The Hob's Bargain

not at all.
    I continued slowly. “Like you, the world we know has slept. My people were kept in ignorance and fear by the bloodmages.” How nice to have a villain ready to hand . Caefawn gave me a grin from behind the spirit’s shoulder. I hoped the elemental wouldn’t read me so easily. “That the earth and water have guardian spirits has been kept secret from us. Generations have been taught that the earth is dead.”
    The spirit had begun shaking his head as I finished the last sentence, his action exaggerated by the stronger movement of his antlers.
    â€œLife cannot come from a dead thing,” he snapped.
    â€œDoes spring not come from winter? And winter is the season of the dead,” murmured the hob.
    â€œBe silent, servant of the mountain. Do not seek to twist my thoughts with your trickery.” There was menace in the guardian’s fierce glare.
    â€œMy lord,” I said, aspiring to twist his thoughts with my trickery, “I tell you we were taught it was so—by those who should know better. This spring the bindings were torn from the land, and our world is reawakening into something that we no longer have means to comprehend. We have no memories to guide us, only the vague shadows of stories that have changed with the centuries. If we have offended you, hurt you, it is out of ignorance, not intention. We are willing to learn.” I felt a strong urge to cross my fingers against the lie of the last sentence, as if I were a child speaking to her parents. It startled me when I realized that, other than the last sentence, I’d told the earth spirit nothing less than the truth. “We must learn—and we need you to teach us. We don’t have the songs anymore.” Still true.
    â€œI care not what songs they sing,” he replied harshly, but the fierce glow of his eyes faded. “Only that they are sung for the rebirth of spring, the promise of summer, the bounty of harvest, and the death that is winter.”
    Four ceremonies. Holy mares of the One God, how could I get four pagan ceremonies out of the village? Everyone knew how jealous the One God was of His worshipers. There wouldn’t be many willing to risk angering Him in this time of need—especially when it was me telling them they had to. Caefawn would have a better chance. Let him try to explain to the villagers the difference between giving thanks and worshiping.
    â€œSummer solstice is past,” commented the hob.
    â€œThere will be no autumn harvest,” said the spirit ominously. He waved his hand, and the plants around us began to wilt and die.
    I fervently wished the hob would be quiet. He seemed only to irritate the spirit.
    â€œStay your hand,” I said. Then, remembering I was here as a supplicant, I added, “Please. This will do you no more good that it does us. Where will your songs be if the land dies around you? You are the guardian of this land, not its destroyer.” I hoped that was true. “Two weeks from tonight we will have a celebration here—beside this tree. A celebration of the reawakening of the land, of freedom from the yoke of the bloodmages, a welcoming feast.”
    How I was going to pull it off, I didn’t know. Maybe the priest would be able to help—if he didn’t burn me as a heretic first.
    â€œA feast,” said the spirit, obviously experiencing one of his mercurial mood changes. “A feast!” He bounded to his feet. “I will stay my hand for a fortnight. After the singing and dancing are over, I will reconsider.”
    He didn’t walk away so much as blend in with the plants of the field. Caefawn stood up and offered me his arm. I took it and began the long walk home.

    â€œS O ,” I SAID, SOME HOURS LATER, “YOU CAN SEE WE have a problem.”
    I sat in the private dining room at the inn. With me were Kith, his father—who was recovering from his wounds—and Tolleck the priest.
    Tolleck groaned and held his head. “My dear, this is impossible! The village is already divided to the breaking point over the changes we’ve been forced to make. If I tell them we have to hold a feast to appease an earth elemental, they will likely burn me just before they do the same to you.”
    â€œCould you pronounce another reason for a feast?” asked Albrin. “I think the harper could be trusted to write songs that praise the earth without letting it slip that the