Nix

Michaela Bailly

His hands rose, a grotesque contortion as they clenched anothers arm, and he batted his eyelids while dragging both of them off their perches. Laughter erupted from the men, whose bodies exuded filth and the ale they knocked back between breathy laughter in the crowded tavern. Filled with spoils, men of larger sizes boasted of colossus deeds, while in other circles they weaved intricate tales and legends to spoken story, doused in the traditional drunken splendor that made them all the finer. Amongst the clamor, where each raised voice egged another conversation to a greater volume, a despondent soul wavered from one throng of men to the next before withering to a lonesome stool near the barkeep. If he stifled some sorrow with the poison in his mug, he would not have been alone, though it might have seemed so. Shale drew the mug closer to his chest, more safely tucked between heavy arms. A space that ached with nostalgia for his late wife and beloved daughter. Hands calloused and scarred by a lifetime of hard work and struggle for survival. Not entirely lost in the sea of drunken splendor, of burly blondes who spoke of great battles and treasure, he swayed in his seat, listening in to various conversations. Shales shoulders cringed inwards, pillage scarred him more deeply than all other deeds in his life. He remembered the man who threw himself on his blade to protect his child from such horrors. That blood he never felt he had fully washed his hands of, but he never again lifted his sword for fear of reliving this horror. His choice of venue left him to cower beneath the heavy frame of a warrior, and it was not until conversation around him shifted to the more supernatural that he peeked past his shield of ale.
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Most beautiful, he perched atop a jutting rock, his feet never abandoning the waters he calls his home, The bard eased in with breathy vigor, on the edge of his stool seated slightly higher than others. Taking another swig of his poison of choice before laying it on the table to begin anew. His newly freed hands raised and elbows crooked; the left pointed down, the right away from his body with his fingers holding the air in depiction of the southern instrument. Closing his eyes, he pulled an imaginary bow over invisible strings, trying to show the violin and the man of whom he spoke.

Shale strained his neck, hanging onto every word without daring to raise his head to look. He stared into the pale amber of his glass, watching the froth slowly melt down the sides and cause the softest of ripples in its body. The amber faded, the froth moving to the edges where a stream fed in. The men before him faded against the cool steam rising from the lake, bodies transformed to the great fish that dwelled beneath, and no longer could he separate sober memories from drunken consciousness. In his hands, he held a long wooden pole with a dramatic hook at its end. Extending it into the water, he fished out a net meant to trap the abundant, but elusive fish in this lake. They were magnificent sizes for the small size of the lake, some impressive enough to run full length of the boat he sat in. His knees were white, kneeling in the boat. He pushed himself up, standing on solid sea-legs that knew better than to waver or tremble upon such a small vessel, dwarfed by the godly fish who ran alongside the boat at equal lengths. The oars wedged under the single board on the oaken boat, Shale dipped the hooked pole down into the waters, finding and catching traps, coming up routinely empty. His eyes sunk, though his disappointment stemmed from years of tireless pursuit, rather than a day without fish. These fertile waters had driven many who sought
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its bounty away, for they could not snag or even wound a single fish. His eyes left the net in his hands, searching the shoreline and catching on the small river that fed into the lake. Draping the net carefully over his shoulder, he again sat, pulling the oar from beneath his bench to hit water and propel him back to shore. His head snapped back towards the river, brow furrowing. This place, his home, came with tempered wisdom from one who lived here prior. Dont walk in, waters calm on top, give it to your knee and itll sweep you to its depths. An older man, whose grayed and sullen eyes were of the saddest make, showed more misfortune and hopelessness than he could voice. Shale stepped out of the boat as his wooden cradle came within an inch of the shore, stepping onto rugged stones holding the waters in check. He hoisted it up with a grunt, before replacing the boat upside down a few paces inland onto the grassy turf. For its small size it was heavy enough, but if the bulk of his frame was any indication, he was built for heavy lifting, but a hidden swiftness underlying his movement beckoned to his life prior, a man of honor and plunder. A warrior of these lands whom, like many others, set sail for distant lands and returned more than mere trinkets. Save the net and the hook, he trudged empty handed, back through timber houses, thatched with straw to fill the cracks, with doorframes of stone dug into the ground to make walls of stone and earth, towards the lone pillar of smoke among ghostly silence. Outside on a square wood rack a hide stretched across, rendering itself helpless to the sun, and ready for tanning, while a few small tools lied in wait for use once again. The few steps down proved insufficient for his height, ducking through the door frame with a bow before standing again in the single room. They were the only left now in the village, most moved to more plentiful lands, those who could not starved
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slowly at the waters edge. First to greet him was the smell of venison stewing over the fire, and the small warmth on his hand as a young girl, not more than three rushed to greet him. She was not of traditional descent, her hair a deep auburn-red clashing with the large jade eyes. A slightly upturned nose, her sprightly face showed many more expressions than he saw of any native to these lands, one would not see resemblance in the two lest the saw the third. Rising from her seat at a carved table in the center of the room, his wife ignored the net and its lack of contents, her thin shoulders draped in luscious locks of deep chestnut red, eyes deep hunters green, her warm smile infectiously easing his failure. Renne, the young sprite climbing up the tree of a man, made her way to his shoulders with the help of a final lift, though she bent over to keep from hitting the ceiling, peering upside down at the sullen father of hers. Look what momma caught, Her finger extended towards the fire, smile widening. A not so subtle glance towards his empty net and she recognized that look of agonizing defeat. Sok, she pet his head knowingly with her small fingers, liking the feel of the smooth and straight gold, though not nearly to the extent she adored her mothers. Momma show him, fill you right up, make you strong again. Her eyes squinted, her way of smiling more. Shale gave her this moment, kneeling as she began to squirm whereupon she slid right down his back landing on unsteady feet before teetering over to the bench to take her mothers spot. Shale looked to his wife, a mild shrug of broad shoulders was a gesture more comical, but she greeted him none the less. It is not the net that always needs mending, and, the forest has been quiet so long, it was a blessing it wandered through. She placed her hand on his cheek, a chill to her fingertips that he recoiled from, not recognizing it.

One hand fell to her shoulder, though he put no weight or force into it. Ill have some after you two have had your fill, and then some. He tried to be selfless for them, but the ache of hunger for what felt like a lifetime was eating away at them before their times.

He jerked back, sobering away from the amber draft. The bard on his pedestal spoke of another, a greater musician with guile and a silvered-tongue. He can change shape, if he so pleases, hands dropping to his thighs, the imaginary violin he cradled vanishing with the illusion of the song echoing through Shales thoughts. By moonlight, a white horse who wanders the shoreline, looking for a way to cross, perhaps a young child, running into the water, or a young, handsome man playing the violin His voice trailed off, brow raising as he saw many put aside their own exchanges to attentively hear his, something striking a chord.

Renne sat on a three-legged stool, short but useful in its own way. Her hand gripped a stone shaped into a blade, running over the surface of hide, which lay weaved into the wooden frame, mimicking the every move she recalled her mother making. Adeptly tanning a new hide, this one large enough for her father, to his broad shoulders it would likely find its way. Many years had passed, but she grew more like the mother who taught her each craft and skill she could muster. Renne had grown more solemn since the death of her mother, a ring of small stones just outside the village lay with many others in remembrance; food had been scarce, very few had survived along these shores then.

A few souls passed the adolescent Renne, admiring the pelt she fashioned and how smooth the strokes of her blade left the leather. For one still so young she bore skill and patience, and through the art, she stripped sorrow from her fathers soul day by day, showing in him that her mother was not entirely lost. The huts around her had been present since her birth; that much had not changed from memory, though she could not recall when they sprouted families that surrounded her once solitary life. A fascinated few dared to pester her daily, children who absorbed themselves with the girl older than themselves, but whose hands were soft and whose demeanor lent itself to fleeting thoughts and the need for adventure, rather than the stony disposition of pride and good battle that absorbed those older. Prying her from the tedium of leatherworking, in a robust jumble they scrambled into the forest, enacting fantasy and myth into reality. Sticks sharpened and turned bright silver, a discarded plank of wood with a leather strap nailed to its back became impenetrable shield, and the warm hats that kept ears from chilling were strong helmets to protect them in battle. These people knew no fear, a forest of creatures was to make them all the stronger, and supervision was only important for newborns. Laughs echoed off trees, stomping feet and flailing of weapons filled the deep green with a cacophony only possible of children. One small boy, rambunctious and strong slapped his stick to Rennes. He recoiled as her riposte found his shield, scrambling up a rock to force his height to hers. Another took their chance to sweep her sword at his knees, and he leapt back, out of sight. They grew still, a splash behind the rocks, but not a word. Renne leapt onto the vacant rock, seeing the turn of the river just behind its body.

The water though was still, the young boys sword floating atop the water, leisurely floating down river. Her shoes came off in a flying frenzy, about to leap into the deep water when his head popped above water with a devious grin. Gotcha! He yelped, panting excitedly. Leaning out nearly full length, her hand wrapped tightly around his pudgy upper arm, and she wrenched him out of the water with strength surprising for her size and angle of pursuit. She did not yell, but the calm of her eyes was punishment enough, without a word or move further, the game had ended, and the scattering flock of children retreated to their homes in great haste. To his hand she held and a gurgling, melting mess he became, feet dragging and leaving a trail of half-taken steps in his wake. Soon the boy was in her arms, and she cradled him as she had been years before, by both parents when a mistake was made or she had been frightened. He clung ferociously, wailing into her shoulder whereupon she could not tell if it was river water or tears that soaked her. She hummed a small tune, taking a longer route back to the village, hoping to calm and dry the child before his parents found him.

Renne sunk her head into Shales shoulder, although she deemed it highly uncomfortable compared to her mothers. Her clothes dripped onto his, though Shale stroked through her dark hair, lips pursed in silent contemplation. The fishing hook and a net, whose holes were patched with fresh twine lay against the riverbed where he pulled her out downstream, abandoning it without thought as his child came screaming with the rush of sudden, unnatural current. He sent her running not a moment before, an explosion of misguided anger rushing over him. His wife lay dead, the smallest of colds wreaking irreversible havoc on
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her starving body. With kindly smile, the portions she ate diminished, finding their way to the plates of her child and husband. Her body ebbed inwards on itself, closer to bone, skin ghastly pale and translucent in the final days. Shale struggled to provide, seeing bountiful fish in the lake, none had ever denied they were there, but all traps and lures had their plunder denied. The forest was lush, though its treasures elusive, and the occasional small game kept them alive for some time. Her body, the first to succumb, might have survived longer had she neglected her familys hunger. To a warrior who knew nothing of tending to children, she left Renne, awakening in Shale the willingness to do everything in his power to assure her survival.

Shale stood unevenly on the stones at the edge of the lake. The fish mocked, racing by, jumping, the fins breaking the surface to leave small wakes or little splashes. The sun dipped lower into the sky leaving a shadow twice his size to roam the lake, fish following it excitedly. He paced, further each time, before setting his sights on the mouth of the river that fed in. How a net could stretch across the mouth of the feeding river, to the bottom touch and reach a few feet above even its most swollen levels, and catch not a single fish was a wonder. Following now the edge of the lake, not heeding common caution to watch his footing on unstable stony shore, he pursued the river with uncharacteristic determination. He held the hook and one net again over a shoulder. For what must have been a mile he followed steadily, a few turns slowing him before he heard a faint sound. Closing his eyes, a melody played in his head, so naturally blending with his thoughts and tireless steps before he caught himself. With sudden surprise, his eyes snapped open, brow furrowing. He was not imagining the sound of a

violin playing up river, for he had never before heard the melody that flowed past him. Renewed in his pursuit he sought out the source. The bare back of a man, whose shoulders were as thin as a womans, faced away towards water and cared not for the man who approached. The breadth of the river was widest here, yet here perched a jutting rock from the water, lifting him almost entirely out of the cool rush of slow moving water. The violins sound deepened the closer Shale drew, his fingers clenching the air. Shale cleared his throat, seeking attention without having a clue of what to say. The bow held mid stroke, the song fading amongst the trees and over the water. To his left, eyes narrowed and head turned, not bothering to turn even partially to face the man at the shore. The pale gold of his hair, and the resonating blue eyes marked him of these lands, not of foreign descent. Shale twisted the net between his fingers, wondering if this man was indeed human at all, and if he was, what purpose he had out in the river, playing such an instrument. The unyielding gaze turned away, returning to his violin. I tire of men, His voice muted the sound of the water. Reminiscent of a chime, it began to coax into a feeling of security, that nothing was amiss. Your net, empty still? Im not surprised He chuckled, taking the time to set the bow down beside his hip, though the body of the instrument rested on his thighs. He turned suddenly and rose to his feet in one swift movement, peering into the trees over Shale with great interest. Eyes searching just past the trees, hearing something Shale had not yet heard, and did not find until something rustled in the underbrush. He too, turned. Renne stepped out, having found her own path to reach her father, and she ran to him with triumphant smile. Found you! Her playful laugh filled
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with vitality and joy, upon her head she wore the same silver ringlet her mother once had. The man on the river, standing full and proud stared at the young creature just past the shore, following her every move, hanging on to the sound of her voice. About his eyes, upon closer inspection was a pale blue, almost purple tinge. The warmth now in his voice flooded her ears, he coaxed playfully, fishing for a name. What lovely guest has wandered here? Fascination filled his eyes. Sweat rolled from his brow, and Shale turned his head in the hopes of finding another witness to the man in the river. He tucked Renne behind himself, though the mans eyes were ever on her. With her feet firmly planted behind Shales in a wide gait, she leaned to the side, locks falling over her shoulder. She smiled wide, wondering why the strange man wore nothing even while in broad daylight. He flashed a more than intrigued smile back at her, before finally looking at Shale, whose size and expression demanded him to pay heed. Shale turned his head back to her, not daring to step back in case he would bump her, in many ways treating her with such fragility. Off with you, now. He nodded slightly. She stood planted stubbornly, her height not half of his and yet held great ferocity. His face flushed crimson, and this time indeed turned fully around, raising his arm to point opposite of the man in the river. Go home, now! His voice bellowed, encompassing Renne in a wave of surprise for he had never spoken so roughly to her. Little feet turned with such speed to throw her entirely off kilter, knees met the soft dirt just past the rocks yet still drew blood, and in a flurry of dust and panic she scrambled in a half crawl back to the forest.

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A cautious circle up river, knees slathered with a deep red mud, a bandage forged of blood and earth. Clambering up a rotted log suspended just inches over the river, she stifled a few tears, trying to peer down the river to where the two men stood talking. Shale watched her shadow disappear in the forest, before turning back more calmly to face the strange man, the image of his terror-stricken, famished child lingering in his thoughts. When a thousand questions and demands burst into his thoughts, he mustered very little. Your name? Narrowing his eyes, expecting no response. Nix. Very simply, side glancing to see in the distance what had sent a few pebbles tumbling into the river. Your daughter? Beautiful stunning so small He mused to himself. With a large breath and a turn of his head he met Shales protective gaze. She looks underfed. You have been trying to fish from the lake, have you not? Nix set the violin down by his feet. Ill make you a deal Renne leaned further, her eyes glistening brighter than the sun as it met the surface of ripples on water, sharply moving from kin to stranger in utter fascination, watching both mouths move, though her father took some time to really open his mouth. A few rocks beneath her precariously perched log tumbled into the water, and with her small hands holding her secure as she draped over its large size, she felt the splash of water over her face and in her nose and mouth before she felt the nauseating falling sensation that had plunged her into the water. With unnatural speed the river swept her under, daring to suck her as deep and low as it had room, before with sudden ferocity it thrust her back up to surface. Shale slumped downstream by the riverside, weaving further and closer to the shore as its waters ebbed and surged, eyes glazed until he heard the ferocious splash of the river nearly drowning out the screams it carried. Lurching back onto the rocks, he
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extended his arm, though quickly recoiled to keep from instinctively jumping in to catch her. Remembering the hook in his other hand, he ran further down ahead of the current and extended the pole into the water, catching the back of her collar like the nets he had practiced so many times on. Rising up out of the rivers grasp, the hook again released her and fell a clatter against stone, and warm arms encompassed her once again. Falling apart in that soggy instant, she wailed, lamenting for the first time since her mother had died. Only now understanding as her father clung to her and showed the same love she had received all her life, but now one less pair of warm arms was around her. Her face came to his shoulder, crying as loudly as she could, she failed to see her father cry that day as he held her. He needed her to survive, neither of them would last another winter at this rate, and he could not bring himself to leave the place where he had built his family. Trapped and confused, a single word from his lips that barely carried over the river reached Nixs ears, giving him his answer. Deal.

Shale lurched forward, spilling his ale over the sticky countertop, spurring a maid to burst from behind the counter to sop up the mess. His hand again met cold glass; how he had another pint already he could not remember. They say at night, a white horse might approach you, lower his head for you to mount, and bring you to the river, He gasped, leaning forward, pulling people in with taught strings of tension he had practically wrapped around them, the strongest on Shale, who fell right out of his stool onto his feet. As many names as he has shapes though, but he will always bring you to the river

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What had felt like a lifetime passed before Shale, a warm life despite the fact his beloved wife of a foreign land lay dead, a life full without the shed of blood, the plunder and pillage of lands not his own. However, upon the mantle above his bed hung a sword, the rare sway of which seemed to count down to misfortune. A home as modest as before, though whose hearth stunk of the plentiful fish these lands now offered. The homes, once abandoned had shriveled so pitifully before they again filled with life, the brims of the village bursting and overflowing. New houses up and down the shoreline, a lake full of magnificent fish who finally found their way onto hooks, into nets and through spears. Renne, now a fully-grown young woman had no shortage of courting men, they too, like so many of this land baffled and captivated by her exotic appearance. Shale, growing more to suit his name watched the gold drain from his hair from the roots, replaced with pale silver. Rennes eighteenth birthday, he found himself standing at the edge of the lake, sighting a white horse standing opposite him at the far banks. Clouds passed overhead, enveloping the valley in darkness akin to that of morning, where the mantle of the fjord blocked the low suns light even though the sky grew to the brilliance of midday. The horse stood stagnant until the sun again peaked through to renew the glistening water beneath, and finally it loped towards the mouth of its tributary and out of sight. Shale closed his eyes, for so long, he lived in happiness, far from the blood stained water of the seas he once roamed and professed to love, he had mourned his wife, and in turn set to raise his daughter, finally able to provide from the fickle lake. The sweet echo of her voice brought him out of deliberation. He dared not fracture the

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joy he shielded; should he fail again, his happiness would not mend. Her voice beckoned him out of reason, and he invited her to stroll the lakeside.

Shale took several, slow and deliberate steps towards the bard, through the breaker of men that surrounded him. Should not his form lure you, his music, divine as the gods themselves weaved gold and silver to sound will draw you in His head met table again, the alcohol coursing through his veins dragging him down then to the floor, back into the darkest depths of his dreams.

Renne saw nothing amiss, her father never ceased to coddle, and a walk along the lake was hard to avoid unless you crossed through the woods, though of late rumors of trolls rooted into the depths of the forest at the foot of mountains discouraged travel within any longer. The river grew quieter these last several years, not one person had lost their life since the fateful encounter at the river when she was a mere child. Renne recounted how three years ago she plucked a boy from the same spot she once fell in, how the current took no heed of his body and left him be. Today the river was renewed with life, fish jumping over shallows, however the river felt need to mask the depths of its basin from view with slurry that foretold something was amiss, excitement coursing through the water from upstream. Renne clung to her fathers arm, her pulling down acted as greater support than she could hope to understand, for he walked now to what felt like his death. They walked up the riverside, and back down again when he felt they had gone far enough. He began to well up, looking towards the sky to stifle himself. Shale could not afford to break in front of her, but nonetheless he fell to his knees in confession.
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His hand covered his eyes, feeling his back lose strength and allow him to curl towards the ground, something he in all his memory had never done. As he did, the faintest of music began to emanate from downriver, and in utter disbelief Shale could not move. Rennes feet moved without her knowing, she raced to find the source of that reminiscent song. Unchanged, stood Nix, of incomparable beauty, who appeared human as any, save for the dark hue around his eyes, giving the appearance of a man drowned. In his arms he produced the melody she had heard as a child, though the man she had since forgotten. Shale could follow only after he stumbled after her, feeling speed and strength sucked from his limbs, wishing now adrenaline could heed his plea to let him keep her from this one last danger that he regrettably brought upon he. She barely took a step in, the water coming just above her ankle when it latched around her joint and pulled her into the river. The man cast aside the violin fervently to grasp what he had traded for so many years ago. Latching around her mouth, his hand proved to have the same strength of any man, and she thrashed violently. Her elbow collided with a rib, Shale heard the audible crack it had produced, finding himself surprised to see his child bore more bravery than he, she always had. She hesitated long enough to grab his hair, entwining her fingers in the golden locks before she bit at his palm with utter ferocity, drawing significant blood out into the water, staining the river red. He cried out, the surge of pain freeing Renne from his grasp. Shale reached the water, and threw himself in. The current shifted, pushing him away, letting him thrash violently against it. Renne took her chance, her arm brushed against Shales hand, but it was Nix, not Shale whose grip found her fastest. Nixs panic was more obvious now, she gasped, and breathing in more

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water than air, weakening her before Nix finally pulled her under, the dark auburn of her hair disappearing last in the water.

Two men helped him back into his seat, and the bard continued. Had he not woken again they likely would have tossed him out with the other men who could not hold their drinks, who slept peacefully in the till the morning quiet might awaken them. The Nix, a shape shifter who draws his victims in to drown in his river. A clever one, he chooses his targets, and draws them to the river where if they get close enough, he will grab them and drown them for sport. He loves to play the violin most though, the splendor of his playing can draw many at once to his waters, The bard grew drunk off his own words, pointing suddenly one direction, then glancing around and slyly redirecting to the other. There have been many drowning of late in the old river, and tell of music of a violin playing around the waters. Shale shook himself out beneath the heavy hands pressed to his shoulders to stagger out of the unfamiliar town. He ran from the lakeside village, where the water turned stagnant and river dried, memory of his daughter plaguing his thoughts. Now here too, he felt haunted by what he could not protect. Bring me your daughter, on her eighteenth birthday, and I shall grant you and all kinsmen the plenty of my waters, you can provide for her, and whoever else you must, if you do not, I leave you free to drown in my river, or starve by its shores. Nixs voice resounded in his head, and soon enough he splashed into the river, the rush of water against his legs knocking him on his back. Again Shale rose, wading up river until he began to swim desperately against the current, those strong warrior arms holding true, until against the frothy mist that steamed from the waters, the sound of a violin came. On a rock ahead, the glossy mane of auburn hair,
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entwined with radiant indigo flowers attached to the silver circlet she wore. Her bare back to him, arms carefully cradling something in front of her while she sat beside Nix. His splashing did not go unnoticed, and to him she turned, an infant nestled in her arms. She looked out at him, the smile on her lips one of forgiveness. About her eyes, a deep blue hue lingered, and she returned her attention to the infant in her arms, the cool steam rising off the waters surface to shadow them. As Shales drunken pursuit ceased, he went under. Forgetting all exhaustion as his mind went blank, and became nothing more than a ripple swept away from the only one he failed to protect.

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