The Song at Harvest's End

The Bard. Benzie’s Concerns. Celebration. Voiceless.

A cozy birchwood fire crackled in the inn’s limestone hearth. Mounted above the mantle, Truffler - a taxidermied warthog - proudly presided over the festivities sporting a ratty black tophat that (most agreed) leaned too far to the right. 

In the Halfling hamlet of Pondaroak, the Swindle & Swine was considered an exciting destination to spend Harvest’s End, a holiday celebrating the conclusion of the year’s farming cycle. Halfling folk were drawn from as far as Mosshollow and as close as Amberglen for it was roundly believed the inn’s proprietor, Elina Hogsbreath, knew how to throw a good party.

Absent its dining tables, the inn was chockablock with thirty halflings, everyone conversing, drinking, eating, and genuinely enjoying themselves.

Delicious scents of roasted duck and pork, sauteed greens, caramelized candies, and freshly-baked pies lingered from floor to rafter, while barrels of ale and honeywine were tapped for evening service.

Above, a heavy iron chandelier hosted dozens of lit beeswax candles, and sitting near the fireplace, a middle-aged halfling named Strelly Ramblefoot strummed a meandering, mingling tune on an exquisite wood-crafted lute. Strelly’s gray-blonde hair was combed and coiffed, held fast by a potion of lavender-scented oils. A halfling of proper lineage, Strelly wore a dazzling blue jacket over a fitted green waistcoat, and a smart leather belt under his amble belly held up his trousers. And, like all halflings, his feet were hairless and bare.

Recognizing the moment, Strelly stopped playing, causing the crowd to sigh remorsefully.

“We’ll have none of that from you lot, the night’s only begun,” Strelly smiled smugly, extending his arms wide with a showman’s countenance. “A recess before our first round. You should stretch - there’ll be no pulled hamstrings on my watch!”

His audience chuckled, whistled, and clapped. Strelly fawned at their attention.

Meanwhile, serving drinks from behind the bar, Benzie Fernbottom - Elina’s trusty barman - scowled at Strelly.

“Benzie, you oaf!” old Eldon Glenmouse roared. “You’re spillin’ my drink!”

“Sorry,” Benzie grumbled, pushing the sloshy mug to Eldon.

“Pay attention, lad!”

“Yes-yes, sir,” Benzie nodded, snatching a dish towel to wipe his hands.

Eldon harrumphed, took his drink, and wobbled away before Benzie stole to the kitchen to find Elina.

“How’s it goin’ out there, Benzie?”

A kitchen witch, Elina was engrossed in her cooking. Her counters were covered in ingredients. Two ducks and a pig roasted rotisserie-style in the kitchen hearth; heat wafted from the clay oven; steam rose from boiling pots. No less than six pies cooled near the stained glass windows. Stacks of used flatware and bowls were stacked haphazardly in the sink.

Turning four serving plates on a Lazy Susan, Elina sprinkled salt, thyme, and rosemary while whispering a forgotten spell. And when the salt and herbs fell upon the food, their colors became more vibrant; the meats reheated to temperature; the green beans straightened, becoming crisper; the dishes’ flavors and seasoning ripened to perfection.

Folding his arms, Benzie barely noticed, having seen Elina’s kitchen miracles many times before.

“That pretentious pumpernickel has them eating out of his hand,” Benzie growled, glancing toward the dining room. “Elina, I’m feeling it again. Something’s not right.”

Elina sighed. There was so much to do.

Taking a cloth, Elina wiped the edge of the dishes to prepare them for serving.

But Elina paused upon recounting the last time she ignored Benzie’s intuition.

Grabbing two of the finished plates, she strode by Benzie, saying, “C’mon, tell me what yer feelin’, an’ keep up.”

Benzie followed Elina from the kitchen, intentionally lowering his voice. “Elina, I’ve been watching him all night! It’s like he says something will happen, then he plays, and it happens!”

“Evenin’, Mr. and Mrs. Toehammer!” Elina said, delivering their plates. “‘Tis good to see your friendly smiles again! An’ the duck’s just how you like it, Jes - a wee-under medium rare!”

Mr. Toehammer smiled appreciatively. “Thank you, Elina.”

“Of course!” Elina beamed and turned to head back into the kitchen.

Benzie continued his sniveling, trailing behind her. “I don’t know how he’s doing it, but it’s creepy!”

“Maybe he’s just a good performer?” Elina grabbed the remaining two plates. “Strelly’s a travelin’ bard, renowned in every Parish. He’s been here half a dozen times alone!”

Sulking, Benzie followed Elina into the dining hall. “But it’s like he commands something and it happens! It’s so weird!”

Stopping mid-stride, Elina turned to whisper wearily, “Benzie, you don’t think you’ve got a bit o’ trauma from Maloney’s visit over the summer? Maybe you’re seein’ things?”

“No!” Benzie scowled dismissively, throwing the dish towel to the bar as they passed. “This has nothing to do with-”

“Here you are, Wimsey,” Elina said, resting one of the plates before her on the bar.

Wimsey Fatfoot always sat nearest the kitchen, closest to the food. With full cheeks, she asked, “More bread?”

“Certainly,” Elina smiled. “Give me a moment.”

“It’s not natural!” Benzie hissed over Elina’s shoulder, startling poor Wimsey who looked skeptically at the empty bread basket as they passed. “There’s no way someone can suggest something should happen and - bang! - it does!”

“Master Ramblefoot,” Elina curtsied, crossing the floor. “Brilliant as always.”

“Ms. Hogsbreath, delightful, and exceedingly gracious,” he grinned. Resting in a comfortable sitting chair beside the fire, the bard accepted his plate. “Last I came ‘round, I don’t recall a barman under your employ?”

“Yes,” Elina smiled, stepping sideways to reveal Benzie who, by nature, attempted to duck behind Elina again, except she stopped him by resting a hand on his shoulder. “Benzie’s been a fixture at the Swindle for almost a year now, an’ I honestly dunno how I survived without ‘em.”

Benzie, exposed, unable to politely flee, cower, or hide, cautiously extended his hand to Strelly who accepted it wholeheartedly. His grip felt strong, youthful, like a steel vice.

“It is good to meet you, Benzie. I envy your good fortune, apprenticing under this house. Elina carries on a proud tradition.”

Benzie painfully retracted his hand as if it’d been trodden upon by a clumsy, booted foot of a human.

Elina smirked. “Oh, I recall me mother bein’ smitten by your golden tongue the very first time you played here, Master Strelly.”

“Gracious, has it been that long? The years addle the mind,” Strelly said before sampling a bite of mouthwatering glazed duck. He closed his eyes and shivered. “Remarkable. It is exactly how I remember.”

“Our recipes are handed down through generations,” Elina said, clasping her wrists. “You’re too kind. But if you’ll excuse me-”

“Yes, of course,” Strelly said, taking another forkful of delicious food into his mouth. “It’s always a pleasure to perform at the Swindle.”

“Since your mother?!” Benzie gasped, following Elina as she weaved through the crowd to pick up used dishes and bar mugs. “When was that? Like, a hundred years ago?”

Elina stopped in her tracks and glared at him dead in the eyes. “Thirty, Benzie. Thirty. I’m only fifty.”

“Okay but how old does that make him?!” Benzie pointed accusingly. “He doesn’t look a day over fifty!”

“Okay, Benzie,” Elina sighed, entering the kitchen. “I’m busy, so you’ve gotta do your own sloothin’. You remember the tests I performed, last summer, on the floor with Taika while she was still a tiger?”

“Er,” Benzie thought about it then wrinkled his nose. “No?”

Elina nodded. “Right. You were whacked on the noggin, but you’ve seen me practice craft before? You’re no hedgewitch but any idiot-”

Elina abruptly stopped herself and inhaled deeply.

“-anyone, Benzie, can perform them.”

She took a pinch of salt. “If it touches the skin of a fae, they’ll burn. Remember?”

“Denbow, yes, I remember that!” Benzie exclaimed.

“A reflection, in a mirror or otherwise,” Elina reminded, picking up a cutting knife and angling it so Benzie could see his own. “If there’s one, the subject’s alive. If there ain’t, they’re dead.”

“Gotchya!” Benzie said. 

“Rosemary leaves,” Elina said. “Take three into your palm an’ toss ‘em on the floor. Remember to concentrate on your intention. If all three turn an’ point at the subject, they’re magical, or the victim of a hex.”

“Okay, sure.”

Benzie recalled blurry memories - the kitchen floor, Elina in her nightgown, a live tiger, and Maron Maloney, striking him with the flat of his sword. Benzie winced, sharply remembering the pain.

Elina snapped her fingers and the windows shot up, exposing the pies to the fresh night air. “Now go. I’ve got a lot to do. Tell me what you find, but take no action.”

“Got it!” Benzie smiled, gathering up salt, rosemary leaves, and the knife.

“Benzie,” Elina said sternly. “Strelly’s a friend. No action.”

“I heard you!” Benzie insisted, leaving the kitchen.

* * *

Strelly Ramblefoot, removing his jacket to toss it into the sitting chair, stepped in front of the fire.

“You’re all going to love this,” he said, strumming his lute. “It’ll remind you of being a kid again, learning to dance.”

Applauding and rather eager to hear it, the crowd in the Swindle urged him on.

“I’ll need your help, though,” Strelly smiled, tuning the pegs on the pegboard. “Clapping, stomping - singing if you’re able. That’s where you come in.”

“We’re ready!” shouted a voice, followed by applause.

“Well then,” Strelly grinned, positioning his fingers along the frets. He strummed a single, clear note, and the whole dining hall fell silent.

Listen y’ children gather 'round,

Your joyous voices must be found …

Strelly paused for dramatic effect, acutely aware of the building tension, as the decorative knotting on the face of the lute began to glow a soft teal hue.

To sing a song at Harvest's End,

The year's last bale’s been settled down!

Immediately, every halfling joyously grabbed their partners to strike up a romping, waltz-like dance - spinning and stomping - all singing the chorus aloud: 

Oh, gather 'round, dear kin of mine,

Our Harvest's End is nearly nigh,

With thankful hearts and joyful rhyme,

We’ll return to the fields in our good time!

It was then Benzie chose to exit the bar, taking to the room's perimeter carrying a handful of Rosemary leaves, salt, and a shiny kitchen knife. But he was unnoticed as Strelly continued the next verse, his lute’s fancy decorations blurring into vivid colors.

The sun has kissed the ripened grain,

We've toiled and sown through ills an’ pain,

We’ll winter with what the earth provides,

 With warm hearts beneath cold starry skies!

Bursting into the chorus, the room filled with twirling, dancing halflings, stomping and clapping in time, while the knots on the face of Strelly’s lute pulsed to the rhythm.

Oh, gather 'round, dear kin of mine,

Our Harvest's End is nearly nigh,

With thankful hearts and joyful rhyme,

We’ll return to the fields in our good time!

Making his way, Benzie crouched, closing on the fireplace to position himself behind Strelly. Benzie crept behind the sitting chair to hide just inches from Strelly’s feet.

Our table laden with meat an’ bread,

We’ll cozy by a fire with books unread,

The winter snows we will survive,

An’ help our neighbors laugh and thrive!

Winded, some halflings left the floor while the pulsing energy captured by Strelly’s lute was absorbed by Strelly’s playing fingers.

During the middle of the chorus, Benzie tossed a handful of salt against Strelly’s feet and Strelly - feeling the impact of the salt - looked down and then behind him to the sitting chair.

Still hidden, Benzie frowned in disappointment after finding Strelly’s ankles harbored no smoke or burning flesh.

Meanwhile, Strelly, a true master of his art, continued to play as the dancing halflings carried on.

Oh, gather 'round, dear kin of mine,

Our Harvest's End is nearly nigh,

With thankful hearts and joyful rhyme,

We’ll return to the fields in our good time!

As Strelly approached the bridge, a shiny, stabby kitchen knife appeared behind the sitting chair.

Held high over the armrest, it angled itself right and left, up and down, as Benzie attempted to glimpse the bard’s reflection against its steely surface.

Turning to catch sight of the knife, Strelly jolted in surprise but kept singing as waves of colorful energy surged up the neck of the lute to enter his fingertips.

The autumn breeze is as a gentle sigh,

First frost will bid the sun goodbye,

An’ tradin’ hard work for hope

Every halflin’ folk

Will find next spring nobody died!

And as Strelly sang, the skin tightened around his eyes, smoothed his skin, perfected his voice, and filled him with youthful vigor.

“Damnit!” Benzie grumbled upon seeing Strelly’s reflection in the knife. “He’s not fae, and he’s not dead!”

Another exhausted couple left the floor while one halfling, clutching his chest, panting, leaned against the bar.

Oh, gather 'round, dear kin of mine,

Our Harvest's End is nearly nigh,

With thankful hearts and joyful rhyme,

We’ll return to the fields in our good time!

Before launching into the third verse, Strelly whispered behind him, “Just what in the Three Hells are you doing?!”

Benzie’s chestnut-headed mop shot out from behind the armrest. “I’m exposing you! I think you’re an evil wizard!”

Strelly sneered, and - returning his attention to the room - uplifted his face with delightful mirth.

So raise your voice all halflin’s fair,

Let revelin’ an’ merriment take the air,

Stuff your bellies an’ the ale imbibe,

For soon we’ll go to our burrows and hide!

Another halfling couple toppled, falling breathlessly into barside seats, while others kept singing and dancing.

Twisting about, Strelly growled, “Stop bothering me!”

Concentrating (his thoughts repeating, ‘Is Strelly really an evil wizard?’), Benzie tossed the three Rosemary leaves to the floor near Strelly’s feet.

Strelly turned to sing the chorus. As his fingers moved between the frets, waves of color soaked into his fingertips.

Oh, gather 'round, dear kin of mine,

Our Harvest's End is nearly nigh,

With thankful hearts and joyful rhyme,

We’ll return to the fields in our good time!

Finishing the song, all the halflings simultaneously stomped their feet on the last syllable of ‘time’ and cheered, clapping and applauding Strelly, just as Eldon Glenmouse collapsed to fall precariously against a wall. A few halflings rushed to his aid.

And Strelly, unable to peel himself away from the attention of his adoring crowd, held the neck of his lute in his right hand and deeply bowed in receipt of the attention he so richly deserved.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” Benzie groaned, intensely watching the still Rosemary leaves.

Suddenly, they each spun counterclockwise, and pointed, definitively, at the lute in Strelly’s right hand.

Benzie gasped, and Strelly angrily turned around to face the chair.

“Drop that knife!” Strelly demanded, and Benzie felt absolutely compelled to do so.

Benzie screeched, launching out from behind the chair to bolt across the hall, pushing applauding halflings out of his way to dash toward the kitchen.

Enraged, his eyes glowing bright teal, Strelly pointed a wicked finger at Benzie and recited a verse from a lost, epic poem:

Speechless,

Without a tongue to speak,

nor eyes to see!

Suddenly, Benzie’s eyes and mouth vanished to become naked, stretched flesh, and he stumbled, clawing at his face as his body went sprawling to the floor.

And upon witnessing the horror of Benzie’s magicked face, the crowd of halflings exploded into screams of terror, shoving each other as they raced to the door.

Grabbing his lute, Strelly pushed through the din to approach Benzie writhing on the floor. The lute’s decorative knots glowed a brilliant cyan while Strelly’s eyes took on the same color, and he spoke in a haunting, otherworldly voice. “Discovered our little secret, eh, boy? Well, you’re certainly more clever than you look-”

Strelly was struck by a wave of dirty dishwater, and Elina, holding an empty tin pail, shouted, “Congelo!”

At first, frost covered Strelly’s skin, then sheets of ice formed, racing up Strelly’s body and anchoring him to the floor.

The bard’s concentration interrupted, Benzie’s eyes and mouth returned to adorn his face. Pointing furiously at the immobilized Strelly beside him, he gasped, “Evil wizard!”

* * *

Emptied, the inn was deathly quiet save the crackling of the birchwood fire. Sitting there on the floor, waiting before the flames, secured by a chalk circle, salt, and parsley sprigs, Strelly’s lute awaited its fate.

Strelly sat at a table wrapped in a warming blanket. He looked on at the instrument, disgusted.

“I-I,” he said, his voice trembling. “It was a gift. I received it, years ago, on my travels to Dumbria.”

“Strelly, you coulda never have known,” Elina insisted. “In heightened, emotive states, its enchantments relayed powerful commands of suggestion, an’ stole life from those around it. Those energies fed you, sustained you. Given enough time, the lute would come to play you, takin’ on a will of its own.”

Strelly, resting his head in his palms, shook his head in disbelief.

Benzie rested his palm comfortingly on Strelly’s shoulders. “Over so many years, didn’t you ever wonder how you remained so young?”

“I didn’t see it that way,” Strelly sniffed. “My family is blessed with long lifetimes. I-I suppose I thought nothing of it.”

Strelly took Benzie’s hand in his, tears welling in his eyes. “Forgive me, young man. I wasn’t myself.”

Benzie patted Strelly’s hand with his other, and assured him, “It’s nice to have eyes and a mouth again. But, honestly, I’ll feel much better when you-”

Benzie gestured at the lute with flicking fingers.

“Yes, of course,” Strelly said, and with resolve, he walked toward the hearth. Using a fire poker, he lifted the instrument by its strings and cast it into the fire.

It burst into flames.

Strelly’s face soured, yet knew destroying the beautiful lute was all for the best.

“If it weren’t for Benzie an’ his uncanny intuition,” Elina said from the table, “it would’ve eventually consumed you.”

“Yep, nothing gets by me,” Benzie shrugged, casually inspecting his nails.

And Elina almost thought she saw Truffler roll his eyes.