was a matter of common knowledge and physical documentation that it was a piece of land granted to the Fair Folk after some dreadful conflict hundreds of years ago. It was less clear who had actually won this conflict.

Inevitably, there were those poor doomed souls who didn’t believe the truth of the situation, or who believed only enough of what they were told to think that it would be a neat idea to go inside actually hoping to meet a faerie. This always ended badly. On very rare occasions, the trespassers simply disappeared. Usually, their fates were far more spectacular and memorable. The crown jewel of the local insane asylum fell somewhere in the middle of the spectrum of possible fates.

Fen, however, was a special case. Owing to his exotic parentage, Fen found that he was quite able to enter and leave the place unmolested. But still, he hated to go there. Because he liked it a little too much.

At its outmost edges, The Forest could almost be mistaken for an ordinary forest. But therein lay the first and only really necessary sign that something was wrong – the edges were nevertheless unmistakable. You could not accidentally wander into The Forest. With your first step across the border, you knew that you were somewhere otherworldly and unwelcoming. Only the very determined and foolish took a second step. The rest would apologize, turn around, and get off lightly with weeks of strange dreams or a series of minor but inconvenient misfortunes.

Fen felt no such sense of trespassing. Quite the contrary, he felt like he had at last come home. He knew the name of every plant and every creature…which is not to say only that he could tell an oak from an elm, but that he knew the names of individual oaks and elms. He knew that he could never become lost or disoriented while inside The Forest. He knew that he could live the rest of his life there surrounded by beauty and color and wonders undreamed of by ordinary men. The price of doing so, however, was a bit steep.

He’d crossed the border only an hour ago, and already he had difficulty remembering details of his ordinary life. It was true that, as lives went, it was nothing really special. He wasn’t wealthy or successful. He had neither a wife nor children – no one that would really miss him. Why, exactly, did he care so much about going back?

Fen shook his head and tried to concentrate. His life might not seem like much to anyone else, but it was his. Fen allowed himself a grim smile as he considered once again the set of choices he’d been given. Stay outside and probably lose his life, or come in here and risk forgetting why that would matter.

He had no trouble finding his quarry. Like so many of the creatures native to The Forest, it did not leave anything as crass and ugly as tracks, but, like so many creatures native to The Forest, Fen didn’t really need tracks to find his prey. It stood, as they always seemed to, in a ray of sunlight that pierced the canopy of the trees. Fen tried to focus on the gleaming white coat and delicate hooves – anything to avoid accidentally looking at the creature’s gentle eyes, or the single golden -

Fen closed his eyes and tried to breathe. He nocked an arrow.

“Good day to you, Fennel,” said a musical voice from just behind him. He hadn’t heard her approach, but that was hardly surprising.

“Hello, Mother,” Fen said. He turned around and opened his eyes. She stood about ten steps away, hands clasped in front of her. It was a gesture that she meant him no harm, since it would make it difficult for her to hastily draw a weapon. Not that she appeared to carry any. Not that she needed any.

“Father is well,” he lied, thinking of the asylum. He doubted that she cared one way or the other, but he liked to remind her that the man existed. In this place, it helped to remind himself that the man existed. His words provoked no reaction from her whatsoever. Instead, her gaze shifted to his would-be prey, and then back to him. She tilted her head a bit, a puzzled expression barging its way onto her flawless features.

“Why?”

“Why was I going to shoot it, or why did I hesitate?” Fen asked. She only nodded, and Fen sighed. They really don’t understand why we do anything we do, do they?, he thought to himself.

“I owe a man money,” he said. “I couldn’t pay, and so he sent me here to get him some meat from a…” Fen found that he couldn’t say it. “And I hesitated because killing a…one of those…seems like just about the most monstrous and inhuman thing I could do. And I like being human.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Fen said, through gritted teeth, and tried to believe it himself. She studied him in silence for a moment.

“Would you like me to do it for you?”

Fen almost dropped his bow in shock. Was she actually showing…what, concern for him? Compassion? He wouldn’t have believed her capable of such feelings. Of any feelings, really.

“No…uh, thank you,” Fen said, befuddled.

“Would you like me to kill this man who troubles you, then?”

Now Fen was wondering if maybe she just wanted to kill something. But, no. He could see it, now that he was looking for it…the flicker of concern in her eyes. She really was just offering to help him, in the most simple and direct way that occurred to her.

“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea either,” he said.

“You could stay. This man who troubles you – he would not follow you here.”

No, he wouldn’t, would he? And it really wasn’t so bad here. Yes…that made sense. He could stay here. Why had he been so reluctant before? Truly, there was nothing for him outside. Though, wait…wasn’t there something…?

* * *

Fen shook his head, and realized with a start that he was back outside of The Forest. Now that he thought about it, he could dimly remember thinking that he needed to leave, and stumbling his way towards the mundane world. He was having trouble remembering why he had come here, though.

There was a man…someone who had some sort of hold over him. Fen looked down at his hands and saw that he was carrying a bow in one, and an arrow in the other. Perhaps he’d come to kill that man? Yes, that made sense. It shouldn’t take very long, either. Find Mr. Cross, put an arrow through his heart – as simple as that.

Then he could go home.