Chapter 4

Oliver:

Not having a car of my own is limiting. Penny, living near the hospital had no need of her own transport. I could ask a friend, but cramming into Calida and Sean’s little Corsa, well, it’d be a squeeze. I pulled out my phone. “Mister Baxenby...”

“Oliver? I’ve told you to call me Steve...”

“Thanks. It’s just ... well, I need a favour. I need to get out to Padley this evening, with two other people. Sean would take us but...”

He chuckled. “It’d be a squeeze in that little car of his ... theirs. No problem. Debs won’t mind an evening partying with the folk. Plenty of room in our Zafira.”

“Thank you. I don’t think I ever told you about my marriage...”

“No ... I didn’t know you were ever married.”

“She took off for Australia when my daughter was five, and I was never able to keep in touch. Well, Penny – my daughter – turned up at my door out of the blue. I want her to experience the woodland folk, but I’ve got Aster,” I hesitated, and corrected myself, “Niyulnos, with me as well.”

Silence. Then, “Niyulnos? With you? Oh ... well, of course I’ll collect you and take you to Padley.”

I put the phone away, and looked around to see my daughter in quiet colloquy with my ... lover, who glanced at me and smiled. “I’m not stealing your father, Penny,” she said quietly, but loud enough for me to hear.

A light snack; there’d be food at the party, but rather later than I was used to. Deb Baxenby at the door, and the three of us in the Baxenbys’ car on our way to Padley Gorge. Steve parked with others in the lane leading down to the cafe, and we walked from there to the entry – a narrow gap between two stone posts in a stone wall – into the woods. We hadn’t got far inside before we met Betula and introduced her to Penny before we shared hugs all round. We strolled together ... at least, we followed each other where the path is narrow ... up the hill. Betula was chatting to Penny. It seemed that she extracted my daughter’s life story during the walk. Or, at least, a synopsis thereof. We arrived at a slightly more open space. Penny turned to me from Betula.

“You were going to explain things?”

I shook my head. “No. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Watch Betula, and you’ll see.”

Betula went to a gnarled, elderly sessile oak, and touched it, and spoke quietly. Instead of an oak tree, there stood an old man, who spoke with Betula too quietly for us to hear. Then he went to another nearby oak, which became an elderly woman. They approached us.

“Oliver! But who is this?”

“Father Quercus, this is my daughter, Penny.”

He faced her and placed a hand on each shoulder. “Daughter Penny, you are very welcome to Padley Woods.”

“Thank you sir...”

“Excuse me for a moment, though,” he said gently, and went to Aster. “Princess Niyulos. This is an honour, again.” He dipped stiffly in a slight bow.

“Oh, Father, I think you will be seeing more of me. Tonight, though, I am just another visitor. Penny needs to understand the Woodland Way.”

Penny, though she’d managed a response to the greeting, was standing open-mouthed. Around us, other trees were transforming, making a large open space for later. Aster took my hand. “Let’s go and talk to her, Oliver.”

Together, we steered Penny out of the way and found a fallen tree-trunk to sit on.

“Daddy?” She took a deep breath. “This, this is real?”

“It’s real, Baby.” The diminutive came easily to my lips. “I know it’s a shock. But this has always been here, just that humankind has separated itself from this world. I suppose it began with the Christian Church displacing pagan worship.”

“And Aster?”

“Aster’s name is properly Niyulnos. Princess Niyulnos. And she’s an elf.”

She slumped against me. “But you ... and her ... What...”

Aster knelt in front of Penny and took her hands. “I fell in love with your Daddy, Penny. I never understood in the past why other elves took up with humans. In the first place I was just seeking a human who would help with looking after the Woodland Way, and I cheated a little. Then, I realised he was special, and I needed him in a different way. It is going to be difficult for both of us. Either he will die and I will lose him, or he will become one of us, and humankind will lose him. He will always be your father though, and as long as both of you are alive, he will be available to you.”

“You love him?”

“Yes, I do. It is a different thing from what we elves are used to, except the few who have gone the way I am going.”

We all were silent for several minutes, with Aster still on her knees in front of Penny, until we heard music. Aster stood, still holding one of Penny’s hands. “It is time to dance, Penny. You don’t have to go sky-clad, but if you don’t you’ll feel out of place. Just to say, you don’t have to do anything, but do feel free to do whatever you like.” She glanced at me, smiling. “The wood-spirits cannot make you pregnant, but the humans can.”

Penny gasped, hands over her mouth, and glanced around at each of us.

“It’s a shared joy,” Betula told her, quietly. “But remember, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You are an attractive woman, though.”

Penny Charlesworth:

Yeah, I never married, and I never found anyone I wanted to have sex with. Friends, sure, but no one I wanted to get intimate with. In my fifties, and still a virgin. I can’t believe I got naked there, with all them round me. But Betula led me into the dancing throng, and somehow I merged in, moved with them, passed from one to another. It was one of those dances where you change partners until you arrive back at your starting point, and the music was, I can only call it compelling. I suppose the participants were not men and women, strictly, with the exception of one or two I knew about. Actually, it was possible to discern, with care, the dryads and hamadryads from the humans. Only because each bore some of the characteristics of ‘their’ tree, like Betula, slim and silver headed, yet so youthful.

I was flattered by the males. What the hell, I’ll call them men. Why not? It had to be flattery, because in my early fifties I definitely carry more weight than I like, but I enjoyed the compliments anyway. Between dances, there was food. I’m told it was all vegetarian, but that was a little hard to tell. It all tasted very good, savoury or sweet or tart. To drink, there were different things, all cool. Fruity, sweet or tart. Wines, pale, pink, or red. The alcohol in some of it crept up on me, I have to admit, but other than feeling freer than I can remember being, I was not drunk: I could speak coherently and walk straight. But when one of the men, youngish, red-headed, kissed me ... I enjoyed it and entered into it with enthusiasm.

It was later, though, when a more mature man, Dion, perhaps an oak dryad, tempted me to go further. The whole ambience, brushing past other naked people, the touching – none of it obtrusive, and in no way offensive – he brushed my cheek and caressed my shoulder.

“You are very beautiful,” he said.

I shook my head. “I’m well past my best, and over weight, but thank you anyway.”