Once. Part 18

Nevertheless, faint stirrings in his memory bank could not be denied, the sudden snap-visions of playing and talking with tiny folk in the woods, little people who resembled human beings, but who were different in so many ways, could not easily be dismissed. Yet they were just that, snapshots that had scant substance, for they were not complete, had no beginnings or end. Still he remembered the tales hismother had told him, stories of small people who loved to play and dance, who could be very naughty, but who often liked to help the 'big' people in their times of trouble. Fairytales of bewitchment and wonder, kindness and cruelty, magic and mischief, sadness and joy. He recalled them as fantasies; now he was not so sure, now he wondered if they were true accounts of another life that Bethan had known intimately, one which she had wished to share with her young son. No, he resisted. Surely not, it just wasn't possible. And yet...

As he and Jennet trekked further into the woods and he listened to her light sing-song voice with its peculiarly distant huskiness, Thom realized he was beginning to see and sense more clearly than ever before: the colours of the forest, its

perfumes, the piquancy of its exhalation - yes, the forest breathed - and even the vibrations of its bioma.s.s, the trees, the flora, the vegetation, every G.o.dd.a.m.n single blade of gra.s.s and leaf, he could see and sense it all, and he could hear it sing its own vitality. It was almost overwhelming. And there was still more to come.

Jennet, who was ahead once more, unaware that the a.s.sault on Thom's senses had slowed his progress, waited for him inside a small clearing.

'Are you all right, Thom?' she called back anxiously when she saw him frown.

'Uh, yeah. I think so. I seem to be getting a bit lightheaded though.'

Her smile returned. 'Come on, catch up. Let's see what we can do about it.'

Again her outstretched hand invited him to her and this time, when he took it, she pulled him forward.

A familiar charge of electricity ran up his arm and through his body at her touch and he shivered, not with shock, but with delight. She surprised him by raising her other hand to his face, palm flat and facing upwards, long slender fingers pointed at his stubbled chin. Before he could protest, she had pursed her lips and softly blown across her open palm.

If it had not sparkled as it billowed, the powdery dust that filled the air between them would have been invisible. Where it had come from he had no idea, but it filled his nostrils and open mouth instantly. He felt the minuscule particles being absorbed by his skin, a brief tingling sensation that was not unpleasant; the powder(?) carried no smell and its irritation - a tickling really - was minimal. But its effect was astonishing.

Like some fast-working, high-powered and highly illegal drug, it sharpened his senses - all five, plus one other - to a

degree that might have been frightening had it not also had a warming, calming effect. It was then that the world around him became almost surreal in its explicit reality.

He began to see things as they truly were, without the mind's own inbuilt proclivity towards conformity and order; he saw the world around him as it was meant to be (and perhaps, once was) seen had not the human brain become cluttered with a.s.sumptions and prejudices, development its enemy rather than ally, progression a blinding foe. Thom became aware of the wildlife not only in his vicinity, but well beyond hisrange of vision also; he could sense, hear and smell the woodland animals' presence even though they were far out of sight. And he watched the wildlife that was before him in the same way, seeing and perceiving, sensing and feeling, as if he were part of them, they were part of him. He saw the fox ignore the rabbit, the fawn dance with the hare, the mole's game of hide-and-seek with the wood-mouse, the moth encourage the late caterpillar, and he knew that as his view of these creatures had changed so, too, had their view of him. He was no longer a threat, he was of their kingdom, an accepted member of their habitat.

As Jennet quietly drew him on still further, he began to see the faerefolkis again, only this time they were even more lucid; they were also less inhibited, as though they, too, accepted him in their world.

Tiny coruscations of light emerged as winged faeries. They played together and with the sudden abundance of b.u.t.terflies, several mounted on their insect counterparts, riding them as if they were flying horses, while still more trailed behind using silken threads as reins.

He almost tripped over a green imp who squatted on the poorly defined path, like a thin frog with 'human' limbs and features; stalks of gra.s.s grew from its back and otherwise bald dome of a head as part of its very nature. It watched balefully and made no effort to shift as Thom cautiously stepped around it.

Two muddy-green and brown pixies sat conversing on a fallen tree trunk, each of them about ten inches high and resembling wizened old men; wrinkles ravaged their thin faces and long pointed ears, and their slitted eyes were totally black. Tall brown hats of aged leather bobbed as they nodded their heads together in agreement and they hardly acknowledged Thom and Jennet as they pa.s.sed by.

'Krad and Detnuah,' Jennet whispered leaning into Thom. They're always philosophizing about something or other without ever coming up with a conclusion. They get cross if they're disturbed, so tread carefully and say nothing.'

Bright silvery-blue faeries and imps played leap-frog together, jumping over a cl.u.s.ter of mushrooms, the former's fluttering wings making them master of the game. Their flutey high-whistling sound quickly became laughter and happy cries to Thom's ears.

As they approached an ancient oak that must have been growing in this part of the woods for the last three hundred years, Thom thought he noticed movement in its bark, but when he drew close he realized hundreds of tiny brown creatures were squirming and writhing on its surface in some mad slithering dance, their limbs intertwined, naked little bodies wriggling through gaps, tiny ugly faces grimacing as if each suffered their own private torment. Soft moans and wails came from them and he looked at Jennet in dismay.

She, herself, avoided looking at the oak and its moving cloak of misery and hurried on, urging Thom to follow quickly.

Her lovely face wrinkled in disdain. We call that the Punishment Tree. It's for all those elves and pixies who do harm that can never again be set right. It's their shame and despair that makes them wriggle so and each miscreant is there for a hundred years until they die and drop off like rotting bark. By doing that they make room for the next offender - the waiting list is enormous. If a human comes by, they freeze and become the oak itself, their torture interrupted until the unaware traveller pa.s.ses by.'

Thom shuddered inwardly and they swiftly moved on. The sudden downturn in his mood lifted when he spotted a little fellow puffing away on a cornpipe while sitting almost invisible among the ferns. He was stroking his long brown beard, muttering happily to himself and taking no notice of Thom and Jennet until they were nearly upon him. Even then, he merely grinned and waved a hand in greeting, continuing to puff away at the pipe and talk to himself at the same time.

'Good-day, Ekulf,' Jennet bid him cheerily, and it was only then that Thom saw many, many other faces among the lush shrubbery, all eyes directed at the pipe-smoking speaker in their midst. Up close, Thom could make out faces and shoulders, and here and there almost complete bodies; all of the listeners, who seemed enraptured by the tale being told - Ekulf had not been muttering to himself at all - were green in colour and wore green and blue clothing, which was why Thom had not noticed them right away.

'Sometimes he's called Trebreh,' Jennet was saying quietly as they continued to walk, 'and sometimes Semaj, depending on what story he's telling. He claims to know all the old ones, the sad ones, the happy ones, and all the ancient riddles and songs, but sometimes I'm sure he makes them up as he goes along.'

Everywhere Thom looked there was some kind of activity, although more than once he had to concentrate hard to discern what was going on even with his heightened perception. Faeries, sheer wings sometimes twice as large as their own bodies, flitted among the trees and undergrowth, but particularly around the brightest of the flowers or coloured toadstools, chasing each other, calling out or singing, floating by hand-in-hand, in groups of three, eight, or a dozen, enjoying themselves on the perfect summer's day. Others copulated unashamedly together, their tiny

bodies full of vigour and glowing radiantly, lights flaring outwards from their wingtips in fantastic fireworks displays as they achieved o.r.g.a.s.m, all giving out their tiny ecstatic shrieks full of verve and melody. And although Thom's face reddened and his jaw dropped in momentary shock, he realized that, as orgies go, this was as innocent and joyous as could be.

Ruefully, he turned to Jennet, who gave him a beaming smile.

'Isn't it wonderful?' she said.

He could only nod his head in exaggerated fashion.

Further on, a bald-headed gnome sat in the middle of a stagnant shallow pond, his doleful eyes watching their approach, just his head and shoulders visible above the slimy surface, a single dewdrop hanging from his long, sharp nose; as Thom pa.s.sed by an ivy-bound tree, a green face smiled out at him, only a slight movement and widening mouth revealing its presence; a creature with an extended snout for a nose and high-peaked ears, its head, neck and back bristling with quills so that it resembled a hedgehog, scurried across their path; more blue-coloured faeries, bodies sleek in their nakedness, played among a carpet of bluebells, while others, pink, silver, and purple, sat watching contentedly on plants and leaves, jabbering in their high-pitched but beautiful voices, many of them greeting Jennet with excited waves of their hands or fluttering of gossamer wings; there were even more in a vast golden glade they reached, both brilliant and pastel colours everywhere, some faeries wearing rich vibrant crimsons and mauves, others attired in graceful and transparent shifts, pixies and elves dressed in leather or cloth jerkins, while imps went about entirely clothesless, with inconsequential -and pointed, Thom noticed - genitals exposed to the air, no body hair on them at all save for long, unkempt tresses hanging from headto shoulders.

Jennet called out to all and sundry, reeling out their

names to Thom as she indicated each one - Srehto, Cigam, Hanoj, Obidiah, t.i.tus, Rial, Ulick, Toby, Star, Enirhs, Noom, Philibert, Niamod, Rufus, the list seemed endless and most of the like he had never heard before - Osric, Erhclupes, Rovivrus, Troth, on and on it went, until he could only shake his head in defeat.

'Just don't ask me to repeat them all,' he said, holding up his hands.

Laughing, she pointed out the various types of faerefolkis, the goblin, the pixie, the elf, the bogle, the sylph, the elemental, redcap and boggart, until once again he protested, his head reeling from the scene itself let alone the names and variety. But he laughed himself as he watched these glorious (mostly) creatures enjoy themselves in the sun, the picture before him rich and dazzling with activity and vivid spectacle.

Their forms depend mainly on you, Thom,' Jennet told him, in a way reaffirming what Rigwit had said the night before. Tour own eyes and mind interpret their energies to whatever is acceptable to you.'

'But some aren't acceptable. Some are just plain horrible.'

Those are cloaked in the nature of what they are and your thoughts are telling you so. You're also influenced a little by human depictions you may have seen in the past. Fortunately not too many of the nasty ones lurk in the sunlight - the night is their friend, the blacker the better. Some of them adopt their own version of the human shape, but because they're weak and nasty, they become ugly, distorted, parodies of earthly creatures.'

Thom shivered as he caught sight of a being that was hiding from them among the shadows of the surrounding trees; it was either too stupid to conceal itself properly, or it wished to frighten them with glimpses of its demeanour. Its body was a murky grey, its back hunched alarmingly, and its arms - and legs, Thom could only a.s.sume, because he could not see them - were as thin as matchsticks. It glared

at them with evil yellow eyes and its muzzle of a nose quivered as it grunted and snuffled quietly.

'Gladback is one who shouldn't really visit the daytime,' said Jennet, glaring back at the creature, who seemed visibly to shrink. That's why he's keeping to the shade. He's a wicked fellow who likes to torment babies when the parents are sleeping. Now shoo, Gladback! Go back to your pit until the sun's gone!'

The ghastly dark brute was gone in a trice as though in fear of Jennet and her scolding.

'Its kind are usually cowards,' she said, lips set grim for a moment. 'And listen, Thom: don't ever believe those who say faeries can only be seen by humans through a good heart, because that's nonsense; as I told you before, you see us through your eyes and your mind - all your heart does is pump bloodthrough your body.'

He grinned at the casual demolishment of romanticism. So much for poets and certain storytellers ...

He and Jennet strolled hand in hand, like young lovers, deeper and deeper into the woods and, had it not been for the position of the sun high in the clearest of blue skies, Thom feared he would be completely lost. The woodland covered a vast area of the Bleeth estate, but he had thought he knew most of it; again he realized there were places here he had never visited. Yet occasionally as they wandered, he had a transient sense of deja vu, as though once before, a long time ago, he had come upon these same places and some of these same sights.

By now he was beginning to recognize the disparate castes among the faerefolkis, a difference between elf and imp, sylph and elemental, boggart and bogle, and even more easily, those who were kind and those who were unkind; all were fascinating, all were incredible.

Two elves, both of whom resembled Rigwit, except that one had a flowing white beard that reached his plump stomach, while the other had merely a long white drooping

moustache, sat round a sawn-off tree stump (sawn-off by whom? he wondered), using the rings and ray lines of its flat surface as some kind of circular chessboard, painted half-acorn sh.e.l.ls as chequers. They frowned with concentration and, when one made a move, the other clapped heartily at the ingenuity of the play.

'Gof and Raeps,' Jennet said softly in Thom's ear. 'Always playing the same game.'

*Who usually wins?' he whispered back.

'No one yet.'

"What?' "

She put a straight finger against her pursed lips, his exclamation a little too loud.

They've only been playing for three years. No one's won yet,' she said. We're very privileged to see Gof make a move.'

Thom craned his neck to watch the two absorbed elves as he and Jennet tiptoed past, then turned back with a bemused expression.

The previous game lasted twenty years,' his companion informed him gravely.

They journeyed on, faery and human, strangely (for Thom) in communion with each other, glorying in the wood's very nature, the sun and then the shade on their faces, the constant activity around them and the hustle of animals, the man awestruck but gradually sinking into an acceptance of everything and the beautiful, neverworld nymphet delighting in her role as teacher. They trod lightly, unwilling to disturb anything they might come upon along the way, and although Jennet talked and Thom listened with occasional questions, they began to know one another just as surely as if it was of themselves that theyspoke.

But among many other things, one thing in particular puzzled Thom.

"Why haven't I seen anyone else like you, Jennet?' he asked at last. 'I mean, your size, others that look like you. You could almost be taken for a human.'

She gave him a glance and, of course, a smile. 'You will, Thom,' she a.s.sured him. 'In good time, you will.'

PRELUDE TO SEDUCTION.

NELL SAW that Little Bracken's front door was open wide even as she struggled to keep the black bicycle steady on the rough, rutted track that twisted through the woods from the main road. The bike's handlebars wobbled, its wicker carrier-basket heavy with plants from her own greenhouse, these dug from the soil so that they were complete with dusty bulb and stem. Nell tightened her grip to control the two-wheeler's direction, cursing under her breath at the struggle. The Raleigh's rear wheel had been reinflated (the tyre never had been punctured) but it wasn't the easiest of machines to handle unless the speed was up and the road was smooth. She squinted her dark eyes, the curls of her hair lifting in the breeze created by her pedalling.

Nothing unusual about the doors of country houses being left open, particularly on fine days such as this. Thom Kindred would be making the most of any cooling air drifting through. And if he had stepped out for a while -

his Jeep was parked, so he hadn't driven off anywhere -well, she could wait; she had all the time in the world this morning and she intended to make the most of it. Besides, how far could he go with that feeble leg of his? Okay, he had looked a lot better than she had expected when he had first arrived, but he was still debilitated. And soon he would be looking a lot worse. Oh yes, soon he would look very bad indeed.

Nell grinned as she steered the bicycle into the open area before the cottage, briskly stepping off while it was still in motion and bringing it to a short squealing halt alongside the Jeep. She pushed the bike along the broken flagstone path and leaned it against the cottage wall, just beneath the old bell that now looked polished and serviceable. The hem of the maroon cotton skirt she wore swung loose just below her knees and sandal-thongs wrapped themselves around her bare calves; her blouse was white, its short sleeves pushed gypsy-like down over her shoulders.

lifting the flowers from the basket, crumbly, dried soil falling from the bulbs, and reaching for the small red purse that had lain beneath them, she called out: Thom? Are you there, Thom?' No sound came from within the cottage.

Nell strolled through the open doorway regardless, calling again in case he was upstairs. Thom? It's Nell. I've come a-visitin'!' The last sentence was deliberately yokelized. She enjoyed the countrified image she portrayed with the flowers and off-the-shoulder blouse.

Thom!' Louder this time and with some irritation.

's.h.i.t,' she said quietly, glaring around the kitchen.

No evidence of breakfast having been eaten, no dirty plates on the table or in the sink. Either he had cleaned up after himself, or he had gone for a stroll before eating.

Dumping the freshly dug flowers on the table with the purse, Nell walked over and put her hand against the plastic kettle. Not even warmish. Good. He'd gone for a walk before

breakfast, which meant he shouldn't be too long. Which was fine. She'd wait.

She did not have to wait long. Nell was in the bedroom upstairs, mooching through the drawers and tall cupboard, not looking for anything in particular, just anything personal to Thom that might help her with her spells. His s.e.m.e.n would have been best - how personal could you get? - but she'd been thwarted at the first attempt. She should be more fortunate today, for if all went as planned, she would carry home his seed inside her own body, the residue there to be collected within the privacy of her own bathroom.

Even better, she would find an excuse - easy after lovemaking -to use his bathroom right here in the cottage. No need to plug herself until she got back, and she had a small plastic phial inside her purse.

Nell quickly closed the drawer she had been rummaging through when she heard the vehicle approaching and hastily ran to the stairs. Hurrying down, she heard the car's horn beep once and she glanced out the stairwell window as she pa.s.sed. She caught a brief glimpse of a horribly green-coloured car drawing up in front of Thom Kindred's Jeep.

Nell carried on down the stairs and got to the open front door just as a woman with dark blonde hair tied at the back in a short ponytail stepped from the green Volkswagen. She was heavy-breasted, her yellow T-shirt tucked into grey tracksuit bottoms, white trainers on her feet, and she reached into the car's back seat for a large canvas bag, which she hauled out. Turning towards the cottage, she noticed Nell on the doorstep and stopped in her tracks.

'Oh, hi,' she said, smiling pleasantly and raising a hand in greeting. Behind the round thin-framed spectacles she wore, her brown eyes - as light and tawny-flecked as her

hair, Nell noticed - were friendly. 'I'm Mr Kindred's physiotherapist, Katy Budd. He should be expecting me.' Nell returned the smile, although hers was more vivacious. She used it to hide her irritation, for she had planned on being alone with Thom.

Nice-looking, she mused, as Katy made her way up the broken path. Nothing compared to Nell, herself, but few were her equal. Just a little thickset, but still a good figure. Wearing nothing beneath the T-shirt either. Was that for Thom's benefit?

Tm afraid Thom isn't here right now,' she said pleasantly as the girl drew near. Nell put her in her late twenties, a good, fit, vibrant woman. Very attractive, even with those plain gla.s.ses. Pert little nose, jawline a shade too heavy. A strong one, this. And no doubt, with strong urges.

Katy Budd looked disappointed. 'But Thom - I'm sorry, Mr Kindred - knew I'd be here at this time.

We arranged it the other day.'