Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries (Emily Wilde, #1)(13)

I was not surprised by the creature’s appearance, despite its unsightliness, but I had not been expecting it. I did not shriek or start away, of course, but I stiffened ever so slightly.

Immediately, the faerie was gone. I followed its progress by the birds, which fell silent in the tree to my left.

“It’s all right,” I said coaxingly in Faie, for it was clear that the faerie was young. Only the juveniles startle easily, in my experience, while adults have more confidence, particularly the ones who look like that. “I’ve come to bargain.”

“For what?” came a small voice out of the forest, nearer than I had guessed.

“For whatever you like,” I responded, “if it’s in my power to give it.”

It was a neat answer that has gotten me out of many close calls, for whatever you promise a faerie you must provide, or you will lose everything.

“I like skins,” the faerie said. “Will you give me a bearskin?”

“And how do you know what bears are?” For there are none in Ljosland.

“How do you think?” it replied. “From stories. I like those too.”

I thought it over. “I will give you a beaver skin.” Oh, I was going to miss that hat. “We will see about the bear. Now will you hear what I want in return?”

“I already know that.” The faerie was sitting on the edge of the spring—I would not have known if it hadn’t spoken, for it was like a fold in the ground. “You’re a noser. Poke, poke, poking your nose in. You want to know about me, but I shan’t tell you anything.”

“Why not?”

He—it was a he, I think—seemed not to expect the question. “I don’t like talking about myself.”

I tried not to let my delight show. The faeries of Ljosland should have known nothing about scholars—nosers are what the common fae call us on the continent. Not unless the faerie realms overlap, as I have argued on numerous occasions. The Folk can slip through locked doors and disappear into trees. Why would an ocean or mountain range keep them separate from one another?

“Then we seem to be at an impasse,” I said, affecting puzzlement. “Why ask for anything if you already knew what I wanted, and that you would not grant it?”

The faerie looked down at his hands, blushing and mumbling to himself. I reached into my backpack and drew out the remnants of Finn’s burnt loaf. Sighing heavily, I broke it in half and began to chew.

“That looks foul,” the faerie said. He was beside me now, his long, long needle-fingers curved over the edge of a rock.

I spat out a piece of the crust. “My host is a poor cook.”

“I’m a very good cook,” the faerie said as soon as the sentence left my lips. I smothered a smile. Many of the common fae need little convincing to aid mortals and in fact enjoy the arrangement.

“Are you indeed?”

He nodded, suddenly solemn. “I shan’t tell you my secrets. But I will bring you bread if I may have the skin.”

I pretended to think it over. “Very well.”

I rummaged in my backpack and pulled out another tin of Turkish delights. I popped one into my mouth, then held out a handful to the faerie. His black eyes bulged.

“An offering only,” I said. “Not part of our bargain.”

He swelled with pride. Ljoslanders regularly leave offerings for the common fae, but I wondered if this little faerie had ever had something left for him in particular. He speared the candy upon his fingertips and was gone, not in any direction I could perceive; he seemed to step into the landscape as if it were a door. I gathered myself and continued on my walk, already composing a description of the faerie for my encyclopaedia, as delighted with my progress as the faerie had been with his sweets.





28th October


The weather has taken a turn. Some days have proven too foul for me to set foot out of doors, a combination of hail and sleet. I have been able to explore another section of forest, where I found a smaller hot spring and—high above the village—the edge of a glacier. I spied several cavernous fissures amongst the ice where the villagers had left food offerings long ago. I wondered what faerie, or faeries, had abandoned the place.

I was not worried about missing my new friend, for the Folk are not bound by time in the way that we mortals are. He would have my bread for me whether I visited next week or next month. I sent off a letter to my brother with sufficient funds to purchase a bearskin. He will grumble and write to me with complaints that he is very busy with his shop and his wife, not to mention their four children, and that he hasn’t time to assist with my faerie escapades, but he will send it all the same.

My breakfasts continued to be burnt. One morning, my butter had tiny fish bones in it. Yet I could get no explanation from Aud as to how I had offended her. When I attempted to apologize for questioning her about Au?ur, she gave me a perplexed smile and assured me that no apology was necessary. I was beginning to conclude that the whole thing was some wild imagining of Krystjan’s, until I visited Hrafnsvik’s only shop. That is when the fear that I would freeze to death was replaced by the fear that I would starve.

I took the long way, navigating the steep switchbacks below the cottage and strolling past the Egilson farm. Krystjan and Finn have a handsome home, rustic but large, with more windows than is common in the village. It is set back from the road at the end of a meandering lane lined with many outbuildings—livestock, hay, farming implements. Sheep grazed against the tall blue mountains.