“I didn’t really see it,” I explain, “Just it’s eyes.”
“Her eyes,” Riesh corrects me, and there is a sharp bent to his tone. I peel my eyes away from the pages to meet his, as he explains, “All of the wood sprites that remain after the sundering are female.”
“She’s been alive since the sundering?” I say in little more than awhisper as my eyes return to the pages.
“It’s possible. Though fea biology is quite a bit different than that of a human,” Kishek says as he leans across the table and turns the page.
Drawings of beautifully depicted wood sprites rest beneath the tips of my fingers. Despite the fact that every drawing is colored black and white it is impossible to mistake them for anything but fea. Their sharp features and pointed ears are similar to that of the feyn, though these sprites boast a leaf-like serrated edge along the shell of their ear that remind me of the leaves that fell from the tall oaks surrounding the La’tari keep when I was young. As if they sprouted from a closer form of nature than the feyn, they are draped in vines rather than gowns and small branches protrude from their hair, most adorned with budding flowers or berries.
An unending barrage of questions forms in my mind. So many that I could easily spend the entire day learning about nothing but the little woodland sprites, but my gluttonous eyes are glued to the sheets and my hands work of their own accord. They continue to flip through the tome, hungrily drinking in all manner of fea. Countless images of the creatures line the pages, drawn in vivid detail, and well over half of them are species I’ve never heard of.
“You drew all of these?” I ask Awri.
She dips her head and a blush blooms on the apples of her cheeks.
“They are incredible,” I tell her, “I’ve never known anyone who could put such an image to paper.”
The flush of her cheeks deepens, and I can’t help but feel a little bad that I’ve embarrassed her, though Riesh stands a little taller at her side and smiles proudly down at his sister.
“Did you copy their likenesses out of picture books?”
“Oh no. These are only the fea I have seen myself. There are still a great many I’d like to find and add to the pages,” she says, smoothing a thick strand of hair over her shoulder.
My mind reels delightedly at the thought. How is it possible I’ve lived my life alongside these creatures and never known? Another flip of the page and my breath catches on the dark image at its center.
“I’ve seen one of these,” I say.
Awri and the two males bracketing her share a surprised look among themselves. The floorboards creak as the general takes a step toward the table. He peers down over my shoulder, his eyes sweeping across the intricately detailed drawing of the crone that found me in the woods many years ago.
“Bagya?” He sounds as surprised as the others look.
“Is that what they are called?” I wonder, my fingers tracing the lines of her robe.
“Sheisn’t a species of fea, she is just … Bagya,” he says.
“How did you find her?” Awri gapes, and the males beside her look to me expectantly.
“She found me,” I say.
An odd, strangled sort of moan leaks out of Kishek’s lungs.
“You made a bargain with her,” Awri says matter-of-factly.
“How do you know that?” I balk.
“She would never have sought you out unless you needed something desperately, and even then, not unless you had something she greatly desired.”
I suppress a shiver, struggling to tamp down the memories of my past life, memories that still feel like a punch in the gut whenever they threaten to surface. To this day, I have never been more afraid, and not for reasons I am willing to admit. Perhaps the crone should have frightened me more. I can tell by their faces she should have, but I suppose my fear was occupied elsewhere. And even after everything, if I had it to do all over again, I would give the creature anything she asked, if it meant he would be safe.
“You made a bargain with her too?” I ask Awri, trying to break free of the downward spiral of my memories.
It’s written all over her face. She knows all too well what it means to encounter the crone.
“I did. She asked me to fashion a mask that would belie her face. The mask was the payment she required to save a life, that was the bargain.”
Just as I had, Awri seems to tumble down a deep well of her own memories and the air thickens with a gloom that I feel entirely responsible for.
“She must have misplaced it,” I quip, in an effort to lighten the sudden dreary mood. “The drawing is a true likeness, but I do recall herhaving sharper teeth.”
