A Wager by Firelight

The grass was cool, the air was hot, the wind rustled the leaves above. I stretched my silvery legs, toes splaying as my face split into a yawn. A row of alabaster needle-point teeth line my mouth. Yes I have ears. No, I don't groom myself. I’m not barbarous like you pair walkers think– but that’s not to say my kind doesn’t know savagery. Before me sits a girl. She looks to be twelve at most, but she holds herself with the ere of an elder child. A first born. 

I watched her, waiting until the sun had taken its rest, and stars pricked the darkened sky. I could smell the fire of seasoned wood. She clearly wished to summon something. For no other reason would a child venture alone into a secluded woods such as these and linger past dusk– except as to invite something such as myself. I found myself drawn to her, abetted both by my curious nature– and the delectable scent of chestnuts wafting through the air. I stalked towards the fire, my steps displaying otherworldly elegance. Of course, I appeared unassuming in this form as I sat across from her. I watched her through the flames and her doe-like eyes grew wide in childish surprise. 

Her voice was soft like summer rain or a gentle breeze during spring. “Oh! Hello there, little one. Aren’t you afraid of my fire? Or have you just come to get warm?” Her words were of genuine concern as she hunched forward, likely in attempt to get closer without ‘scaring’ me. 

“I think you’re the one that should be afraid, child.” 

She leapt back, startled by my-- quite becoming voice-- and the nonchalant nature of my tone. “You can speak?” 

“I can do much more than that.” Boredom had crept into my voice. Encounters with pair walkers– sorry, humans, as you two legs are called– are always similar. Here kitty-kitty-kitty– Oh my! You can speak? Imagine– the gall of someone to assume one of my kind to be a cat. We don’t even resemble the feline species. Honestly, the inefficacy of humankind’s educational systems astonished me. Generally the misinterpretation of my species was promptly followed by fear or violence. If I could count the number of times a sword was drawn on me– well I can count– it’s been at least four dozen, not including spears and cutlery. I yawned ostentatiously.

Rather than following script however, she cocked her head. “Like what?” Her inflection was of true curiosity, and perhaps mild concern, with all due propriety.

“Tell me darling, do they still spread luscious lies about me in town?” Show, not tell, as my mentors always said.

“About you–” recognition dawned the moment the question left her lips. “T-They… The legends are about you?” The girl grew very still.

The corners of my mouth turned upwards in a grin, mindful not to bare my teeth, lest she bolt like a deer. “So they do still speak of me.” I continued to watch her as warm flame light danced across my lustrous fur. “I always found the legends of me picking apart children and eating them morsel by morsel quite fanciful. A bedtime story of coercion, as to get young ones to obey some mundane task or rule– quite overused, in my opinion.” I began a relaxed pace by the fire, as to warm each side of my coat.

“But what are you to believe? Just because I might take the shape of the wind, doesn’t mean my mind will change as easily as a passing breeze. Likewise, though I might take the shape of water, it doesn't mean I can be held by a container. Your small minds will refuse to understand, because my existence cannot simply be squirreled away by a summary of logic and reason.” I stopped my pacing, my eyes staring at the girl. “Have you ever stopped to ask whether your ‘laws of nature and physics’ are the world’s true limitations– or merely your explanation for the things tangible to your fingertips and comprehensible to your tiny minds?” I could feel her concerned eyes following my every step. Good. She was listening– and is it my imagination, or does she seem to almost comprehend? I continued, “I’m not angry dear. Questions are questions, and answers are answers– they exist to have each other, and if you only have one, then frankly you have none.” My ears twitched in the cool night breeze. “What I mean to say is ‘yes’ the legends are of me.”

The child looked at me with watery eyes, her lips uttering another question. “What are you?”

 “What am I?” My voice is smooth as oiled leather, and as distinct as cinnamon. The girl waited-- patiently for her age, I might add. 

“Three guesses,” I said, weaving deftly, in the shape of a figure eight around her and the fire, close enough that my tail nearly brushes her. “If you guess correctly, I shall give you a piece of my fur.”

Her brow furrowed, not in doubt, but in thought. The corner of my mouth twitched upwards. This child was not like the others– other children would wonder why, why a useless clot of hair? But this one seemed to understand. To encourage this anomaly of a human actually welcoming neural plasticity of the brain– I blinked, and my coat began to change. Glowing tendrils of light snaked their way down my back, settling on my tail, where they swirled in great iridescent pulses along the lengths of my hair. I sat. My icy stalactite gaze piercing her eyes. I spoke the following words clearly. “If you fail, then you belong to me.”

The girl gulped. Now, you might think me harsh, but you must understand, I merely understand value, and I can also recognize desperation. The gleam in her eyes, the pink corners inflamed from bouts of tears. She desired something. Needed something. 

I suppose context is necessary, lest your unrefined human minds lose interest in this whole dealing. Many myths, many legends revolve around the fur of my kind. I won’t privilege you with the knowledge of what is fact and what is fiction. But I will tell you the obscene lengths your kind has undergone to obtain a coat of my kin. Kingdoms warring, cities burning, children sold to true monsters, entire lives wasted chasing false sightings and claims, families butchering one another. Men have driven themselves to madness– and all for the flayed carcasses of my brethren. Stupidity and folly of mankind at its pinnacle. So you see, my offer to the little girl was as imperiously generous as a king dumping a bucket of emeralds and rubies onto a beggar's head.

The little girl bit her berry red lower lip, then counted on her fingers. A real thinker we have here. I lifted my nose to the sweet night breeze, the heat of the day had been wafted away by the coolness of the river. The girl thrust out her hand– as if for me to shake. She quickly realized the incongruence of the action with my form, and instead opted for a quick, low, curtsy. “I accept your offer.” Her voice wavered, but she remained low in her display of reverence.

The stakes of the game are high, but the rules are simple;

She must guess what I am– to my satisfaction. 

She must do this in three guesses.

She has until the fire dies.

Most intriguingly, the child requested that she be allowed to ask three questions, and I have allowed this. My expectation being that she shall waste them with great glee. And by the dim glow of a dying fire, our game began.

Question 1. “How old are you?”

“Older than your town cares to remember." I replied. 

She frowned. “That doesn’t answer my question– that only raises new ones.”

My tail flicked in amusement. “Questions like that cannot be answered simply. What is it you mean? When did I take my first conscious breath– When did my feet first grace the Earth? When did I come to be?” 

Our discourse went on like this for some time, though she came to the resolute opinion that my explanation was by such a ‘nonsensical way’ as to only raise more questions– questions of which she could not be afforded, by which point she promptly moved on.

Question 2. “Are you one of the Fae?” 

I gave her a long look. “Is that your guess or your question? Reasonably it could be either.”

The girl’s face twisted in thought. “How would you define a question as opposed to a guess? A guess and a question are very nearly the same, as I haven’t a definitive answer for either.”

Watching a human so deep in though was truly delectable. I had been waiting for her to realize the fatal flaw in her request of being allowed three questions, and it was as sugary as expected. I watched her hungrily as she continued. “My guesses will still technically be a question, as I am uncertain. Should I phrase my guess as a statement- despite my uncertainty? I suppose the answer should lie in your rules defining our game. Would you find me calling you a Fae be a succinct answer? Or would you require more elaboration?”

“Would that I be a Fae, I would likely require further elaboration. However, given that I am not–” I let out a low scoff almost akin to a growl before continuing, “were I a Fae, you likely wouldn’t be standing here with your blood still coursing through your body, and your limbs still attached.” My disdain for the Fae was palpable. “But for your aptness, I will provide a succulent hint; my kin and the Fae have long had bad blood. I would sooner let myself be stripped of my fur to have my bones desecrated– than converse with one of their kind.” Radiant mist escaped from my lips in curling wisps as I spoke.

The girl was nonplussed by the tendrils of light that evaporated into the night air. “True. The Fae would likely have twisted my words by now– at the very least.” She conceded

They would have twisted off your toes by now. I thought. “You have two of each now. One question, and one answer remains.” I reminded, wishing to change the subject.

Then she asked a perplexing question. “Don’t you have questions for me?” 

I took a long glance at the fire. “Are you asking, or stalling?” I said. Surely she was trying to pry additional details from me based on the questions that I might ask her- were I to play along. At that moment horror struck the child, as I said, “is that one of your questions?” 

To my amusement, she stood abruptly, raising her hand in a similar way to how one might try and soothe a rearing horse. “Wait– no!”

I withheld a chuckle, as I shifted comfortably in the warmth of the single waning flame and the glowing red coals. “It shall not apply.” Though I did not show it, I was greatly pleased by the girl’s investment in the game. She did gamble her life, after all.

Question 3. “Are you maleficent?” 

This one surprised me. This time I was nonplussed. Most would have thought to ask such a thing before discourse with a creature like me had began. Clearly this girl was intrepid by nature. She’d proven her wit to be too strong for this to be considered an oversight. “Courage and desperation. A deadly concoction.” I mused aloud, my voice’s silky sheen replaced by a thrumming of admiration, much like a cat’s purr.

“No.” My voice rumbled like thunder. It was her most clever question yet, as it ruled out most of what her guesses would have been.

A moment of silence passed, even the crickets had stopped singing in anticipation of our grand finale. The guesses.

The girl gulped, smoothing her dress over her knees as she sat before me.

“You are a God.” 

“No.”

“You are a nymph?” She tried.

“No.” I said.

I could see the panic striking her features as she tried one last time.

“You are a Jinn.”

“No.”

At this moment the flame died, leaving us in the red glow of the embers, and the ethereal light snaking down my fur. The girl’s shadow cast face fell, and I could hear her heart beating faster. I could smell the sweat protruding from her pores. Adrenaline coursing through her, certain of her demise. 

I didn’t bother to stand. “You belong to me now.” My voice had a satin sheen. 

The girl dropped her head, her expression pained. “Kill me quickly if you must… but please don’t harm my family.”

 I applauded her bravery, despite the break in her voice at the last word. I stood and stretched, a long good stretch, my fur's glint unnaturally bright regardless of the dim light provided by the fire's remains. I took slow, decisive steps as I came to stand before her. She would have felt the hotness of my breath on her face had I been a natural creature.

“What is your name, child?” 

She quavered. “Blue Bell.”

Surely she had all sorts of thoughts running through that juicy little brain of hers— Here, I will die to a monster. It’ll tear me limb from limb and slurp out my brains like pasta. Evil shapeshifters as they all have said. Stealing children in the midst of night. Or so the stories that were tossed around towns and taverns went, thrown around like viruses. Stories and tales– a sickness transferred by ignorant minds and filthy mouths. 

All lies. 

“Blue Bell. Listen once and listen well. You shall take a handful of my hair– no more than a tuft. You’ll leave this place and lay it on your mother’s sweating brow. After a moment, she will sleep without stirring– then you will burn my hair by fire. Her fever will be broken by the light of dawn.”

Blue Bell trembled, her eyes flooding with the tears she had held back. “Why?”

I gave her a patronizing stare, the embers of the fire reflected in my dark eyes. “You’re of no use to me unwell. You will tell no one of this night. Now go– and leave the bag of roasted chestnuts.” I commanded.

The girl did as I instructed, scampering off swiftly through the sleeping forest.

In a town, somewhere else. A hearth blazed, as a gleaming piece of fur was dropped into its flames, igniting into an aurora of shimmering lights. Then the girl laid her head against her mother’s chest. In the morning the woman awoke to the absence of the illness that once ravaged her body. There instead, her sleeping daughter’s head rested on her chest. 

And somewhere in the distance, a fox-like creature gleefully feasted on roasted chestnuts.