Up and Coming: Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

Galen and the Golden-Coat Hare

Originally appeared in TALES OF ZO, published by Uncanny Books (2014)

Once upon a time, in the faraway land of Azul, there lived a poor huntsman named Galen.

Galen dwelt with his wife Katherine on the margin of the mysterious Fogwood. There he hunted for game large and small, while his wife did fine needlework and kept geese and chickens. They sold what they did not need in the nearest village, and bought what they did need. Life was not easy for them, but Galen rarely complained.

One day, Galen was in the bluewood, bow at the ready, checking his snare traps. As he approached the shadowy place where he had laid out his third snare, he heard a thrashing noise in the brush, as of a small creature desperately struggling for freedom.

Galen slung his bow and moved closer. He moved a little brush aside and looked to see what he had caught.

For a long moment, surprise held him still.

A hare. Lanky body, powerful hind legs, long ears, wide eyes, it all said hare. The only thing to say otherwise was the creature’s color: shimmering, shining gold. Not dull brown, not off-white, not buttery yellow, not any of the usual hare-colors, but gold like a coin Galen had once seen from afar off in a nobleman’s hand. It looked like wealth and ease and a hundred acres of land in that one creature’s pelt.

It can’t really be gold, he asked himself. Can it?

Galen pushed the brush aside further and stepped toward the snare.

At once, the hare stopped thrashing about and stared at him. Then it spoke.

“Oh, kind sir, please wait!”

Galen stopped. Well. This changes things.

“Please stay your hand!” said the hare. “Set me free and I will reward you greatly!”

The hare did not look like a Talking Animal. It had a frame ill-suited for walking on two feet. It wore no clothing and carried no tools. In all ways other than that tempting pelt, it appeared a perfectly ordinary beast. Quite suitable for the pot.

“Oh mighty huntsman, I have a doe and kits to think of. They will starve without my watchful care. Please spare me!”

On the other hand, the hare certainly sounded like a Talking Animal. Indeed, it sounded remarkably like a dishonest tinker who had wandered through the village a few months before. Galen grunted and made up his mind. He stepped forward once more, drawing his knife and bending over the snare.

“Oh no oh dear oh please I will grant you three wishes if you spare my life…”

Galen put a strong hand over the hare, which struggled mightily. “Hold still, you foolish creature!”

Something in the timbre of the man’s voice got through the hare’s fright. Heart racing, breath panting, it froze in place.

Galen slipped the knife under the snare and cut through the cord. He then lifted his hand, releasing his prey.

Quick as lightning, the hare was off into the underbrush. Galen heard leaves rustle for just a moment, and then all fell silent.

He sighed as he collected the pieces of the cut snare. “Two hours’ work gone for nothing,” he muttered to himself.

“Not for nothing, kind sir!” came a voice from the underbrush. “I promised you three wishes, and three wishes you shall have.”

“No need,” said Galen shortly. “You’re free to go.”

There was a moment of profound silence.

“What?” asked the hare.

“I don’t need any wishes granted. I didn’t set you free for them. I make it a rule never to kill Talking Animals, for their meat or for their pelt or for any reason at all. It’s a good rule. Never steered me wrong yet. Off you go.”

“But…”

“Off you go, I said. Shoo.”

Silence from the underbrush.

Galen placed the pieces of his snare in his pack, carefully cleaned and sheathed his knife, and then turned to depart.

The golden-coat hare ventured a few inches back out into the open, just enough to show wiggling nose and bright eyes. “Are you certain I cannot interest you in any wishes?”

“Quite certain.”

“Not for wealth? Not for power?”

“Not for anything in the Empire of Zo.”

“But…”

“I have work to do. Goodbye.”

With that Galen left the clearing, the golden-coat hare sitting bemused and confused in his wake.

Naturally, that did not end the story.

By late afternoon Galen returned home, fresh herbs in his pack and a brace of thoroughly nonverbal rabbits hanging from his belt. “I am home, wife, and I have dinner.”

Katherine emerged from their cottage, brushing flour from her hands. “Good. I was just making apple dumplings. Bring some water in from the well, if you would.”

“At once, after I have skinned and cleaned these coneys.”

She nodded with a smile and went back inside, leaving the door open.

“A strange thing happened today,” said Galen, as he drew his knife and began to skin the rabbits.

“What was it?”

“I caught a hare in one of my snares. Very strange in appearance, it was. Pelt like gold.”

“That is strange. Do you say it was gold?”

“I doubt it. Beast with true gold for its fur would have a difficult time living. Would weight it down, make it hard to scamper. Still, ‘twas a remarkable sight to be sure.”

“Do you not have the beast?”

“No.” Galen finished skinning the rabbits, and began to clean and cut up the carcasses. “It spoke to me, and you know my rule about such things. I let it go.”

“Too bad. I would like to have seen it.”

“Aye. It offered me three wishes…”

Clang: the sound of a ladle falling into an iron pot. At once, Katherine stood in the doorway once more, staring down at her husband where he sat working. “Three wishes? How many have you already used?”

“None, wife, nor will I use any. It was no true bargain. I did not release the beast for the sake of any gain.”

“Galen!” She stepped around to confront him, hands on her hips, silver-grey eyes flashing in anger. “Such an opportunity, and you threw it away?”

He paused to give her a wary stare. “What opportunity? No good comes from wishing. Hard work and fair dealing are the only way for any honest man to gain.”

Katherine rolled her eyes. “Galen, sometimes I despair of you. We could have so much more than this cottage on the forest’s edge. We could have land, and coin enough for anything we might need.” She sighed, looking away from him in sadness. “We could have children.”

“We could also have sausages on the ends of our noses.” He glanced up at her. His hands were bloody, so he kept them at his side, but all the love of his heart lived in his eyes. “Katherine, I know our life is not easy, but at least we can rely upon it. We know this cottage will not fall on us while we sleep, we know the fireplace will draw and the roof will not leak, because we built all of it with our own hands. Wishes are tricky things, and no one ever came out the better for them. And children will come if the Lion sees fit to bless us.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said at last with a sigh. “You usually are.”

“I am sorry.” He set his work aside, walked down to the well and washed his hands in the trough, then began to work the crank to draw more water. “Perhaps the world would be a merrier place if it were not so. I wish…”

He stopped, because at once the whole world went silent, and seemed to be leaning over him, listening intently.

“Galen?”

“Never mind. I can see that I will have to discipline my words.”

Men considered Galen lucky. He disagreed, not believing in luck. After his encounter with the golden-coat hare, he found even less reason to believe in good luck.

No matter how much care and skill he applied when moving through the bluewood, dry twigs and hidden puddles seemed to seek out his feet. He set out snares, and found them broken and empty the next day. He drew and aimed at a magnificent stag, only to have his best bowstring break at the point of highest tension. A torrential rain positioned itself over the Fogwood and remained there, driving all creatures into shelter, for days on end.

Each day, he saw the hare at least once, sitting on a distant hill or vanishing into the undergrowth on a dark forest path. Watching him. Waiting.

Galen stubbornly continued to hunt, or at least make the attempt. He had a duty.

Of course, he and his wife still had the geese and chickens. They would not starve for a while, so long as the fowl continued to thrive.

Then some creature got into the yard in the night, slaying the rooster and half of the hens, all without making a sound. Not even the geese raised any alarm. Galen and Katherine only learned of the slaughter the next morning, when the rooster failed to crow. Whatever beast it was, it carried none of its victims off to be eaten. Katherine accounted for all of them in the morning, dead in a welter of their own blood.

It was simple murder.

The remaining hens, terrified, ceased to lay.

Late that afternoon, the hare sat on a nearby hill and watched, the golden sunlight shining on its coat. As Galen returned from another futile day in the Fogwood, he saw the creature and cursed it under his breath.

You are my enemy. You are the cause of all this misfortune.

Fast as lightning, his bow leapt to his hand, an arrow on the string, and he sighted on the hare.

It did not flee. Slow as an insult, it simply rose on its hind legs as if to offer a better target.

Galen stood still for a long moment, his bow at full extension, a single drop of sweat sliding down his face. Then he eased back, letting his weapon drop.

“Pah,” he spat. “What use?”

The hare seemed to nod to itself. Then it came loping down the hill, stopping just out of range of a sudden vengeful lunge.

“So. Are you ready for your wishes now?”

Galen grimaced. “After what you have done to me over the past days, you think I am more likely to accept a boon from you?”

“I?” The hare used its front paws to brush out its whiskers. “I have done nothing. A word of counsel here and there, a favor or two called in, nothing more.”

“I spared your life,” said Galen. “I freed you. I asked nothing in return. This is how you repay me?”

“I only hope to do you a good turn, in a manner that befits my nature. Nothing you have suffered is beyond repair by way of a well-considered wish.” Its ears twitched and a note of unmistakable threat crept into its voice. “So far, at any rate.”

At once, Galen’s knife was in his hand. “Hear me well, creature. Cease this persecution and be away from me and mine. If I see you again, I will learn just how much that golden pelt will fetch in the marketplace.”

“No need for that, good sir. This can all be over in a trice. Three wishes.”

Then the hare leaped aside in the blink of an eye, Galen’s knife quivering in the soil where it had stood a moment before.

“Ah, well,” said the golden creature, running at full tilt for the cover of the nearby trees. “You’ll change your mind soon enough.”

Galen stood for a long moment, trembling with rage. Then he shook his head violently to regain control, and reclaimed his knife.

“The sky will fall first,” he muttered.

Galen saw nothing of the hare for the next few days. Yet the flood of misfortune did not end. Indeed, it spread. It began to afflict other hunters who worked the marge of the Fogwood, and then it crept into the village itself.

Farmyard beasts were savaged or driven away. Milk soured in the churn. Nests of stinging insects took up residence in roofs and storage sheds. Flocks of birds began to ignore scarecrows, sweeping down to eat grain in the fields.

Somehow, everyone knew that Galen bore the blame. No one could say where the rumors had begun, but soon everyone was repeating them. He had brought down a curse. He practiced witchcraft against his neighbors. He consorted with the Wolf.

That last struck him to his core.

For the first time, Galen began to feel real fear.

He had few places to turn for advice. Aside from Katherine, he didn’t feel enough trust for almost anyone. Given the state of misrule in the kingdom, he had no lord upon whom he could safely rely. Certainly, Count Alphonse would be of no help.

Finally, he decided to visit Friar Benedictus. The friar was a kindly beast, a rotund Talking Hedgehog who wore a clerical habit over his spines and balanced a pair of absurdly tiny spectacles on his snout. He had no magic that anyone could see, but he had the benefit of a fine education, a healer’s touch, unshakeable faith in the Lion, and a caring heart. He took no sides in anyone’s dispute, and his advice usually proved to be good. Everyone trusted him.

Benedictus did not spend all his time in the village, to be sure. Like any mendicant, he moved about the region, performing whatever service he could to humans, Talking Animals, and even wild beasts. Most people in need knew where to find him. It was Thunder’s Day, so the friar could most likely be found in a forest clearing a few miles from the village, tending to the creatures that lived close by. Thorns from rabbits’ feet, splinters from beavers’ teeth, that sort of thing.

Galen set out just after dawn, his bow and knife at hand. Just in case a certain golden-coat hare chose to make an appearance.

For once, his luck seemed sound. He saw no signs of his enemy or any other uncanny creature. He found the friar hard at work in the expected place, gathering herbs and willow-bark.

The friar looked up sharply as Galen arrived, peered through his spectacles, then bobbed in friendly greeting. “Galen. A pleasure to see you.”

“Likewise, Brother.” Galen sat down on a boulder and watched as the friar finished his task. “I wondered if I might have a word.”

“Of course.” Benedictus stood upright, stretching his back with a grunt of pleasure. “Ah, I find I’m not as able to bend over for long as when I was young.”

Galen only nodded, looking dour.

“There’s quite a shadow on your face, my friend.” The friar leaned against a broad tree and produced a small canteen from inside his habit, handing it to Galen. “Apple cider. Very good. Also, very strong.”

Galen took a long swig from the canteen, his face softening slightly. “I see what you mean.”

“Robert the arborist’s son sets aside some from each pressing for me.” A smile, as the canteen vanished back into the friar’s habit. “What troubles you, Galen?”

Galen told his story, from the moment he first saw the golden-coat hare. Benedictus listened in silence, his whiskers setting into a concerned frown as the hunter continued to speak.

“I see the problem,” said Benedictus at the last.

“What would you advise me to do?”

“I’m not sure. I fear you have placed yourself in the hands of a capricious power.” Benedictus stroked his whiskers with one paw. “I believe I recognize this creature, from your description. It is clearly not a simple Talking Animal. It is an enchanted thing, one of the Faerie.”

“Katherine and I do what we can to appease such. We put cream and scraps of bread out for the Little People.”

“Most of the Little People do not offer to grant wishes. For all that this thing appears to be a helpless beast, it must have great power for its kind. It must be one of the Fair Folk.”

Galen shook his head. “How can I contend with such a thing?”

“Perhaps contending with it is the wrong course,” said the friar with a sharp glance. “Galen, my friend, if you have a fault, it is that you are too self-reliant. In every man’s life, there comes a time when he must place his faith in another.”

“It goes against my grain,” the hunter grumbled.

“No doubt.” The friar finished picking his herbs, and began to delicately pack them up. “Two pieces of advice, then, if you are willing to hear them.”

Galen nodded in agreement.

“First: the creatures of Faerie are very much bound by their own laws. That may be why this golden-coat hare bedevils you about its three wishes.”

“I don’t follow you, Brother.”

“You saw the creature and seemed about to kill it. It promised you three wishes if you set it free. You set it free. By its own word, it must now grant you those wishes. It owes you a debt; the longer the books remain open, the more it will suffer. The Fair Ones often seem capricious, but once they give their word, they are tied to it with bands of iron. For one of us, to break a promise is only a sin that may be forgiven. For them, it is a matter of life and death.”

“But that is absurd!” Galen shouted. “I freed it for my own reasons. I placed it under no obligation.”

“I suspect the hare does not see it that way. By its way of thinking, if you are unwilling to resolve its problem, it has the right to torment you until you do. It may even enjoy the process. Such creatures do not love men.”

“That fits,” said Galen, nodding slowly. “There is a…a smugness about the beast. As if it knows that it holds power over me, and I must ere long give in.”

“Yes. Now for my second piece of advice. Remember that the Faerie have their own society. This hare must have superiors, lords of its own kind to whom it owes fealty. Perhaps you may appeal to them.”

“That sounds even more dangerous than dealing with the one creature.”

“Perhaps.”

The hunter sat on his rock and thought hard, supporting his chin on one fist. “All right,” he said at last.

“Do you see a way forward?”

“Not yet. Or perhaps I see the beginnings of a way.”

“Good,” said the friar. “Send to let me know how this all turns out. And if I can be of any further help, call on me at once. Such creatures cannot be permitted to get the better of honest people.”

Galen heard the first sign of trouble some distance off: Katherine’s voice, raised in a shout. He hurried, but not at break-neck speed. He could hear anger in his wife’s voice, but no fear or pain.

At the very edge of the forest, he crouched for a moment in shadow to see what lay ahead.

Katherine, standing in the foreyard, fists on her hips, her stance shouting of stubborn pride and resistance. She confronted three men in blue livery. Count Alphonse’s men.

Bow in hand, arrow at the string but pointing down for the moment, Galen strode out into the sunlight. “What passes here?” he shouted.

One of the blue-clad men stepped forward, his hand open in token of peace. “I am Simon de Clare, in the service of the Count of Cobaltia. We are here to investigate rumors of trouble.”

“There is no trouble here,” said Galen, halting within the edge of the ideal range for a quick shot. “I thank you for your concern, but you are wasting your time.”

“It is our time to waste.” De Clare glanced around the yard, his eyes missing nothing. “You are Galen Chasseur?”

“I am, as anyone in the village could tell you.”

“You are accused of witchcraft and consorting with evil spirits. What say you?”

“Pfah!” Galen scowled. “Who accuses me? I have a right to face him.”

“Only if the accusation is formal. Thus far, it is not. We hope to resolve the situation without requiring such measures.”

“Then I say the accusation is groundless. I know there is a curse at work, but it is none of my doing. We have suffered from it as much as any. I have no grudge against any of my neighbors, nor should they have any cause for a quarrel with me.”

“I see.” De Clare nodded in satisfaction and turned back to Galen. “Well, I am inclined to take the word of such an honest fellow.”

Galen nodded in thankful suspicion.

“Of course…should it be proven that you are not an honest fellow, I would have to reconsider. Which brings me to another matter of concern. I took the time to examine the village rolls before coming here. To my surprise, I found that you have no right to live here, or to hunt in the Fogwood.”

“What? I have land-right and forest-right, clear as day in the village rolls.”

“Ah, but you have those rights by way of your father, who had them from the last King. Have you sworn an oath of fealty for the renewal of those rights?”

“There’s no one to swear fealty to, unless the Heir should return.”

De Clare spread his hands in helplessness. “You see my problem. By law, you are a poacher and a thief, not an honest man at all. So how may I take your word that you are not the cause of the curse afflicting this village?”

“That’s not what the law says, and you know it.”

“Perhaps. I suppose we could take this to the village court. Where the case would be tried by your peers. Most of whom are already half-convinced that you are a sorcerer. Or…” De Clare paused as if in thought.

“Spit it out, man,” said Galen in disgust.

“My master could doubtless resolve all of this, if you were willing to swear fealty to him. Become his man, support his claim to the throne, convince your neighbors to do the same. He will advise the Mayor and the village to let the matter rest. You could make your fortune in his service.”

“I see.” Galen sighed. “All this trouble goes away, and the Count makes me a rich man. All I have to do is become a lying lickspittle like yourself.”

De Clare smiled gently. “You do seem to have grasped the situation.”

“Never.”

“Well. That is too bad, but I shouldn’t take your first reply. Think about the matter while I report back to my master and hear his answer. You have perhaps three days to consider.”

“Three days or three years, my answer will be the same.”

All at once, de Clare’s manner of polished courtesy vanished. “For your own sake, it had better not be. When I return, I will have more than two men with me.”

Then he turned on his heel, the other two following, and strode away.

Galen stood, his bow still in his hand pointing at nothing, until he felt a presence at his side.

“Husband,” Katherine said, “I am proud of you.”

He released the breath he had been holding. “You should not be. I got us into this.”

“No. You are not the one in the wrong.” She hesitated. “Still…I admit to being afraid.”

“So am I, love.”

“What are we going to do?”

He reached out and put an arm around her shoulders. “The only thing we can do. Live each day and look for a way out.”

“Galen…” She sighed. “You are the most unimaginative man I have ever known. Bless you.”

He snorted. “Be that as it may, I still have work to do.”

“Come inside in an hour. I will have fresh bread and broth for you.”

Galen went down to the well, and then to check the fowl-yard. No more of the birds had been slain in the night.

From the cottage, a harsh crack. Then Katherine’s voice, this time full of pain.

When Galen looked back, he saw the roof of his cottage falling in.

He ran.

The roof-tree of the cottage had suddenly failed, crashing down to the floor. Galen was able to drag Katherine out to safety. Under his breath, he thanked the Lion she had taken nothing worse than some bruises and a broken arm.

It was almost sunset before Katherine finally fell asleep. Friar Benedictus had done what he could, setting the bone and giving her poultices and a sleeping draught. Yet, even in her sleep, she whimpered with the pain. When the friar emerged from the cottage’s front door, he found Galen sitting on a stool, turning a piece of wood over and over in his hands.

“Dry rot,” said the hunter. “See here, Brother? Just at one end of the roof-tree. So corrupt that it couldn’t hold the weight of the roof in place any longer.”

“A terrible accident,” said Benedictus.

“No accident,” Galen said flatly. “I built this cottage with my own hands. The wood was sound. This much rot, and the frame would not have held the roof in place for an instant.”

“What are you saying?”

“The Fair Folk cannot abide the touch of cold iron, nor can their magic bite upon it. They could not have attacked the iron of the nails that held the frame together. But the wood of the frame itself, that they could corrupt. To cause it to rot, all in an instant, just when my Katherine was standing there in the way.”

Benedictus nodded slowly.

Galen sighed and stood. “Brother, I’m ready to end this now. Will you stand with me?”

“Gladly, my friend.”

Galen cast the scrap of wood aside. He stepped out into the fading light and looked around, as if seeking his enemy. “All right, you damnable creature! Come out and face me. I’m ready to make my first wish.”

The golden-coat hare emerged from behind Galen’s well, where it must have been waiting for just such a pronouncement. It almost wriggled with glee as it hopped across the yard.

“About time,” it said. “You might have avoided so much trouble had you seen reason sooner.”

Galen only spat, missing the hare by inches.

“Rude. So what will your first wish be? Something simple: healing for your wife, game for your bag, forgiveness from your friends? Or will it be more of the usual human greed: gold, land, victory in battle, power over others? So many possibilities. Come now, let’s hear it.”

“You will.” Galen’s fists balled at his sides as he stared at the hare. “I wish for justice.”

The hare ceased to move. Its nose, its whiskers, its ears became absolutely still. Its eyes stopped gleaming with delight and grew dull. It hunched low on its legs, as if hoping to evade notice.

Friar Benedictus breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Oh, well done, Galen.”

Far off in the distance, they heard a sound of trumpets.

Soon, a procession appeared at the brow of the hill behind Galen’s land, moving with speed and grace toward where the hunter and the hare waited. Handsome men in bright-colored tunics and hose, beautiful women in sheer white gowns, all of them seemed to glow from within despite the failing light of the sun. Galen and Friar Benedictus stood spell-bound, watching that fair company as it approached.

The Fair Folk arrived, their voices like chimes and woodwinds, and stopped a few paces off. Their company parted, revealing their leader.

Dwarfish he was, his head not quite coming up to Galen’s heart, but handsome and well-formed as any of his people. His hair was dark as a starless night, his eyes cornflower-blue and shining with merriment. His voice, when he spoke, had the tone of a waldhorn singing alone in the deep forest. “Not long ago as the sunlit lands measure time, I heard rumor of ill-working among my people. I am on my way to Midsummer revels in a faraway land, yet such matters must take precedence. Whom do I see before me?”

The friar stepped forward and bowed. “Lord Alberich, I am Friar Benedictus. This is Galen, a huntsman, who holds himself wronged by one of your subjects.”

The dwarf glanced at Galen for barely a moment, and then his eyes fell on the golden-coat hare. “How now, young Puck? What have you to say to this?”

“I have done this man no wrong,” said the hare with indignation. “Indeed, I have offered him three boons, which he has not the wit to use.”

Friar Benedictus glanced at Galen and felt his eyes widen in surprise. The hunter positively swelled with anger, losing his temper for the first time since anyone could easily recall.

“No wrong?” shouted Galen. “Shall we speak of game scared off, fowl slain, milk soured, grain eaten out of the fields, children stung, elders sickened? Shall we speak of my wife, lying there with a fearsome hurt? Shall we speak of my neighbors turned against me, the Count’s men ready to lay hand on me? And you say I have not been wronged?”

“Have you done all these things, Puck?”

The hare took up a posture of affronted dignity. “Certainly not.”

“They were done at this creature’s bidding,” said Galen.

Alberich looked stern. “Would any these things have come to pass without your will?”

The hare shifted its weight. “Well…no.”

“Then why did you convince others to harm this man, his neighbors, and his wife?”

“Because I owe him three wishes!” The hare looked away. “Two now. You know what I must suffer, with such a debt unpaid.”

“Beware, golden runner in the fields, for I can see to your shivering heart, and I know this to be a lie.” Alberich stepped closer, his face like a thundercloud. “I see no signs of suffering in you at all. Indeed, you seem well-fed, well-groomed, and well-satisfied. Explain this.”

Galen’s eyes narrowed as he watched the hare, a suspicion taking root in his heart.

“I can’t, oh great and terrible lord,” quavered the hare.

“I can,” said Galen.

“Indeed?” said Alberich with surprise. “Please do so.”

“The last time I saw this beast, this Puck, I threw my knife at it. I am a knife-man of no common wit. Where I throw, I strike. Yet, this hare dodged aside in the blink of an eye.”

“Our Puck is no common beast,” said the dwarf.

“Perhaps. But that isn’t all. Before the knife, I had my bow at full draw and had sighted down on the creature. I am an archer of no common wit. Where I shoot, I strike. Yet this hare stood stock-still, as if it had nothing at all to fear.”

“I did have nothing to fear, you fool!” The hare danced from paw to paw in reckless pride.

“Then how is it that you were caught by one of my snares?”

Silence.

“A snare?” asked Alberich in wonder. “Our Puck was caught and held…by a snare?”

“A common snare, made of wood and leather and not an ounce of cold iron,” said Galen. “Yet there it lay, helpless and ready to be slain. Or so it seemed.”

Galen did not expect what came next.

Alberich and all his company laughed.

Galen had heard much laughter in his day, even if he was not normally inclined to join in. Joyful laughter, laughter at a jest, these things he understood. The laughter of the Fair Folk bore nothing of such honest merriment. It spoke instead of inhuman cruelty and spite. It spoke of death, of children starving alone in the forest, of fresh blood bathing a stone under the full moon.

He shivered. May the Lion keep all creatures such as these far away from me. Assuming I live through this night.

He glanced at Benedictus as the laughter died away, seeing the friar’s eyes wide with fear. Then he turned back to the Faerie King.

“You see it now. This creature was never in danger of being caught in my snare. It could have freed itself at any time, by withering the snare as it did my roof-tree. When I freed it, I did nothing it could not have done for itself. It owes me no obligation at all. Every hurt it has done to me and to my neighbors has been an unprovoked crime. Even by your folk’s lights, I think.”

“Indeed,” said Alberich. “My people hold no love for yours, Man, for your greed, your cold iron, and your ravaging of the Earth. But those who cry for justice may not act unjustly in their turn. I deem that to punish you for a harm that never was—well, it is a crime. Puck!”

The golden-coat hare shivered, and then seemed to grow. In the space of two breaths, the hare was gone and a small golden man stood in its place. “I hear, oh terrible King.”

“This is my Doom: you shall wander the Fogwood in the form of a hare, robbed of your voice and your cunning, so that you may learn what it is to be toyed with by greater powers. You shall be left with your swiftness, your fear, and nothing else. So shall it be for a year and a day. If you survive so long, well and done.”

Puck bowed his head. “So be it.”

“You will also hear this Word: never again shall you attempt to force a boon upon any man, neither by force nor by fraud. If you do, be very certain. I will feed you to Shaykosch.”

The golden-skinned man trembled in terror. “I understand.”

“Then go!”

The last of the sun’s light shone on Puck as he returned to his lapine shape. Then, a streak of gold ran through the grass, and he was gone.

“Now, huntsman, justice demands that I make things right.” Alberich peered at Galen, his blue eyes shining with an uncanny light. “What boons would you ask of me to see that done?”

Friar Benedictus gave Galen a warning glance, but the huntsman only gave a grim smile.

“None, my lord, except that all of us harmed by Puck’s malice be made whole.”

“A human with wisdom and lacking in greed,” observed the dwarf. “The Powers Above stand still in amazement at such a sight. So mote it be.”

“Thank you, lord Alberich.”

“Thanks? What need have I of your thanks, Man?”

Galen shrugged. “None, I daresay. But isn’t courtesy always worthwhile?”

“Perhaps.” The dwarf lord smiled.

Alberich turned to his people. “Now then, let us be at our work, so that we may attend our revels on time! Healing to the sick and injured, new beasts brought to those who have lost theirs, wasps tamed and serpents driven aside! Food of the best: meat, cheese, fresh bread and ale, all of a kind good for mortals, for all those who have gone hungry! This cottage rebuilt sounder than before! In every ear, whisper that Galen the huntsman is free of blame, and that the Fair Folk always pay their debts! Be off now, in a twinkling!”

So it was done, and the Fair Folk departed under the first light of the stars. Galen and Katherine invited the friar into their cottage to share of their new bounty.

And did they live happily ever after? Perhaps…but that is another story.