There was pen on paper, the clink of the fountain pen on the glass, more smooth strokes, and quiet mummer of a woman choosing her words, all which happened quickly and anxiously.
Dear Mr. Chartward,
I have come to understand that you wish to visit me and my mother. Have my assurances that this will not be worth your time. Her memory of that event has not improved. Whoever decided to sent you will be sorely disappointed.
If you must have a story, she has taken to painting in her free time - beautiful murals that capture the imagination in vibrate colors and patterns. A girl from the village, Emi, has been studying under her and has dreams of attending the Cinthia University of mages and arts. Emi is young, talented and a story waiting to be told.
I know there is no dissuading you from coming here and intruding on our lives. You are not the first and won’t be the last. I only ask that you accept that no matter what people wish to believe, my mother does not have the answers you seek. For your luck and mine, I hope you cancel your trip.
Kindest regards, Elisabeth Swonharth
Hello Ms. Swonharth,
You are correct in your assessment that my superiors are adamant about send me there.
I’ve heard, however, that the mountains are quite pretty this time of year. I’m look forward to seeing the flowers blooming against snowcapped peaks and the green growths reach for the warm sun. I’m also look forward to meeting this Emi you mentioned. Believe me when I say my only intention is to have an amicable stay and a story to show my superiors. I’m sorry that you are bothered as often as you seem to be. If your mother doesn’t wish to speak to me, I will respect that.
I do have a warning to share however. My travels have been prone to turbulence and 3 days ago my carriage was attacked by, what I presume to be, fey. A man, I did not know him well, was taken and while I am confident that I may barter something for his well being, it would be disingenuous not to inform you that fey folk have been spotted in the area. Do with this information what you well.
In addition, should anything untimely happen to my person, please inform the necessary people. The way my employers view the fey is unbecoming and I wish to deescalate the situation rather than enflame it. But if after two weeks I do not reply, the situation has become more dangerous.
Sorry about all this, Denial Charter
Warily, Elisabeth, sat herself beside the fire. Sleep tugged at the hem of her blouse, but despite her busy day she had a letter to get to. So though her mind was on her brother and his squabbles that only meet her ears, the quiet tears her mother had cries for no reason she could explain and Emi’s strained smile as she dropped more than one cups of paint brushed, she layed her pen on paper:
Hello Mr. Charter,
Thank you for your warning, i have informed the town council. They are not prone to offensive measures, but after verifying that there are fey in the area, will likely put protective measures in place. I wish you luck with your rescue negotiations.
Perhaps…
The pen stilled. Perhaps what? Perhap they could make the most of the visit? Perhaps this man could help? After a moments consideration: no. Elisabeth was curious and wished him no harm, but she didn’t put any weight to his pretty words and if he was in a tricky position or feeling guilt for coming, that was something he chose. His letter painted him as an unusual man and that was putting a surprising, moronic, amount of faith in good fortune. She wasn’t writing a letter to her brother who needed coddling for a broken heart, her mother who needed gentle words. She was writing to a stranger who fancied himself a hero —and assuming he was also an amicable fellow— he could do without a clotting politeness that had followed her all day. She picked a fresh page and began again.
Hello Mr. Chartward,
I hope your rescue is successful and not at much cost. Your warning has been relayed to the town council, which will be keeping an eye out for further fay activity before they act upon it. Bring evidence of their involvement would be ideal.
On the matter of spring, the flowers are quite pretty this time of year. Should everything go well, you and your companions may arrive in time. It is quite a bright and joyous affair. There may be a story there, though i suspect a run-in with the fey is more exciting than anything you will see here.
That said, I don’t take lightly with having to inform a strangers acquaintances of him demise. I understand the pressing nature of your message, but for future, refrain from giving such duties to me, or if needed, give me for specific instructions such as the addresses of those you wish informed and perhaps a message to give them.
For my sake and yours safe travels, Elisabeth Swornharth
Dear Ms. Swonharth,
I am in one piece and more or less the man who wrote to you before. All went well. The fey kidnapped Marsh in hopes that he could tell them what has change since their last visit in this realm. The court hasn’t been here since the great war and though some of the elders still seek retribution, the majority seem content to live and let live. That said they have some requirements which I have attached it — along with a lock of fey hair— to this letter.
After rereading my previous letter, I admit you are correct. It was mindless of me to not give you adequate instructions. Though, as I’m sure was understood, I was quite preoccupied at the time. But I jest. I won’t ask you to inform anyone of my demise again without proper instructions again.
I recon that at our current pace we shall arrive in 3 days. Hopefully this is adequate time to witness the spring fest.
Kind regards, Daniel Charter
Daniel sealed the letter —it was as satisfactory as he could hoped for— and called for his owl. Peter swept into wagon with a flap of his pale gray wings. The gust disturbed the piles of papers and books on the barrel he was using as a table. Daniel put them back in order and ran a hand down Peter’s back. He was soft and calming and looking at Daniel like he already knew what he was thinking. It felt easier to admit the truth to those eye and after a day of avoiding question, knotted humor and polite smiles it felt good to admit it so someone.
“I don’t know what happened, Peet. I don’t remember it. I could’t tell you what a fey looks like, sounds like. I remember falling, I remember questions. I remember the deal I made, each word like it was etched into my mind, but I don’t remember what I gave up.”
The fay had wanted a history. A comprehensive record of histories, but Daniel couldn’t remember anything that would fall under that category. In the letter to Ms. Swonharth he mentioned a great war, but he had only heard of it because the fey had written of it in their requirements. Both Marsh and Vivian had recognized it instantly and grumbled about how Daniel had been right. When he had asked: right about what? Vivian had scoffed: don’t be coy, not all of us payed attention to history, no need to rub it in. Daniel hadn’t known what to say after that, but he wasn’t dumb. Marsh had forgotten things as well or at least didn’t remember the fey either. The fey were know for placing usual prices, why not memories.
“Peet, what if it wasn’t just the long ago facts, people and events?”
Daniel pick up a loosely bound stack of papers.
“I wrote these, it’s about the intersection of holy magic and the Pendara puzzle. I don’t remember any of it and barely understand it. I’m not even sure I know why they sent me to get information from Swonharth’s mother, an event there based on the letters.”
Daniel pushed his hair out of his face and looked at the roof of the wagon.
“Peet, what did i do? What am i going to do?”
Peter cooed and rubbed himself against Daniel’s arm. It reminded Daniel of a different ceiling and a different assortment of papers around him. He doesn’t remember anything about those either, but he knows the papers were his and they were going poorly. Peter had lightly pecked at his then smaller fingers till Daniel had pet him while his father set some water on his desk.
“Daniel, it’s going to be alright you know.” “Right, because my teacher is going to have pity on me and let me try again?” “No, because we are going on a walk and when you come back you will be able to read the words in front of you, they aren’t nearly as bad as you think.”
Daniel remembers looking up, looking down and muttering, “no thanks.”
His father had stood there for a moment to see if he would change him mind; when he didn’t, he left his son in peace. “Alright, suit yourself. See you at dinner.”
Back to the present, Daniel shrugged on his coat. “Come on, Peet, let’s send this letter.”
