The hare seemed to nod to itself. Then it came loping down the hill, stopping just out of range of a sudden vengeful lunge.
“So. Are you ready for your wishes now?”
Galen grimaced. “After what you have done to me over the past days, you think I am more likely to accept a boon from you?”
“I?” The hare used its front paws to brush out its whiskers. “I have done nothing. A word of counsel here and there, a favor or two called in, nothing more.”
“I spared your life,” said Galen. “I freed you. I asked nothing in return. This is how you repay me?”
“I only hope to do you a good turn, in a manner that befits my nature. Nothing you have suffered is beyond repair by way of a well-considered wish.” Its ears twitched and a note of unmistakable threat crept into its voice. “So far, at any rate.”
At once, Galen’s knife was in his hand. “Hear me well, creature. Cease this persecution and be away from me and mine. If I see you again, I will learn just how much that golden pelt will fetch in the marketplace.”
“No need for that, good sir. This can all be over in a trice. Three wishes.”
Then the hare leaped aside in the blink of an eye, Galen’s knife quivering in the soil where it had stood a moment before.
“Ah, well,” said the golden creature, running at full tilt for the cover of the nearby trees. “You’ll change your mind soon enough.”
Galen stood for a long moment, trembling with rage. Then he shook his head violently to regain control, and reclaimed his knife.
“The sky will fall first,” he muttered.
Galen saw nothing of the hare for the next few days. Yet the flood of misfortune did not end. Indeed, it spread. It began to afflict other hunters who worked the marge of the Fogwood, and then it crept into the village itself.
Farmyard beasts were savaged or driven away. Milk soured in the churn. Nests of stinging insects took up residence in roofs and storage sheds. Flocks of birds began to ignore scarecrows, sweeping down to eat grain in the fields.
Somehow, everyone knew that Galen bore the blame. No one could say where the rumors had begun, but soon everyone was repeating them. He had brought down a curse. He practiced witchcraft against his neighbors. He consorted with the Wolf.
That last struck him to his core.
For the first time, Galen began to feel real fear.
He had few places to turn for advice. Aside from Katherine, he didn’t feel enough trust for almost anyone. Given the state of misrule in the kingdom, he had no lord upon whom he could safely rely. Certainly, Count Alphonse would be of no help.
Finally, he decided to visit Friar Benedictus. The friar was a kindly beast, a rotund Talking Hedgehog who wore a clerical habit over his spines and balanced a pair of absurdly tiny spectacles on his snout. He had no magic that anyone could see, but he had the benefit of a fine education, a healer’s touch, unshakeable faith in the Lion, and a caring heart. He took no sides in anyone’s dispute, and his advice usually proved to be good. Everyone trusted him.
Benedictus did not spend all his time in the village, to be sure. Like any mendicant, he moved about the region, performing whatever service he could to humans, Talking Animals, and even wild beasts. Most people in need knew where to find him. It was Thunder’s Day, so the friar could most likely be found in a forest clearing a few miles from the village, tending to the creatures that lived close by. Thorns from rabbits’ feet, splinters from beavers’ teeth, that sort of thing.
Galen set out just after dawn, his bow and knife at hand. Just in case a certain golden-coat hare chose to make an appearance.
For once, his luck seemed sound. He saw no signs of his enemy or any other uncanny creature. He found the friar hard at work in the expected place, gathering herbs and willow-bark.
The friar looked up sharply as Galen arrived, peered through his spectacles, then bobbed in friendly greeting. “Galen. A pleasure to see you.”
“Likewise, Brother.” Galen sat down on a boulder and watched as the friar finished his task. “I wondered if I might have a word.”
“Of course.” Benedictus stood upright, stretching his back with a grunt of pleasure. “Ah, I find I’m not as able to bend over for long as when I was young.”
Galen only nodded, looking dour.
“There’s quite a shadow on your face, my friend.” The friar leaned against a broad tree and produced a small canteen from inside his habit, handing it to Galen. “Apple cider. Very good. Also, very strong.”
Galen took a long swig from the canteen, his face softening slightly. “I see what you mean.”
“Robert the arborist’s son sets aside some from each pressing for me.” A smile, as the canteen vanished back into the friar’s habit. “What troubles you, Galen?”
Galen told his story, from the moment he first saw the golden-coat hare. Benedictus listened in silence, his whiskers setting into a concerned frown as the hunter continued to speak.
“I see the problem,” said Benedictus at the last.
“What would you advise me to do?”
“I’m not sure. I fear you have placed yourself in the hands of a capricious power.” Benedictus stroked his whiskers with one paw. “I believe I recognize this creature, from your description. It is clearly not a simple Talking Animal. It is an enchanted thing, one of the Faerie.”
“Katherine and I do what we can to appease such. We put cream and scraps of bread out for the Little People.”
“Most of the Little People do not offer to grant wishes. For all that this thing appears to be a helpless beast, it must have great power for its kind. It must be one of the Fair Folk.”
Galen shook his head. “How can I contend with such a thing?”
“Perhaps contending with it is the wrong course,” said the friar with a sharp glance. “Galen, my friend, if you have a fault, it is that you are too self-reliant. In every man’s life, there comes a time when he must place his faith in another.”
“It goes against my grain,” the hunter grumbled.
“No doubt.” The friar finished picking his herbs, and began to delicately pack them up. “Two pieces of advice, then, if you are willing to hear them.”
Galen nodded in agreement.
“First: the creatures of Faerie are very much bound by their own laws. That may be why this golden-coat hare bedevils you about its three wishes.”
“I don’t follow you, Brother.”
“You saw the creature and seemed about to kill it. It promised you three wishes if you set it free. You set it free. By its own word, it must now grant you those wishes. It owes you a debt; the longer the books remain open, the more it will suffer. The Fair Ones often seem capricious, but once they give their word, they are tied to it with bands of iron. For one of us, to break a promise is only a sin that may be forgiven. For them, it is a matter of life and death.”
“But that is absurd!” Galen shouted. “I freed it for my own reasons. I placed it under no obligation.”
“I suspect the hare does not see it that way. By its way of thinking, if you are unwilling to resolve its problem, it has the right to torment you until you do. It may even enjoy the process. Such creatures do not love men.”
“That fits,” said Galen, nodding slowly. “There is a…a smugness about the beast. As if it knows that it holds power over me, and I must ere long give in.”
“Yes. Now for my second piece of advice. Remember that the Faerie have their own society. This hare must have superiors, lords of its own kind to whom it owes fealty. Perhaps you may appeal to them.”