Drawtober 2022: The Bargain

In her finest black gown, Branwen stood and surveyed the place where The Game would be played. The flat stone sat at the peak of the hill that rose out of the bog, its edges worn soft by time. Two large mushrooms (grown by herself, thank-you-very-much) faced each other on opposite sides of the stone, ready seats for tonight’s encounter. Around the hillock Branwen had lit an army of candles, their flames giving a flickering, unsettling light to the darkness of the bog.

A low groan emanated from the water at the bottom of the mound, and Branwen rolled her eyes.

“You’ve already had your dinner,” she said, looking down into the fathomless black eyes of the kelpie who haunted this fen, and who—for the past year—had been her responsibility to look after.

The kelpie looked up at her mournfully, its long, horse face growing despondent in the wavering light. Its tail flicked water up onto the mound before it moped off into the water, leaving barely a ripple behind.

Branwen sniffed, turning back to the stone. All was ready for The Game. She’d been watching the kelpie for the past year, and it was all well and good—it was part of The Bargain. But, tonight, when The Game was played again, she was going to win. And she’d at last return to civilization, at least for a year.

A mist rolled in from the west, its edges faintly green. It was accompanied by a low, murmurous singing that tickled the edges of Branwen’s senses. She cracked her neck and frowned into the fog.

“You don’t have to do that,” she chided. “There’s no mystery to be had here. I already know it’s you.”

A low chuckle emanated from the mist. From out of the cloud stepped a tall, pale being. Hair the color of algae draped down nearly to the fairy’s feet, and scales peeked out from beneath the long white dress she wore. Her eyes—as black and fathomless as the kelpie—were amused.

“You were not so confident when first we met, Branwen of the Valley,” the fairy said, her voice like polished pebbles dropped into the bog. “You rob me of my amusement.”

“I’m not here for your amusement, Asrai,” Branwen snapped. That was not her name, but as she would never give that up, Branwen had to settle for calling her something. “Are you going to play or concede?”

“I will play,” the Asrai said, speaking the words solemnly. As she stepped up onto the hillock, the kelpie resurfaced, letting out a shriek of joy. The fairy, smiling, dipped down and scratched behind the creature’s ears.

“I hope he has been well-behaved for you.”

Branwen snorted. “As well-behaved as a flesh-eating lake monster can be.” The kelpie had had an unusually good year, she privately admitted. He’d only devoured two men without her sayso: one unwary fisherman and one unlucky sod led astray by will-o-the-wisps.

The Asrai cooed at the creature before proceeding up the hill to her seat. Her skirts draped wetly around her as she took her place. She looked down at the stone and frowned.

“You have not brought the board?”

“Not this year.”

“Then what will we play?”

Triumphantly, Branwen reached into her pocket and produced a deck of Uno cards. It was the privilege of the loser of last year’s Game to select the competition for the next year. They’d played chess the past few years, and it became increasingly obvious that the Asrai had memorized a good number of moves. Better to insert some randomness into the competition.

The fairy arched a dark eyebrow. “I am not familiar with it.”

“You’ll pick it up quickly,” Branwen said. “And if you do not agree to it, you concede. Those are the rules of The Bargain.”

The Asrai flashed a smile of unnervingly pointed white teeth. “You wish to unsettle me. How very human of you.”

“On the contrary, there’s nothing more fairy than unsettling your opponenti.”

The Asrai laughed. “Very well, Branwen. Lay out your game and thus teach me the rules.”

Branwen took her own seat and began to shuffle. The bog was quiet tonight, the distant sounds of toads croaking and night birds calling muffled by the mist that followed the fairy everywhere she walked.

“Tell me, witch,” the fairy said as Branwen dealt their hands, “what befell you in the past year?”

“I stayed in the cottage and watched the kelpie,” Branwen said begrudgingly. “And missed a great deal of what went on in the mortal world, thank you very much. I don’t see why you and I can’t simply switch off years.”

“That was not The Bargain that your ancestors made with me,” the Asrai said.

Branwen winced at the reminder. Hundreds of years ago, when people had first moved into this land, it had been wild with magic and danger. The Asrai had been perilous enough. She was bound to the land and did her fair share of murdering mortals. The kelpie, though, had been the worst of the dangers, an enticing fairy horse that lured unwary mortals onto his back before drowning them in the fen and eating them. Branwen’s ancestors—witches all—sought a way to protect the townsfolk from the worst of the ravages of fairy magic, and had made a bargain with the Asrai. Each year, a game would be played. Whoever lost the game would watch over the fen and the kelpie for the following year. In exchange, the witches freed the Asrai from her bonds, letting her wander where she would as long as she returned yearly for The Game.

It kept everyone safe. But it also meant that every witch in Branwen’s line was tied, sometimes for years, to the bog.

Branwen cleared her throat, laying down a card. “What did you do with this year of freedom, then?” she asked.

The fairy considered, tilting her head so that her hair draped around her shoulders. “I rode the northern winds to the kingdom of the trolls, where we hunted and feasted beneath a sun that never sets. And then, when I grew tired of that, I followed the lava down to hell, to the bright red streets of Pandemonium, and danced with daemons to the screams of sinners.” The Asrai flashed Branwen a dangerous smile, laying down her first card. “It was such sweet music.”

Branwen snorted, laying another card atop it. “I’m sure it was for you.”

“Think you that there is anything in the mortal world which would match it?”

“I can think of plenty of things more exciting and entertaining than the screams of sinners, if you’d just give them a chance.”

“I have lived for centuries uncounted, witch. What is there of humankind that could possibly hold my attention?”

Branwen thought for a moment. “Netflix,” she said after a moment. “Coffee with a friend who you haven’t seen in many years. Pizza from that new place on the high street.” She laid down a draw four and felt a jolt of satisfaction at the frown that crossed the Asrai’s face.

“All that sounds dull,” the fairy said, adding cards to her hand.

“Have you ever tried any of it?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know it’s dull?”

“I didn’t say it was dull,” the Asrai said irritably. “I said it sounded dull.”

From the waters below, the kelpie gave a whine. Both Branwen and the Asrai sat up as, from deeper in the fen, they heard the sound of splashing and crying. It was a human voice.

“Newt’s eyes,” Branwen swore, setting her cards down. She’d set up wards. There shouldn’t be anyone in the bog tonight. But something had wandered through anyway.

The kelpie was giving her a pleading look, but she shook her head firmly. Turning back to the Asrai, who was gazing off into the bog with a curious expression, she said, “I have to take care of this.”

“I will come with you,” the Asrai said, standing gracefully. “I should like to see how you deal with mortal intruders.”

Grudgingly, Branwen nodded. She donned the yellow welly boots she’d left at the bottom of the hillock and carefully began picking her way through the bog. The Asrai followed behind, her gown hissing over the tall grasses, while the kelpie swam after.

Branwen followed the sounds of crying deeper into the darkness. She raised her hand and conjured a few flickering witchlights to illuminate her path. It was seldom that someone wandered into the bog at night. The local folk knew better than to come this way, especially in the month of October. More than the kelpie lurked in the waters this time of year, and Branwen couldn’t protect folk from everything.

A shape peeled itself away from the darkness, tramping through the muck and scrambling up hill after hill. A young woman, Branwen realized, her jeans torn and her sweater muddy. A bruise was slowly spreading across her face, and a dark, sticky stain spread across the sleeve of her sweater.

“Stay here,” Branwen murmured to the Asrai, before stepping up onto the next hill and intercepting the woman. When she saw her emerging from the darkness, the injured woman gave a cry and startled back.

“It’s all right,” Branwen said soothingly. “It’s all right. I’m here to help.”

The young woman stared at her. “Who are you? Are you the bog witch?”

Branwen sighed at the title. “I suppose so.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“Not anymore than you’ve already hurt yourself.”

The young woman’s face went white. “I didn’t do this to myself,” she said quietly.

Branwen grew still. “Ah,” she said. She knew the folk in town. And she knew not all of them were good or kind. Most were, to be sure, but some had a rot in their hearts that made them do awful things.

She knelt beside the young woman. “It’s really dangerous to be out here at night.”

The young woman swallowed. “I have nowhere else to go. I-I had to get away.”

“I see.” Branwen took a breath and held out her hand. “Do you mind if I take a look at that arm?” she asked.

Cautiously, the young woman extended it, wincing as Branwen peeled back the sweater. The cut beneath wasn’t deep, but it was long, and she drew in a breath.

“This will need stitches,” she said slowly. “And I don’t have my kit with me.”

“Allow me.”

Branwen jumped as the Asrai materialized beside her. She hadn’t even heard the fairy move. The young woman jerked as well, and might have bolted had it not been for the hold Branwen had on her arm.

The Asrai knelt down, examining the young woman with those fathomless black eyes. She reached out and wrapped her hand directly on the cut, long fingers pressing into the woman’s skin. Then she spoke in that low, murmurous language of fairyland. Mist flowed out from beneath the Asrai’s hand, the color of rust. At last, when it grew gray once more, the fairy removed her hand. The skin of the woman’s arm was unbroken.

“Th-thank you,” the young woman stammered. “I—”

“You will not remember any of this,” the Asrai cut in, her voice a low murmur. “‘Tis but a strange dream you have wandered into.”

As the fairy spoke, the woman’s eyes grew glazed and her eyelids drooped shut. She slumped forward, and Branwen had just enough time to catch her. She exchanged a glance with the Asrai.

“We can’t leave her here.”

The fairy shook her head. “We cannot. You must take her back into town. Then—”

She broke off as, from somewhere off in the mist, they heard an angry voice shouting.

“Lorna, get back here! Damn you, get back here now!”

Branwen glanced down at the woman cradled in her arms, the darkening bruise across her face. She sucked in a breath.

“He’ll find her. The town isn’t that big. Or…Or she will go back to him.”

The Asrai cocked her head. “Are humans so self-destructive?”

“Not all of them have a choice,” Branwen bit out. She murmured a spell of strength beneath her breath and lifted the woman easily into her arms, cradling her like a child.

The Asrai, looking off in the direction from which the man’s voice had come, slid her gaze back to Branwen with a dark smile.

“Then let us make that choice for her.” The fairy gave a sharp whistle.

From the waters around the hillock came a terrible sound, something between a whinny and a scream. The kelpie surfaced, watching the fairy and the witch with anticipation. The Asrai smiled.

“Go on, my friend. Dinner awaits you.”

With another horrible shriek, the kelpie dove beneath the surface, disappearing in the direction of the man’s voice. Branwen watched him go with only a twinge of guilt. The kelpie did have to feed sometimes, after all. The folk of the town would chalk it up to what it was: a fool wandering where fools did not often survive.

She glanced back to the Asrai. “I’ll take her into town. And then we’ll finish our game.”

The fairy was looking at Branwen with a curious expression on her face. When at last she spoke, it was slowly.

“We will play,” she said, “but not for The Bargain. I will concede to you this year, Branwen of the Valley, if you do but one thing for me.”

Branwen felt a tingle of delight surge down her spine. She thought of all the plans she’d made in the past year, for trips to take and spells to try and friends to see. Suspicion, though, soon followed, and she narrowed her eyes. “What would I have to do for you, Asrai?”

The fairy’s smile was almost kind. “Pick me up one of these pizzas. I wish to see what all the fuss is about.”