Chapter 4: Encounters

Padraig:

I’ve enjoyed the Army. Especially jumping out of aeroplanes, whether it’s static line, free-fall or HALO*. I also love the country; the survival courses were no hardship to me. I have some great mates, though I have to keep quiet about some of my ideas. So I’m six months, give or take, from the end of my enlistment, and I’d originally intended to stay in. If I did, I’d certainly make corporal, maybe even sergeant. But then I did that demonstration drop in Derbyshire and found my way to Padley Gorge. Where I met a little spiky-blue-haired sprite called Phoebe, naiad of the brook.

*High Altitude, Low Opening. Jumping from above 15,000 feet, usually with oxygen, and free-falling, More to it than that, of course.

So here I was, dreaming of the Woods and Phoebe. A seven-day leave in prospect. A borrowed motorbike, and a ride with my camping gear to the Longshaw Estate in Derbyshire. It’d been a couple of months since my initial visit. Would she even remember me? Well, whatever transpired with the sprite, it’d be lovely to visit the Woods again.

I left the barracks early one morning and rode for about three hours – just on a hundred miles – with a comfort and coffee break in the middle. Drew up outside the station cafe. Had breakfast and asked for advice about parking the bike safely, explaining that I was going to hike and camp. I was directed to a nearby cottage where the resident, an elderly man who in the distant past had been a motorcyclist himself. I politely sat through his reminiscences before we parked the bike in a shed at the back. By that time it was past mid-day. I persuaded the old guy to come and have lunch in the cafe with me; it was well worth listening to his tales as we ate. Of course it made me a little late actually leaving. Happily, no one questioned my goal for the day.

As I left, I remembered something important, stopped and extracted a thermal travel mug from my pack, and returned to the cafe to have it filled with black coffee.

I may not be the most diplomatic person, but I knew very well that my first objective had to be to announce my arrival to the Elders of the Wood, so I marched up hill, found the place, and laid a palm on an ancient sessile oak. “Father Quercus?”

I paid attention, and my hand dropped at the first suggestion of change, but even so I cannot clearly describe the transition. Father Quercus stood before me, smiling.

“Friend Padraig. You return to us. Welcome.”

“Thank you Father. I have a few days free and wish to spend them here.”

“That is excellent news. I am sure there will be several who will be pleased to see you. May I suggest you choose a spot to leave your pack and go to see Phoebe?”

I wasn’t sure if it was a great idea, but I certainly liked it. “I have something for Sir Oliver, first,” I commented, “if he’s here?”

“He’s here, with the Princess. Can you find the way?”

“I think so.”

Truly, it would have been impossible for one not ‘in the know’ to find the dell Princess Nyulnos and her Consort used when resident in the Gorge, but I found it without great difficulty. I cleared my throat outside the concealing foliage and was about to call, but an opening appeared in front of me.

“Please, enter.” The clear, sweet voice of the Princess sounded, and I did as I was told. Gave a little bow – I’d been told it was unnecessary, but felt I had to – and was warmly greeted. “Friend Padraig, it is good to have you among us again.”

“Thank you, Princess,” I hesitated as she frowned, “Aster.” Her expression cleared and she smiled. “I have something for Sir Oliver.”

Oliver stepped forward from beside his bond-mate, and raised an eyebrow. I produced the thermal mug and presented it with another little bow. “Your Cafe Noir,” I said, handing it over.

“Oh, bless you! My Friend!” He chuckled as he took it, removed the lid, and took a sip. “Ah, the elixir of life.”

“Hmmph.” The Princess snorted.

Oliver chuckled. “You know who holds my heart, My Love.” He took another sip and sighed. “The one thing I missed. Of course, friends sometimes indulge me. Now, Friend, I have some questions for you, if you’re willing.”

“Of course, Sir,” I inclined my head.

Oliver shook his head. “Please, no bowing and scraping. What I want to know is what training you have? I assume firearms?”

“Yes, Oliver. And unarmed combat and knife-fighting. I carry a Fairbairn fighting knife. Additionally, I fence, and have a little experience of Kendo.”

“Fencing? What weapon?”

“I prefer épée, but I practice with sabre and foil, too. The Japanese Katana – the uchigatana, that is. The katana, wakizashi and tanto combination are a fascinating study.”

Yes, indeed. So if you’re willing, I’d like to spar with you – using wooden blades, of course. I’ve had a little instruction in the sword, but for the most part I rely on Werebane, which has,” he hesitated, “an enchantment built in, so to speak.”

May I see?”

Oliver thought for a few moments, closed his eyes and muttered something, then reached over his shoulder and drew the sword. The straight, double-edged weapon gleamed in the freckled light through the trees, clear patterning on the metal of the blade.

Oh, my. That is beautiful,” I breathed.

He is. Forgive me if I don’t let you hold him, though. He can only have one master at a time.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you.” Oliver sheathed the blade once more, turned away, and returned with another weapon, which he handed to me. “This is similar to Werebane, though forged by humans, and spelled by wise-women, rather than enchanted during forging. You’ll see that the blade is inlaid with silver.”

I took it, and unsheathed it. It, too was a beautiful weapon, though somehow less than Oliver’s. The balance was excellent, and I could see a strip of silver inlaid the length of the blade. “A fine weapon,” I said. “Silver?”

“There are a number of creatures which can only be killed by silver.”

“Ah.”

“But perhaps you have other places to be?”

“Oops. Yes. Come back later?”

“If you would.”

I dipped my head in a token of respect, not being willing to take absolutely their order not to bow and scrape, and departed down to the river. Removing boots and socks, I dipped my feet in the water, enjoying the feel of it flowing over them. However, it was just flowing water, so after sitting there for several minutes, I called out, “Phoebe?” But without a response.

“She’s sulking,” said a mellow voice from above.

I looked up. “Betula?”

A giggle. “Welcome back to the Wood,” the Birch dryad told me. “Phoebe was sure you’d head straight here after seeing Father Quercus. We all knew you’d entered the Wood as soon as you did.”

“I had something for Sir Oliver, and he wanted to talk to me,” I told her.

A nod. “Understandable. And we told her there’d be something like that to delay you, but she wouldn’t listen. Would you like some advice?”

“Yes, please.”

“Phoebe has only taken to three humans, and two of them were married. It’s very unusual for her to really care, so she was disappointed that you didn’t head straight to her. If... if you really want to see her, get in the water. Otherwise, just talk to others here, like me, and she’ll come round eventually.”

“If I’m getting in the water, I’ll need to strip...”

“Is that what you want? I’ll shelter you.”

“Please.”

The shrubs rustled as they enclosed the space, and I undressed quickly, and stepped down into the water. It was not very warm. Before, it’d been cool, but not uncomfortable, but today ... cold. I shivered, and laid myself down in the deepest part with a sharp intake of breath, closed my eyes, and tried to relax.

I didn’t notice at first, thinking my body was just adjusting to the temperature, but the water seemed to warm, and the feel of it flowing over me took on the character of ... hands.

Lips – warm lips – touched mine. My arms folded around a petite body. The lips left, and I heard a sniffle.

“Sweetie?”

Arms which couldn’t quite meet around my chest held me. I held her with one arm behind her torso, and the other on her derriére, and I managed to sit, then stand, and climb out of the river, and I sat on a boulder and just held her. She snuggled in, maximising the contact between us. I kissed her head. “I love you,” I whispered.

“You love me?” The voice tentative, plaintive.

“Yes.”

“Oh...” Sniffle. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be jealous.”

I didn’t know what to say about that, so I managed to keep quiet and just hold her.

“It’s not as though...” she was speaking quietly to my chest. “I mean, I can’t ... It’s just ... You need a human mate, don’t you?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, Phoebe. I’ve had girlfriends, but no-one I thought I’d want to spend the rest of my life with. You and me, we just clicked, I think.”

“Make love with me?”

“Of course.” Matters proceeded satisfactorily from that point, and Phoebe regained her natural bounce and poise. I have no idea how they do it, but she gave me food, some sort of nutty, fruity cake, savoury, rather than sweet. A tart cordial to drink, sans alcohol. Phoebe held my hand as we walked together up to what I thought of as the ‘royal’ clearing to find Oliver. The Princess was there with their little daughter, and watched with Phoebe as Oliver produced practice swords. Wood, or some sort of cane, but much the same weight and balance as the sword I’d seen and held.

In some ways, I was better than my opponent, but that’s because I was trained in a sport, not warfare, and he landed a blow which, using a sword rather than a stick, would have decapitated me. After a discussion, really about warfare as contrasted with sport, we resumed. I was able to land a few blows myself though I was on the receiving end too, and after an hour or so, the weapons were stored away and we sat with beer to cool down. Drinking beer out of some sort of gourd takes a little getting used to.

“Well, Friend,” Oliver began eventually, “would you like a job?”

“What sort of job? I’ve got nearly six months of my enlistment to serve.”

“If you’re interested, there’s a vacancy for a Ranger here. Accommodation. Salary not great, but somewhere to live. Additionally, I’d welcome the company of a human warrior at times.”

“For ... why?”

“The Wood is the positive side of our ancient culture. If you remember your legends, there are negative aspects too. Were-creatures, hags, other hazards. Not forgetting the gods themselves. Just recently we’ve had incidents; dead sheep, horribly mutilated. We’ve lost a couple of dryads; they’re gone, and their trees have died. If you’re willing, you can join me and the other elves in tracking down what is happening.”

“Other elves?”

“There are so few these days, and they are scattered everywhere there are ancient woods. Aster – well, she was alone here.” He was silent then, a pensive expression on his face. “I love her,” he added quietly. “Speaking of love, though...” he looked at Phoebe, uncharacteristically quiet and demure. She blushed.

“Phoebe,” Aster’s voice interrupted. “Come with me.”

They moved away, out of sight. “I hope Phoebe’s not in trouble,” I said to Oliver. He shook his head.