An Honoured Guest
Nodwin hitched himself up in his harness. It chafed uncomfortably. He tried to shrug off the annoyance and pressed his ear against the bark of the tree. His Pim ears could hear the sap coursing beneath the tree’s thin silvery skin. Nodwin was high on the trunk, nearly as high as the pulley – almost eight feet above the ground. The sap was different at this height – much of the earthiness was filtered out before it made its way this high.
Nodwin found a good spot, then reached into his pouch and removed a spiny tap and his mallet. In a few moments the tree’s sweet liquor flowed into a clean hide bag. He filled the bag, closed the tap and carefully rappelled down the trunk to the ground. It was odd, he thought, to be serving sap so recently tapped, and unfermented, but then he supposed his father’s guest’s requirements were normal, for a Faerie. Unfermented sap, and more tree-ish than earthy – those had been the orders. Nodwin was sure his efforts would be worth-while. After all, Faeries who had visited their village in the past had granted the Pims a magical boon, no doubt this one would as well. Nodwin’s father was a good mayor, and would be a most gracious host.
Children were playing in the moss in front of the house Nodwin shared with his parents. His mother was trying to distract them and lead them away from the house, but their curiosity over the Faerie kept them wandering back to the windows. Nodwin smiled at his mother as he walked by and she returned an exasperated grin.
The house was quiet when Nodwin entered. He peeked through the door to the parlour before getting cups from the cupboard – his father and the Faerie were deeply engrossed in a game of Obsids. Nodwin had never mastered the finer points of the game despite his father’s best efforts. It was a game of diplomacy, compromise and a great deal of deceit. Players drew a card that dictated a pattern that would fit on the board. They then took turns placing their stones on the board to match that pattern. Proximity to the opponent’s stones affected stones in many different ways, dictated by the placement on the board. The goal pattern must be kept secret from the opponent and only revealed once a player had matched it. Nodwin’s father maintained that the only real way to win at Obsids was to work together with your opponent and bring the board to incorporate both patterns, perfectly. Nodwin had never known anyone to manage it and he suspected it was impossible.
Nodwin entered the parlour respectfully and quietly, hoping to pour the drinks and be gone without disturbing the deep thought of the Obsids players. The Faerie rose, however, the moment Nodwin breached the doorway and smiled warmly. He was tall, over six inches to be sure. His skin was light tan and neither olive nor ruddy. His hair was the pale green of new growth and his eyes shone silver. His wings unfolded briefly and he fluttered them; thin, transparent membranes sparkling with every colour Nodwin could imagine. He was a wonder to behold next to Nodwin’s father, who had stood as well, as etiquette demanded. Furlwid was getting on in years, and looked like a very typical aging Pim. His face showed a few lines. His downy fur, which had been bright white in his youth, was fading to silver; and he had nearly as many spots in his fur as Grimbuck, the village sage. They were good spots, though, and denoted age and wisdom. Nodwin himself was yet too young for any spots, and his fur was still a healthy white with a tinge of blond from his mother.
“Greetings,” said the Faerie to Nodwin, “I see you bring refreshments. Wonderful!” He reached for the cups and liquor bag, “Please, allow me the honour. I am called Willowswitch.” Nodwinintroduced himself but did not yield the cups and bag. “Please, I insist, I shall serve the mayor here.” Nodwin glanced at his father for guidance, aware of how rude it was to expect a guest to serve a host, but the look on Furlwid’s face seemed to say “if he wants to pour the sap, let him pour the sap”.
Nodwin relinquished the cups and bag and left quietly, watching as the sap was poured and the game resumed. Willowswitch, he thought, bears strangely violent connotations for a Faerie’s name. He shook his head and left the house intent on spending a pleasant afternoon stretched out on the moss gazing up at the canopy.
Good stuff. As always, engaging and vivid from the get go. Keep it up.
And, I sense a plot twist in the works…