Emily hadn’t known what to expect from the sprite’s —or whatever’s— offer of hospitality. It was thankfully straightforward and nicer than she expected. Emily was led to an inn and given a room and plenty of time to use the rustic washstand and unsettlingly modern toilet before joining what looked like the entire village in the great room below.
She used some of the time to alternate between settling her nerves and wondering if faeries actually went to the bathroom in the Sidhe or this bit of plumbing had been magicked there for her convenience. Maybe they only used the toilet if they wanted to. Emily wished that had been an option in the fields. But if you had the choice, would you even bother? Emily knew that she was just avoiding talking to the sprites and starting off the whole mission. Even so, she poked around her room more before going downstairs. The sheets and blankets were obviously homemade, but cosy. The window wasn’t glass, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. She found herself contemplating the walls—were they plaster?
Guiltily, she headed downstairs. Halfway out the door, she ran back to her pack and grabbed the tobacco pouch. She gave the toilet, half-hidden by a handwoven tapestry, one more suspicious glance before leaving.
The great hall was filled with tables. There were long dining tables flanked by benches, rough rounds surrounded by stools, and at least one nakedly out-of-place Louis XV tea table with matching chairs. Emily was guided to a seat at one of the longer tables, where a place was set for her and platters of food circulated. She settled in and allowed herself a long drink of water before asking where they wanted her to start.
Leaning forward so she could see Emily around the others, the woman who’d invited her spoke. “Start with what you’ve done since arriving here first, then tell us where you’re from and how you got here. Last, explain why you’re here.”
“May I eat while I talk?”
The woman cocked her head. “I thought you had plenty of food?”
“Oh, I do, but this looks and smells way more delicious than what I have.” She held up her tobacco pouch. “Whoever wants to can have a smoke on me in exchange, if that’s cool.” There were cheers and the woman smiled and nodded, so Emily handed the pouch off and hoped it would continue refilling itself. She piled food onto her plate—it did smell amazing—and took a bite before starting in.
Beginning with the dryad, Emily elaborated where she could and everyone seemed to laugh at the funnier bits and groan in annoyance where appropriate. When she reached her arrival at the village, Emily paused and carefully placed her utensils down. The quiet of the audience was encouraging and terrifying.
“So, the how and why of my being here are tied up together.” Someone passed her the tobacco pouch and she rolled a cigarette. It looked as full as ever despite the score of smoke trails spiralling up to the roof, proving how many had dipped into it. Emily examined the lit end of the cigarette while she continued.
“I’m not a chosen one by twist of fate or chance. From nearly my birth I’ve been groomed to come here and fulfil a task. The people who raised me ensured I’d meet every technical qualification of ‘chosen one.’ They opened up a door on midsummer, using the loophole my existence created to send me here.’
“They did this because they’d already exhausted every possibility to return under their own power.” The hall had grown dead quiet. She kept her eyes on the rough grain of the table as she smoked in the silence. “They wanted to come here but couldn’t because they’d been exiled by the reigning and current king. My task is to open the gate that will allow them home.”
The silence continued to hang heavy about Emily. She wasn’t sure if the sprites were quietly curious, or disbelieving. Emily let her fingers drift uncertainly to the hilt of the knife on her belt while she exhaled slowly from her nose, the other arm holding her cigarette propped up on the table. She kept talking, telling them about her aunt’s books and the pieces she’d fit together to frame the story of exile.
As she began winding down to a stop, repeating herself, a sprite next to her leaned in and whispered, “It’s okay, child, we believe you.”
In Emily’s startled silence, somebody down the table stood loudly, raising their glass high. Chairs scraped back, benches creaked and one by one the people in the great hall stood, holding up their glasses tankards and mugs in salute. The woman who’d invited her to the village was the last to stand and she extended a fragile-looking teacup toward Emily, who shifted on the bench, uncertain and embarrassed.
“You’ve more than paid for your meal and bed and I think I speak for us all when I say that any assistance you need on your quest, we will do our best to provide.” She raised her drink and Emily finally stood, hefting her glass up.
“Thank you. I’ll need all the help I can get because I don’t know a damned thing about this place.” There was a wave of kind laughter mixed with a cheer and everyone in the great hall tossed back their drinks with abandon.
In the morning, staring up at the dark beams of the ceiling, Emily worried that it’d all come too easy. Sure, there’d been some hassle at the start, but she still felt that familiar, formless, drifting feeling. She was thinking about it too much. The subtle manipulation of her childhood still had her jumping at luck. She swung out of bed and found the pile of clothes she’d stacked on a chair had been replaced by the loose trousers-and-tunic outfit that seemed to be in style here.
Just like what happened in faerie stories. That was part of the problem: the whole thing was both unreal and familiar at the same time. She felt like things were out of her control and in someone else’s and that each step wouldn’t surprise her. Emily wondered if this sort of thing had been easier back when people just heard stories via word of mouth rather than through the saturation of film and books. She tried to shake the feeling off as she dressed and found a sort of balance by the time she’d descended to the great hall for breakfast.
Only one of the long tables was occupied. A group of a dozen or so faces Emily remembered from the night before as those who’d asked the most questions and seemed to have the most influence lounged comfortably on benches and chairs, enjoying an assortment of breakfast foods. She took a seat and drank from the cup of chocolate placed before her. Idle chatter wound down and a man with a particularly fancy hat addressed the group.
“This young lady is on a mission of some note, but before we help her, it is best that we get onto even footing, beginning with introductions. I’m called Arbrus.” They went around the table giving their names. The woman who’d been the first to speak with Emily was called Dry-Eyes. There was a pause when it was Emily’s turn. She wondered if she was being tested.
“My name is Amelia, but most people call me Emily.” A murmur coursed along the table and Dry-Eyes looked at Emily in concern.
“Dear, you shouldn’t give your name out so easily.”
Emily frowned, “but you all—oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “Those were all your use names, huh.”
A girl with flame blue hair piped up from the end of the table. “My folks wouldn’t have named me something this weird as my real name!” She’d introduced herself as Starfell Aaron.
Emily grinned. “No problem then. I guess Amelia isn’t my real name anyway, it’s just what I was given when everyone was exiled, after my parents died.”
“So what’s your real name?” Arbrus leaned in as he asked. Dry-Eyes slapped the back of his head.
“What a thing to ask!” She turned to Emily. “You don’t have to answer that.”
With a shrug, Emily explained, “It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t know my true name. I guess it was lost?” Everyone at the table gaped at her, some with food in their mouths. She shifted uncomfortably. “The folks at Royal Oaks said it was probably for the best, my name being lost. I guess it means nobody can really pinpoint me or anything.”
Dry-Eyes measured her words carefully. “True, though your use name can still be used against you, especially if it’s what you’ve been known by your whole life.”
“Oh. Lame.”
“Indeed.”
Emily explained the plan of action, broken into its most basic steps. She needed to get to the King’s palace. Once there she had to “claim her birthright,” which didn’t mean anything to Emily but apparently had some technical significance. Then she would plead her case to the king. It was an empty plan when she said it aloud. In the context of rushing to pack and cramming Sidhe-lore, it’d seemed beautiful in its simplicity. She started to feel a faint terror of failure.
Everyone at the table took the plan at face value, either not doubting its validity or politely ignoring its vagueness. A man who was called something like Fieflower nodded thoughtfully when she finished.
“So first we must get you to the King’s castle.” He looked around the table. “She’ll need a guide.”
Dry-Eyes raised her hand. “I’ll take her. It was me that first invited her in and I’m in need of something to do anyhow.” She turned to Emily. “You’ve got enough supplies in that pack of yours? Food, whatever?”
Emily nodded. “I’m good on food. Like I said, that seems to take care of itself. It’s only water I was running low on. Once I fill back up, I’m good for another few days before I need to find a river or something.”
This post is part of The Audacity Gambit – Serialised. Learn more about when the book was first published here, see the archive and overall content warnings here, and find more of my writing here. I’m over on both Comradery and Patreon, if you feel like supporting my creative endeavours. If you’d like to subscribe to this story, here’s a handy email box for you: