All That Glitters: Fantasy Short Story

A deceptive, hoarding leprechaun discovers a piece of his trove has been stolen. He must solve this mysterious foe’s riddle in order to reclaim his thieved treasure.

The following is my entry into the Forest & Fawn “Faerie Short Story Challenge.” We were given 2,000 words max to work with and a series of prompts that included:

• The first and last sentence must be "Nothing is/was as it seems/seemed."

• The story must include a character notorious for breaking things.

• The story must include a message in a bottle.

Thank you for reading as always! Don’t forget to let me know your thoughts in the comments!

Nothing is as it seems.

Ainbheartach closed the book with a snap and a scoff. He tossed the tome aside. It landed with a clatter in the pile of gold coins next to his reading chair. He grumbled as he rose from his seat to peruse the kitchen. That story had almost spoiled his appetite. Bheart (what Ainbheartach’s friends would call him if he had any) absolutely loathed sappy endings.

“Nothing is as it seems,” he mocked as he made his way to the kitchen through the precarious pathways between the towering piles of riches. In every room, corner, and crevice of his home, there was gold. Coins, bars, jewelry, cutlery, trophies, anything you could think of from floor to ceiling. He couldn’t even breach the threshold of the spare bedroom anymore as it was completely filled. That was neither here nor there because he’d never had a visitor.

He pulled out a bag of stale marshmallows from his pantry. “Nothing more original, eh?” He balked, still thinking about that ending.

Bheart opened the sweet bag and dumped the contents straight into his mouth. The marshmallow dust settled into his red, stringy beard. He let out a rattling belch and scratched his stomach. Abandoning the bag on the counter, he gave a prolonged, loud stretch.

“Mreow.”

Bheart jumped at the sudden appearance of his cat perched on the countertop. She moved with such stealth she was practically more shadow than cat. She batted the edge of the marshmallow bag.

“Don’t you dare, Neasa.”

Without blinking and in direct defiance of her master, Neasa smacked the bag off the counter. The marshmallows scattered every which way across the floor like cotton dollops in between the gold.

At least it hadn’t been anything valuable this time.

As if reading his mind, Neasa eyed the open cabinetry. Bheart lunged to snatch her, but she had already vaulted herself up to the top shelf. In a graceful show of noncompliance, the black cat weaved through the items on the shelf, sending several tumbling downwards.

Bheart instinctively caught a goblet teetering towards him, but a lovely, gold framed mirror shattered against the stone floor before he could act. An ancient, golden crown followed the mirror, landing with a smash. Many of its inlaid jewels popped out and skittered into the pile of gold pieces and marshmallows.

“Neasa! What a mess!”

Unbothered, the cat stared down. Tail flicking smuggly, she raised a paw and began to groom herself. The bell on her collar jingled as she went about her business.

Why did he even keep her around anyway? She never offered Bheart any real affection. The only thing she did was break stuff.

“I’ll deal with you later.” He waggled a finger and then scratched his dandruffed head. “But first, I have important things to do today.”

Inventory.

He’d already scoured through every room of his house this week. Every few weeks Bheart took to the task of counting every coin, every trinket, every treasure systematically. Truthfully, inventory was less about the cataloguing and more about that delicious feeling of cool gold against his skin. The smell of the metal that lingered on his fingers. The little rush he got inspecting each piece and knowing it was in his hands - precious and safe.

Even the treasures Neasa had broken over the years were still valuable to Bheart. Treasure was still treasure whether in one piece or many.

Today, it was time to inventory the garden.

He had taken up every spare inch of his house already. Thus, in a moment of creativity one day, Bheart buried his spoils. His garden now always boasted fresh tilled earth, overflowing with wealth. But despite the surplus, he still recalled exactly the treasure every plot held.

Bheart took inventory for several reasons: savoring his winnings, filling his idle time, and most importantly, calming his uncontrollable anxiety that somehow, someway, someone had found his collection. He shuddered even thinking about losing a single piece.

He put on his boots by the front door and took his sun hat off the hook. If he didn’t protect himself his skin would end up looking just as red as his hair. Bheart grabbed the trowel from the porch and set to work. Even though he knew what buried treasure he would find, there was still a tingle at his fingertips and a bright curve to his thin-lipped mouth.

As he began to dig in his first garden plot with his trowel, he mused about his own genius (a favorite pastime).

There wasn’t another leprechaun alive with the trove he had. Too many of his people were caught up in the “traditional” way of doing things. Shoemaking? Cobbling? Bah. Most lephrecahun’s natural knack for tricks went completely wasted. But not Bheart.

He uncovered a bag of gold coins and some gold-plated figurines in the first plot. Just as expected.

Over the last thousand years, Bheart had proven himself more cunning, more crafty, more talented. He liked to think he took after an acquaintance of his – Rumpelstiltskin. While not a leprechaun, Rumple had a similar lust for all that glittered. But even he was horribly misguided, giving away his beautifully spun gold for something as useless as a first-born child.

No, Bheart had learned from other’s failings. It was actually quite simple once you learned the quirks of the faefolk.

Brownies? Offer them some new clothes. A nice sweater or even a warm pair of socks worked. Once lured into a salt circle with this simple offering, Bheart bargained. He would release the brownie if they turned out their pockets.

He turned to the second garden plot, finding three solid gold bars and a handful of wedding rings. After confirming his items were all right where he expected them to be, he started on the third plot.

Dryads and elves? Those self-obsessed beings could be tricked with a mirror and a mushroom ring. Their own vanity did all the work for him. Puca? The shapeshifters may possess illusion magic, but all he required were a few tinkling bells. Once distracted, he just needed to pluck a few hairs to bring them to heel.

The loot of the third plot reminded him of another faefolk target of his. He ran his dirty, hairy fingers over the golden faucet he’d ripped from the sink of a high fae’s bathroom.

High fae were a little more difficult to trick. They couldn’t be trapped with anything simple like a salt circle. However, they couldn’t resist an opportunity to show off their “superior” intellect. Outsmarting them with a riddle worked just fine. And when they failed? Well, a payment of gold was certainly fair. Even when he gave them an unsolvable riddle, the high fae’s silly “integrity” meant they still had to fork over the goods.

The various faefolk he encountered often swore to hunt him down and make him pay for his duplicity. So far, none of those promises of retribution had been kept. Bheart was too good, too smart.

Clink.

Bheart halted his digging in the fourth garden plot. Nothing should have made a clink noise in this plot. He distinctly remembered burying a solid gold statue of a lion here. That’s strange.

He brushed away the layers of dirt and, rather than his statue, he found a glass bottle. Bheart pulled it, clearing off the muck. He had not buried this. Which meant… someone else had. Panic flickered awake like a forest fire catching its first timber alight.

Robbed! One of those threats had finally come to fruition. He could hardly believe it. Bheart raised the bottle up to the light and observed a slip of paper inside.

Cracking the cork with shaking hands, he unrolled the message. He read:

“You thieve with vice and with pride,

But fail to see what you hide.

If this gold is yours true and none else can claim,

solve this riddle and the treasure is yours to tame.

Always beside you and perhaps a clinger,

I follow, I mirror, I break, I linger.

What am I?”

A ransom note! A riddle. His poor, lovely, golden lion. He pulled his hat off and wiped his brow while he paced. A riddle meant a trap. Didn’t he know that best?

“Oh, but I must bring my prize home!” Bheart mused desperately while chewing his grimey finger nails. “It’s most certainly a shadow, yes? But… that feels too obvious. There must be a trick. An answer that’s less opaque and crafted just for me.”

He paced and paced while re-reading.

A shadow certainly might have worked as the answer, but so would… Suddenly, it came to him.

Enraged, Bheart’s gaze shot to the house. He sauntered back across the yard, throwing open the front door and plodding into the kitchen where Neasa still groomed herself.

Bheart waved the sheet of paper in the air. “You thought you had me tricked! Ha! The answer to your riddle is not a shadow. It’s you.”

Neasa stared back with indifference. The leprechaun breathed heavily, entertaining a staring contest with his cat. They lingered frozen and staring for so long he began to question whether he was, indeed, a fool.

“Very well done.” A female voice finally spoke from that fanged maw. “I attempted to deceive you, but, alas, I have lost.”

The cat sauntered across the countertop. As she hopped off and landed on the stone floor, his Neasa transformed. The creature - in human form and quite beautiful - tinkled the bell of her collar which was now clasped around her wrist. A puca.

“I should have known,” Bheart hissed.

“Yes, you should have.”

He bared his crooked teeth at the lady in his kitchen. “But I won! Return my treasure to me!”

The puca nodded in defeat. “Your golden lion is where you left it.”

Bheart huffed, satisfied. “Now, get out of my house and never come back. Otherwise, I’ll trap you like I have so many others. But for you,” he shot a finger at her. “There would be no bargaining. I’ll keep you bound for eternity for this treachery, puca.” He spat the last word like a curse.

He breezed out of the kitchen and to his front door with a singing heart.

Once again, the great Ainbheartach proved he stood above all others. None could best him.

“No more house pets,” he growled as he threw open the front door. Only to stand nose-to-nose with a full-sized lion – incredibly golden and incredibly alive.

Teeth bared, mane unruly, and wild eyes securely focused on its prey. Bheart froze in the shadow of the fearsome animal. No, no, no. The first lines of the note returned to him.

The treasure will be yours to tame.

The massive lion opened its jaw and rows of lethal teeth smiled back. Bheart screamed. As fast as his tottering frame could manage, he stumbled into the trees with the lion leisurely jogging after its meal.

~ ~ ~ ~

Several hours later, the puca in her feline form lounged on the porch. She could distantly hear the leprechaun screaming in terror. Although, the howls of fright were getting fainter as he ran further into the depths of the trees.

While her illusion wouldn’t last forever, it would be enough.

The high fae woman dug her golden faucet out from the third garden plot with a fuss. Her pure white garbs had been dirtied, but she clutched her possession close to her chest in triumph. Huffing with a mix of disdain and gratitude, the high fae nodded once at the puca before sauntering off into the trees.

The cat stretched - lazy and prolonged - on the leprechaun’s front porch as dozens upon dozens of faefolk filtered in and pilfered Bheart’s trove. The delicious warmth of the sun’s rays against her fur coaxed out a wide yawn.

Before falling into a self-satisfied nap, the puca chuckled as a dryad stepped over her, clutching a large bag of coin.

“Indeed, Bheart. Nothing is as it seems.”