Fae of the Mountain

Where now there is nothing but barren rock and blasted land, there once was a fertile mountain. In that mountain lived a fae, a spirit, powerful and capricious, and she was angered terribly when humans arrived and settled near her mountain. Over and over, her fiery temper forced them from their homes, but they always returned.

One day, the townspeople were met by a young man, lithe and tall and beautiful, who proclaimed himself to be the son of the fae of the mountain and that his mother would trouble them no more, and so it was. For a time, the town was left in peace, and the people forgot about the mountain’s anger. As the ages passed, however, the son grew bored and began to play tricks upon the people. He would open windows on chilly nights, pull unripe fruit from their trees, and scatter sheep. The villagers tried to placate him by leaving treats upon their windowsills, but he whisked them away and left piles of squirming maggots in their place. They hung symbols and charms to ward him away, but found them lying crumpled on the ground every morning. Eventually the people grew tired of these antics, but none of them were willing to stand up to the mountain’s son, and none even knew how.

During this time, Richard Faesbane, scourge of fairies and bringer of peace to good folk, happened to pass through the town. His cape billowed behind him as he rode his black stallion, and the people, having heard of his exploits, told him of their plight and pleaded for his help. In exchange for a bag of silver, Richard vowed to rid the town of the mountain’s son and return peace and quiet and prosperity to its people.

The next day, Richard demanded twenty buckets of milk. Cow’s milk, goat’s milk, sheep’s milk, any milk would do. And then he waited. Day after day, the people wondered at what Richard’s plan could be. Finally, once all the milk had soured and rotted and turned to chunky sludge covered in flies and mold, he and some townsmen carried the buckets up the side of the mountain and flung the contents far and wide. They sauntered back to town, sure that their actions would deter the son, only to find the people running around, panicking, attempting to pull slowly rotating floating cows from the air and back to solid ground. The son of the mountain had enchanted them in retaliation to Richard’s stunt, and he had destroyed the gates to the pastures for good measure.

Unhappy with his failure, Richard returned to the mountain the following day and set fire to many of the ancient trees whose roots reached back to time immemorial. All fae had a deep love for and connection with nature, and without those trees, the son would leave and the people would know peace forevermore. The ground trembled as they burned. When he returned to town, nothing was amiss, and Richard slept soundly that night.

The next morning, half of the townspeople were alarmed to find they had been whisked away during their slumber and laid down in the wet grass of the fields surrounding the town, and their homes had been burnt down to the foundations and were nothing but smoldering ruins. They were fearful and furious and threatened to throw Richard from their town and tell all the land of his failure. Pranks and small inconveniences were frustrating, but that level of destruction had not taken place since the town had last been rebuilt.

Richard vowed to the people to make things right and not only save their town but restore his reputation. He requested a white woolen bedsheet. He tied it to the end of a long wooden pole and, with his makeshift white flag, trudged one last time to the mountain. Richard was partway up the mountain when the son of the mountain appeared in front of him, green eyes peering through soft hair. The son addressed Richard by name and asked him if he had finally seen the folly of his actions.

“Those good folk have had enough. They wish for these evil tricks of yours to end,” Richard said.

“Do they? My tricks, as you call them, are always in jest. I have not harmed any of you.”

“Nevertheless, you will stop this nonsense now, or you will learn how I earned my name.”

“Treacherous human!” The son’s hair rose angrily about his head. “You dare threaten me? I am a force of nature. I will do as I please, and not you nor anyone else will ever tell me otherwise.”

As the last word was spoken, Richard slipped a silver knife from his tunic and buried it in the son’s chest in a single swift motion. The son’s face was full of shock and anger and fear, and only the faintest whisper of a scream passed through his lips before he disappeared into the wind. Satisfied, Richard began his journey back to town.

Suddenly, a primal roar of anger and fury bellowed beneath him, and he stumbled and fell as the ground heaved and buckled. Fire erupted from the mountaintop and molten rock spewed violently, flinging great chunks of earth through the air. Richard watched with terror as flaming boulders the size of cattle crashed into the town he had so recently saved from bothersome pranks. Then another boulder soared through the sky and turned the spot where Richard once stood into a crater.

The mother’s fury raged long after nothing living remained within sight, and today all that is left of the town by the mountain is barren rock and blasted land.