Chapter 6

Krill watched the young man, he was about twenty five. He bent on the path and picked up a worm and moved it to the grass. His partner, a pretty young woman, waited patiently. Clearly this was not an unusual occurrence.

From the man and woman’s point of view, a somewhat unusually dressed man walked towards them. Most people of ‘that’ age (what age, they wondered later? Forty? Fifty? Thirty? His eyes were old, his body was hard and lithe, his hair was white, or silver, or golden. It seemed to shimmer. He had no wrinkles, but he had contours) wore muted colours, a suit perhaps, a tie. This man wore some long cardigan like creation which rippled from purple to green; and a hat! A wide hat of dark ... no emerald ... no sea green. His clothes, like him, defied hard description.

“Good morning? Walking up to the village? May I join you?” There was another worm, would he? With someone watching?

“Sorry...” the man picked the worm up, it was difficult as it was slippery, it took time. “Yes, I like to rescue them, after all, they haven’t learnt to deal with tarmac.”

“In summer he does the same with beetles crossing the path” The woman chimed in with a smile, a tolerant smile.

“Well, it must be like a desert to them. They can’t die of the heat and dryness can they?”

They walked on, Krill was smiling gently. He was pleased whenever he found a love of life, a love of nature in this world of concrete, steel and brick. He rarely came to the town, he could feel the magic leach away; it was like coping with a phobia, you had to steel yourself and be hard and cope. But he didn’t want to be hard and cope, he wanted to sit on the grass and feel it growing. He loved hunting. Now he had lost his mount, he would run across the hills, often naked, at dawn, chasing down a hare. And when he caught it, he would thank the hare for the chase and for its life.

At the village centre, there were three shops and two cafes; the young couple went to the shop to buy milk and eggs. Krill bought a newspaper from the newsagent. It usually depressed him, but occasionally a good, uplifting story appeared. He liked to hear of vast resources spent rescuing a cow or a dog; perhaps there was a hidden bit of the old world left if they valued a single animal so much. Or the campaign to save Old Wood on the other side of this very town; the developers said it was not as old as people thought, the trees were not ancient woodland. But that was because it had been felled in the 1700s for ships, then the villagers had left it after ‘the problems’ (miscarriages in animals and people); somehow, then, the village knew it was because the ancient place had been disturbed. The Old Wood was, for decades, really just old scrubland; but the trees came back and no-one had disturbed them since. Then United Housebuilding identified the site as perfect for a model village of little boxes. The town was divided now; many agreed the town needed more affordable homes, but plenty of the old (who remembered the stories) and the young (who had vague ideas on environmental protection) banded together to make this a fight. Krill watched from a distance. He couldn’t add anything to the arguments that either side would truly understand – the Filagh of the place should make it protected, that was clear, but how to explain Filagh to ignorant people who had no understanding of the interconnectedness of magic.

He came out his shop as the other two came out of theirs; he smiled and suggested a coffee. The two people, who had been thinking ‘its Sunday, we could go home, watch TV and bed and try again for that baby’, agreed; this man was interesting and unusual and spoke with an accent they couldn’t place.

The talk turned around many subjects. His views on Brexit were complex, and concluded that the demographics of Britain, combined with its last one hundred years of history and the likelihood of energy use causing the next financial crisis, in association with the declining education and health standards (they were about to bridle and say education and health were improving, when three substantially overweight teenagers waddled past, one of them saying he ‘fookin, hated, fookin Paki bastards because they fooking fook their cousins and sacrifice goats to fookin Elephant Gods’, they decided to say nothing) would mean that GB would break up and eventually be merged with other countries in the next fifty years. It was an analysis that seemed outlandish and unconscionable, but made logical sense when all the factors were drawn together. “I’m afraid things will get worse for people of your colours” he said. They noted the word colours – Dwaine was Asia heritage, his family had come over to work in the mills several generations before and always married within their culture. His Asian name had been anglicised to Dwaine at school, and he’d kept it.

Maria was 3^rd generation West Indian. She was black as night, her skin shimmered, her hair was lustrously black and her eyes looked out like beacons, drawing you towards her. When she laughed, you might be dazzled by the contrast of her white teeth, and she laughed easily.

He had no interest in sport, but his knowledge of nature was impressive. He listened politely as they joshed each other over the Indian cricket tour of The West Indies.

Dwaine went to the gents, Krill looked at Maria “What is the pain I see in your eyes?”

“What? I don’t know? I mean? What?” she didn’t want to mention their lack of a child, after many months trying. Was it him or her? Should they be checked? The doctor had dismissed their fears, he was used to panicy couples; and, truth be told, he was ever so slightly more dismissive because of their colour. He would have been horrified to be called racist, some of his friends were Asian, truly. But he had a subconscious resistance to referrals for patients. He would never have said the NHS is for white folks, that would have been crass and not what he thought he believed; but he did subtly think that white people had paid for it to be set up and somehow they deserved priority. It didn’t help Dwaine and Maria.

They talked over coffee, and both found themselves drawn to this man of indeterminate age. He had an attraction, an allure, a vibrant beauty (though Dwaine would never have put it like that). They invited him back for lunch, and lunch turned to cuddling up on the settee to watch a romantic and fairly explicit movie. How had that happened? They would not have watched this with their parents, now they were watching it with a stranger, or a new friend anyway. What would he think? His hand on Maria’s leg, and his arm round Dwaine’s shoulder (he had got put in the middle – like the two wanted to share him) suggested he was fine with the romantic, soft focus sex on the screen.

“She is very beautiful” said Maria.

“Yes, but you have the edge on her in many places” said Dwaine

“You are infinitely more lovely that the actress there, or the character she plays.” Said Krill “And Dwaine, I sense you envy Tom Cruise? But you have a lovely body I think, and your colour is far more attractive than his paleness of cream” Since Krill was nearly white – he never tanned in the sun; elves lack melanin but they have sun blockers in their skin – this was a double compliment.

Towards the middle of the film just as Tom was manfully making love to the third beautiful blonde that night, no-one was paying attention anymore. Finally Dwaine, not sure what he was doing, or whether it would cause offence, suggested they went upstairs. The three rose as one. It was as if they had been waiting for him to say it. Krill could not propose it, he was the guest. Maria knew she could not propose to sleep in a threesome with her husband and another, in case Dwaine was offended. But Dwaine could, apparently. Perhaps it just needed someone to have the courage.

Upstairs, though, Krill took more control. He undressed them both, they were fascinated as he removed a layer from each in turn, until Maria stood in her black satin bra and pants and Dwaine lay on the bed naked with an erection, looking at his wife. Neither knew how to proceed, they were in this new acquaintance’s hands. Gently he knelt and pulled her pants down and kissed the thick black bush of hair. “I sometimes think I should shave...”

“It’s perfect as it is. Look, Dwaine, it is glistening already. She is ready for you I think. And he manoeuvred her to the bed, onto her back and Dwaine, happily mounted his wife’s body. What happened next was more unusual. Dwaine and Maria both felt a hand delving their cleft, felt fingers gently stroking their bottom, felt a finger encroaching their anus. Dwaine was gentle in his love making. He entered his wife infinitely carefully and slowly so as not to discomfort her. She had often wished he would be more forceful, but he wasn’t that kind of lover. He was considerate, loving, and, perhaps, ultimately not as exciting to the woman beneath him as she might want.

Krill’s finger in Maria was only up to his first joint, it was enough. She had never been felt up that way before. Her West Indian family, church goers all, would have been disgusted at the concept of anal sex in any form; she had always known that sex was vaginal and penile and that was it! Now she was being gently violated, and it was lovely. Dwaine found his invasion more vigorous. One finger became two, and two deeply embedded. And Krill had something no human had; his first two fingers had an extra joint. Few people noticed. It allowed a finger to bend forward, or back; and that is what he did now. The two inserted fingers started to become a T shape instead. Dwaine was strained and just a little pained.