Nial felt entirely unsafe being alone with Root. Fae-kind had a reputation for being trustworthy, and even though Nial tried not to apply concepts like that to an entire group the fact that Root was the only fae-kind he knew made it difficult to unlearn that particular prejudice.

  For all intents and purposes, Root had killed Dorbin. Nial hadn’t really known Dorbin, but everyone who had said he was a good person, better than Root. Besides which, killing was usually wrong.

  They had been alone now for a few hours, and Root hadn’t killed him yet. They were heading east, towards a small forest surrounded by cliff faces that Nial remembered seeing on his maps. While it wasn’t known where the witch of the mountains lived, it was one of the places he recalled seeing on maps that could be a good hiding spot. He had other ideas too.

  “Will you stop staring at me?” Root asked.

  Nial squeaked nervously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise I was.”

  “You’re thinking that you don’t feel safe with me,” said Root. “It makes sense. I went off with Dorbin and he never came back, and now that I’m going off with you the same thing could happen to you. Far enough away from everyone else, I could say that anything happened to you – bears or wolves, or perhaps the ground giving way beneath your feet and sending you flying into oblivion. I’d return to the others and tell them what happened, and they’d be suspicious of me for a while, of course. I might have to go through some kind of trial where I’d protest my innocence, but in the end there wouldn’t be any proof that I did anything to you, since no-one would ever find your body. They’d have to accept what I tell them, that I did everything that I could.” He shrugged. “Is that what you were thinking?”

  “Something like that,” Nial said. He wished he had a weapon, and started looking around for loose rocks.

  “Well, don’t worry about that,” Root said. “I’m too much of a coward to murder someone.”

  “They say you murdered Dorbin,” said Nial.

  “I wouldn’t call it murder,” said Root. “I made a decision that got him killed. There’s a measurable difference; if for him to die I would have had to wield the knife myself, then he would still be alive. Systems that allow one person to die and the other to survive are excellent for cowards like me.”

  “Is that what makes you a coward?” Nial asked. “I don’t think I could kill anyone with a knife either.”

  Root stopped walking. He suddenly turned, moving with great speed, and grabbed Nial by the shoulder. “Don’t declare yourself a coward until you’ve been tested. There are situations that will drive anyone to kill. It’s only by being unable to use the knife in those circumstances that you become a coward.”

  He let Nial go, and seemed embarrassed. He started moving again. “Come. We want to reach this forest of yours by nightfall.”

  Nial fell into step beside him. He cleared his throat. “How do you know that you’re a coward, then? Does that mean you were tested?”

  Root sighed. “In the interest of cooperation, I will tell you. But I ask you not to repeat it to anyone. This is my story to tell.”

  “I promise.”

  “Long ago, I lived in the fae lands. Many stories have been told about them over the years that exaggerate their form and rules, but all in all they are not so different from anywhere else. My title there was… well, there’s no direct equivalent that can be described in any of the mortal languages that I know. Something like a duke, I suppose, a servant to the fae lord who ruled the small province that we lived in. I was an advisor on many matters.”

  The land around them became more rocky, with jagged boulders more than three times their height blocking out the cold light of the sun.

  “The mysteries of the fae lands meant that there were many who would try and penetrate its borders to seek its bounties. Mostly they were opportunistic thieves who travelled in small groups, because the kings of the neighbouring kingdoms knew to leave us alone. Then, one day, a small group of humans who called themselves a brigade came to the border of our lands. They claimed that they were divinely ordained, with a mandate from their god – I can’t remember which – to take a simple fruit from our lands. Though the fruit they were talking about was anything but simple.”

  The path started to descend steeply, and Nial felt the strain of days of walking double as every step downwards sent a small jolt through his weakened knees.

  “In the fae lands, the soul trees are some of the most prized symbols of our culture. They say that each fruit that blooms on it contains a mirror to the souls of the fae children who are born around it. A seed for every child. As you can imagine, even picking a fruit before its time is a crime, and allowing outsiders to take one would be unthinkable. My lord told the brigade this, but told them that they could at least stay and rest with our people before their journey home.”

  The sky was beginning to darken. By Nial’s approximation they were getting close to the forest, but he worried about the sounds that he thought he could hear around him. Root, for his part, seemed lost in the past.

  “The brigade accepted the terms. But as they ate with us, one of the other advisors had a vision. She was a seer, one who saw the future, and she told us that if the brigade did not die that night then it would spell and unspeakable ruin. My lord decided on her advice that they should die. I was one who was to carry out the deed, and I stood over the bed of one of the men later that night with a blade in my hand. A single stroke, and there would have been no trouble. Whoever sent this brigade would never know what happened, few ever returned from the fae lands.”

  They were between the trees now. The branches can long shadows over Nial that seemed to caress his cheeks like fingers.

  “I let that man live. The next day, he escaped from our lands, but he burned our soul tree on his way out.” He looked at Nial. “If you never hear the scream of a dying soul tree, then you are a lucky man. The pain that I felt hearing it was only worsened by the knowledge that it was my fault. They banished me that same day. Because I was too cowardly to make a choice.”

  “Wow,” said a voice. “That’s quite a story. I think. I only heard the end of it.”

  Nial stopped walking and looked at the person that had spoken. He thought that person had to be right because it had spoken and was walking on two legs like any other person would, and it even wore a peaked hunter’s cap. The fact that it was a badger shouldn’t really have been counted as anything against its personhood.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He and Root stared at the badger, who looked up at them like it was confused. “Sorry, was that a private conversation? I think I have a bad habit of sticking my nose in where it isn’t always wanted.”

  “Yes, I can imagine why that would be disconcerting,” said Root.

  “You’re a badger,” said Nial.

  “And you’re a human and he’s a fae-kind,” said the badger. “This is a fun game, isn’t it. That’s a tree, that’s a bush, and that’s a copse of flowers.”

  The badger didn’t sound sarcastic, oddly enough.

  “I’ve just never met a badger who could talk before,” said Nial.

  “Oh I understand completely,” said the badger. “I’ve never met a badger who could talk either. I might just be the only one, when I think about it. Wow, I don’t know if I ever have before. That’s going to give me some kind of crisis about my place in the universe later.”

  “Are you a witch?” Root asked.

  “Oh no, of course not,” said the badger. “I’m just Fiddlesticks.”

  “Fiddlesticks?”

  “Yep. That’s the name the witch gave me.”

  “So there is a witch?” Nial asked.

  The badger stared at him and seemed to remember something. “No,” he said. “There aren’t any witches around here. People who are looking for witches should look somewhere else.”

  “But you just said that a witch gave your name,” said Nial.

  “I don’t remember doing that,” said Fiddlesticks.

  Root put his hand gently on Nial’s shoulder. “I know how to do this,” he said. He crouched down so that he was closer to the badger’s level. “Of course there is no witch here. After all, there’s nowhere appropriate for witches to live around here, is there?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” said Fiddlesticks. “There’s a cottage just a little ways from here.”

  “Really?” asked Root. “Can you show it to us? We’re quite tired from our journey, you see.”

  Fiddlesticks shook his head. “I’m not supposed to show people the cottage.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m just not.”

  “Okay.” Root stood up. “Well, we don’t want to find the cottage by accident, so can you tell us which way it is so that we don’t walk into it by accident?”

  “Of course!” said Fiddlesticks. He turned and gestured with his paw. “Don’t go that way, and you’ll avoid the cottage completely.”

  “Thank you,” said Root. He started to walk in the direction that Fiddlesticks had indicated.

  “Wait!” Fiddlesticks protested. “That’s the way to the cottage! You’ll get there if you go that way.” He gasped. “Did you trick me?”

  “Yes,” said Root. “My apologies. Come, Nial, let’s find this witch.”

  “You liar!” Fiddlesticks yelled. He leapt at Root. Root turned just in time for the badger to fly through the air and land on his chest. Root screamed and tried to pull Fiddlesticks off him, stumbling over to a tree and slamming them both into it before they both fell to the ground.

  “Nial! Help!” Root yelled. Nial rushed forwards and tried to grab Fiddlesticks, but Root was writhing around too much for him to get any kind of grip.

  “Enough!”

  Fiddlesticks dropped off of Root’s slightly bloodied face and ran over to the feet of a young woman wearing a black dress.

  Even though Nial had never actually met a witch before, he knew instantly that this must be one. She was quite young, barely older than him, with a mass of hair that seemed to dwarf the rest of her head. It had its own ecosystem, with plants growing out of it and at least one birds nest built around the top. It shifted every few seconds, as though something inside was moving around. She wore a pair of glasses that were so smudged that he wondered how she could even see, and a stern expression that gave him chills just to look at it.

  Also, she was quite beautiful.

  “What are you doing to my familiar?” asked the witch.

  Fiddlesticks climbed up her back and burrowed into her hair. “They tricked me, miss. I’m so sorry,” said his slightly muffled voice.

  “Apologies,” said Root. “We meant to make something of a better impression than this. As it happens, your familiar was the one who attacked me.”

  “What’s a familiar?” Nial asked.

  The witch glanced at him, looked away, then glanced at him again and looked for a bit longer this time. Her expression softened slightly. “A familiar is a companion of a witch,” she said. “We grant them intelligence and they do things like help us with magic, screen our visitors, and keep us company when we’re alone for a long time.”

  “Ah,” said Nial. “Well, Fiddlesticks seems nice.”

  “He is. Now, what are you two doing here?” her nose wrinkled. “You look and smell like you’ve been on the road for a year.”

  “Not quite that long,” said Root. “My name is Root and this is Nial, and we represent a small group of recently liberated prisoners fleeing the war. We were hoping that, as a witch, you might be persuaded to move to our community.”

  “And do what?” asked the witch.

  “Witch things,” said Root. “You know, aid the growing of our crops, mix medicine for our sick, and give any magical assistance to the building of our community that is within your power.”

  The witch frowned. “And how do you expect to compensate me for my time? With gold?”

  Root’s face flushed. “Well, we don’t exactly have any money at the moment. And if I’m being honest, we don’t have anything in the way of goods either. I suppose we were hoping that you would do it out of the kindness of your heart.”

  The witch laughed. “A fae-kind who is terrible at bargaining. I never thought I would see the day.” She turned and started walking in the direction of her cottage. “You can consider me to be a friendly neighbour, but I don’t want any of your people to come looking for me again.”

  Root sighed. “Well, that’s it then.” He looked at Nial.” At least we didn’t make an enemy.”

  Nial found his feet carrying him forwards at a run after the witch. The forest seemed to stretch around him, and even though she was only walking she stayed far enough ahead of him that she reached the cottage long before he did.

  “Wait!” he yelled.

  She turned to face him and all of a sudden he was able to catch up with her on the porch. The cottage was small, probably only a couple of rooms, with a thatch roof and a stone chimney. A cow was tied up outside, and a few chickens clucked in a small cage.

  “Yes, Nial?” she asked.

  “You should come with us,” he said.

  Her eyes flashed with anger. “Why? So that you can use me for my magic? So that I can make your crops grow and look after your children and tell them stories, and you can take the eggs from my chickens and the milk from my cow and say thank you to the witch but those thanks will only come as long as I keep doing things for you? Because witches are supposed to help people and live in their service, and because it would be the right thing to do?”

  Nial shook his head. “Because you’re lonely,” he said.

  The witch stared at him. “How could you possibly know something like that.”

  “The door,” he said. “There’s a pair of boots by the door, too big for your feet, with a spider’s web over the ankle.” He pointed to the large, chunky boots. “They haven’t been worn in a long time. These chicken cages were built a long time ago, when it would have been someone else. And you said that Fiddlesticks is here to keep you company.”

  The witch rolled her eyes. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you,” she said. “Maybe I should put you in a jar so that I can keep you for a bit longer.”

  “Who did you lose?” he asked.

  The witch sighed. “My mentor. Soldiers came, in the early days of the war. She hid me in the cellar with the chickens and the cows and then put us all to sleep. When I woke up, I found her body, and the place was ransacked.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twenty. Not young, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.” She smiled weakly. “You wouldn’t want me as a witch, Nial. Witches study for years to master their craft, and I learnt so little. I won’t be able to help you much. I’d be another mouth for your people to feed, and not be giving much back.”

  “I still think you should come,” he said. “Damn the cow and the chickens, damn the magic. I don’t think you should be alone.” He hesitated before continuing. “I was studying to be a map maker, and I lost my mentor too. I didn’t have to be alone afterwards – I was thrown into a prison camp and made to work until I was almost dead – but even so, the fact that I could see people continuing to live helped me a little.”

  The witch sighed. “You’re very kind, Nial. But I can’t. I have a duty to this cottage. But I wish the best for your people.”

  She opened the door and began to step over the threshold. Nial became acutely aware that he wouldn’t be able to follow. The magic on that doorstep was ancient and overpowering.

  “Wait!” he said. The witch turned. “Perhaps I could visit you sometimes. If you’d allow it. Just to talk.”

  The witch stared at him for a very long time. “Maybe,” she said. “If you found your way here again, I might not turn to away.”

  “I didn’t get your name,” he said, but the door slammed in his face.

  He met Root on the way out of the forest.

  “Did you manage to convince her?” Root asked.

  Nial shook his head. He was thinking too much about the witch to give an answer.