by Anthology
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.