ALL NOVEL Chapter Ninety-Six: Bargains Most Fair, Not
Murmured conversations and soft giggles lightened the air along the banks of the mighty Feydark river. A party of adventurers — either brave or foolish — engaged the fair realm’s denizens with hospitable talks and, in some cases, questing hands. Deals and bargains were teased and connections spun. But it was not so genial an atmosphere for the pairing of a raven-locked witch and red-headed nymph, for they sat in a chilly silence laid in the wake of Autumn’s suspicions.
A storm of emotions brewed within Autumn’s gut, yet nary a drop of it graced her face. Besides a look of barely concealed contempt for the fae lounging in front of her, that was.
Physadeia, on the other hand, seemed inordinately pleased with Autumn’s discontent and the conversational superiority she’d grasped. She stretched her flawless nubile body within the sparkling waters of vanity, hair aglow beneath the shine of the bioluminescent wilds. A pair of half-lidded eyes turned languidly towards the witch watching her.
“Thee art an artist, yes?” she asked, but continued on before Autumn could respond. “There’s no need to deny it nor to ask after how I know these things — ‘tis simple enough to glance at a craftsman’s hands or their discerning eyes. I truly wonder what you make of this place? To finally gaze upon the beauty that all your kind seek.”
The nymph fluttered her eyes at Autumn.
Autumn huffed in reply. “Is this when you’ll offer me power for my artistic talents? Or perhaps you’ll ask after my hands? Do not think me so foolish as to agree so quickly to such a half-baked offer.”
Physadeia the nymph rolled her eyes. “Tis nothing so droll that I offer thee — what have I the need for a mortal’s piddling craft? I need not your ugly hands neither, no. What I so generously offer in my boundless grace is to become your muse. Your lover. So that you can ply your canvases with beauty unmatched but for I.”
Smiling, the nymph framed herself in the flattering light, teasing Autumn with her delicate shape.
“I’ll pass.”
The smile froze on Physadeia’s face. “Excuse me?”
Unconcerned with the growing ire of the fae, Autumn swept a reasonably dry rock clean of leaves before seating herself down. She looked back over at the irritated nymph lying in the crystalline waters, taking in her nudity and beauty.
The witch shrugged.
“To me, art is just a hobby. It’s not something I devote my life to, and certainly not something I’d bargain with you for,” Autumn said before pausing, an eyebrow quirking up. “I hope you didn’t think I’d bite on that offer.”
At Autumn’s provocation, the nymph rose out the sheltered river bank, sending water cascading down her naked form. And like a panther, she stalked towards where the witch sat. Wary dark eyes watched as unmatched curves swayed towards them. Upon reaching the witch, Physadeia pressed her soft mounds into Autumn’s side and whispered seductively in her ear.
“I don’t think you understand — I am beauty. And your canvas need not be of paper nor marble. My power can sculpt whatever, or whomever, I wish into something more appealing. I can make that power yours, if you so desire.” Physadeia hugged Autumn’s arm, dragging the witch’s hand towards her warm core. “Your soon-to-be flawless hands can shape your playthings into true beauties.”
Autumn resisted the fury boiling up inside her. She pried the lustful nymph from her arm and put some distance between them once she had done so.
Physadeia pouted and just scooted closer.
“I’m not interested and they aren’t my ‘playthings,’” Autumn said in a hiss.
“Not even in the magicks of the Feywild?” Physadeia purred in Autumn’s ear, having scooted closer once more. “It can achieve greater things than any of your mortal crafts might. Even the very planes would be your plaything with my hand in yours — you could mold them to your whims, or cross them with a blink.”
The nymph’s words of temptation coiled into the witch’s ear. Autumn stilled as Physadeia’s warmth pressed into her side and a questing hand crept upon her inner thighs, begging them open. Yet, it was the cold amulet pressed into the skin of her breast that sharpened her mind. Reminded her of the heart she was promised that’d do the same as the nymph offered.
Autumn leaned in close to Physadeia, a bare inch between their lips. Her hand grasped the questing one upon her thigh. In front of her, the nymph’s eyes alighted with confidence, her lips playing with a smirk. Slowly, the dark-eyed witch spoke.
“Still not interested.”
Physadeia’s confident smirk turned into a scowl.
The banshee sniggered in Autumn’s mind at the sight.
Autumn’s hand tightened around the nymph’s wrist between her thighs, and with a casual disregard, she tossed it back at its owner. Physadeia’s scowl deepened as Autumn put a distance back between them and glared at her with crossed arms.
“What use do I have of power wrapped in a puppet-master’s strings?”
“All power comes with strings!” Physadeia snarled, the anger warping her face. However, she quickly composed herself. “Even yours has a cost. One which you’ll pay dearly for some day.”
“Says you.”
Physadeia narrowed her eyes. “Yes, says me!” she huffed. “Fine, if it’s not the power to warp that excites thee, then perhaps you’ll find aught in charm and beguilement? To bend all minds in awe to your whims, to your beauty? To make it so that none can resist your wiles?”
Autumn scoffed. “And be harassed near constantly? I think not. That sounds more like a curse to me than a gift. Especially for a female adventurer.”
“It is only natural for those inferior to lust over their betters.”
“Not for me,” Autumn said, shaking her head in disgust.
“So be it. If thee shun beauty unwisely, despite its necessity, then perhaps other offers might incite thee? Do you wish to hear the music that entwines reality? Or to hear the words and whispers of the plants and animals that infest your mortal world? I can offer you that and more. Do you wish to brave elements unsurvivable or to be braver than any man? Or perhaps it is I you crave?”
The nymph sensually caressed herself under Autumn's gaze. She traced the curve of her ample breast while parting her legs ever so slightly to allow a glimpse of her glistening pink flower.
Autumn snorted.
“I can already understand flora and fauna, and they have little to say. And as for the other things?” She peered curiously at the nymph flaunting herself. “Do you actually have anything that’s worth the time it takes to hear it?”
Rage boiled up in the nymph’s chest at Autumn’s causal dismissal of her offers and body both. Physadeia looked almost wild in her disbelief — none before had rejected her so. And the smirk she spied playing upon the witch’s lips only infuriated her further.
The air split with a loud snap as a small portal appeared beside the read-headed nymph. Autumn’s gaze was drawn curiously as Physadeia plunged her hand inside it and, after a few moments, she withdrew a felt doll from within. The portal closed with another crack.
“This ought to interest you where the others did not,” the nymph hissed. “For ‘tis a sacrificial doll, a rare craft long since lost in your mortal realm. Once, if thy life draws to an unnaturally close, it’ll take thy place.”
Autumn eyed the small doll held distastefully between the nymph’s fingers. The hauntingly beautiful doll was made in the image of a young human girl, perhaps Autumn’s age or younger. It had dark hair like drifting spider threads and eyes of coal stitched into an expression of horror as they bore into the witch’s own.
Upon her finger, the Ferryman’s ring vibrated warningly. Autumn gave it a strange look.
“And what is it you want to trade for it?”
The nymph grinned.
“Oh it’s nothing much — I wish only to be your patron, to have you dedicate a few deeds to my name.”
“Oh? Is that all?” Autumn asked suspiciously — she didn’t believe that for a second.
Why else would she offer so much?
Autumn cast her gaze back over the felt doll. It was a tantalizing offer for sure — a plus one life, if you will — but perhaps it was too good? Where was the catch? She placed herself in the role of the other side and imagined all the ways she might screw the taker over. Her dark eyes shifted to the treeline. Perhaps the nymph had a third party lying in wait to kill her as soon as she left, thus rendering the doll useless while still keeping Autumn on the hook for her half? Or perhaps the doll itself was cursed — when used, it’d replace the user with a loyal duplicate or just trap her inside it?
Or maybe it was a person already?
Autumn looked into the nymph’s eyes. “Is that a person?”
Physadeia blinked. “It’s a doll.”
“That wasn’t what I asked, but I suppose a non-answer works too. But that still leaves the question of why you want to be my patron? And a few deeds in your name?”
“Does it matter?” Physadeia asked. “It’s a generous offer from one such as I.”
Autumn scoffed. “It is generous, too much so.”
“You’re complaining because it’s too generous?” Physadeia asked incredulously.
“Not complaining, but it has given you away.” A smirk grew upon Autumn’s lips. “Fae do nothing that isn’t balanced. So that means if the bargain is weighted in my favor, then you view myself as more valuable than yourself — you offered me your body, remember?”
Outrage. That was what the nymph felt at her heretical words..
“So what’s so important about me, huh?” Autumn muttered to herself.
“You are not greater than me—”
Autumn clicked her fingers, interrupting the nymph. A dangerous gleam sparkled in the witch’s eye. “Let me guess, you want to advance in the courts, right? I bet you know something about either my conflict with the Summer Court or the hag. If you tie your name to mine you can claim the deeds as your own. How close am I?”
The silence spoke volumes.
Autumn smiled. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Does it matter?” Physadeia snapped. “The deal is still worth your time.”
Abruptly, Autumn stood up. An icy look washed over her features as she towered over the naked nymph. Inky black bled into her dark orbs, staining them till naught but darkness remained. As she gazed down at the cowering nymph she did not see a sensuous beauty, but the ugliness of vanity and fae malignity.
An unwanted shiver ran up Physadeia’s spine.
“No,” said the dark-eyed witch, “by all metrics, my time is worth so much more than you or yours. Now, while this has been…well, not fun per se, as that would be a lie, but me and mine must depart, for we have prior arrangements to make.”
Before the nymph could speak, Autumn let out an ear-piercing whistle. Hearing the shrill sound echo around the sheltered shore, the rest of the party looked towards the sound and saw the dark-haired witch pointing meaningfully at their craft. And as they feared her ire more than the nymph’s, they politely disentangled themselves from their hosts amidst the sounds of pouts and complaints.
Autumn stormed over to the boat upon the shore, her fear wound tight within her breast. Let loose from its cage. That fear fed the wolf known as rage inside her — shaking her limbs, boiling her blood, calling for violence.
With a force of will stronger than steel, the witch chained that wolf; stole its meal from it. Once more, she locked away her fear where it’d do no harm to herself, yet would break those who’d oppose her.
However, with it gone there was nothing stopping Autumn’s mind from focusing on the feeling of the nymph’s hands upon her. Touching her. It was like spiders skittering across her bare flesh that no amount of clothing could hide.
Autumn puked.
Physadeia was white with rage. She watched, trembling in fury, as the party of adventurers made their way over to the shoreline where their boat and witch awaited. And while the other nymphs were distracted with waving them goodbye or lording their gains over the others, she slunk away into the depths of the jungle.
Fey beasts quietened as they sensed the nymphs ire approach.
Weaving her way through the tangle of vines and bushes, Physadeia sought out a beast lingering on the edge of her domain, lusting after what it could not have. Although she wished she didn’t.
The ugly beast hunched over itself as it towered over the nymph, staring down at her with infatuation clouding its single evil eye. Long strings of matted hair trailed down like beaded curtains to pool around the nymph in the mud. A ragged loincloth was all that shielded her eyes from whatever engorged horror lay beyond.
Pushing down her nausea and disgust, Physadeia gave the cyclops a smile.
“Go forth, mine own creature. Hunt those folk, those adventurers that spurned mine own beauty,” Physadeia said faux-sadly, to which the hunter snarled in anger — its hands twitching in want to caress the beautiful maiden before it. Disgusted at the sight, Physadeia stepped back. “Go forth and make the witch with a season’s name regret not taking mine own bargain. Go forth and eat her feline lover first.”
The one-eyed hunter grinned with yellow-stained teeth before disappearing into the underbrush, making its way upriver.
“No one is greater than me. No one!”