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listlessdionysian · 6 months

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Short Fiction, Fantasy: On Well-Wishers (BFS Horizons, 2019)

As promised, this is the first short piece I ever published. It's also the first story I wrote set in a wider fantasy world that I am still working on. In this earlier version, the world was a high fantasy rendering of our own world so there are some references to real places. It was published by the British Fantasy Society's Horizons magazine back in 2019 when I was working an utterly horrific job as a shift manager at a coffee shop, and its acceptance inspired me to jump into a PhD with both feet.

It's a short thing, a little fairy tale modelled after the best of them - full of hubris, darkness, and sharp teeth. I've resisted the urge to change anything. This is exactly as it was printed, but any flaws in its composition are mine and mine alone.

On Well-Wishers

Elias Croup had plenty of land, and everyone said so. From the watermill to the meadows that lapped against the dusty kingsroad. He had many workers and tenants. The gods had been good to him. The gods had been kind. And no one said a cross word about him.

To his face, at least.

Perhaps you saw him once or twice, cutting across the corners of his little empire. A shortish roundish man with a single curl of brown hair dangling from his head. It collected the perpetual sweat from his brow, and drifted from left to right in the breeze. He always scowled, as if the world told him nothing but lies. Elias smiled only the once - when his father died, and his inheritance cleared the small courts.

What the gods give to one man, they take from another. The water mill had belonged to a kindly old man, stooped and half blind, supported by his three daughters. Then the old man fell in the wheel of his mill. His daughters brought men from the village to tug and prise his mangled limbs from the mill’s workings.

Elias arrived the next morning. Condolences on his lips, his stubby fingers caressing the timber of the door frame, measuring the mill’s worth in the grain of its wood. The daughters wanted rid of the mill. Too many horrors. Elias bought it for a song, and reaped a symphony come harvest.

The fields and the meadows likewise tumbled into his hands. Petty swindles and a dozen accidents. Elias sowed his inheritance and fostered a small fortune.

But there was always more.

Everyone knew the most fertile land lay beyond the wood, but no one claimed it. The land and the trees around it belong to the fairies, and all feared their wicked tricks. Some left gifts of milk, bread, and honey at the wood’s edge in exchange for mercy and a bountiful harvest.

Elias did not trust fairy promises. He did not trust them because he did not believe in them. For that reason he came to the land beyond the woods and staked his claim. At the centre of the knoll lay a fairy ring. An oak tree, vast and vibrant, braceleted by pebbles and toadstools.

Elias tore them out. He brought men with axes and saws to labour in the hot June sun, and they brought the oak down. His workers set about preparing the land, clearing stones, and tearing up the earth ready for seeding.

He brought a famous dowser to his new land, and paid him handsomely. The dowser sprang, ran, veered and tumbled about the knoll. His magic twig humming and bouncing in his outstretched hands.

“Here my lord!” the dowser cried, at last, pointing to the spot where the great oak had been.

Elias set his men to digging the well. He sent for stones from the coasts of France. They shone pale and perfect in the light of the day. When they broke the ground at the foot of the well, it flooded and claimed the life of a local boy. A simpleton, by all accounts, who Elias paid with twigs and berries. Elias had insisted he be sent in alone for the crucial final stages of digging, as the boy had no parents and lived with a decrepit aunt who would not miss him.

When the water burst from the ground beneath the boy’s shovel, it swallowed him entirely. The other workers could only watch the serene surface of the water and pray he lived. Elias insisted that they wait until the water level rose high enough that the body could be retrieved with ease.

The thought of paying for the burial of any of the men around him brought a fresh sheen of sweat to his brow.

Once they fished the simple boy from the water, they left, happy with the day’s work though some took to muttering darkly about their employer and wishing a slow and horrible end for the landlord.

Elias returned the following morning and found the well dry. He scowled into the dark depths. But then, he always scowled. He summoned the dowser to demand an explanation.

The dowser produced his twig, and turned quite pale.

“My lord, I- I don’t know what to say. The water is gone” he said.

“Gone,” Elias said.

“Perhaps the sun dried the well,” the dowser said, “It has been rather hot.”

“Bring the water to this well. I have built this well, I spent a lot of money on this well, as I am spending a lot on you. Bring the water here.”

“I only find the water my lord. Perhaps an enchanter from the Royal Society-”

“-would demand the entrails of a goat, and a newly born babe glazed in honey. As well as a king’s ransom. Fill my well with water, or I’ll fill it with you and your family.”

The dowser nodded. Or perhaps he trembled. He pranced, he danced, rolled, cavorted, spun, and everything else once again. But he found nothing. The water had vanished.

Elias cut off the man’s left hand and threw him in the road, deciding a dry well was bad, a dry well full of decomposing dowser was beyond bearing. The dowser lay sobbing in the dust strewn road, cradling the pumping bloody stump of his wrist to his chest. Elias stooped to wipe the blood from his knife on the grass, and tossed the dismembered hand into the undergrowth with a snort of disgust.

Eventually a passing traveller brought his cart to a halt and carried the dowser to a healer in the next town. Others had passed before, but upon spying the landlord pacing and and growling by his well they hurried on and left the wounded man to his misery.

Day after day Elias came to his well to mumble and curse about his plight. In the village they spoke of the revenge of fairies. They wondered if this would be the downfall of

Elias Croup.

They were half right.

One day Elias came to the well and found a man standing there. He wore an emerald cloak. In fact, there was little of the man that wasn’t one shade of green or another, save his salt and pepper curling hair, and his pale skin.

“What are you doing to my well?” Elias said.

“Admiring it. Handsome work, if a little dry as far as wells go.”

“Yes, well, that isn’t by design. Now be off with you. I need to think.”

The green man turned to regard Elias. He scratched a tuft of hair below his lower lip

with his little finger.

“Perhaps I can help,” the man said, “I’ve stumbled across a few thoughts in my time.”

“I don’t see how. I have wasted a small fortune on this well. This land was to be given over to farming, but with the groundwater gone, it seems I misjudged the opportunity before me.”

“Perhaps,” the man said, running the tip of a finger along the stonework, “But isn’t it worse to misjudge a second opportunity, so soon?”

“What opportunity?” Elias said.

“Well, forgive me for my ignorance, but I was led to believe this is fairy land. Not that I believe such things.”

Elias snorted.

“Too right,” Elias said.

“But others are much more gullible than you and I. They believe all sorts of tales and fancies. When the village folk heard your well had run dry, they chuckled and shook their heads, talking of how the fairies tricked you. How they punished you.”

“Bastards,” Elias spat, “Ungrateful bastards. I provide the food on their table, the roof over their heads, and the straw in their beds. Bastards.”

The green man nodded and smiled.

“They make mockery of you. But you can turn the tables. Go into the village, and tell them of the wonders of your well. How it grants wishes, thanks to fairy enchantment.”

“I don’t care about revenge,” Elias said, “Although it might be good to see them humiliated. I’m more concerned about the wasted investment.”

“Fairies do not work their wonders for nothing,” the green man smiled, “They require payment. They must throw coin into the well, if they hope to be heard. Then we shall return and collect the coin the peasants so willfully wasted on a dry hole in the ground.”

The idea appealed to Elias. Revenge and reward in equal measure. He agreed.

The green man insisted on a deranged and maddened aspect, to better convince the village folk a staunch skeptic had been converted.

Elias rubbed the single coil of hair on his head until it bushed and fuzzed like desert grass. He rubbed handfuls of dirt into his cloak. The green man assured him he looked every bit the madman.

So it was that Elias ran gibbering to the folk of the village. He spoke of strange lights and curious enchantments. One of his cows had miscarried. His mistress sprouted a beard overnight. He told them he offered gold for mercy, and the fairies accepted on the condition he open his land so others could make gifts and receive the fairies’ boon.

The people flocked to the well, still chuckling about Elias’ misfortune. The landlord tried his best to appear cowed and contrite, but in his dark and devious mind he counted copper and iron coins until he lost track.

There was no sight of the green man until nightfall, when the last of the village folk had left in search of home, to dream of riches and wishes soon to be granted.

Elias laughed and clapped at the sight of him.

“My friend, it worked,” Elias said, “They came as you said. In their dozens to throw their meagre wealth into my well.”

“Did you not trust me?” the green man said, a glint of emerald in his eye.

Elias waved his hands.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “It worked. By all the gods it worked! Now, tell me, how do we get the money out?”

The green man produced a bucket and a rope.

Elias quirked an eyebrow and shook his head.

“I must say, my friend, I had expected something more inventive. We will be here through the night if we’re to try and scrape it all up in your bucket,” Elias said.

“Oh, no. You’re going to climb in. I’ll lower you down, and you can gather the money by hand.”

Elias laughed.

“I will never fit in that,” he said, gripping and shaking his rotund belly.

“Will you doubt me again, when fortune lies within easy reach?”

Elias scowled at the green man, and then at the bucket. He decided there was no point arguing. The bucket could barely fit one of his feet, and once the green man realised his foolishness, they could decide on a proper plan.

But when he slid his foot into the bucket, it fit comfortably. In fact, he was sure there was enough room for his other foot. Why- he could probably sit in the bucket.

He did so, and had a brief moment of discomfort. While the bucket could fit him, it didn’t seem to grow, nor did he shrink. When the green man lifted the bucket, he did so with ease. Elias cried out. He flapped his arms and squirmed and otherwise set the bucket to bucking and rocking in the green man’s grip.

“Easy,” the green man said, “Or I’ll drop you.”

“Drop me?” Elias shrieked, “Drop me? How is there even a me in this bucket to drop?

Set me down at once. Set me down and explain yourself.”

“Calm yourself. Deep breath, like this,” the green man sucked in a lungful of air through his nose and blew it slowly through pursed lips. Elias, caught up in the strangeness of the scene, could do little else but do as he was told, “You sit in the bucket because you deserve to sit in it. You see? This fortuitous turn of events, along with the riches awaiting you below, are nothing more than the world’s way of paying you your due.”

“That may be but-” Elias began, then he blinked. Once. Twice. He looked down at himself in the bucket. At his knees drawn up to his chest. He slapped his hands against the sides and roared, “I am not going to discuss this with you while I am sat in a bucket! Set me down now!”

“Calm, calm,” the green man said. Despite the force of Elias’ protestations, he never once lost his grip on the bucket nor seemed the slightest bit perturbed, “Look - does the bucket feel sturdy?”

“Well, yes but-”

“So you are confident it would hold you all the way down?”

Elias met the other man’s gaze for a moment, then said, “I suppose so, yes.”

“And here’s the vital question - have I not been the very spirit of trustworthiness?

Have I not delivered on all of my promises?”

“So far, yes.”

“Then I promise the bucket will not break. It will bear you to the bottom.”

Elias considered for a moment. His fingers drummed the rhythm of his thoughts and calculations against the rough wooden walls of the bucket. Eventually, he decided that he and the green man were the only two in the field, that there was a considerable amount of money at the bottom of his well, and that he could always have the curious fellow killed afterwards.

Elias agreed to remain in the bucket.

The green man lowered him into the mouth of the well, and fed the rope hand over hand. The bucket began its steady and smooth descent. Elias touched the dry stone of the well. How expensive it had been. But this new venture would see him well compensated.

Perhaps he could build another well. Perhaps he could build three.

He looked up into the shrinking mouth of the well. At the glittering stars above. He saw the green man smile, and point to the depths beneath him.

Elias looked over the edge of the bucket, and his eyes widened at the sight of all those glittering coins. They shimmered and shone. In the light of the day he had deemed them copper and iron. Not much, but the cumulative wealth was enough to satisfy him. Now, in the well he saw gold. He saw rubies. Red and glowing by the light of the stars.

The light shifted, and the coins seemed to shift too. Their shapes contorted. Elias looked to the green man, smaller now with the distance. The green man winked, and pointed.

Elias turned, to stare at a hundred sharp and glittering golden teeth. A dozen rubies blazing with hateful and hungry fire.

The bucket stopped, hitched, then plummeted as the green man released the rope.

Elias plunged into the glittering, ravenous dark.

He screamed as he fell.

He screamed as the teeth tore into his flesh.

The green man reached into the well, and cupped his hands around the landlord’s screams. He turned, laughing, and threw them to the wind. The wind carried Elias’ screams through the woods, and carries them still.

The well is no longer there.

The ancient oak grew from its depths, and the stones cracked and tumbled. Moss reclaimed them.

This is how the fairies took back their land.

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