After Papa and I rested and fed the horses, we broke bread with the stranger. We were camped for the night beside the ditch, many yards from the remains of the horse, sheltered from the winds howling over the treetops.
The man we had found lying the ditch had been there for two days and two nights. His name was Gerard Picoux and while Belle dressed his wounds, he told us his story. He was a younger man than Papa, but not by a great deal and he had been journeying from Beaulieu. His family would not be expecting him to return until days from now.
"I shouldn't have pushed my mare. The Old Crow got her, I'm afraid," the man lamented. "When she fell, I didn't have time to collect myself and the brunt of the impact was on my leg.”
“Have there been many accidents on the road?” Papa enquired between noisy sips from his tin cup of wine.
“They do happen. Not frequently, mind you,” Monsieur Picoux added in for good measure as he teased at the edges of cloth my sister’s had fashioned for an arm sling. "But if you hadn't come along when you did, I would have been left to the wolves."
"Wolves? Here?" Belle asked, tugging the quilt that she and Régine shared further around her body.
There were many stories about the beasts roaming Bora Les. I was more surprised that we hadn't come across any yet.
Monsieur Picoux’s gaze crawled the dirt pathway until it swung upwards, the bodies of many constellations reflected in his pupils.
“Oh,” he murmured, breath fluttery and faint. “There’s a fair lot more than wolves in this forest.”
The numbing sensation of his words plunged through my chest as my sister’s stared back at the man in unequivocal horror.
“What?”
Our terrified breaths caught his attention and he sunk against the carriage.
“Forgive me,” A timid, apologetic look coming over him as Monsieur Picoux clasped his hands low in the centre of his lap. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. My wife says I forget to speak delicately to children, and I am not used to young audiences… but if you like stories, perhaps I can make amends?”
Belle rocked onto her palms and hedged closer to the man. “Oh, would you, Gerard?”
“A story would be lovely,” Régine agreed.
I scrunched up my face, but I wasn't about to be rude again and tell the man I no longer took enjoyment in faerie tales.
“I shall do my best.” Monsieur Picoux smiled softly as he leaned against the carriage wheel. The hickory axel groaned and sparks flew from the fire. "This one is about the only spirit to ever trick the Old Crow."
He gestured to the sky with his pointer finger and his head tilted back. “Let me see… well, there were two spirits of course-" He traced out the constellations Life and Death, which were represented by a stag and a raven, respectively.
"Wait!"
Everyone's head snapped to look in my direction and I planted my palms on the floor in feigned meekness. “I'm sorry... but it has to begin with 'once upon a time'."
After renouncing all faerie tales, if I was going to listen to one it had better start right.
Everyone gave me incredulous looks until a chuckle came from Monsieur Picoux. "Yes, yes, of course. My wife would be ashamed if she knew I had forgotten that part.
"Once upon a time… a very very long time ago, in fact," Monsieur Picoux smiled, winking at me, "there were only two spirits: Life and Death and they were lonely for companionship. One day, Life created the first mortal as a gift. Death loved them dearly, but above all others their favourite was people.
“And with people came many other spirits like Time and Lore and Valor.”
Monsieur Picoux’s hands floated behind the backdrop of the fire, casting mesmerizing shadows along the gravel crusted path.
“But the most impulsive and sly of the spirits was Youth. And unlike the others, Youth was not satisfied.”
My eyes began to flutter closed, and my head fell into Papa's lap.
“Youth shared a bond with people. We have always celebrated the beauty and strength of youth. However, mortals would fade and wither. Youth feared these changes, blaming Death, the spirit humans revered above all. One day, while Death was watching over the Mortal Lands, Youth visited in secret. The trickster spirit soon found a group of humans.
Youth appeared to the mortal people and asked them:
Do you wish to die?
The mortals were frightened by the sudden appearance of the magnificent spirit and cowered in their fealty.
Do you wish to rot? Youth asked instead, but once again its ethereal presence caused the mortals to tremble in silence.
Do you wish to lose everyone you love, become sick and weak, and die in fear? Youth demanded a third time.
A few answered: no, we do not wish it.
“The mortals were offered a choice. They could worship Death who would let them grow old and die, or they could swear their oaths to Youth.”
The claws of Monsieur Picoux’s shadow crawled across the road and rippled against the trees themselves.
“Youth tore pieces of its divine flesh and offered it to the mortals, but at a price. If they wanted to become immortal they would need to give up their mortal hearts. Most refused, but a few accepted. When they consumed Youth’s flesh they were transformed and wherever they walked, time came to a standstill. They became the first Faerie.
"The other spirits loved Youth’s creation and blessed the Faerie with magic. Death, however, was unimpressed. The Old Crow resented Youth's interference and would only bless a few."
Monsieur Picoux’s hands folded together in the crease between his pant legs.
“Although Youth had stolen from the most powerful of spirits, Death ensured that the Faerie would bear all of Youth's flaws. Faeries are timeless yet impatient, clever but not wise, and while beautiful without, they lack appreciation within, for all these gifts come with age and change... and inevitably Death itself.”
A round of claps rewarded the man for his tale and echoed along the deserted path.
"The end," I whispered beneath the applause.
I still wasn't all that keen on stories and I had heard this one already, but it ought to have a proper ending too.
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