As the game went on, Father and the Faerie King lined their captures neatly on the side of the board. Father looked to be considerably better off. The Faerie King grew more and more angry, and he squeezed and kneaded the log with his massive right hand so that the wood cracked and popped. Occasional bursts of wood fragments flew to either side.

Father’s only reaction to this violent display was a long, slow smile. He took another Turkish cigarette calmly from a cigarette case and lit it. I was suddenly very chilled. That kind of calm wasn’t natural. The smoke from Father’s cigarette drifted placidly upwards. His moves were immediate, decisive, while the Faerie King’s became more and more hesitant as the game went on. The smile on Father’s face grew. I watched, and the forest watched with me.

Then the Faerie King snarled, jumped up, and brought his massive fist down on the board like a mallet. Bits of the board, chess pieces, and wood splinters flew out into the snow. Twice more he mauled the log, gouging out huge hunks of wood in his fury. Then he spun with a swiftness shocking in so large a person and yanked his huge sword out of the snow. He brought it down in a deadly arc that splintered the log like a lightning strike. Debris and splinters had flown around Father like a ship’s deck hit by a full broadside of cannonballs, but Father didn’t even flinch. Two broken halves of smoldering log lay in the clearing.

“Perhaps next time,” Father said, standing up, the first words either of them had spoken. He brushed a few splinters from his coat. The Faerie King stared, quivering, his wooden face twisted suddenly with grief. Then his legs gave out and he collapsed in the snow, all his impotent rage spent. He sat, slumped with his mismatched hands on his knees, the perfect picture of abject defeat. He didn’t so much as stir when Father turned his back and left.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the rough and powerful shape slouched heavily and immobile in the snow. White clumps were already starting to gather on his arms, shoulders, head and antlers, as if he might never move again.

CamCat Books