Bladeshire 13

By David C. Daoust

Chantilles was not where she was supposed to be. She was supposed to be with the other women, huddled around, placing threshing stones. Jagged little rocks meant to be embedded in a curved wood plank, a sledge, used for threshing. They were getting close to the summer harvest; the winter wheat would finally be reaped from Eastmead. Thus, they were preparing the tools that would be needed in the coming months.

The rooster crowed an hour off, she was all dressed and ready to go. Yet, there she sat still on her stoop.

The women would, normally, all chatter the whole day through. Chantilles was not a fan of chattering most days… though, it was not beyond her that they might actually be silent this day. Silent because what they were surely want to chatter about, would be her recent disappearance with Khadory. She was not sure who all knew the truth of it, but she knew the silence, the silence would surely condemn her. She did not want to face it.

Chantilles clutched the cross that hung around her neck as she considered her recent debacle. The Priest of the Night Sky assured her that a solid show of faith could ward off such entities that may be harassing her, especially those that may want to cause her harm. He gave her the cross and explained, cryptically, that it represented the ‘sacrifice that ended all sacrifices.’ Insisted, it was a very important symbol to the one God.

The young girl considered going to the old stone bridge instead of work. She had friends there, ones that might be missing her.

Chantilles knew how the other villagers spoke of her, they said she was lazy. A slacker that could not finish the simplest of jobs without wondering off. Her face burned at the idea of them saying such things. Such gossip was not without reason, though. How could she explain the truth to them all…? The thought was absurd. No one would believe her; not of the other women. She pictured the women taking the full story in and could not help but laugh at the absurdity of the claim.

Chantilles sighed as the laughter dispersed her anger and confusion. Suddenly she had a better idea! Why not play into the expectation? May as well. Maybe try to enjoy the experience for once. She was sure they would love to chatter about that. And it’d be that much easier for them if she wasn’t there. That synched it. She successfully talked herself into blowing off her responsibilities.

It was upon this success that she heard something behind her… in the hut. Her father was gone already. Abe was doing his business somewhere or another. Yet something clearly moved within the hut. She clutched at the cross even harder as she raised up off the stoop, into a crouch. Motionless, as if it may help her hear better, she listened. The sound came again, and suddenly a great crash could be heard from within.

The crash made it much more mundane; any sense of creepiness was flushed from her, replaced by the need to investigate. Chantilles released the cross and walked through the threshold of the single room hut. In the middle was a great stone hearth, a fire still burned, though low, a chute hung over it to guide the smoke out of the small home. Beds to either side, hers behind a curtain, with a single table on the opposite side. She was pretty sure whatever fell, had rolled off the table.

Something moved from the corner of her eye. Something small and fast, and it jumped straight up onto the table.

Chantilles jumped too, almost out of her boots, when the small voice greeted her.

It was a tiny little man, no bigger than a leaf, dressed in a silky tunic and breeches, heavy boots of what looked like bound grass, a matching belt, and a loaded backpack. It was one of her friends from the bridge…

A winding stream flowed through the village, all the way to Redcap Creep. Across it was a small stone bridge. What most people did not know was that there was a small clan of Spritemen, or Spriggan, that lived in that bridge. They were tiny Faefolk, said to be the wingless males of what were commonly referred to as Sprites. They were equally mischievous, though a bit more grounded than their flighty female counterparts. They had a way of war about them though. The northside of the bridge was held by one clan, and the south held by the other. In the middle was the stream. To such small beings, the stream was surely a great expanse. A vast body of water they sailed some fairly impressive boats on. ‘Dragon ships’, they called ‘em. They were raiders for sure, tiny little Vikings attacking each other all hours of the day.

Chantilles had inadvertently befriended the northside. One day she had absentmindedly left a bit of bread on their ‘castle’—which was, in reality, part of the bridge. The abutment, she thought it might be called. They hallowed it out and restructured it, all to meet their needs.

Well, she’d left the bread, and they’d appreciated it so much that they introduced themselves to her the following day. They came to be fast friends and Chantilles made it a point to bring them another hunk of bread at least once a week. She spent a bit more time with them than she probably should have over the years, but not since the blackouts started. And surely not since the snail incident. (Not since someone witnessed what was happening to her.)

She knew all the ins and outs of their clans. Of their battles against the south side of the bridge. She never joined in on the attack, and really, they never asked her to. It wouldn’t really be fair, and messing with any kind of fae could be a bad turn no matter which side you were on. Ultimately, she would probably get in a bit of trouble if the parish priest found out she was chatting with fae. She dare not imagine what Brommus may say.

Spriggan were interesting, watching them man their ships, solemnly plot their next assault. The look on their face when the south suddenly ambushed them… it was all a riot to Chantilles. You kind of had to keep in mind that the little guys didn’t actually kill each other, but boy could they take a walloping.

Never once had she seen any of them anywhere but the stream. Yet there the Spriggan stood, hands on hip, grinning at her. This one was known as Leaf.

“What in the world are you doing in my home?” Chantilles asked in shock.

“We formed an expedition,” a different Spriggan answered, one named Chut, which she found on the floor to her right. He was standing among a small party of spriggan, each in the same unusually fine clothing, and overloaded backpacks. “We had not seen you in days…”

They must have come in the back door.

“We began to worry,” Leaf interjected from the table. “We’ve not seen you in so long.”

“Well,” Chantilles thought for a moment, charmed. “That’s sweet, I guess.”

“We thought you may be in danger…” the little man pressed grimly.

They did not like to be called sweet, or treated as tiny little things at all. She had figured it out quite a while ago, yet still, she lapsed from time to time. “Of course,” she said correcting her demeanor. “What brave heroes you are, to make sure I am okay.”

“Yes, well it was not an easy trek,” the grim adventurer agreed.

“Took us two days,” a small wily one, named Botto, admitted from the group on the floor.

Two days! Chantilles could walk there in ten minutes.

“Oh well, this is my fault,” Chantilles grimaced, felt guilty that they spent so much time from home on her account. “I should have stopped in to see you all. I have missed you, truly. I was just thinking of coming to see you.”

Chantilles hunted around her side of the hut, searching for her old satchel. She found it tucked under her bed… She was pretty sure they could ride in it, but getting them in, without them feeling tiny, might be a bit of a challenge. She was not going to cost them two more days to get back. She kneeled down and set the satchel on the floor. She had it settled with the opening gaped open. Maybe they would just walk in… maybe avoid the awkward invitation?

Suddenly, something zipped in through the window. A small, winged being. A sprite. The female version of this rather rare breed of fae. She was dressed in much of the same style as the spriggan– silky tunic, though without the breeches or boots. Her wings fluttered so quickly, it was just a haze of blue and violet behind her. Her long auburn hair seemed to flutter in the permanent breeze.

First Sprite Chantilles had ever seen. All she knew of such entities– they could be dangerous. Such tiny little things, that were mostly unkillable, tended to not have the same cares as mortals.

Chantilles was scared.

“What is this I hear of heroes?” hovering midair, the small, winged fairy asked of the group of expeditioners.

The Spriggan were all alight, flushed and happy with her attention. But horribly bashful.

Going by their reaction, Chantilles would not be surprised if this was their first visit from a Sprite as well. Many of them blushed, too flustered to speak. She could swear one in the back, pretended to kick a rock as he cast his gaze to the floor.

“Come on, one of you speak up,” the clear voice of the tiny, winged woman practically sang. “So brave… such brave specimen venturing from home?”

“They were worried something vile befell me,” Chantilles offered up in their continued silence.

The tiny being narrowed her eyes at her. Studied her up and down. “Not had one of your kind in generations,” it said this with a creepy, growing smile. At the smiles apex, the sprite abruptly flew at her like a bee protecting its hive!

Chantilles, with a start, ducked away.

The small sprite veered off and laughed.

Acted more like a housefly coming to pick in her hair. She did not seem dangerous. She seemed the embodiment of happiness. Or craziness… she amended, possibly craziness.

“What’s this?” the sprite flew in close to Chantilles’ chest and tapped the cross that hung from the young girl’s neck. “Ooh, that is a nice one.” She pressed one tiny, pointed ear to it, listened to it closely, before she flew off to flutter nearby. “I wonder what He’ll make of you? All the changes since… I bet you get to live! That’ll be nice. We can be friends if you like? It’ll be a welcome change.”

Chantilles did not know what any of that meant. The sprite’s speed at which she talked, and moved, seemed to speed up with each phrase. It was all a lot to take in and the small fairy was flittering around her head so much, she could not help but laugh. Especially, when she offered to be friends. She was starting to believe those old stories were all hogwash. Of course they were, she thought, the same things were said about Spriggans!

“We’ll chat more later,” the small sprite flew off and lighted the nearby table. “Right now, I need to know what brave soul led this expedition?” She tapped her foot as she crossed her arms. Waiting.

“That’d be me?” Leaf asked strangely.

The others all nodded and pointed up at him.

The lusty gaze which was cast to the small expedition leader told Chantilles only one thing, it was time to go. All the other Spriggan, free of the gaze, seemed to catch on as well. One after the other, each filed into the still open satchel.

Chantilles lifted it carefully as she rose to her feet and backed away to the door. The last thing she saw was the little Spriggan whisked away, straight into one of the wooden cabinets to either side of her bed. The cabinet door opened and closed in one quick woosh, swallowing the new couple.

The noises from within, told her just to go.

Just leave them be.

So, she did.