Spoils of a Staff
Harry had, once again, found himself in front of a henge. Ordinarily, this might have seemed completely normal. However, Harry had remembered something he had read about in his long visits to the school library, as well as consulting his journal. Otherworlds.
Mysterious realms and pocket places that the Fair Folk called home. Tír nAill, Tír na nÓg, Tír fo Thuinn, Mag Mell, Mag Argatnél, and Emain Ablach, amongst others, for the Na Gaeil, Annwn for the Cymry, Faerie or Elphame for the Albannaich. Beyond the numerous names, Harry remembered something particular about them. Otherworlds, as a rule, did not adhere to the rules by which the World functioned. Most crucially, time was a fickle force in the Otherworld, the flow of which was adherent to the capricious whims of whichever Good Neighbor held power over the domain you had entered.
Unfortunately, they also rarely adhered to physical geography, by and large only being tied to the locations the cultures that spoke of them had resided in. It was unfortunate, as the loose method by which the Otherworld’s, more specifically Annwn as Harry was certain he was in the appropriate bounds, played with physical space was rather useful.
So, ignoring his better judgment, Harry walked through the henge, feeling the gossamer-like veil of the Otherworld passing over him. It was as he was making his way through Annwn, looking for a henge, tree arch, or a faerie circle, that Harry was stopped in his tracks by a woman circling him.
Clad in a gold-bedecked, verdant green dress, the brown-haired maiden swirled around Harry, her face slightly too symmetrical, her mouth ever so slightly wider than seemed natural, her teeth seemingly normal at a glance, but pointed if one looked too close.
Above all else, however, Harry noticed the low-toned humming, paired with the choir-like singing he had always heard from water.
“O, little human child, you wander so far from your land. Might I have a name?”
“You may refer to me as… Esther.” Harry replied, careful to give a name he had no ties to and had no intentions to use in future. “And you shall find, Good Neighbor, that I hardly class as a normal human.”
“So coy, little Esther, so coy little child. A claim made, hmm? Perhaps a demonstra-“ The fairy, one of the Dames of Elfin Land, the Gwragedd Annwn, Harry thought, noticing the lake they were so near to, began, before abruptly cutting off.
The source of the disruption, in truth, was Harry. It had been a vague idea, something he had thought of after remembering what little he had encountered in tales of a form of magic he had no name for yet but would learn was sympathetic in nature. He had noticed a tendency for some magicians to use ingredients or items that were similar to something else, or evocative of it, to enact an effect on it, by affecting the less significant component.
It was rather simple a spell he had crafted. You see, the Gwragedd Annwn were, once upon a time, mortal women, according to the tales. As such, working on the assumption that their hearts would have remained near enough to a human's, Harry had grasped tightly a string of his lyre, and held it taught, in flux between being used or laying at rest. In doing so, he drew upon the sympathetic bond of string, and another, more viscera-formed string. The heartstrings.
“I do believe that would be classify, my fair Maiden of the Lake, yes?” Harry asked, easing up the tension he was holding the string under, but not releasing it.
“Quite so, little bard.” The Dame responded.
Slowly releasing the tension on the lyre string, Harry stared at the faery as he looked upon him consideringly.
“Good bard, would you wish a barter?”
“My answer is dependent on the exchange, Fair Dame. An ill-weighted trade would be ill-fated.”
“A task for an item?” The faery asked, withdrawing a stone from an unknown location. “There resides a farmer near to where I reside. One of mine cattle he has taken. The circumstances are such that to reclaim her would require he do harm to her. If you would recover the beast, I would gift you a seeing stone.”
“A return of a belonging for the acquisition of one…” Harry began, hesitatingly. “My agreement would require more information. A question for an answer, alternating from myself to yours, Good Lady.”
“An agreeable practice.”
“Would the farmer’s residence lie beyond the lake?”
“Indeed, it would. What brings one such as you to our lands?”
“The flexibility of physical space is… useful in my travels. The exit. Is it by cairn, henge, faery circle or arch?”
“A faerie circle. Have you received formal instruction in your arts?”
“To a degree, though it has been self-taught in the majority. How many paces from the lake will I find the circle?”
“Thirty-two and a quarter paces by the stride of a lord. What of your arts have you taught yourself?”
“The lyre, composition, lyricism and well-pitched singing, in addition to the magical side of the arts. In which direction aught I head?”
“Go south by west and you shall find your destination. One final question for the both. From where do you come?”
“A settlement by the name of Blaenau Ffestiniog. Has south and west remained in the same directions as in the human realm?”
“Indeed, it has, little bard. Go forth and recover my lost cattle, and we shall meet at the circle.”
Proceeding to orient himself properly, something he had become rather successful at, Harry proceeded in the direction of the faerie circle, wondering what exactly he had gotten himself into. To deal with one of y Tylwyth Teg was a dangerous game if handled incorrectly. Slip up once and anything from your sense of self and existence being stolen or… worse fates that involved kidnapping might befall you. However, to possess a seeing stone would doubtless be a boon, allowing him to discern more easily entrances to the Otherworld.
Stepping through the circle, Harry emerged into a forest with a clear path forward, leading to a barely visible farmstead in the distance, smoke pluming out of what looked like a chimney. As he set one foot forward, meaning to move closer, he suddenly pivoted his head to the side. A little way into the woods he could hear the chiming of the flora, a normal occurrence by all accounts, bar the specific chiming he could hear that also held the chiming of a musical triangle, along with the wind chimes characteristic of plants. Wandering in, he came across a tree, with a long limb that ended in a short fork of two prongs. Stepping up to the tree, he laid a hand on it, wondering how to go about severing the limb he had felt drawn to.
Thankfully, he wouldn’t need to, as the moment he laid his hand on the tree, the limb fell off. Hoisting it up, he gripped it, gave it a once over, and moved toward the farm, using the limb as a staff. As he walked forward, he felt as though each soft slam of the staff against the earth bolstered his spirit. Curious, he decided to start softly singing to the rhythm.
Slowly, as the song went on, and with each slam of the staff, the sky grew greyer, the clouds heavier looking. By the time he came upon the farm, a light rain had begun. The acquisition of the staff, and the rain, were perhaps the only interesting things to happen in his time at the farm. It was pitifully easy for him to acquire the cow as well as some tanned leather that he turned into grips, as well as threads on which to tie things.
When he returned to the fairy circle, the cow in tow, he was confronted by the Dame the moment he passed through it.
“A bargain upheld, good bard.” She stated, handing over the seeing stone as Harry handed over the reins he had attached to the cow.
Tying the stone to one of the leather cords on the staff, Harry headed on his way, heedless of the chiming bell that had suddenly manifested on his staff.