Another journal

You can find all the sections here.

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, given 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 fairies 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? She knew that she was just avoiding telling them the entire story and starting off the whole mission. Even so, she poked around her room more before going downstairs. Half-out the door she ran back to her pack and grabbed the tobacco pouch. She gave the toilet, half-hidden by a hand-woven 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 place at one of the longer tables, where a plate was set 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. “What you’ve done since arriving here first, then where you’re from and how you got here. Last, tell us 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.” 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 keep 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, glad to see it looked as full as ever, despite the score of smoke trails spiralling up to the roof. 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 knew how to do this because they’d already exhausted every possibility that they could return under their own power.” The hall had grown dead quiet. She kept her eyes on 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 exhaled slowly from her nose, the arm holding her cigarette propped up on the table, while the fingers of the other stole to the hilt of the knife on her belt. She kept talking, telling them about her aunt’s books and the pieces she’d fit together to frame the story of exile.

When she finally wound to a stop, somebody down the table stood, 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 first greeted Emily was the last to stand and she extended a fragile looking teacup toward Emily, who shifted on the bench uncertain.

“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.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.