James continued his monologue, "How often do the people of the hills come to the aid of us plain mortals? It is clear that you think us beneath you, unworthy of your illustrious company. You who have so much withhold it from those who possess so little. You will change the fortunes of my line, raising my daughter above her station as a creditor's daughtr. You will first orchestrate that she wins the heart of my Lord's heir. As she is sixteen summers old, and the lad eighteen winters, it should not be over-tasking on your ingenuity. Secondly, upon the completion of their love troths in marriage, she shall bear a male child, twining my descendants' fate with those of my liege lord. Thirdly, that my grandchild will receive the blessing of the People, he will not be harmed by your fickle and proud kind. I have heard how you hold grudges beyond the lifetimes of men. Agree to my terms or perish friendless."
His eyes pierced Ilias, probing for my brother's reaction. Ilias motioned for James to continue. James whispered to one of his men, who glared with undisguised disgust at Ilias and for what the Fair Folk stood in the eyes of ambitious men. We so effortlessly hold levels of power that comes with birth, while they must grovel and sweat to achieve but a shadow of our light. The man nodded once in submission to James, then stalked through the door. It would have surprised the soldiers to know how some of us envy their mortal spans at times as well - they are possessed of a spirit that burns brighter and more passionately than our quiet flames. Their finite amount of time causes them to be decisive in their actions, they only have so long to live, and cannot afford to wait years to evaluate a situation.
The soldier returned with a scroll of pressed willow, bound in smooth linen. James laid out his terms - the contract for written geas must be completed within the week. The ink was to be composed of crushed ivy and goat's milk. The scroll would be gilded with iron filigree when completed, warding faerie tampering or thievery.
Ilias labored over the inscription, while the hostile environment of metal and stone drained his will and endurance. A working of this magnitude and scope was difficult in the best of his kind. At twilight of the third day, he scraped the bottom of his inkwell. His guards simmered in the corner, asking anything of them was unwise. Ilias's despairing mind seized on a wild and desperate gambit. He wormed the tip of the nib into his left arm, patiently enduring the pin prick of nasty metallic pain which dulled his limb's reflexes. He drew blood, milking it into the well.
By morning, he lay dying - having bled out his left arm and legs with the poisonous utensil. But the scroll was finished. The soldiers were willing to let him expire, after all, if not for Reabnor, Ilias would have been killed during the first encounter. One reluctantly left to fetch his employer. When James entered the chamber, Ilias propped himself up to a swollen elbow and stared under feverish eyelids at his captor.
James ignored Ilias, focusing his attention upon the completed document. "If he is willing to perish, let the creature have his way - our bargain is completed, his life is his own to dispose as he wishes. One last question - What is your name? ... Remove its restraints, you two."
Ilias stirred as his prison was unlocked, and calloused hands scraped the poisoned gag from his lips. Ilias grinned sardonically and spat upon Reabnor's sleeve. "You cared nothing for me in life, it is only in death that you care to learn my title. Rumpelstiltskin am I, who has lost everything for a false hope. May my last words bring truth in a world of deception." James blinked once, then grinned and motioned his men to finish my brother's journey. He turned and left the chamber, clutching the scroll firmly in his grasp.
No comments:
Post a Comment