Accidentally Lost
Torryn’s POV
Bright light. Overwhelming heat. Burning. My whole body is on fire… No, that can’t be right. It smells much more like firewood than flesh.
I blink into reality, careful not to make any sudden movements. Why the fiddle are there so many candles lit in here?
Where is here?
A mound of logs floats in the air by the far wall that isn’t very far at all. My whole body feels like it’s on fire. The brawl I got into with that fairy and its minions earlier must be the reason for it. Earlier… how long ago was that? How much time has passed?
When was the last time I asked myself so many questions I couldn’t answer?
There’s no one else in here, but someone, clearly out of their mind, had to have created this fire hazard. I sit up slowly, clutching the pain in my gut. The pain… it’s not nearly as bad as I remember. It’s coming back to me in pieces. I was on the trail to Westvale when that rogue fay ambushed me. It took a bullet through the wing, but one of the minions slashed my stomach before I got away. I bandaged it before passing out, but the gauze covering my injury feels more secure now than when I did it. Did that fairy come after me again? Fiddles, I don’t know. I need to find my bag before I look around.
The door creaks open as I scan the room, preparing to stand.
“Oh, wait, please, you shouldn’t move.” It’s a young girl’s voice, just above a whisper. “You’re badly wounded.” The candlelight distorts her features until she turns on the lamp in the corner. “You should continue to rest. How are you feeling?”
I clear my throat. “Did I…” There’s a sugary syrup on my lips. Honey?
She seems relieved as I form words, a small smile taking to her face. That’s when I see the dust, glistening in the light as it scatters from her chestnut hair.
This girl is a fairy.
“Did I have a bag with me?”
She glides over to a chair housing the things I recognize as mine. “Nothing appeared to be disturbed when we brought you in, but you’ve been unconscious for at least ten hours.”
We? There’s more of them, then… Alright, alright, calm down. Not all fairies are hostile. I’ve met plenty. This one doesn’t seem like a threat. Have I actually been in this place for hours?
How did I get myself into this situation?
She hands me my bag. I feel around for my weapon, maintaining eye contact.
“Do you have a name?” she asks.
I do. “Do you?” I capitalize on her turning away to tuck my gun into the back of my waistband, careful to keep it concealed. It’s loaded with iron bullets. designed for fay hunting, but I leave the safety on.
“I’m Lennox. I work here, and live here.” Lennox. Well, she seems harmless, but I shouldn’t let my guard down. A figure moves beyond in the darkness of the doorway as I toss my bag next to me on the bed. Glitter sparkles from the shadow as it breaches the lit room. It’s another girl.
Another fairy.
“How long has he been awake?” She talks to her companion, though her eyes remain fixed on me.
“I’ve only been here for a few minutes. I was just going to wake you.”
“No need. Couldn’t sleep,” she yawns. “Let’s try a lemon balm and mint brew. He seems to have responded a bit to the honey.” Honey. I was right.
Lennox reminds me of Fiona, right down to the soft, closed-eyed smile she gives me before whisking off to complete her task. “Please, don’t be afraid. We mean you no harm.”
The second girl looks closer to my age. Her hair is bleached to the color of snowfall, blending with the heavy fabrics of her robe and dress. “We mean you no harm.” She repeats the words of her junior with a harp like voice, not only gentle but bold. “I’ll explain everything we know.”
We. Just the two of them, or are there more? “Where am I, and who are you working for?”
“We aren’t working for anyone.” She takes a seat on the counter, legs crossed. There are rods on her fingers. Some kind of brace, maybe? “This is my home and my clinic.”
Her home and her clinic. In the middle of that forest I’d wandered into? Odd place to have a business. Wait. This is her practice… She’s the candle maniac, then?
“Lennox is my apprentice.”
Apprentice of what?
“How do I know I can trust you?”
She shrugs. “I’ve had seven hours to snap your unconscious neck.” It’s a fact, coming out of her mouth, not a theory. “If I wanted to kill you, or loot you, or harvest your organs, I would’ve taken the opportunity while you were unable to fight back, hmm?”
That’s quite specific. She makes me laugh a bit, provoking the pain in my stomach.
“You know, that gun you’ve got there isn’t going to do you any good,” she adds, hopping down to light a few of the unlit white candles. “After all, I took these.” She empties out the contents of her pocket onto the counter. The sound is all too familiar.
Iron bullets.
“So how do I know I can trust you?”
I lean back against the wall, pulling the empty gun from my waistband. “How did you know…?” How could she have seen it?
She rubs exhaustion from her eyes. “I found it in your bag earlier. Had to make sure you weren’t a salt smuggler, or anything. I replaced the ammo with some sage so I could divine it.”
Biscuits. I should’ve been able to tell the gun was empty. I would’ve been able to, but everything aches. My adrenaline is wearing off. I pull the magazine to find the plant she mentioned. How is she able to divine things? Is she a seer?
“What’s your name?” the faerie asks, resting her head on a closed fist, propped up on cabinetry.
“Torryn. You?”
“Sitara.” Sitara. “So, are you a radical? An insurgent, maybe?”
Ouch. Neither. “I’m just a freelancer.” Well, if you were to define freelancer and bounty hunter the same way, that is. “What about you? Some sort of healer, or do you just like the challenge of keeping white clean?”
She blinks at me, then down at her clothes. “Oh, right. I forgot. Cleansing magick tends to strip the pigment out of anything the user comes in contact with.” She pinches one of the gypsy sleeves. “These were blue when I put them on, and my hair is naturally black.”
Even her irises are crystal clear, like the lake back home. What color are they supposed to be? “So, you are a healer, then?”
“Sort of… Well, not exactly. I’m a mage.”
A mage? “Is that supposed to justify the number of candles you have burning right now?”
She raises her eyebrows, gesturing around the room. “These? These are essential in creating the best possible conditions for magick.”
“And the best possible conditions for setting your house on fire.” I get a laugh out of her. “You really are a mage, then?” Which means Lennox is her apprentice in magick.
Following a sudden and aggressive amount of sparkles, a staff almost as tall as her appears in in the hand with rods and wires attached to it. It looks like tree roots and vines woven together, with a few vibrant flowers growing on it. Conjuration is an area of study in magick, I think, so I suppose she proves her point. It levitates once she lets go.
Sitara jumps in front of me as Lennox returns, tucking my gun into her pocket and winking at me. Lennox doesn’t notice, preoccupied with the steaming coffee mugs. She extends one to me. It smells quite nice. Earthy, but sweet. I don’t often have the pleasure of settling down with tea. Lennox sits in a chair sipping the other cup, while Sitara busies herself with the candles again.
“So, do you travel across the veil often?”
My first gulp of the brew lodges in my throat. First of all, why is this so sweet? Second— me? Across the veil? “What do you mean?”
“Do you come to the enchanted side often, for work or something?” Sitara slows down her words to accommodate my confusion.
I haven’t been to the other side in years. How did I cross over? I don’t remember seeing a tear in the veil. “This is the first time in a while.”
The younger fairy perks up. “North Haven is quite nice this time of year with all the festivities we celebrate.” North Haven? Geography has never been my strong suit, and I don’t even remember the last time I saw an enchanted map. “Are you a merchant?”
“His name is Torryn, by the way,” Sitara murmurs, “He’s a freelancer.” She cuts her off before the younger fay can ask the question queued in her open mouth. “You should get a few more hours of rest so you can open the practice in the morning. I’ll record everything in his care log.”
“You need to rest, too,” she protests, ultimately retreating, mug in hand, when she’s brushed off. “Goodnight Torryn!”
Sitara collapses against the door once she closes it. “Sorry, I just didn’t want her to see it. She doesn’t like being around guns.”
I understand. That’s why I usually stash it in my bag.
“This is the F3, right?” she asks, pulling it back out of her robe. How does she recognize it? “Is this the new A6?” She traces down the barrel to the trigger.
She nods turning it over, inspecting it. “It’s much more refined than the 3. I’m surprised.” Her eyes blink a few times, as if to pull her back to reality. She nestles the gun back in my bag and points to my tea. “Drink all of that. Don’t slack. Healing wounds from the inside is important.”
It tastes like a literal cavity, though… but never mind that. How does she know about the F3’s? Fay do age slower than humans… but is she old enough to have lived during the war these were created for? “Can I ask what happened to your hand?”
A small smile takes to her face. “You can, but I won’t tell you.” She scribbles a few lines into a journal nearby before heading towards the door. “I’m sure the explanation you come up with will be better than the truth, anyway.”
Sitara.
“Drink that, and rest.”
I’m sure the explanation you come up with will be better than the truth…
Now I want to know even more.
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