One last lullaby

You may think me mad, and mad I am for it is death that I am waiting for –though it be a long time in coming; she will make sure of that. Each night she takes it from me in exquisite agony. Do you know that there is a point when sensation becomes so intense it is near impossible to tell pleasure from pain? I had heard this but never sought to discover whether it was true or not; now each night takes me further and further past that point and each night I become less of a man.

The story; my story started off with so much hope: a young man seeking his fortune, cock-sure of himself; born of poor parents who sent him out in the world with nothing more than a song in his heart, the clothes on his back and the luck of the ragged. I was a quick learner and educated myself by the road, picking up whatever language I could from those I passed. You have heard this story many times, I’m sure, but I was happy to be the living testament to it – I believed most strongly that we create our own luck; and for a time this was true.

I had many adventures –the life of a vagabond is varied and no two days are the same. One day you can be sleeping under the stars with a roasted coney in your belly and a warm fire by your side, the next hiding from the local militia in a cave, shivering ‘mongst the cold and slimy walls. Hardships I could always endure for it was those that made the good times so much sweeter.

And there were good times; there was always wine, good food and women if you knew how to look and how to take! I was blessed with good looks and a boyish charm that hid the cold nature of my inner most. It was easy to tell the young girls what they wanted to hear in the various villages on the way and then leave when I had taken my fill with nary a thought to them excepting a notch on my walking crook.

But it was whilst I was sitting minding my own at the local inn at Dunninsford where I met him that was to change my life. I had recently charmed a few crowns out of a local doxy who took a shining to me –she believed my sob story about my parents dying; gave me a lay for free and the crowns to boot. (All I can say is that she can’t have been on the game for long; most other scut’s I know have raised their cynicism up to the level of an art form!) I was quietly smug and took no notice to the other people that were around me –I found it best to mind my own. Trouble only finds you if you go looking for it (or so I thought at the time). Consequently I didn’t see the man eyeing me; sizing me up –it could have been for a casket or to mark me as a fool.  In the end it could well have been for both of those as he turned to me and asked a simple question.

“How would you like to earn the wages of a Prince for doing no more work than a pauper?” I looked at him: the eyes bedevilled and bloodshot, recessed in a hollow stare; a stubbled and fear etched face hiding the clothes of a noble man, no less. These were no rags of a street seller or beggar but fine silks and embroidery. His hair was finely cut too; albeit bestraggled and unkept. I turned away from him and laughed briefly.

“There’s nout you can spin me that I haven’t tried myself, mate; nothing you could give me that you wouldn’t steal back when my back was turned. I’ve been doing this too long; go back to your pint and I to mine and we’ll both be much better off.” I replied but he weren’t having any of it.

“This is no joke. I have need of a strong, smart man… with his wits about him and that can hold his own.” He explained, motioning to the bar keep to serve drinks to the both of us. He tipped the bar man in gold. “You can see I have wealth; I have no need to rob you of yours.”

“Having wealth don’t mean you’re not desiring of more. In some ways it just makes you more determined.” I replied, nodding to the barman for the beer. I drank the first mouth full and knew that I had nothing else to lose by hearing this man out so I turned back to him and bade him continue.

“Well, I am determined. Determined to live at all costs… and this is where you can help me, and for doing nothing than to watch me sleep.” I laughed at this and immediately realised what he was getting at.

“I ain’t no god-cursed buggering soddomite. I suggest you leave now, matey whilst you still can.”

“You misunderstand me, Sir. I ask for nothing more than what I have said already –someone to watch over me and protect me whilst I sleep…” His eyes glassed over, the gaze pleading.

“You have made enemies then?” I ventured.

“Yes; enemies that would think twice if they saw another watching over me. You have arms of your own? Weapons?”

“No… save a small paring knife.” I lied. One of the first rules is to lie regarding weapons. If people know what you are carrying then you are easily disarmed; the less they know the more damage you will be able to do should the need arise.

“That’s ok; I have plenty. God willing you won’t need them.. .but it always pays to be forewarned.” There was a slight twitch in his eye when he said that but I thought nothing of it. “It could be dangerous, but you will be well rewarded when all is done. In the meantime you will live in my humble abode and what is mine will be yours until the job is over. Is this agreeable to you?” I nodded and finished my beer in a few gulps before being shown to the man’s abode –a castle no less!

Gerbert of Auriliac was a man of means –or at least his father was; and it was actually his son that I was to oversee the next few nights –he had wanted to keep his son’s reputation free from scandal, hence the lies.. Gerbert’s father, Raymond, explained to me that his son had become infatuated with the beautiful daughter of a local university dean. So enraptured had he become that even when she turned him down, due to his lowly birth-right and lack of social standing, he took matters into his own hand.

We had just entered the castle threshold and upon hearing this information I stopped before Raymond shut the door behind me.

“Now look; vagabond I may be but I’ll not actively break the laws so flagrantly –especially not when witnesses abound. I won’t do anything that’ll end me up in jail.” I said.

“No.. Please don’t think he did anything like that.” He looked shocked as if the very prospect was abhorrent to him. I bade him continue, mollified by his apparent genuineness. “He wanted her to love him more than anything in the world, but he’s not practical. I’m afraid his mother doted on him too much when he was a child and filled his head with all the wrong notions. She had leanings towards… witchcraft, would you believe? And this is how much I am trusting you now, young sir, for such a thing could ruin me if it became knowledge. Would I part with such if I were going to trick or double cross you?”

“It depends on whether I would be alive by the end of this transaction.” I replied.

“I give you my word – you will not be harmed by either myself or my son. We have no wish to see harm come to you at all!”

“Very well then; go on with your tall tale.”

“I wish it were such; alas..” He replied, closing the heavy wrought door. The castle seemed very quiet, haunted even. The walls dense with despair and dampness; it seemed far colder within than it did outside. “Are you hungry, Sir?” Raymond asked, changing tack before telling me any more of the story. I hadn’t eaten for a while and one of the rules of the road is never turn down the offer of a meal so I shook my head. He led me to the kitchen and found some joints of meat.

“No kitchen staff or servants? Are you that hard up?” I asked.

“No; I have given them time to themselves. They were distraught over what was happening to my son and he needs peace and protection not people cloying over him.” This didn’t ring true but I had no reason to doubt what he said; I made a mental note and bade him continue with the narrative regarding his son. “Gerbert became infatuated with this lady and, through his mother’s contacts, sought out a wild woman from the woods around here. You know the sort I mean, I take it.” I nodded; some were indeed wild; though not all of them wise. “She made him a draught; a love potion which he succeeded in slipping into her wine one evening. Since then she has visited him at all times of the night; though God knows how. I have taken great pains to lock the castle down each night but she still manages to torment him. That is why I have come to you; a man of the world, who has seen many things on his travels. Can you help me? Can you help my son?”

I thought this over. I knew the strength of some of these potions and philtres; some were indeed intoxicating –some people said that they could even grant spirit powers to those who desperately needed them. Could such a thing have happened here by mistake? I doubted this very much; no doubt it would be little more than a love-stricken harlot that could easily be dissuaded by someone of a much more manly physique. Who knows, this might even be fun! I agreed and a princely sum of one purse of gold pieces was agreed and I was shown up to Gerbert’s room, up in the tallest tower. How anything, let alone any slip of a girl, find their way up there during the day time –let alone at night- was a testament indeed. I was given a rather uncomfortable chair to sit on, level with Gerbert’s head and told to watch over him whilst he slept.

Gerbert was already asleep and his pallor was as white as the stone that lined his room; had he not moaned at that precise moment I would have thought the deed over before it had begun. Raymond left me then and wished me luck, for his son’s sake. I nodded and started my vigil. I wasn’t concerned for I was, as the father had surmised, well-travelled and would easily be able to handle whatever life threw at me. What a fool I was!

It was to be a quiet night. Nothing happened for at least the first few hours and I admit that I fell asleep very quickly. I knew there was no truth to the story I had been told, knew not why I had been chosen for such a task but was happy, nonetheless, to take the man’s money.

Whether it was the intense cold that surrounded me or the sound of such tortured moaning that woke me up I’m not sure, but wake I did. What I saw astonished me!

Gerbert writhing in what I assumed to be the throes of sexual ecstasy until I saw the look of terror on his face –he was still asleep! I tried to shake him awake, ashamed that I had fallen asleep and hoped that I could make amends. Strangely enough my hands gripped something else instead of Gerbert’s shoulders –something far more lithe and scaly! There was something lying on top of Gerbert and it was attacking him somehow, forcing him to do things. I had no clear thoughts of what to do; it can’t have been the woman that Raymond had told me about as the door to the bedroom was still closed and there was no way anyone could have scaled the walls.

I moved around the bed quickly to try and see if there was anything interfering with him; to my horror there was. There was… something straddling Gerbert, I could see an outline against the open window and the stars outside. This form was writhing and bucking against his naked body causing him no end of pain. He cried out again and I did the only thing I could; grabbed at the.. thing and pulled it off of him. It was surprisingly light and again there was the feeling of cold scales where it should have been skin. I was horrified and backed off when it suddenly revealed itself to me.

It was female; that I could discern in the gloom but it had wings! I could feel the currents of air beat me as it hovered in front of me. There were indeed scales where there should have been flesh and it looked at me and leered. What had I done? What was I a party to?

“That was foolish, mortal.” It leered at me, the voice rasping from hell itself. “He was a willing slave to me but by interrupting us you have become my next and I have a feeling your torments will be longer lasting still. Until tomorrow.” And then it furled its wings around itself, the air around it shimmered before it disappeared. I went to see if Gerbert was ok but felt my head go light, my body went numb and I just felt myself fall in to a place that had no end.

I woke thinking that only a few minutes had passed, but upon trying to move my limbs I realised that I could not. Opening my eyes I realised that I was in the same bed that Gerbert had occupied and my arms and legs were now chained to the posts. I was naked as well, the bed clothes barely covering me. The window had been blocked up with stone but I could see Raymond sitting on the chair that I had sat at just a few hours ago and Gerbert stood by the door looking at me with pity.

“I did not tell you the whole truth, after all.” Raymond explained, his voice little more than a whisper. “How could I? What would you have done, had you known?”

“What have you done?” I shouted and thrashed violently, trying to extricate myself. “What’s going on?”

“You’re quite secure there; there’s no escaping. I’m sorry.” And he was, as strange as it might sound, he was genuinely sorry. “I told you half-truths, I’m afraid. My son did go to a wild woman when his beloved scorned him, but she did not give him a love potion; for that was not what he wanted. He wanted to be free of the lust that plagued him and sought the services of a succubus that could drain him of those energies so he could live a normal life. However he knew not what he was asking; indeed even the wild woman did not understand his request, had she done I’m sure she would have dissuaded him of such an action.”

“That was a succubus that I interfered with?” I shouted, cursing my own stupidity; of course it was! What else could it have been, and why the hell hadn’t I realised it before?

“You see, even you –a mere tramp knows of the dangers of such a spirit. So, why then didn’t my son? Why should he suffer for such ignorance?”

“So I’m to suffer instead?” I asked, trying my best to talk my way out of this.

“No doubt you have done much worse in your life; how many people have you used for your own purposes?”

“But you’re condemning me to death!”

“So that my son can live. For a father there are no depths I won’t plunder; you would feel the same, I’m sure. No one knows you are here and no one will miss you when you’re gone. The same can not be said of my Son, who will grow to great things now. Thanks to your sacrifice he will live to be pure of heart and noble of purpose. Can the same be said of you?”

“You said that I would be unharmed!” I snapped as a last desperate gamble.

“And neither my son nor myself have or will harm you. To be fair, neither will the succubus; all she offers is love after all.” He looked at me one last time before leaning over and kissing me on the forehead. “I thank you for your sacrifice. You will not be forgotten”. He then walked to the door, ushering his son to do the same.

I then hear the sound of the door being blocked up; now that his son had been rescued it was safe for Raymond’s servants to return –he did not wish them to be victim’s themselves. Oh no; far better to be some traveller that no one would ever miss to bear the burden!

So I wait, chained to this bed, and I can tell that the hour is getting close again. They say that the kiss of a succubus is to die for, but death is often the last thing she will bring. Madness and delirium first, followed by exhaustion –only when there is nothing more to take will she leave one last lullaby; a kiss before dying.

Life during the Thaw

There’s only one thing that thaws the village Heart this time of year; the Gathering. For several months now the routes to and from the village have been impassable because of the snow, but now the suns warmth has brought freedom that the whole village celebrates.

Being so isolated strengthens, hardens the psyche. They live the long game; everything is in the preparation. They live as a community, everyone pulling together for the greater good; no one goes without; no stockpiling of goods that no one else can use. Greed is unheard of here, there is no need of it –that way would have led to an early death for all.

It’s not an easy time; hardships are endured but no one has to bare it all themselves. Each person has a part to play, from the youngest child to the eldest Wisen. The children are taught through game and verse how to look after themselves and care for the others, uphold the community. The Wisen share their knowledge and are revered for surviving so many Thaws.

Indeed the celebrations are as much for the Wisens as it is to be thankful for the newly found freedom. Strangely enough this freedom has done nothing to change the size of the population. One could say that it is the perfect society; that by being closed off for so many months has made the community stronger; it is one. So few people have a desire to leave, their roots run deep.

With the Thaw comes the Gathering. Like so much, this is a tradition going back longer than even the Wisened folklore allows. No one knows its origins and, like so much, it hasn’t changed at all in that time.

It’s the only time that strangers from another village are allowed into barter and celebrate with them. Due to the remoteness of Heart no one else even knows of its existence, no one else has ever visited and they know no different.

The other villagers are strange, to be sure. They speak in unintelligible klicks and grunts, but over the centuries the two villages have developed a complicated language of sign and mime that only the Wisen truly know.

And only the Wisen deal with the Woden folk from the other village. They are seen throughout the time of celebration but it is forbidden to engage them in conversation or stop them in the street. Children are taught to fear them with a reverence that almost borders on religious awe.

They are so similar to the villagers of Heart save for one striking difference; they are all adorned with ornate masks; branches like spokes emanating from the third eye. Different coloured woods and sized branches mark each Woden member as unique; as does the number of branches on the mask. Some have discussed whether the number of branches denote status, or maybe the colours; but all such conjecture is forbidden by the Wisen.

Samfire has spent her life knowing all this; knowing it is against the law to court their attention during the Thaw, but each year since she could run she has tried to get close to them, as has her twin S’wain; much to the chagrin of their parents.

But this year they are finally old enough. They have reached the age when they are courted. They must leave their parents shelter and be paired, to find their place in society. However, before this can happen the “Selection” must take place and both sisters can barely contain their excitement.

There are many among them that are fearful and distrustful of the Woden, but not Samfire or S’wain. They wish to be amongst the chosen, anointed by the song, bathed by their love and have prepared long and hard, done everything that was expected of them.. and more.

Their parents, mindful, try to keep their expectations low, have tried to dissuade them from even trying but their minds are made up, as one.

Born as twins, they have done so much together that all has become shared; pains and pleasures and all emotions. They are forever in each others company; if one should become anointed then maybe they both will be. Samfire wants it more than S’wain, who wants it for her sister.

Come the night of the celebration and all is prepared. During the final gathering when they become opened up to the Song of Woden they would open themselves up also to the other twin. For those who heard the Song of Woden would be anointed and chosen; and if one sister was picked then so would the other be.

No one knew what became of those who were chosen but year after year the Woden were welcomed back into the village and the celebrations happened again; and this year it would be Samfire and S’wain’s time.

Come the celebrations, despite being near opposite ends of the village hall, now packed with other hopefuls and celebrants, the Woden were all on stage; barely twenty this year when all other years there had been double that number. Neither twin could contain their excitement, each fuelling the others happiness, stoking it up to near fever pitch.

Suddenly, all is silent and the Woden stand facing them; their wooden masks more elegant and disconcerting than ever, energy seeming to radiate from them.

This must be it, Samfire thinks, giddy with the realisation that it is happening now. But nothing…. Nothing is happening; she can hear only silence. No sound save for the stagnant breathing of the Woden, pregnant with apprehension and menace? What is happening?

Some people are moving to the front of the hall, towards the stage… that should be Samfire! Wait…

S’wain is there, amongst the chosen! She has heard the song, but why has she not opened herself up to Samfire? She tries to shout out, to move to the stage to be with her sister but she can’t. She can not move or utter a word, can only watch with horror and bitter disappointment as S’wain joins the Woden, where she is given robes and a crown of unknown leaves and flowers. Standing there now, amongst the Woden, S’wain seems alien, not of the village any longer. Samfire can not contact her; there is no link anymore and for the first time Samfire is alone.

She can only watch as the Woden lead S’wain offstage with the rest, and when they are finally gone the lights all blink out like an out-breath before everyone is free to move again.

The lights stutter on once more and now there is celebration for the chosen, and for the gifts of the Woden.

All are jubilant, safe in the knowledge that they will survive for another icetime. But for Samfire there is only emptiness. She moves to the front of the stage, walks around to see where the Woden might have gone but they are nowhere to be seen; as if they never existed at all.

And the same for S’waine. Where once there was an experience shared now there is half a life. Samfire will never know why she wasn’t chosen or why S’waine never opened herself up. Part of her is happy for S’waine, or at least wants to be, but there is a phantom pain for a lost opportunity and a reconcilement that will never happen.

Beast in the beauty

Stories are strange: what starts off as fact soon becomes fiction, and after repeated tellings even the most far-fetched yarn can begin to sound like truth. People are much like this too.

 He had been called beastly for so many years that Beast he became, and so he was shunned from all around him. He fled to the deepest part of the wild wood where even the bravest feared to tread and lived in shame and isolation; and soon he repented his actions, though his countenance changed not.

He changed his ways, learned to appreciate the solitude and became friends to the other wooded creatures, for they saw beneath his fearsome visage and saw the gentle soul; the ache behind his eyes. Yet whenever he stumbled upon those who wandered too far –either mistakenly through inebriation or a badly judged bet- he was always judged harshly before he even had a chance to speak, and so faced either fear or aggression; so he gave up even trying.

Until one day a young Beauty wandered into his very cottage: wide-eyed innocence, fair hair and deep blue eyes. At first he thought that she was lost and waited for her to leave, hiding as best he could, lest he frighten her too much. But she didn’t leave.

“I know that you’re there; I can hear you breathing. I don’t know who you’re trying to fool. I’ve come to see you; to seek you out.” He tried holding his breath but only started coughing instead. She found him easily, cowering behind the curtains. “That’s not very beastly.” She said.

“Not everything is as it seems.” He replied, his voice sounding hollow after having no one else to talk to for so long.

“No.. indeed. Well, you might try a little harder. I have a proposal for you.”

The Beast was perplexed. Initially he was intrigued by this beauty, then bemused and the more she talked the more bemused he became. “I could give you a home, companionship and fame. You are known throughout the land as the fearsome beast. Can you imagine how famous  we could become? The Beast and the Beauty who tamed him!”

The idea was ludicrous but the more she talked, the more he found himself listening; she was captivating: her eyes had a cold diamond hardness behind them that told him she was used to people doing what she wanted; and he felt himself compelled to do so as well.

Within three hours he agreed to be paraded in front of the village as the repentant Beast.

As she expected they flocked to see him. They gathered around him in fear initially; in awe at what had lurked in the dark woods: he was the stuff of legends. Many people came from far away as the stories spread. During the day he was caged and roared, striking out at the people around him as he had agreed to; until one day he grew tired of this behaviour.

He had attained a degree of peace and self-acceptance before this and that was now denied him. For sure, in the evenings he lived in luxury with Beauty but even then he was treated as no better than a pet. He had been happier on his own in the wood; but he had signed a pact so had to serve her.

One day the anguish of him being caged became too much and he began to cry; much to the shock of those that crowded around him. Some jeered but most were moved, so imagine their shock when he said three words in his deep, velvet tones: “No more, please.”

This was beyond all reckoning. More flocked to see him and wanted to hear him speak; and so his fame spread further, much to Beauty’s delight. She now dressed him in luxurious clothes that heightened the incongruity of such a beast.

People then began to feel sorry for him and question why he was still being caged. They had been led to believe that he was the Beast, but as time passed they realised that this was not so. They then saw who the beastly one was.

And, as if often does in stories, the tides turned; slowly, gradually: at first she didn’t noticed. The Beast slowly moulted and she became a little uglier each day; her hair becoming ragged, skin sallow and drawn; pockmarked and blotchy. She then developed fangs and grew fur where none should be seen in a lady.

She made the Beast’s life hell then, but he was no longer the beast and would stand for it no longer. When the transformations were finally complete she looked wretched and forlorn, truly beastly.

He was magnificent and noble, a true Prince. He offered her two choices: live as he had in the cage or go back to the wood. She did not appreciate the irony and chose isolation… and I believe she is there still.

The Emperor’s dilemma

And it came to pass that the Emperor had lost his way; he was now naked to the world, a fraud for all to see. True, all who were his subjects lived happily for he was a benevolent ruler; still, his judgement had been called into repute and he was sure that, just as no one could take him seriously anymore, so he could not trust those that advised him in the past; for had they not been taken in as well?

So he sought to find someone who could give him counsel; someone who could advise him; he sent out a summons for all the wise men, soothsayers, high priests and seers to apply for the position.

Seven hundred and seventy seven of the wisest, canniest, most erudite men and women applied and paid visit to the Emperor and were subject to a barrage of questions, problems and conundrums by the Overseers and Officials, all who were determined not to make the same mistake again. They had been hoodwinked once and this time more than their jobs and reputations were on the line.

For weeks they whittled down the wise people to but three: one woman with raven black hair and sorrowful eyes; one wizard who had astounded all who had tested him with magic and witticisms; and a tramp –beshevelled, bemused and bereft. He had barely spoken throughout the interviews and, had it not been for the look of serenity and intense knowing in his eyes, he would have been thrown out. He had also been asked to prove his position by one simple deed and, where all had provided trickery and tomfoolery he had drawn a single, perfect circle.

Before it came to his final decision the Emperor wanted to spend one month with each of the wannabe’s to see if they really had his best interests at heart, and would advise him properly. His officials bade him take the tramp last in the hopes that he would either lose interest or be replaced by one of the others.

For the first month the Emperor employed the services of the woman and initially it seemed as if he had chosen correctly. She seemed in tune with the people, understood their pain and empathised with their suffering. She seemed to care and want to help them in their plight, and so the Emperor felt compelled to emulate this.

He became known as sympathetic and gracious; a caring ruler. But soon he became aware that there was nothing more to this woman; her pain was so deep that the only thing she could do was try to help others. This, however, did not seem to be the answer. In her time with him he had adopted an open door policy where anyone could call on their counsel and he would reward them, but this did nothing to quell their problem and in many cases the Emperor saw their problems worsen. Her wisdom was but referred pain and soon even he began to suffer from melancholia so he called a stop to her term two weeks ahead of time.

The Wizard, who had been called miraculous by the Emperor’s officials, also seemed to be right for the position at first. He had charisma oozing out of every syllable and proverbs and miracles for every occasion that wowed the crowds and made him the talking point for miles around. The Emperor was still spoken about in hushed tones, his reputation suspect. Why was he relying on these people? What was going on? Had he not learned his lesson?

As he spent more time with this man, the Emperor realised that the Wizard lacked consistency; the answers that he gave varied and sometimes even contradicted each other. He began to observe this man more closely and soon realised that these miracles were nothing more than cheap parlour tricks.

In desperation the Emperor set him the impossible “Riddle of the three liars” to test his character. Rather than admit that he could not solve it, the Wizard became moody, disingenuous and then downright nasty. The Emperor banished him in the third week.

Despite his Viziers warning and his own trepidation, the Emperor agreed to see the tramp.

But before the tramp had even sat, the Emperor launched into a soul searching tirade:

“I am at a loss! It seems that no matter what I do or who I choose to trust I’m doomed to failure!  Even from the seven hundred and seventy six wisest all I get is more doubt and uncertainty; and from the three that are left –that show the most promise- one is governed by pain and a bleeding heart; the other trickery and fakery… and then there’s you. You who have nothing, say nothing but can draw something of the most sublime beauty. What am I supposed to do?”

The tramp looked at the Emperor a short while and then spoke serenely;

“It seems that you are in an unenviable situation, my liege. In much the same predicament as the three liars, it would seem unsolvable.” The Emperor was shocked by this as so few people knew of this riddle… “But perhaps you are asking the wrong question…” The Emperor started to smile. “And perhaps you already know the answer.”

The Emperor was so taken aback by this; he knew this to be the truth. He wanted to present the tramp with wealth, glory and happiness but the tramp shook his head.

“What need I of wealth?” He said. “I have all I need and want for nothing more. Glory will certainly not sustain me; it is a shallow cup and once empty will drain those that try to refill it. Happiness, I have in abundance.”

“But what can I do to repay you?” The Emperor asked.

“I have a stone in my pocket; all I need is some boiling water to make the finest soup from it.” Now it was his turn to smile as the Emperor laughed at this preposterous idea.

Time passed and the Emperor learned to rule wisely. He still asked for advice but listened to only one voice now –his own self. In all the commotion and kerfuffle he had too long allowed others to think for him and had lost his way. In the end he learned to keep his own counsel, and encouraged everyone to do the same.

And, for a time, the kingdom was at peace.

The magical world of Baby Bear - a children's story

And one day Baby Bear woke up and realised that he could see and hear all the boys and girls who read his stories. And more… he could bring them into the stories as well, where they could have wonderful adventures.

He invited Tommy into his world first; stretched his hand across the magical veil that separated their worlds and beckoned Tommy to join him. At first Tommy was too sad to even acknowledge him but soon he saw the tiny bear’s furry hand and smiled before taking hold of it.

Together they crossed over from Tommy’s world into the world of magical stories where Baby Bear lived. In Tommy’s world it had been a drab day, drizzling with grey, wet rainy rain… but in the world of Baby Bear it was sublime blue skies with candyfloss clouds and a joyful singsong sun, spreading happiness everywhere. Tommy nearly cried with tears of joy at such a sight.

Baby Bear welcomed Tommy into his magical world: “This is the world of magic that borders your world. It is always with you and we are always with you. You need never be sad or upset again. You do get sad sometimes, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do sometimes.” Tommy replied. “I cry and I don’t know why.”

“Are you lonely?” Asked Baby Bear.

“Sometimes I am alone and It upsets me. I can not help but feel sad.” Tommy replied and a tear slid slowly down his cheek.

Baby Bear brushed the tear away with a furry finger and said, “You will never be lonely again. How can you be alone when you are but a heartbeat away from this?” Baby Bear outstretched his furry arms and held them astride. Tommy sniffed and looked around.

They stood in a beautiful wood with tall, tall trees all around them. Each of the trees were mighty and powerful and all grew wide, wide smiles and had wide blinking eyes. Each of the trees surveyed each other and then laughed with such delight that Tommy could not help but laugh with them.

“Why do they laugh?” Asked Tommy.

“Listen as they sing their song and you will understand.” Baby Bear replied.

Whoom Whoom Whoom Shoom Shoom Shoom

We grow tall with the love of the soil

The love of the wind and the love of the sun

We give love because of the sun, because of the soil

Because throughout it all we are as one

We are one because of the wind,

Because of the soil and because of the rain

And because of that love we’ll sing again.

Whoom Whoom Whoom Shoom Shoom Shoom

The water gives us love so we can grow

The sun gives us love so we can show

The wind gives us love moving our branches to and fro

The soil gives us love by letting us know

That we are all one, and that love will never go

Whoom Whoom Whoom Shoom Shoom Shoom

We show our love by growing so strong

Our roots grow so far, so firm and so long

Our branches reach and almost touch the sky

For we are always happy and never ever shy

With all this love around us why ever wonder why?

Whoom Whoom Whoom Shoom Shoom Shoom

Tommy joined in with the Whoom Whooming and clapped when the song was finished. Baby Bear turned to him and said: “Even in your world trees are always happy and sing songs in the wind. It is just you do not know how to listen. You will do now though.”

Baby Bear smiled to Tommy and Tommy smiled back. “Now, how do you show that you are happy and want to share that happiness with others?” Baby Bear asked.

“You hug them?” Tommy ventured forth with his uncertain answer.

“Yes, that’s right.” Baby Bear replied and Tommy smiled with pride. “And trees loved to be hugged and will always hug you back. Why don’t you try it now?”

And Baby Bear showed Tommy what he meant and walked up to the tree and hugged it with much love, for it came so easy to him to show his love, especially to the trees. The tree responded in kind and its branches moved around the baby bear and hugged him back.

Tommy walked up to the nearest tree and placed his arms around its trunk and hugged it. He smelt the rich loam of the bark and felt its soft furry texture on his cheek, and then marvelled when the trees branches hugged him back, very gently but full of love and affection.

Soon the hugs were over and Tommy was left smiling earlobe to earlobe.

“There are always hugs for you and trees will always hug you back; they love their hugs. How can you be alone when you have such trees around you?” Baby Bear asked.

“I don’t know…” Tommy replied.

“You can’t, because we are always with you.”

With that Baby Bear walked with Tommy away from the trees and out of the wood, waving goodbye as they did so. The trees waved goodbye back, singing their Whoom Whoom song.

Soon they reached an open field and a tall hill stood in front of them. The sun smiled down at them and the wind blew kisses at them as they climbed the hill. Both the baby bear and Tommy could not help but smile when they reached the top and sat down on the grassy knoll.

“How can you be unhappy when you are but a heartbeat away from this?” Baby Bear asked and Tommy could only nod in blissful agreement. From afar they could hear distant warblings as a small flock of wondrous Bluebirds flew to them.

“Listen.” Said Baby Bear. “Listen to what they are singing.”

Wirble Whorble Wurble Warble

We float and we flutter and glimmer and glide

We are one with the sky and never need to hide

For we are happy and show it from in to outside

Wirble Whorble Wurble Warble

The sky is our friend and we know we are one

We talk all our warmth and love from the sun

And flying is joyous and such wonderful fun!

Wirble Whorble Wurble Warble

You too can fly and it’s easy to be

Simply close your eyes, grow your own wings and see

Your happiness will guide you and help set you free

Tommy clapped his hands and sung along with the Wurble Warbles. He could see the wonderment of the bluebirds as they flit about around them both, and sang their song in churpy, chirrupy voices. When they finished they gently perched on both their shoulders.

“Would you like to fly too?” Whispered the birds in unison.

“Oh, yes please!” Replied Tommy, so excitedly.

“Close your eyes, allow your wings to grow through your happiness and we shall all fly together!”

Tommy closed his eyes and smiled, and through the smiling he could feel his wings grow. The wings were strong and feathery and lifted him into the sky with Baby Bear flying next to him.

“We’re flying! We’re flying!” Tommy exclaimed delightedly.

“We are!” Said the birds in unison. “And you can fly whenever you want, simply close your eyes and believe. Grow your wings through your happiness and keep you aloft.”

“How can you be unhappy when you can fly like this?” Baby Bear exclaimed and looped the loop in front of Tommy’s excited eyes. Tommy clapped and laughed in delight.

Soon the flying was over and Tommy’s face was now hurting slightly because he had been laughing and smiling so much, but he didn’t mind that at all. Baby Bear led Tommy back to down the other side of the hill after waving goodbye to the birds who waved goodbye back, all the while singing their warbling song.

At the bottom of the hill was a babbling stream and both Baby Bear and Tommy took their shoes and socks off and dangled their feet in the cool water.

“How can you be sad when you are but a breath away from all this?” Baby Bear asked.

“I can’t.” Tommy smiled as he looked around him.

“Now listen as the fish sing you their song.” Baby Bear said as he pointed down to the water. Sure enough there was a shoal of fish that darted around their feet.

Bibble bobble bebble babble

Swimming in the stream is like swimming in love

The water is so cool but there is warmth from above

And whilst in the water we can fly like a dove

How can you be sad when you’re surrounded by love

Bibble bobble bebble babble

We swim and we dash and we swim and we splash

We laugh and we sing as we love everything

And we dart and we shout as we blow water spouts

Life is so fun when we are all one!

Bibble bobble bebble babble

The water surrounds us and we dance and we sing

We love everyone, we love everything

There’s so much to do, so much fun to be had

And with so much to do there’s no time to be sad.

Bibble bobble bebble babble

Tommy laughed and clapped and splashed his feet in time to the song. The fish swam around them and tickled their feet. Then all at once they jumped up and spoke in bits and pieces. Somehow a sentence was formed.

                                Play                                                                        swim

                and                                        us,                          and                                        us!!!

Come                                    with                       come                                     with

Tommy and Baby Bear grinned and laughed and swam with the fish, playing wonderful games in the water with them. Tommy darted and dashed amongst the plants and water weeds, laughing as he did so. How he laughed. Baby Bear swam with him and they raced each other. They had so much fun with the fishes.

When it was over they lie back on the bank of the stream to dry their clothes. They could still hear the fish singing their song as they swam away. “Bibble Bobble Bebble Babble.”

When their clothes had finally dried Baby Bear looked at Tommy and said, “Are you still unhappy?”

“No, I am happy. It is impossible to be unhappy when I’m here.” Tommy replied.

“You know that you can always visit here whenever you are sad, for this wonderful, magical place is but a heartbeat, a breath away.” Baby Bear explained. “Just close your eyes and I will be there. We can fly with the birds or swim with the fishes; or ever sing with the trees!”

“Whoom Whoom Shoom SHooM!” Sang Tommy and Baby Bear laughed with delight at the change in Tommy.

“Now is the time that you must go back, Tommy. I must be there for other boys and girls.” Baby Bear explained.

“I understand.” Replied Tommy. “I know how to be happy now. Thank you, Baby Bear.”

And Baby Bear hugged Tommy and Tommy hugged Baby Bear back.

“Don’t forget that trees love to be hugged too.”

“I won’t forget.” Replied Tommy as he closed his eyes.

When Tommy opened his eyes he was sitting in his bedroom once again. But when it was once drab and grey and drizzling, it was now beautiful blue skies and whispy white clouds. He smiled and he laughed and ran outside.

He could see birds flittering and fluttering and chirruping aloud to their hearts content and Tommy laughed and danced with them singing the whurble warble  song. And then he saw a large oak tree. He ran up to the magnificent tree and walked around it, marvelling at its splendour.

Without further ado he put his arms as far around the trees trunk as they would go (which wasn’t that far) and gave the tree a big hug.

And you know what? The tree hugged him right back.

Suffer not

The timbers crackled and popped as the flames licked the blood that had soaked into them; there was a sweet smell of roasting meat, and, as the last of the supports gave way, the cottage crumpled in on itself. Marta and Ingel smiled; their childhood was now behind them.

Marta had been hailed as the miracle baby. She had been born premature and had survived in an age where there was no such thing as premature death. The majority of babies died and so did many of their mothers. The facts of life were few; the facts of death many. All hailed the miraculous except her mother who now feared for what the birth meant, and what price they might all have to pay.

For when she was thirteen weeks pregnant she met with a woman in the woods who promised her that Marta’s life would be spared. ‘But at what cost?’ the expectant mother had asked, for she knew how such magicks worked. However, this was surely a small magick, and her need was so great.

But there is no such thing as small where magicks are concerned.

And when the baby was born all marvelled at the miracle, pushing all other thoughts away; but then the baby never cried, never wanted feeding and she had the blackest eyes you ever did see; and then, oh, did the fear start to grow inside her mother.

‘Oh, what is it that I have brought upon our family that I have done such?’ she wept, though all presumed it was due to the torture and torment of such a perilous birth.

Marta was not the first born, and nor was she the last. Mathew and Ingel were both happy births; but she was the most troublesome; but not in a way that her mother could put her finger on (though she tried).

For six years Marta kept her own company, and that of her sister; but of Mathew she wanted nothing. Marta and Ingel played deep in the woods, far deeper than even Mathew would dare go, even though he was three years older.

One day the mother, who’s dread and curiosity had got the better of her, ventured herself into the woods and followed her wayward daughters. Underneath a twisted Elm she saw Marta sitting hunched down, her arms cradle something in her lap. Being very careful not to be heard, the mother edged round so she could see more of what was happening.

And what a sight met her eyes that she shrieked with disgust and fear; Marta was suckling Ingel not from her breast but from a third nipple in the middle of her chest. All back then were well versed in the lore of Witchcraft and knew the signs, and this was unmistakable; but not her daughter, not her own Martha!

She ran to her daughters who were startled by such a sudden noise, and tore Ingel away. She then tore open Marta’s dress to verify her worst fears. Woe then when she could not see any sign of the third nipple any longer; not even a scar. But it was there….

She dragged them both home in silence and if she had dared look back then she would have seen the glances of malice and reckoning pass between her daughters.

“But I did see something. You weren’t there, Papa.”

“Trick of the light, Ma. That was all it was; you’ve always been tense around Marta, and all can understand why. You’ve always been superstitious but not around Mathew and Ingel.” And it was then that she poured out her soul to her husband; all that had been bottled up for six long years.

At first he had looked at her with sympathy, then concern before feeling that maybe there was something more serious wrong with the woman who had borne him three children, The first seeds of doubt are often sewn carelessly but only one needs to root for it to spread like wildfire.

Just as he now paid more attention to his wife, so she paid more attention to Marta. The bond between Marta and Ingel was unholy; more akin to mother and daughter or worse.. but her husband put it down to healthy curiosity; yet even Mathew was ashamed and embarrassed by it. One day his mother found him crying in the cellar.

“Why cry, Mathew? What can it be that ails you?”

“Marta and Ingel; they torment me so.”

“Are you sure it’s not the other way around?”

“I knew you’d never believe me. They said you wouldn’t.” At that his mother hugged him very tightly and apologised, kissing his tears away.

“I’m sorry, my pet. Of course, I believe you. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“We were playing dares. She said that she had something that I didn’t; so she showed it to me.. a third teat… it was disgusting; she asked if I wanted to suck at it. When I said no she asked to see my… my..”

His mother was horrified, so she hadn’t imagined the third nipple, after all. She softly encouraged her son to continue, fearing what she was going to hear next.

“Well, they goaded me; said that I wasn’t man enough; so I showed them. Then it got hard when they touched it and Marta took hold of it; then took a rusty blade and cut it. I couldn’t flinch else she would’ve cut me deep and she said that she’d cut it off if I said anything. But you’ll protect me, won’t you, Ma?”

“Yes, of course I will. Your Pa will hear of this as well, mark me.”

But of course, the father wouldn’t have anything harsh said about his Princess, not the miracle baby. Mathew was simply making it up for attention.

And when Mathew went missing a week later it was seen as another attempt at attention seeking. He was hiding out in the woods somewhere, but his mother knew; oh, she knew something was wrong and so did Marta; and though butter wouldn’t melt when she was with her father (for she was all sweetness and pudding) she reserved her scorn filled gazes for her mother.

And when Matthew was found later, his insides were where his outsides were meant to be.; everyone put it down to wild animals for his body was barely recognisable. Most of his organs had been mangled completely, partly eaten except for his manhood which looked as if it had been cut off.

The mother knew that she would be next. There was her side of the bargain that was due and there is only ever one payment: a life for a life.

Early that morning, when she knew her husband was in his deepest slumbers, she crept into her daughters room vowing vengeance. Ingel looked so innocent; she could still be saved if Marta’s life was ended quickly. Grabbing a pillow from poor Mathew’s bed she placed it on Marta’s face and held it down hard, despite the struggling and muffled screams.

Ingel woke with a start and screamed herself, trying to tear her mother away from Marta’s prone body, scratching red furrows into her flesh.

The blow came from nowhere and hit mother hard on the back of the head. She collapsed and fell against the dresser. Her husband stood over her, his face ashen with shock, eyes streaming with tears at what his wife had tried to do. He hit her again, aghast that his own wife was still trying to get to his daughters bed. After the third blow she did not move any more.

He then cried out himself feeling a tearing pain in his ankles. He fell and clutched at them and was horrified to find gushing blood. His Achilles tendons had been cut through.

“Thank you, Ingel.” Marta said, getting out of bed and into her nightgown. Ingel held the knife and watched the first rays of the morning sun dance on its blade.

“And thank you, Father, I was most afraid that Mother would go through with it; she was far stronger than I had anticipated But, you see, she was quite right. And now it’s far too late for you, just as it was too late for Mathew –but don’t worry; you’ll be joining them both.

“But before you die you’ll be offered as the final sacrifice and the covenant that was started with my birth will be completed, and we will go back to him. Goodbye Father.”

From underneath her bed Ingel took two large torches, walked into the kitchen and lit them; there were stacks of wood in each corner of the cottage –each had been placed there the night previous.

Once satisfied that the cottage was ablaze, the daughters walked to the closest hill and watched their childhood burn away to nothing, before turning their back and walking whence they came; into the darkest depths of the wood.

The Ajar door

There were days like this, believe it or not, where some people knew in which direction their lives lay, even though there were no signposts. This is not a story about those people.

But it was at one such crossroads where two men, who were very different in purpose but not in outlook, met by happenstance. One was pure, though his heart hung sometimes heavy; the other had done and seen too much to turn back though he longed for sometimes more.

“Well met, my son. What ails you? You look in pain.”

“Well; I wouldn’t normally admit to such a thing –for it wouldn’t do well in my line of work to admit to a weakness- but for some reason I know that I can trust you. So yes; I must admit that I am in some pain –the people from my last employment did not take too kindly to the conclusion of the job and they refused to pay me… what’s more, they tried to take my life and almost succeeded.”

“And is this the norm for you?”

“Hazards of the job, though it’s rare to suffer such a close call –I must be slipping.”

“I think it prudent that I don’t ask about your particular line of business.”

“Ignorance is sometimes bliss, Father.”

“Am I that obvious, my Son?”

“Not to those who have not learned to read people.”

“As you can imagine, it’s not always wise to flaunt the cloth. There are too many people that see a man of God as an easy target, often suffering from the misconception that we have rich coffers straining under the weight of justly given gold.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Father.”

“I thank you. Still I can see that you are in need of some healing, and I would be remiss if I did not oblige.”

And with that the man of wisdom and sadness placed his hands on the other man’s shoulders and stood behind him for some time. When at last he was finished both were of one mind and knew that they were far closer in spirit than they had at first thought.

“It’s rare that I can relax with others, Father; and for that alone I thank you. But for the other I am clearly in your debt.”

“There are no checks and balances here, my Son. There are things that I could ask of you in return which would be impossible for you to promise in your current circumstances.”

“But I will not forget the deed, nor the kindness that you have shown me.” The other man spoke. “Where are you going, if I may be so bold.”

“I am going to Slaughly; I hear they are in need of a lay preacher, so I was dispatched.”

“Just know that you are going to Slaughley, and not the other way to Crawlin; which is where I am headed. They are not the sort of company you would benefit from, nor would they from you. It is foul business that brings me there and you would best be away.”

So the preacher followed the assassin’s heed and took the left hand path until he reached the village. When he spied the ruin of the church his heart broke and he wondered what the Lord was asking from him. He found a cross amongst the ruins and propped it on the wreck of the altar before changing into his robes.

“We were told that you had your quirks, Sirrah; but we never thought that they ran this far.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“You were sent here…”

“I was.”

“By the order.”

“I was.”

“To take care of certain problems…” The men that now surrounded him were brusque, bearded with cold eyes; hardened like dull steel.

“Yes; well – I am here to provide council to those in need.”

“We are all of need here, Father; but not of the type that you can offer us. I can see now that you are not the man we were expecting. No matter; one man is as good as another where killing is concerned.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We would ask of you to take one of your own that step closer to God.”

“You know what you ask of me and why I can not and will not. I am a man of the cloth.”

“Think of this as another Crusade, Father; of a more personal nature where the stakes are far higher for you.”

“How so?”

“If this person is not.. gathered unto himself than your life will be forfeit.”

“You know what you are saying and what the ramifications will surely be.”

“Look around you, Father. Do we really look like God fearing people?” At this the men laughed. “The Innkeep is not one of us; yet he is of powerful family that if one of us killed him then there would be repercussions. However, by you being here all that will surely be alleviated.”

“I will not do your dirty work for you.”

“Then you will die and we will find someone else. This way you can at least give him absolution.” The men laughed again and walked out. “You have three days, Father.”

The priest wept then, asking the Lord what to do.

On the first day he prayed, sought to make penance for his previous sins –which must have been great and many to have ended up in such a place- but he did not leave the sanctuary of the Church.

One the second day he visited the Inn. He wanted to see the soul of the man he had been called to end. He needed to understand why.

The Innkeeper took one look at the man of cloth and laughed. “I am glad that my prayers have been listened to, but it is not my soul that needs saving but my body. My BEAUTIFUL body!” And with that he plonked down a flagon of mead in front of the preacher.

“What am I to do with this?”

“I could think of many things, but you might be offended by them.”

“How dare you!”

“You really are a man of faith! I’m surprised to see you in such a place. Maybe some habits are hard to break. If it’s not a drink that you’re after, then maybe a young boy?”

The man truly was despicable; he was bull chested with no discernable neck or manners. His face was badly scarred and pock marked, yet the women fawned over him; more from fear than anything. His temper was fierce, fists flying over the slightest provocation –and there were many.

During the time he spent there the Priest witnessed much that churned his gut; he had never met such a loathsome creature but did that mean he deserved to die? Would not that deed make them equals?

And what set the Innkeeper aside from the others? Simply that he was not ‘one of them’, despite them all seemingly cut from the same; and the Priest knew that he could not follow through on his deed. When he left the establishment he was accosted by the same villagers from the day before.

“Vile, is he not? Over ripe for pruning, surely?”

“Never before have I met such a creature.”

“So you will do the deed?”

“You can not even say the words. You wish me to murder him in cold blood.”

“He has done far worse.”

“And that justifies it? But so have you all, and if I were to start with him and killed all those who warranted it then you would surely be next; all of you; and I would not be far behind.”

“So that’s a no then, ‘good Father’”

“That is a firm and definite no.”

“Even though tomorrow your life is forfeit.”

“I can not justify his life for mine.”

“You have one more day. Tomorrow we will find out which life you value more: his or yours.”

On the third day he rose from a dreamless sleep. His prayers were unanswered, and he was no closer to understanding why he had been brought here. All he knew was that he would be dead by days end.

There were times when he had become weak and had contemplated ending the Innkeepers life, but he had remained resolute and strong. There were other times he had wanted to run but he knew that he would never have been allowed to leave. There were no alternatives but to accept the day.

In amongst the angst he felt he was also becoming aware of a stillness, a silence that held peace. He had accepted his self and knew that regardless of the consequences he had made up his mind.

There was a strength that he felt now and he knew that he would not die afraid. It was then that he heard someone enter the church. It was his time. He looked up into the eyes of the man he had met at the crossroads.

“Father, please forgive me.”

“Dare I ask what you’ve done now?” Despite all he had felt he now found himself smiling.

“I should not have tarried so long at the other village, but I have never been accepted in such a fashion. They never thought to judge me, or even want to know about my past. They only sought to see the best in me. I have been naught but a vagrant for most of my life and never wanted to settle down, but I could easily have done so there.”

“What made you leave?”

“When I realised just what it would cost you, Father. And that I could not have lived with. I owe you and now I owe you double for you have shown me another way of being.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“Leave, Father. Leave this place and never come back. I am here to fulfil the contract as I was supposed to. You will be allowed to leave unmolested –they know that they will have me to deal with if they try to stop you.”

“And so you will kill this man.”

“Aye.”

“And though it means that you will be taking another persons life.”

“It is either his life or yours. To me there is no equation to fulfil, nothing to balance. And though it will lead me further away from my ultimate destination; thanks to you I now know that there can be peace of mind for me.”

“Know that there will be a place for you in our village. Your way will be hard for there will be much penance for you to pay. Although you believe you are doing this for the right reasons you are still consciously taking another person’s life and that is still a sin…”

“But the way will be worth it.”

“Yes; your way will ultimately be worth it.”

“Until we meet again, Father.”

“And we will, for I know you to be a man of your word. And I will await you, our door always ajar.”