Dear Readers,
Blessed Samhain and Happy Halloween! To celebrate my favorite day of the year, here’s a short fae tale as my treat to you.
CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of warring gods and people fleeing war in a fantasy setting.
You reap what you sow.
That was the first lesson of Everglow, valley of eternal Autumn, and my most sacred tenet. Actions begat consequences, be they good or ill.
Humans found my valley over a hundred years ago when I was deep asleep during Spring’s ascendancy. The intensity of their terror and hunger stirred me from slumber, and I woke to find their bloodstained bodies huddled among my fields of barley.
The other gods looked down upon me and my siblings, the Seasons, for we were content with our duties and never coveted more. Lesser, they called us. Weak. Yet it was the selfish ambitions of “greater” gods that were tearing the world asunder with war.
I could have ignored the cries of the humans who stumbled into my realm. I could have left them to become a feast for crows.
Instead, I offered them my richest bounties. Everglow was blessed by my power, so orchard fruits were always ripe for picking every morning. The rivers and lakes were endlessly full of fish. Wild game was forever plentiful in the border forests. All I asked in exchange was for them to never forget my lesson or take my gifts for granted.
Sebelen, the world has long called me. Shepherd, harvester, god of Autumn—but the people of Everglow gave me a new name.
Savior.
To show their gratitude, every year when the Seasons change and I come into ascendency, my people celebrate with a week-long festival. The current year’s festival began on a cool night of clear stars. Everyone was thankful for more temperate weather. Summer was short and brutal, for my sibling does not shy away from showing her displeasure to the other gods. War continued, and refugees kept arriving from over the mountains. Neither I nor my people ever turned anyone away.
My power was vast, but it was not infinite. Lately I worried about what would happen when my valley reached capacity. I alone cannot shelter every human in the entire world.
For the moment, though, I had more immediate concerns.
Humans weren’t the only ones who tried to enter my valley, but they were the only ones I welcomed. Festival nights had many distractions that helped interlopers sneak more easily through the border forests. My utmost vigilance was always required.
Thick fog had gathered at the edges of the valley at dusk. Misty tendrils drifted out from behind the treeline toward the central fields where my people were lighting bonfires and laying out feasts on long wooden tables. While fog was normal during early Autumn evenings, it shimmered with slight traces of arcane influence.
Fae, mages, and the god of darkness herself often used mist as a method of concealment. Trouble was afoot.
My favored form was too terrifying for most mortals other than my chosen clerics to behold, so I walked among them in more familiar shapes. Some still likely suspected I was a god. Divinity was an undeniable presence even when obscured.
For the festival, I chose the shape of an aging hunter to wear. Silver streaked the hair at my temples. My beard was long and unruly. While soft around the middle, my body was strong and capable of tracking prey for miles. My fingers, though gnarled, could handle a bow with strength and accuracy.
The tradition of wearing elaborate costumes was a beloved part of the festival. My people, not knowing my form was already a facade, insisted on adorning me with a cloak of russet feathers and a beaked mask resembling one of the valley’s hawks. I indulged their wishes because a hawk was well-suited to circling the perimeter of the festivities.
The full moon rising above the mountains bathed everything with silver-blue light. Smoke and sparks filled the air from the bonfires. Scents of roasted boar and cinnamon apples wafted from the tables. Pumpkins atop hay bales were carved with depictions of grave moths to ward off ghosts. Revelers danced, ate, sang, and laughed—
One laugh cut through the rest with feral sharpness. Fae can mimic humans, but only briefly.
I followed the sound to a bonfire ringed by three dancers. Two were local youths dressed like sunflowers. They entwined their hands and exchanged kisses while they circled and spun.
The third dancer wasn’t wearing a costume at all, though the youths were oblivious to her true nature. As I approached, they praised her pointed ears, her flame-colored hair, and her long black claws.
Her eyes, upon meeting mine, shone gold. She was not attempting to hide what she was from me at all.
When I grasped her elbow and drew her away, she was eager and unresistant. The youths giggled about an old hunter still being virile. They needed not know the desire coursing through me was the desire to kill.
I guided her far away from the humans to the shadows pooled beneath a rowan tree. Her smile was unrepentant and full of teeth. Sheathed at my side was a knife—also a facade—and I drew it to hold the blade against her bronzed brown throat.
“Why are you here?” I demanded. Allowing one of the fae an opportunity to speak was a mistake more often than not, but I preferred to allow everyone and everything a chance before rendering final judgment.
And I was curious. She had wanted to be seen and caught.
“Tomorrow,” answered the fae, “my mother, the queen of the southern court, will cast aside her pride and come here to beg you as the humans have begged. I wanted to see this place, and see you, to decide if it is worth the shame.”
For the fae to turn to me was dire indeed. They were the children of the god of mayhem and craved destruction as much as creation. Yet there was a tremble of fear in her voice despite her bold words.
“And what have you decided?” I asked.
Her golden gaze scrolled up and down my mortal form. She sneered. “Shepherd, they call you,” she said. “Harvester, savior, hunter—but you have another name more ancient than any of those. That is who I hoped to find. Who I hoped to see. Not this. Let your mask fall off and show me who you really are, as I have shown myself to you, if only for tonight.”
Fae could not be trusted. They must speak only truth, though it was often a twisted truth. But I have existed longer than even the oldest fae and knew how to look for things buried deep beneath the surface.
I pressed the blade closer against her skin. “Why me, daughter of the trickster?”
“Because you still care,” she said, quick as her heartbeat. Her lips weren’t smiling or sneering now. “You still plant acorns in our wildwoods. You don’t fight with your siblings for supremacy. You even answer the prayers of humans. Our capricious father claims he loves us, but he loves the chaos he causes more. Our homes keep burning. Soon the entire world will be on fire. We can’t allow that to happen even if it means forsaking him. Would you and your siblings stand with the fae against him and the other gods?”
No fae bargain could ever be a fair bargain. But smoke was on the wind in my rapidly crowding valley, and I knew better than to ignore unmistakable portents.
With a shudder, my false shape faded. Gone was the aging hunter. In his place stood my truest self, the one who made a fae hope—Sebelen the reaper.
Drunk on wine and merriment, few humans glanced our way. Those who did caught sight of a creature with the lower body of an elk and the bare torso of a man. Antlers crowned my head. My hair and beard were vined with leaves.
My knife, now a scythe, was ready to be put to work. Soon. For now, I propped it against the rowan tree.
“I cannot speak for the other Seasons,” I said, offering a hand with claws longer and more deadly than hers, “but tomorrow I will answer for myself if you dance with me tonight.”
Her eyes gleamed bright—there was the hope she spoke of. My desire transformed to align with the whispered giggles of the youths. The fae accepted my hand. Her shape moved close and fit perfectly with mine.
When dawn broke, my people would murmur about a dream they all had of a monster whirling among the mists with a woman made of fire. And when evening fell, the fae queen would call my name to make a deal.
Yes, I would say, because mercy has its place, but so do consequences. The fae had lost their patience with the never-ending wars and so had I. My siblings were sure to follow. The time had come to carry a message to the gods of the world beyond.
You reap what you sow.
Love,
Wow