Country Matters

 Here's another of the Tales from the Green Man.  It's going into the Halloween anthology, 'Tales from the Unknown', and I've ordered a proof, having tied Simon to the computer until he finished this and threatened him with the fae.

Country Matters

 

The village pub, the Green Man, was an anachronism. The original half timbered building was fourteenth century with the brickwork and tiles made of local clays. The few alterations and additions over the years were in harmony with the original building and somehow added to its charm rather than detracting from it. The more destructive aspects of history; wars, rebellions and plagues seemed to have passed it by. Inside, the building was the paradigm of the ‘old English pub’. There were no electrical or electronic entertainments and the exposed roof beams, wood panelling and floors were English oak blackened with age. The horse brasses and other ornaments were genuine antiques. Electric light was one of the few concessions to modernity albeit provided by realistic looking artificial candles. The beer was superlative and was rated at five stars by the Campaign for Real Ale, while the food, cooked on the premises not bought in, might have rated a Michelin star had not the reviewer been unable to recall anything about his meal and therefore never bothered to send in a report. Many times in recent years brewery chains had sent representatives to enquire about purchasing the pub, but these people always found something to report which discouraged their employers from pursuing the matter further. The pub’s customers were mostly local although there were a steady stream of those from further afield as word had spread about the quality of the food and drink. The local patrons were those perfectly at home in such a place, down to the white haired old man sitting by the fire in the most comfortable chair in the place.

His name was Godwin, the patrons thought he sat near the fire because he felt the cold due to his age. Godwin liked to sit near the fire as people would often congregate and talk near it. He liked to look into the fire as it helped him remember things that had gone before, while eavesdropping avidly on these conversations although he felt not the slightest shame in so doing. Indeed he understood the concept of shame only vaguely even after watching humans for millennia. For Godwin was  of the fae.

 

 

On the other side of the fireplace a young man and young woman were deep in talk. It was obvious from the strained timbre of their voices that they would be shouting if they were not trying to conceal the fact that they were arguing. The young man was tall and handsome with reddish blond hair and green eyes. The tanned nature of his skin testified to the amount of time he spent outdoors. The young woman was much shorter, blond haired and blue eyed and her skin showed a healthy colour. She was pretty and rather full figured and was the type to age into chubbiness and pleasant-featured ordinariness.

 

“I’ve been trying to tell you Rupert, I’m pregnant,” she said, obviously keeping her voice soft with an effort.

“Are you sure, Jane?” Rupert replied in a loud whisper.

“Yes. I’m six weeks late, and besides, the test kit showed positives,” she hissed.

“You stupid cow, why didn’t you take precautions?” Rupert almost growled.

“You said you loved me Rupert. I thought we were going to get married so having a baby would be what you wanted,” Tears had sprung into eyes. “You kept talking about wanting a son to carry on the family line, I thought you were talking about having one me,”

“Little idiot, I only said that to get into your knickers,” Rupert whispered scornfully. “Seducing a virgin is great fun, and you didn’t need a lot of persuading.”

“Well I’ll sue you for child support then, you pig,” Jane with said, her voice rising close to a normal level.

“Try and see how far you get,” sneered Rupert, at almost equal volume. “My family are rich landowners and you’re just a jumped up little tart with a pretty face and hot body. Our lawyers can tie up the case for years and you can’t afford that. Besides, you enjoyed yourself; just get an abortion and chalk it up to experience.”

Jane slapped Rupert, hard, the sound breaking through the normal murmurs of conversation, causing them to cease. Jane then burst into tears and ran out of the door, leaving it to bang behind her. All eyes turned to Rupert, then turned away as he glared at the other pub denizens. The sounds of conversations gradually returned to their previous level.

Godwin had observed many, many variations of that scene over the years, but this one required his intervention.

 

Godwin muttered to himself as he did occasionally. No one understood these mutterings, which was not surprising as the language he was speaking was old when the first Neolithic hunters crept cautiously onto the land revealed by the melting ice sheets. Most of his mutterings were poetry that he composed, but today he muttered words of power, words that called. He called to his sister, Rosamund. That was not her true name, but the one she used on her infrequent forays among humanity. He used it to himself so that he didn’t reveal her name accidentally; names have power.

 

Godwin never muttered enough that the locals were concerned about possible senility. Any signs of such would have given rise to genuine concern, for Godwin was popular with the locals. Nobody ever seemed to remember that Godwin was the same white haired old man who had been sitting by the fire for generation after generation.

 

Rupert had retired to a table in a small nook with a pint of ale and glowered at everyone, brooding. Ale was still brewed here as Godwin liked ale, he had never got used to the bitter taste of beer despite it being introduced to England centuries ago. Though it would be hard to untangle the legal documents, Godwin owned the inn. As well as sundry other property in the village. So the landlord was chosen for his ability to brew. He made mead, as well; but that was not generally available.

 

Godwin smiled as the door opened to admit his sister.

Unlike Godwin, Rosamund did not bother with the glamour of age. Every eye turned to look at her.

They always did.

Godwin was used to this.  This place where the interface between his world and the human world was thin, fae visitors were not rare, but they always caused a reaction. At least Rosamund did not have to deal with the battering of the unconscious magic of Peter, the Seventh Son of a Seventh Son and his palpable waves of love and hatred for... what was her name... Langoreth, the unseelie princess who took her teind from amongst the locals.

It was not Godwin's place to interfere. Unless she fastened her ancient gaze on any of his descendents. Like Peter. But then, Peter could protect himself; and his great nephew.

Rosamund sashayed into the place like she owned it.  She might as well; it belonged to her brother. Like many of the houses in the village. Rosamund's hair was honey-coloured, and her eyes were a deep green. Her features were even, smooth, high cheek-boned, and elfin, and the perfection of the modelling went all the way down her body, which went in and out in all the right places, without going either in too much or out too much. She was not a big-breasted country girl like the apple-cheeked Jane, but she knew how to use what she had. Or what she chose to present. She came over to Godwin and kissed him on each cheek.

"You're looking well, Bodoc," she said.

"Godwin," said Godwin, irritably. He had not gone as Bodoc for a milennium and a half. She waved a hand. It was immaterial to her what name he wore. Names, like clothes, covered times and places. And this name was close enough to Rosula, the name she bore of right.

"Hey, Godwin! introduce me to the young lady!" called Rupert.

"She’s my great-niece, you couldn't handle her," said Godwin.

Rosamund's eyes asked a quick question; the silent communion between siblings answered her. He's the one.

Rosamund let her eyes flick indifferently across Rupert, and she went to the bar to get a drink.

Rupert's pique went into overdrive. He challenged a friend to a game of darts, and proceeded to show how he was a natural shot.  Godwin had to grant the boy that accolade, he really was good at any sport he took up.

Including archery. He would make a decent showing against many of the fae... those who did not take it seriously, anyway.

Rosamund ate peanuts, one by one, allowing Rupert to appreciate her beautiful mouth.  She had asked for a straw with her vodka and coke as well.

Rupert's eyes bulged almost as much as his trousers as she sucked on the straw. Rosamund toyed with the straw with long, delicate fingers. She crossed her legs on the bar-stool, and her skirt rode up a little.

Rupert was wondering how to get her attention.

The poor fool was unaware that she was giving him all her attention.

She finished her drink, and slid off her stool, with the grace of a cat. Before Rupert knew what was happening, she was out of the door; and Rupert could do nothing but follow.

Peter came over to Godwin.

"She's one of you and she's playing," he said, accusingly.

"Only to teach him some manners, boy," said Godwin. "She's not like the other,”

Peter had not been called 'boy' for many decades. But he was the only one who noticed and remembered that Godwin had been an old man when he was a child.

"I don't have to like it," he said.

"Hush. There's more at play than an oversized ego in a boy's trousers," said Godwin.

 

Rupert found that the beautiful woman had gone further than he might have imagined; and she was heading into the wood. The wood his father owned. And somehow, her hair was almost glowing, as if sunlight lay on it, even as the twilight fell upon the late summer evening in the village, light enough for a game of knockabout cricket on the green, but after sunset. Except in her hair. And she moved more briskly; and Rupert had to run to try to keep up.

A shimmering mist almost concealed her from view; and he passed through it into a world of strange light from all around, like the light on her hair. And she had stopped.

Her shapely fingernails grew, and she raked one forefinger all the way down Rupert's chest, and lower, cutting away his clothing as if it did not exist, and leaving a long, red, bloody mark from throat to the end of his manhood.

"Rupert, you've been a naughty boy," said Rosamund. "And you need to learn a few things,”

 

Rupert’s arousal, which had been almost painful as he had followed Rosamund, almost vanished with the sudden shock of pain. It came back in greater force as Rosamund slowly and gracefully danced while removed her clothing with elegance and poise. Rupert had never seen a more beautiful and seductive woman in his life. He wondered if this was some strange kink Rosamund had, he didn’t care as he wanted this woman as he had never wanted any woman before. He wanted to rush forward and embrace her, to possess her, but he couldn’t move from where he stood.

 

And then the ululations began.

 

From the mist came shadowy figures that resolved themselves into naked beautiful women. They were like, and yet unlike Rosamund. Their features were sharper, their bodies leaner, their hair, blond, red and dark flowed about their heads in wild abandon, and they all had long sharp claws instead of fingernails.

“These are my kinswomen, Rupert,” said Rosamund, “they wanted to meet you.”

A dark haired woman came forward and placed her hands on his ribcage running her hands up and down his flanks. Rupert wondered if Rosamund had arranged some kind of orgy and then the hands moving sensuously raked his flesh, drawing blood.

“Luscious,” The woman said, then she opened her ruby lipped mouth to reveal it was full of impossibly sharp teeth across which a long tongue licked. Rupert’s arousal died and he screamed.

 

“Run!” Shouted Rosamund. “Run, little boy!”

 

Rupert, freed from whatever had held him, ran. As he did so, he could hear those women, if they were women and not fiends from hell, running behind him, making weird cries and whoops that chilled his blood. Interspersed with this was a mocking laughter, in Rosamund’s voice. He ran through the undergrowth, ignoring the scratches and bumps he collected. His confused mind thought that if he could only outdistance his pursuers, get out of the wood he would be safe. Somewhere, deep in his subconscious, was the folk memory that woods were dangerous.

For a few moments, Rupert imagined he was outdistancing the women, when he heard cries coming from ahead of him on his left. He turned to the right and continued running, only to hear cries from his right. Desperately he turned back only to hear the unearthly ululations coming from directly ahead. In full panic he now ran blindly hither and thither, with cries and laughter coming at him from all directions. Suddenly awareness crashed into Rupert’s whirling mind that the trees he was running around, and occasionally into, were not those of the forest he knew so well. No oak trees that large grew in his family’s tree plantations and there were other trees that he didn’t even know the names of. Minutes, hours, days, Rupert never knew how long he ran, in terror, until he stumbled on a thick root and crashed to the ground. Totally exhausted he could do nothing but pant in trepidation. The cries of his pursuers faded into quiet, broken only by a single set of approaching footsteps. With immense effort Rupert turned his head towards the sound. Rosamund was approaching him with a slight smile on her lips. The sight of her naked body no longer aroused him, rather the reverse. She walked up to him, looked unspeaking at him for a few moments, then departed. For the first time in his life Rupert fainted.

 

When Rupert’s awareness returned to him, he was lying in a comfortable bed under warm blankets and soft sheets. The roof above him was steeply pitched and made of thatch. The window in the wall at the foot of the bed held no glass but the shutters were open. Rupert’s heart beat fast, where was he, for that matter, when was he? Had Rosamund sent him through a time warp to the Middle Ages? After what he had been through he was certain of nothing.

 

“Ah, you’re awake,” said a voice he knew. He turned to the sound, and seeing the speaker he sighed with relief. It was old Godwin. He hadn’t been taken... who knew where... or even who knew when.

“Let me help you sit up,” said Godwin, fitting actions to words. “Drink this,” he continued, thrusting a wooden goblet into Rupert’s hand. He drank gratefully, not recognising the warm liquid within. The flavour was... elusive. Whatever it was, he was beginning to feel better.

“You’re in my cottage, and quite safe,” the old man said, “but we need to talk,”

“Rosamund, I remember her... and the woods..,” Richard’s voice trailed off.

“Rosamund called you a naughty boy, but she wasn’t being playful, as she used the old meaning,” Godwin said. “When kings talked about ‘naughty rebels’ they meant something serious. Your behaviour towards women, Rupert, is very naughty. Women, particularly women of the village, are not your playthings. Women as well as being caring and nurturing life-givers, are capable of extreme violence, especially in defence of their children. I think you now understand a little more what women are capable of.”

“The wood... Rosamund... those women, what happened, what are they?” Rupert asked, trying to wring some order from his hazy memories of terror.

“Yesterday, I could not have told you the truth without your mocking disbelief,” Godwin said. “Today, I think you will be more receptive. Rosamund, her kinswomen that you met, and I, are of the fae. Your behaviour with women isn’t acceptable, particularly towards poor Jane. Your father never really understood the village, or its ways. That’s partly as he is an incomer, but also because he is arrogant, as are you. When you told Jane callously to get an abortion, I heard your father speaking. You are going to change,”

“What’s it got to do with you?” Rupert said with a flash of defiance.

“A great deal,” replied Godwin. “After all, I am your great, great grandfather,”

“You can’t be, that’s not...” Rupert trailed off.

Without word or gesture the years slipped away from Godwin, showing his true form as a young handsome man, with hair like Rosamund’s. He looked remarkably like Rupert. Rupert gasped.

“Rosamund is my sister,” Godwin said, smiling. “We are the same age.” Godwin considered the three hundred odd years between him and his sister to be a trivial difference.

“You are going to have to decide what to do about Jane,” Godwin said sternly. “She wants to keep the baby,”

“How do you know?” Rupert asked.

“I know most of what goes on in the village,” Godwin replied, “although it’s common knowledge that your parents occupy separate wings of the manor, I know why. When you were an infant, your mother wanted to perform an old ceremony, that used to be done to all village children, and many still keep it up. Your father didn’t want his son to take part in ‘stupid superstition’, and when your mother insisted, he beat her quite badly. That’s when they began living separate lives. He never beat her again though, his nightmares were terrible, and lasted until he apologised sincerely. For treating my great granddaughter so, he got off lightly,” A hard look came into Godwin’s eyes, and Rupert shuddered, remembering a similar expression in Rosamund’s the last time she looked at him.

“I can’t marry Jane, I really can’t,” Rupert said hurriedly. “I couldn’t stand to live with her, I’d end up killing either her or myself. She’s....,”

“Good looking enough for a quick tumble, foolish enough to believe you would marry her, and pliable enough to persuade her to bed you, you mean?” Godwin said, with a stern expression.

“Yes,” replied Rupert, sheepishly, looking down and blushing. “I... I ought to do something, but I’m not sure what. That’s what I was trying to decide when Rosamund came in, and you know the rest. I shouted at her because I was scared of what my father would say... or do. He’s quite capable of having her forcibly taken to a clinic to be aborted.”

“You will acknowledge the child when she is born...,” Godwin began.

“How do you know... oh, sorry,” Rupert said abashed as Godwin looked at him sardonically.

“And as well as supporting her and Jane financially, you will spend time in your child’s life,” He continued. “And you will not treat any woman in such a way in the future,”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Said Rupert, “I think I’m off women for good. Not only do I not want to, but I’m not even sure I could, not after those women..,”

“That won’t do at all,” Godwin announced. He touched his hand to Rupert’s forehead. “You will still remember what happened, but it won’t affect you so badly. I have plans for you,”

“Godwin, I want to do something to help Jane, she’s right I did behave like a pig, but I don’t think I can,” Rupert said, in distress, not really taking in Godwin’s last comment.

“What do you mean?” Asked Godwin with a frown.

“Well, my allowance,” Rupert began, “my father’d only grumble about me paying for an abortion for a girl, but I couldn’t afford to keep a child and her mother on my allowance and there is no way that he would give me any more for something like that.  I wasn’t joking about what I think he might do.”

“Your family is very well off,” Godwin said.

“Yes, but my father has a project in hand and as well as using our money, he’s been visiting potential investors to raise more money. He wants to raze the wood to the ground and build as many houses as he can squeeze on the land. I hate the thought of the woods where I used to play as a child being destroyed, but he’s adamant. We don’t even need the money, he just wants more,” Rupert sounded in genuine distress.

“You aren’t very fond of your father, are you?” Godwin asked.

“Not really, I think I realised some time ago that he’s a bully,” Rupert replied. “He tries to bully mother, but she just ignores him, and I now know why he won’t hit her. He bullies me though, so I tend to take it out on other people. What happened in the woods, I seem to see things more clearly now, and realise what’s really been going on. Why do you ask?”

“That project will not be going through,” Godwin stated flatly. “When your father next goes to the wood, he must go alone.  And you must be seen elsewhere.”

Rupert shuddered, but said nothing.

 

The theory of General Relativity teaches us that powerful gravitational forces warp space and time. That this is not the only thing which does so is well known to those beings known as the fae.