Once. Part 24

'She was almost entirely human when she was with him. That's the way of it, it's faery law.'

'But he knew what she once was?'

'Of course. They met by the lake, Thom. Your father called to the undines and it was Bethan who came.'

A quick shake of his head. 'I don't understand. How could he know?'

'Who do you think owned the Portal Book in the cottage? And all the others you still have not bothered to look at since your return?'

They belonged to Jonathan Bleeth?'

'As owner of the cottage, yes/ 'Bethan used to read stories from them to me.'

'And now you think they were only stories, faerytales to keep you amused.' She laughed and it was charming, not aimed at him. They were history, silly, and pictures and stories are always being added.

The book is never-ending.'

At once, she became grave. 'Every master or mistress of Little Bracken has inherited the Portal Book and your father spent most of his time there, away from the big place, away from your grandfather.

Weren't you aware that Jonathan Bleeth lived at the cottage from the age of sixteen, as soon as his father allowed it? And before that, even as a child, he was ever there, reading the books, seeking the faeries. It was the Portal, itself, that told him of us. Don't you see, Thom? Little Bracken has always been a place of magic.'

He reflected, thought of so many things, so many occasions that had been normal to him at the time, but now, given this new-found knowledge, could be explained as little pieces of magic. The time he had badly cut his knee falling from a tree he had been warned not to climb: Bethan had spread somesweet-smelling salve over the wound, gently squeezing the two sides of the deep tear together for a few moments; when she had let go, there had been no pain and the flesh had sealed over - the next day there hadn't even been a mark. In fact, he couldn't ever remember having seen a doctor or nurse as a child; all his ills - headaches, fevers, tummy aches, the normal kid things - all had been cured or 'sent on their troublesome way', as Bethan would tell him, by Bethan herself. He remembered the animals that had come through the always open doorway to the cottage, from young deer to squirrels, birds to b.u.t.terflies; even the shyest of all creatures, the badger had found its way inside, unafraid, curious, and only sometimes hungry. How had he forgotten?

The cold winter evenings they had huddled together before the blazing fire in the old range, when Bethan had explained faery folklore to him, read him stories, parables you might even call them, from the big book and others; those summer nights, windows wide to allow in the slightest breeze, with tales of dragons and witches, themes to excite, sometimes to scare badly, but stories that always had happy, safe endings. And then, a few years older, the seri-

ous explanations of conjuring and enchantment, sorcery and magic, of bewitchment and potions, the natural medicines and the ancient laws of the faerefolkis, his young mind filled with so many things, so many treasures. How had he forgotten it all? Why could he remember so much now?

But yet another question begged. 'If Jonathan Bleeth was the kind of man who believed ...'

'Believed in us, we the faerefolkis!' she finished for him, shaking her head at his hesitation. 'It was in his nature to believe, as it is in many other humans. As it is in yours.'

'But he became a soldier. That's what I can't figure. If he had the sensitivity - and I a.s.sume that's what it takes-'

'Among many other qualities, yes.'

Then why would he become a man of war?'

'He didn't. He became a man of peace. His intention was for the good, Thom. He never took up arms to kill people, but to protect them.'

'By your own words you weren't even around. How could you know all this?'

'From Rigwit. He and Jonathan were great friends.'

The keeper of the cottage. Thom wondered just how long the size-changing elf had been around.

'Rigwit has told me much since we knew you'd be returning here.'

'You were aware that I was coming back? I didn't know myself until a few weeks ago.'

'It was predestined. It's why the cottage never deteriorated in its emptiness. We knew of your illness and we knew you would choose to recover here in the place that was always safe for you.' 'I was hundreds of miles away. How could you know about my stroke?'

'It still hasn't sunk in, has it? You're part of us, Thom. Not properly, you'll never be one of us, but you are linked. And there is another reason, but I don't quite understand

it myself yet It will evolve though, in time it will come through.'

A b.u.t.terfly, wings of blue and gold settled on her shoulder. It spread those wings, as if proud of their regality, then fluttered away, its presence, its elegance made known.

'Rigwit told me that Jonathan was forced to make a choice by his father. Unless he took up a worthy profession, then Little Bracken would be destroyed. His father wanted him to prove himself a man, leave all "fancy notions and blithering books and nature study behind".'

Jennet's voice had suddenly lowered, become gruff, and the image of the formidable Sir Russell was sharp in Thom's mind. It was almost as if she had magically taken him back to the moment of father-son confrontation, for not only could he clearly see Sir Russell, almost as if he were standing there before him in the forest, but he visualized another, a younger, taller man, someone who resembled Thom himself...

*You have a younger brother,' Jennet's other voice was saying. 'You must be an example to him. No more daydreaming in that b.l.o.o.d.y place. Take up a profession, or I'll have it torn down. It was never used for any good purpose anyway, nearly always tenanted by some mistress or other of whoever was the landowner at the time. I've never liked Little Bracken, can't stand its atmosphere. The choice is yours, Jonathan, but remember you have a half-brother now who will eventually look up to you. Show him a good example, make me proud ...'

'... Make me proud.' It was Jennet's voice again, sweetly husky, light and somehow rea.s.suring.

The vision was gone and now he doubted there had been one, or even that her tone and timbre had changed. She had put pictures into his mind, that was all, perhaps his enchantment with her making it an easy task.

'So he chose the services,' Thom found himself saying as he continued to rationalize his latest experience. 'I sup-

pose the most macho profession he could think of, just to impress the old man.'

'No. He became a soldier because he wanted to protect people. Rigwit told me that your father-'

My father. Jonathan Bleeth was my father. It was a shock, yet surprisingly easy for Thom to accept.

'-intended to gain experience as a soldier, then join another force, some kind of worldwide army whose sole purpose is to act as a peacemaker in other countries' wars.' The UN,' he said.

She shrugged. 'I think it's something like that.' 'And instead he got blown to pieces in Northern Ireland.'Trying to protect others. He was a brave man, Thom, a good man.'

'But when - how - did he meet my mother?' 'Just before he left to take up his duties as a soldier. He'd believed in us for years and it was as if we, ourselves, realized we had little time remaining if we were to make contact. It's very rare that we choose to do so, but sometimes a.s.sociation with certain humans is beneficial to both sides. Sometimes we need someone like you.' 'Me? What have I got to do with all this?' You are the result of Jonathan and Bethan's bonding.' You mean it was planned just so that I could come along years later and help you in some way?' He was shaking his head in disbelief.

'Not planned, never planned. Foreseen, you might say. There is a difference.' 'But what can I do?'

That we don't know. But there is a course for everything no matter how inconsequential some actions or events might seem.' She leaned forward and the flimsy material of her clothing hung loose, exposing her small but perfectly-shaped b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He had difficulty in checking his gaze, had to force it back to her eyes. 'Jonathan first gained access to us,' she was saying, 'through Rigwit, who showed him how to use

the Portal Book. The undines cannot use the portal, it's only for those whose form is small and constant, but he was guided to the lake where he met Bethan.'

'You used Jonathan Bleeth for some future purpose? Is that what you're saying?'

She sighed, but remained gentle with him. 'Haven't you learned anything, Thom? Aren't you listening to my words, is your heart so closed to us? We do not use anyone, certainly not humans. We leave that to the bad faerefolkis, the black magicians and those you call wiccans or worlocks. Jonathan and Bethan's secret marriage was always meant to be, it was an a.s.sociation that could only work for the benefit of us all, humans and faeries. Without us, without our influence on nature itself, your world would soon be over, overwhelmed by the elements and the physical earth you abuse so much. Oh, you think you're very clever, you imagine you're learning to control nature itself with your technology, but you have no idea how wrong you are. Even when you feel you have complete power over the elements and the environment, you will not even be half-way there. You will eventually discover that you need our help.

You'll discover that your yearning for material things and that the subjection of others is not the way, that it's these very faults that have led you away from us. Eventually - and this is our greatest hope - you will understand the emptiness of such desires and ambitions and begin to communicate with us once more.'

All this spoken in the same soft manner, nothing strident or chiding, nothing bitter, about her tone.

'Jesus..." he said.

*You both have something in common.'

'What?'

The Nazarene was a carpenter too.'

Well, there the similarity ends.'

'Not necessarily.' The enigma of her comparison was breathtaking, for it

was not a mild aside, but Thom was already too perplexed to comprehend or question Jennet further.

They both lapsed into silence.

Soon, wearied by images and words, and suddenly worn out by the long walk, Thom's eyes began to close. Perhaps the effect of Rigwit's tonic and the magical powder Jennet had blown into his face and the energy-giving lights were beginning to wear off. He lay down by the oak and slept.

Thom awoke and the sleep had been good, for it had been dreamless; nothing at all had disturbed his subconscious.

The angle of the sun had altered so that he found himself in shade; he was still warm though, comfortably so. And as he opened his eyes he realized he did not lay on the soft, mulch-covered earth alone. Jennet was nestled into him.

He was startled, but it was oh-so-pleasant, so rea.s.suring. She still slept, her breathing shallow, her lips opened slightly. He could see the tips of gently pointed teeth.

She faced him and Thom took the opportunity to study her elfin face. The tilt of her dark lashes was somehow beguiling, as if they alone spoke of her other-worldliness. Her skin was very pale, but had a pinkish hue to it, and it was incredibly smooth and unblemished, somehow pure. Even in repose, the line of her neck was graceful and her hands, laid flat before her face, were long, the fingers slender and pointed at their tips. Her golden hair spread over the ground beneath her head like some untidy but soft blanket, and her knees were raised, one resting on the other. She was exquisite and Thom felt a stirring inside that, at this moment, was spiritual rather than s.e.xual.

The questions still begged, but he was able to suppress them for now, while he drank in her presence.

She was so real, beyond hallucination. Yet she claimed to be of the

faeries themselves, a mythical being that the world today had little time for, save for tales told to children.

And in their innocence, the children believed, so was that the key? Did you have to be pure of heart - pure of soul, Jennet might say - for these mystical creatures to take on form, become visible to human eyes? Yet he was no child and certainly no innocent. Even now he could feel desire awakening in him again, creeping through his body, arousing nerve endings, creating sensual sensations, quickening his blood flow, more questions easily put aside.

Tentatively, his fingertips touched her pale cheek and, like before, he felt a current run through them, a small shock that quickly encompa.s.sed his entire body. Perhaps he had doubted his own vision, perhaps he needed to touch her warm flesh to a.s.sert the reality; perhaps he just needed contact to placate his physical feelings.

Her eyes flickered open and he gasped at their silver-violet brightness once more. The pupils dilated when she saw him, blooming deep and dark, so that the irises shrank, their vivid colour subjugated a little. Thom...?' she murmured, aware of his hand on her cheek. She smiled and her fingers curled around his hand, pressing it firmly against her.

He remembered when he had first set eyes on her by the lake, the act she was committing upon herself, her unselfconscious audaciousness when she must have realized he was watching. Her pallid skin, her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her total lack of inhibition: could he be blamed for wanting her now that she was here, lying so near to him, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on his face, close enough to touch like this ...

He was almost afraid, but when he leaned his head towards hers, she came forward, met him half-way.

Their lips touched and it was soft, hesitant, an exploration rather than bold contact. He tasted her, for her mouth was moist and sweet, momentarily withdrawing an inch or so, as if to

seek unspoken permission. The permission came with her returned kiss, her own pressure against his, and this time the contact was firmer, more ardent.

Her mouth opened and he felt the ridges of those softly pointed teeth bite tenderly into his lower lip, nothing harsh or aggressive about the deed, rather an invitation to him, letting him know her pa.s.sion matched his.

Thom's free arm swept down to the small of her back to bring her forward so that their bodies were in communion, pressed tight against each other's, hips to hips, b.r.e.a.s.t.s to chest. His fervour roared inside him, his hunger made him tremble, for it had been a long time since he had made such contact with any woman; yet a fear also nagged at him, for he could not know how the illness had affected capability. Had the stroke blunted his s.e.xual drive? The growing hardness between his legs told him it hadn't, but desire was one thing, performance another. Thom despised himself for the doubts, but these were soon swept away by their mutual pa.s.sion.

Jennet's hands touched his face, his neck, his shoulders, her fingers sliding beneath the short sleeves of the T-shirt to explore hidden flesh, the mere sensation of that alone causing Thom to catch his breath.

And when the hand glanced down his spine to rest a moment before pulling him even tighter against her, he gave out a soft moan. Her legs parted and his thigh pushed into the gap.

He whispered her name and she cried out his.

Dear G.o.d, he thought, this can't be happening... But it was and it was overwhelming, all doubts of his ability easily vanquished by the growing ardour of their caresses.

Their kisses varied from harsh to tender and he felt a heated whiteness in his mind, one that usually came with climax and never before, never as this. Their tongues touched, their lips crushed each other's before drawing back to jab and peck, to moisten and savour, fervour giving way to soft murmurings, gentle responses, and then back again to more pa.s.sionate kissing and fondlings. He felt his

own wetness, a rising that would soon break loose and he was now concerned that it would be over all too quickly, but it was Jennet who calmed him.

"Wait, Thom,' she whispered close to his ear.

She pulled herself away and sat up. Lest he should mistake the movement, Jennet quickly reached for the hem of his T-shirt, tugging it up over his body and raised arms. Although they were in the shadow of the oak it was not deep shade and the air was warm against his bare skin; the sense of freedom he felt there in this secret little grotto deep in the forest was intoxicating. He reached for Jennet again, wanting to hold her in his arms and kiss her, to tell her of feelings that went beyond mere desire, but she held a hand against his chest.

Without speaking she unb.u.t.toned the top of his jeans, then helped him pull them off. For the first time that morning, he realized he wore no shoes. As a child he had invariably played in the woods with nothing on his feet and the soles had soon hardened; but now he was surprised he'd felt nothing treading through the usual woodland debris of twigs, fallen acorns, stones. Entirely naked, he looked back at Jennet as she stood and slowly removed her only garment.

The sight of her slender body and cascading golden hair falling almost to her waist left him in awe.

As already observed, there was no body hair to conceal the delicate cleft between her legs and her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s stood proud, pink nipples erect. She sank to her knees, her legs parting so that nothing was concealed and he reached a tremulous hand forward to touch between her thighs. She was wet, the lips there open to him, and the thrill was almost unbearable.

He said her name again as he brought his whole body closer to kneel before her, his eyes gazing into hers, his body losing its shiver as she calmed him once more, this time just with her look.