Woodcutters Folly


by Russet & Spider


for Nall’s 30th Birthday 2015




The sun hadn't yet risen when Karl led his small team into the woods beyond the River Drem. His heavy boots thudded through the loam and mulch covering the ground as he led the way in amongst the trees that made up the perimeter of the woods. It was dark beneath the canopy but that didn't bother him, trees were his life, how to strip them, trim them and fell them. Looking back at his team he offered them a brief smile before heading deeper, confident in the plan and information his son had brought him yesterday after he'd broken all the rules to enter these woods.


Glancing at his teenage son Rog he offered him a nod as he looked apprehensively toward him. He was young, seventeen summers under his belt, shaggy brown hair that reached to his shoulders that would be braided after this trip. His beard needed some work but that would come in time, for now the scraggly brown fuzz covered his chin and cheeks but it already looked like he'd be taking after his old man when it came to facial hair. Dressed in a pair of sensible boots, plain trousers and a knee length leather tunic he stood out amongst the rest of Karl's team.


The other three members of his band took after him, broad shouldered, with heavily muscled arms that were kept bare from shoulders to wrists. Each man wore a different coloured check vest, the heavy v-neck showing off their chest when it wasn't covered by their beard. Leather trousers and boots made up the rest of their clothing and every man carried a large wood axe and had a coil of rope around their shoulders. Each and every man had braided hair, one braid for each tree they had felled, Rory, the wiry fifty something year old with grey hair had more braids than he could count. He'd worked for Karl's dad and followed him now as part of his team, like Darren and Trevor he knew to listen to the old man, know one knew more about preparing a tree for felling then Rory.


The brothers couldn't have been more different, Darren was as broad as Karl with black hair and a beard that covered his entire face and hung in a long plait down to his chest. Only his nose and eyes were visible amongst all those whiskers though his smile was hard to miss it never seemed to be absent from his face. His younger brother Trevor had light chestnut hair and his braids looped together with his beard, the two braided together but despite his exotic hair he was a serious guy, rarely smiled or joked but focussed on his work. He slowed as they passed the perimeter trees and looked up at the moss covering a nearby elm and frowned before turning to Karl.


"Moss is on tha wrong side of tha tree, is strange to see it facing west... so what we 'ere for?" He hefted his axe and looked around, "You said tha boy had found something worth are time 'n tha risk of coming inta these woods. They say they ah protected and nah fer us."


Clapping his son Karl on the shoulder he grinned widely, "Rog found a grove of Golden Wood Oak only a mile into the wood, you know how rare those are?" He looked around at his woodcutters, their eyes were alight at the idea of such rare wood being there's, "We can get in, fell one, maybe two before dark and be back out before sunset."


"Lead the way then son," Rory said brushing back his grey braids, "We have trees to fell," he motioned for the youngster to lead the way and the teenager hurried forward, weaving his way amongst the trees as the light grew stronger as the sun rose. The woods were old, the trees ancient and stately, standing far enough apart not to crowd one another, their bark lined with moss, creeping vines speckled with flowers or large leafs of various colours. It was enchanting in its own way but to Karl's eyes it was money not beauty. The undergrowth was pretty sparse, the trees let some light through but not enough to let a massive number of bushes cover the ground. A mile back from the river bank Roger led them to the promised grove of golden wood oak.


The golden oaks encircled the clearing, their trunks smooth like slender pillars of actual gold, the deep rich yellow colour spreading all the way up to the branches that reached out to cover over half of the clearing. The leaves however were silver each tri-foil shape sporting a filigree of golden about edge. As such the ceiling of the clearing looked like a rippling arch of silver except in the centre. The trees formed a ring and the middle of the grove was dominated by a large pool of crystal clear water with a series of rocks and a large grass covered mound in the centre. Walking over to one of the trees Karl pressed a hand to the smooth bark, running his fingers along its surface with a soft smile. 


“Perfect, well done Rog, this is exactly the sort of wood we want, we’ll be able to sell this for a premium price in the markets. The nobles will be clamouring to purchase this from us.”


“Well then,” Darren said his grin lighting up his black bearded face, “Let’s get to work we don’t have much time. These woods get strange after dark.”


Trevor nodded, and silently clambered up the nearest tree, using his rope to aid his approach to the nearest branches. Once he was ensconced atop the largest branch he swung down and clasped Rory’s arm and helped the old man up beside him. Karl nodded in approval and moved down a couple of trees and placed a hand on the tree and glanced up at it.


“This one,” he declared and motioned Trevor and Rog up, “Strip the branches from the top down then I think Rog has earnt the right to be the one to bring it down.”


His son’s face lit up and the teenager rubbed at his beard self-consciously, “You mean it dad?”


“We’ll be braiding your hair in the bear-hall tonight my son, you found the grove, you deserve to bring one of them down,” Karl stepped back to let his son clamber up into the tree and let Trevor follow him up, the quiet man giving him a single nod to show he understood. He was to help Rog but let his son do the lion’s share of the work, this was to be his tree. Walking further into the grove Karl looked around, admiring the gold and silver dappled light as the sun continued to rise higher. The orange tint of early morning faded to the soft yellow of summer as behind him the steady thunk of axes biting into wood broke the peace of morning. A few seconds later the first branch fell, crashing to the ground in a flurry of leaves and snapping twigs, moments later another fell as Rog and Trevor got to work, cutting back the branches to make it easier to fell a tree. 


Turning away from the pool the woodcutter picked up a branch and ran it through his fingers, examining the bark. It was smooth and sleek, the golden tone was unnatural, metallic in a way he didn't understand. He’d only seen it once, long ago in Earl Nostor’s castle; his throne had been carved from a single block of golden oak. Looking up at the guys and his son chopping branches he moved away from where they were working, watching, keeping a wary eye on the forest. They might only be a mile beyond the border but it was still dangerous. The wood was an otherworldly land that belonged mostly to the fae creatures who called it their home. He knew how much of a risk it was to come in here, to risk the ire of the woodlands but for the chance to pull his family, his village out of abject poverty it was a risk worth taking.


More branches fell and the sun continued to rise through the sky, heading toward the noon day zenith. So Karl watched the surrounding woodlands, keeping an eye through the wide spaced trees for anything untoward. It all seemed quiet however so Karl jumped almost out of his skin as a voice called out from behind him.


“Just what do you think you are doing? You are hurting our trees.”


Karl looked around, hefting his axe, ready to make use of it but at first he didn’t see anything until his eyes noticed something fuzzy standing on a rock just out from under the shrouding canopy of oak trees. He approached cautiously, frowning down at the strange creature, they were four, maybe five inches tall and had brown and yellow fur. Moving warily closer Karl didn’t drop his guard just because they were so small, if they were a fairy creature he would have to dispose of them swiftly, the iron in his axe should be enough to overcome them, he just had to be swift.


“These trees are not for humans, nor are they for cutting, order those men to stop at once,” her voice was high and certainly female in tone and her mismatched green and purple eyes were drawn into a frown. She was an odd little thing, the only clothing she wore was a pair of blue gloves, a headband and what looked like a sword in a sheath on her back. The long hilt stuck up above her shoulders and she was gripping it causally in one paw. 


Karl struck without speaking, swinging his axe expertly at the rodent like critter’s chest as she frowned up at him. At the last second she jumped, landed on the flat of the blade and scampered up the haft of the axe to sink her teeth into his wrist. Karl got a glimpse of buck teeth like a rodent and a pair of sharp fangs to either side like a ferret before they were ripping into his skin and he reflectively opened his hand in pain. His axe sailed through the air and he shook his arm, bright droplet of blood splashing onto the grass as the bastard creature landed on another rock, rubbing her muzzle with one of her gloves.


“Ugh, you taste disgusting human, I asked you nicely twice, once more and then your fate is set… tell your men to stop and leave.”


Karl glared at this cocky beast then glanced behind him as he heard heavy footsteps, Darren and Trevor had climbed down from their respective trees, axes held ready in strong hands. Rory and Rog were a few feet back, beneath the tree Rog had been working on. This made Karl grin and he turned back to the creature and sneered at her as she tightened the grip on the hilt of her tiny blade.


“I’d say you are the one who should be leaving beast, we are men and we outnumber you. Run along little beast and leave us to our work.”


She stared at him and relaxed the grip on her sword and shook her head, “Very well, you have no one to blame but yourself,” she then pulled open a strange flap of fur across her middle and slipped her hand inside. It looked like a pouch  and she disgustingly pushed her whole hand inside then drew out a large shell. It was disgusting and clearly magical in some manner and Karl shook his head and motioned for Darren to strike. The black bearded woodcutter stepped forward, swung his axe then froze as the brown and yellow rat creature blew into the shell-horn. The sound it released defied sense, it was a mixture of several notes echoing harmoniously inside Karl’s head, forcing their way into the depths of his psyche. The world grew hazy, his vision blurred as the song grew stronger and slowly the sound faded away as the small creature ran out of breath but it was too late. Karl was kneeling before her, staring down blankly, his body refusing to respond to his urgent desire to move. To either side he could just make out Darren and Trevor also kneeling in place though he couldn’t look backwards to check on Rory or his son. Looking up at the woodcutters the odd creature sniffed in distaste as she stuffed the horn back into her pouch. The line of fur rippled, bulging momentarily before smoothing out flat as the horn disappeared and she reached back to pull out her sword.


Apprehensive eyes watched the hilt rise and the weapon slip free; it wasn’t a sword but a strange framework of wood set with metallic teeth of varying length. Cradling it against her stomach the fae critter sat down and looked at the woodcutters with a disdain, looking each in the eye before she started to pluck the metal keys with her hairless fingers. Each key released a note that hung in the air, a vibrating tone of achingly unusual sound but as she wove more notes into the lingering mixture Karl felt his mind slipping. It was growing harder and harder to hold onto the world around him. Darkness crept into the side of his vision, the world shrank until all he could see was the surmelle playing her music. A fleeting thought queried how he knew what she was but it was lost as swiftly as it came as the music rolled over him and his eyes closed and all that remained was the music holding him, pressing his mind further down into the depths of slumber.


-0-


Staggering into a clearing Rory slumped against the trunk of a tree, chest heaving as he gulped down lungfuls of sweet air. His heart was hammering in his chest and his vest clung to his chest, soaked with sweat. He’d been running hard for… for ages but now he thought he’d lost them, there was nothing behind him and the forest was quiet except for the soft sighing of wind through the branches. Crouching down he stayed still, letting his racing heart calm down whilst he gulped down lungfuls of air and took stock of his location. He’d fled the clearing as soon as the odd creature disabled Karl and the others, fleeing before the fae beast turned its dark magic on him.


Feeling a bit steadier the elderly woodcutter moved around the edge of the clearing, looking from side to side before kneeling down besides the stream that ran through the middle, leaning down to splash water over his face. It was cool and helped calm his nerves further as he sprinkled water through his copious twisted grey braids. Resting his hands on the soft grass he lowered his face to the water, not caring that his beard was trailing in the water and took a long drink as he crouched in place. Lifting his eyes he froze as his gaze fell on the small green creature standing on the opposite shore of the stream. He was even more peculiar then the creature that had attacked Karl, his green fur a spotted mixture of light mint and darker emerald tones. The skin of his his hairless fingers was splotched and he was playing on some sort of horn, music that until that moment Rory had mistaken for the gentle caress of wind through the leaves and rattle of branches against one another. 


Slowly lifting his face from the water Rory’s muscles tensed as he poised to flee but before he could move he made the mistake of glancing down at his reflection. His face was changing, chin and nose pushing forward, stretching slowly forcing his beard to spread across the elongating jawline like fur. His ears clambered up the side of his head whilst his eyes lost their colour, starting to become plain brown orbs that stared into themselves as he found himself unable to move. His body was lifting off the ground, arms and legs lengthening, feet and fingers curling up, growing harder, thicker until all Rory was left standing on four solid lumps at the end of each limb. He cried out in pain as he felt them split and spread, their new shape supporting his weight against the grassy forest floor. 


That wasn’t the end of the changes, his body was shifting, growing thicker, rounder, muscles crawling along his body, disposing of his humanity in favour of a bestial build. The remnants of his clothes shredded and split as he changed to make the most of his new longer legs and hooves. Staggering Rory threw his head back and bleated as bone pressed up from the top of his skull, antlers crawling their way higher, splitting, spreading, it seemed to go on forever. It was wrong, a constant painfully numb slithering atop his head, weighing him down until suddenly the felt shedded from the bone as it stopped growing. Shaking his head from side to side Rory stared into the water of the stream, eyes wide at what he was seeing. Beside the scraps of cloth and leather around his feet there was no sign that he had ever been human unless you counted the single braided tuft of shaggy fur hanging from his chin. He was a buck, with long graceful legs, hooves and as he glanced over his shoulder a tail that flicked and flittered nervously as he pranced without thinking. His hooves thudded against the turf of the clearing. His fur was grey, the same grey that had once tumbled in almost endless braids across his human shoulders but those were gone, all that remained was the short grey fur of an animal.


Across the stream the tiny green surmelle lowered his instrument and the sudden silence rang in Rory’s ears causing them to twitch. Now that it had stopped it was painfully obvious that the bastard had been playing music all this time, his fell fae magic holding Rory captive this whole time! Prancing nervously he watched as the creature pulled open the pouch across his stomach and pushed the pipe inside. The long instrument slipped inside easily leaving no bulge or outline as the flap of skin and fur adhered neatly to the curve of his gut. He then grinned at the buck, showing off teeth like a rodent with sharp weasel fangs to either side. 


“Nelico did a good job on you,” tilting his head to one side he chuckled, which coming from the weird rat/weasel hybrid sounded more like a high pitched squeak. His eyes sank half closed as he tucked his paws into the pockets of his waistcoat, watching the nervous deer with lidded eyes.


Rory tried to speak, his muzzle moved, his tongue pressed and shifted against his teeth but the only sound that came out was an animal like bleat. Shaking his head he tried again, walking forward, front hooves splashing into the stream but he still couldn’t form actual words, just bleat like a beast. The green beast raised one arm and waved his hand back and forth lazily, “I’d run if I were you, the hunt begins.”


In the distance a horn sounded, a single bleating tone that grew louder and harsher the longer it carried on. Rory’s head snapped around, ears laying back against his skull as the horn was joined by the baying of animals, their voices forming a ragged chorus throughout the trees. For a minute they sounded then fell to silence and then the horn began again followed by the baying of the hounds, closer this time. Rory’s nerve broke and instincts slammed adrenaline through his body and he sprang over Nelico’s head and leapt off amongst the trees, frantically running. Trees flashed past as he plunged through the forest, desperate to escape that horn and its accompanying beasts. 


Rory ran, time had no meaning, nothing was important except to get as far from the clearing where his humanity had been stolen as possible. Leaping over a fallen log the trees fell behind as he raced into a small clearing, wild flowers kicked into the air around his hooves as he leapt for the shelter of the trees opposite. His grey fur was lathered in foam, his muzzle hung open, drawing air into his powerful lungs as he charged forward. For just a moment as he reached the shade of the trees he slowed, head held high, antlers brushing the lowest branches, leaves falling around him as he took a moment to wait, listen and recover his strength. There was nothing to see and for a second everything was quiet and then the beasts howled once again. Their voices rose, ragged and wild and eager and Rory knew, he just knew that it was his scent they were singing about so once again he ran!


Behind him the horn blew again as the hounds chased and he fled! Trees flashed past, oak and elm, birch and chestnut as he leapt bushes, pranced around obstacles and darted through the woods! He had to escape, he couldn’t die, not like this, hunted like a beast, chased like a dumb animal! He was human… not an animal, it couldn’t end like this, he had to escape, he had to find a way to be changed back!


Out of the corner of his eye he saw something flash past in the underbrush, a long body running on four legs. Then to his right there was another creature; from the brief glimpse he got Rory saw navy blue fur running in a crest along its back whilst the rest of their body was covered in deep sea green scales. It was no hunting hound it was a beast of the woodlands, a creature of the faeries. Rory could feel panic setting in, they were close now, silent except for the sound of their paws on the grass, the breath in the air, pacing him as he tried to leave them behind. Then without warning something slammed into his flank, pain blossomed all along his side and one of his back legs went out from under him sending him tumbling against the trunk of a tree. Struggling to stand back up Rory screamed, an animal like sound of pain and terror ripped from his throat as another arrow flashed out of the trees and buried itself into his front shoulder. Blood stained his grey fur, his breathing stuttered as he struggled to get back to his feet, hooves slipping on the grass as the scaled hunting beasts encircled him.


A creature stepped out of the shadows beneath the trees, they were tall, slender with long flowing hair so pale it was like spun starlight with long pointed ears and merciless eyes. He held a long bow held negligently in one hand, an arrow half draw against the string as he regarded the deer. Rory struggled, whining, panting, blood frothing down his muzzle as he tried to stand up still. He refused to give up, refused to quit. For a long moment the elf watched then made a soft sound, a half whistle as he returned the arrow to the quiver on his hips. 


The sound flowed quietly through the clearing and the hounds stepped out of the trees, their scaled bodies gleaming, thick manes blowing softly. Looking into their baleful red eyes Rory’s nerve finally broke as they bared their fangs, their mouths were nothing but needle thin teeth. Scrabbling with his back legs one final time Rory tried to stand up but it was useless, the arrow had severed the tendons, his legs could not support his weight each attempt caused more blood to flow over his grey fur. 


Then the elf stopped whistling and brought his hand down and the encircling hounds howled. Like the old stories he was part of the hunt now, his place had been made irrevocably certain by failing to escape; he was the prey and the wild hunt moved in to claim him. 




-0-


The music stopped, the gentle lilting music faded away and Darren suddenly jerked awake as his mind cleared. His head clanged against something metallic and he cursed loudly as he crouched down, one hand rubbing his head as he blinked blurry eyes to clear his vision. Wherever he was it was dim and from the musty scent he thought he must have been underground though there wasn’t much light to see by. The ground beneath him felt like dirt and over head his groping hand discovered metal bars that curved down to form a cage. It was nowhere near big enough for him to stand up in, yet was several feet wide. He’d just finished feeling his way around the edge when a spark suddenly cast light over the room. It was a low orange flame that flickered then swelled growing bright, illuminating a large cavern and the creature kneeling in front of the fire. It had been built in the space beneath a very large oven and Darren felt cold as the light illuminated the figure feeding the fire. 


They were unlike anything he had ever seen before, not human for sure for they had long, gangly limbs covered in thick, coarse black fur and each limb ended in large bone white claws. Their torso was extremely long and naked though when they stood up in an unfolding of limbs there wasn’t anything to see between their legs, just more coarse fur. Their face however made Darren draw back in horror, they looked like a warthog of some kind, with massive tusks, a snout and beady black eyes. They had a mohawk that ran like a thick ridge of dull silver wire down their back and up between ears like a pig’s. He was horrifying and clearly a fae creature of the like his mother and gran-ma used to scare him to sleep with when he and Trevor were young.


“Aos Si…” he whispered, tugging on his black beard worriedly, “You… you are Aos Si…”


“Ah you are awake,” his voice was gruff and deep and his smile was malicious and very amused, “You also know who I am how delightful.”


“You… you aren’t real, you are just a story to scare children, I refuse to believe…” Darren trailed off as the stick-like figure waved one hand negligently and a large cauldron slowly slid up out of the dirt floor, soil rolling aside to let the large metal pot slide freely to the surface. “No…” Darren breathed in horror then clapped one of his large, calloused hands over his mouth and nose, “You cannot…” 


“Oh I won’t,” Aos Si chuckled, their grin growing wider, a manic gleam in their eyes as the contents of the cauldron started to bubble slowly, “I won’t have to do anything, you mortal, will do it all yourself. After all… you know the story don’t you?”


Scrambling backwards away from the cauldron Darren tried to hold his breath, eyes wide in horror. Shaking his head from side to side as he battered against the bars of the cage with his shoulders, trying to make them open, to bend or break but it was hopeless no man could bend iron. When his lungs gave in he gasped, air pouring into his lungs as well as the scent of what was in that cauldron. The woodcutter moaned and fell forwards, crawling toward the source of that scent mouth hanging open as drool pooled from mouth and soaked his beard. It smelt so good, he needed to taste it, just a little… it wouldn’t hurt to eat just a little. Reaching through the bars of the cage he shuddered, groaning as his hands sank into the the cauldron cracking the solid surface with a satisfying crunch, releasing a rich aroma that made his jaws hang slack as he drooled more. Squeezing his fingers shut forced the mess to squish between his fingers whilst he panted heavily, enjoying the texture of it against his skin and the scent in his nose. It was a thin sauce filled with small grains that slopped against his arms with a thick crust layered on top.


“Eat little human,” Aos Si growled, eyes fixed on the human, “Prepare yourself for me.”


Darren obeyed, not because of the words but because it smelt so good, pulling his hands from the cauldron he brought them to his mouth and stuffed the thick mess into his mouth without looking to see what it really was. He swallowed it whole whimpering in delight as it warmed his throat on the way down and then he went back for more, stuffing the thick, warm mess into his mouth and swallowing. Every handful made his body grow warmer, his skin tingle and his beard grew matted with a slimy layer of sauce as it dripped from his hands and coated his arms. He didn’t care though, he needed more, so he kept stuffing it into his mouth, heedless of how he was changing, of the way his shoulders were broadening, his vest growing taught then splitting as he swelled. 


Muscles gave way to fat as more of the thick, warm, delicious goop slid down his throat, his trousers lasted little longer then his vest had. His feet pressing out of his boots, shredding the leather as his toe-nails lengthened into claws. His legs bulked up, rolls of fat spreading, growing, stretching his skin, forcing bristles out of his pores as he continued to grow and change as the layer of short, bristly fur spread across his whole body. Whining and snorting he stopped eating, it tasted wrong, it smelt bitter as he pawed at his beard and panted, trying to clear his head. Then a new scent tickled his nostrils and Darren turned to stare at another cauldron that the Aos Si had just set down, whatever was in it smelt good and without thinking he dragged himself over and dug his hands in, this time it felt thicker, a solid mess with a thick consistency that stuck to his skin and glopped thickly as he stirred it. Darren really didn’t care, he just started pulling out handfuls of the nutritious slop and stuffed it into his mouth.


The base of his spine grow and corkscrewed out as his lips pulled back under the sliding force of tusks. It didn’t matter though, all that mattered was that he kept eating, swallowing the thick mess eagerly, enjoying the warmth of it flowing down his throat. He pulled out a handful that was filled with some sort of solid lumps and spent a moment licking up each sugary crystal, crunching them happily between his flattening, changing teeth before digging in the cauldron for more. A messy slime coated his arms all the way to the elbows now as he slopped the mess over himself. He carried on eating though, ignoring the way his nose slipped forward, growing wider, becoming a pig snout as he started to snuffle with every mouthful. Darren was finding it easier to lick up the food as his tongue lengthened and grew to match his new snout.. 


Licking his claws clean Darren grunted and heaved his heavy body closer to the bars, the last mouthful had tasted awful, the food had lost it’s appeal once again. Squealing he turned his head and stared as Aos Si put another cauldron down just outside the cage and he struggled to reach it. It was impossible, his body was too heavy, rolls of fat buried his four legs, his gigantic gut dragged against the floor of his cage as he strained to heave himself forward and reach the source of the nutty, earthy scent now filling his nose. The cage clanked as the Aos Si opened it and laughed as he stared down at the grossly fat creature now filling his cage.


“Do you want more little piggy? Of course you do,” he teased and tipped the cauldron forward, rolling it over Darren’s muzzle so he could eat the contents as it slipped down the inside of the and poured into his mouth. This time it was mostly large chunks in a thick sauce, that made his tongue tingle and his stomach groan for more so he gobbled it down faster. He didn’t care that his formerly human body continued to swell, to grow, the folds of of fat continuing to fall and slip and stretch. He had to crunch each solid lump, mash it up with herbivore teeth before swallowing. But Aos Si didn’t stop pouring, the large lumps built up against his snout and the thick liquid oozed over his bristly fur. It felt good, he could feel more food waiting for him so swallowed the pulpy mash, gulping each muzzle full before starting on the next. Then it changed, muzzle open for the next lump it slipped out of the bottom of the cauldron and into his mouth and seemed to swell. Darren squealed as he felt his teeth lengthen, his jaws locking to hold the large apple in place. He couldn’t open his mouth, could only breath through his nose and slowly his eyes cleared as the need to eat lifted from his mind and he found himself staring up into the horrific fairy visage of his captor.


“Such a good pig, you ate it all up,” he laughed and walked out of sight, feet nudging Darren’s body, making his fat jiggle and roll as the pig squealed and grunted around the apple stuffed in his mouth. The Aos Si will steal you and cook you all up… the Aos Si will feed you his fat, make you his food. Bad boys will be eaten by the Aos Si, bad boys are but food for the fairy of the mound. The gangly limbed fae tilted the cauldron, fat oozing over his bristles, coating his body, sliding through the tough bristles that covered his form, causing it to glisten and stick together in a truly uncomfortable manner. It felt disgusting, he was disgusting, it wasn’t just the remnant of his beard or his arms matted with juices. His his entire body was soon covered and that meant… that meant…


The old story came back, fresh and terrifying in his mind and as the fairy creature knelt and forced one arm under Darren to pick him up he started to squeal louder in terror. The pig’s voice rose higher around the apple in his mouth, his squeals falling on deaf ears, feet kicking, the rolls of fat covering his legs jiggling and twitching ineffectively as the fairy pushed him rump first into the gigantic oven. Heat rolled over his form causing the slippery layer of fat coating his bristly black fur to begin to heat up. The oven door was pushed shut against his snout and heat began to work its way into his body. Eyes wide he couldn’t move, his body was beginning to grow taught as outside the Aos Si laughed and watched the pig beginning to cook. Darren couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything other than slowly start to roast as the voice of his grandmother played again and again in his mind, the final line of the story, the one that always made him scream...


“The Aos Si… will cook bad boys alive, the Aos Si… will eat you alive.”


-0-


Stumbling through the trees Trevor glanced back warily, eyes darting from side to side as he tried to find the creatures that had been following him. It was dark, the sun hidden by thickly overlapping branches, mossy growths and hanging vines. His vest was torn, his leather trousers had been shredded by clasping claws and he’d swiftly lost track of his axe during the headlong flight through the trees. It had been horrific, the creatures had come boiling out of the stream when the weird creature blew its horn and ensorcelled the others. Now though the woods were empty, dark, foreboding and the air was thick, the humidity was increasing with every step making sweat ooze from every pore. But otherwise the wood was clear from the hellish creatures. Rubbing his face Trevor took stock of his gear, he had his belt-knife but otherwise he'd lost everything else. His attempt to grab one of their supply packs when he’d fled the golden oaks had failed when one of those things had shredded it scattering supplies all over the forest.


Edging around the bole of an elm tree the woodcutter tried to ascertain which direction was which but the sky was hidden. The light was diffuse and dim and none of the natural orders usual to undergrowth seemed to hold sway here. So taking his fate in hands and gripping his knife in one calloused hand he picked a direction and started to walk hoping he was heading in the right direction. Ten minutes later he was regretting his decision, he’d missed a steep slope in the thick undergrowth and slipped down the incline arms windmilling at his side. Then a half submerged rock plunged him head first into the thick black mud that lined the bottom of the dried up stream bed. Clambering to his feet he cursed softly, clawing mud and leaf mulch out of his eyes and shaking his hands to try and dislodge the worst of it as he searched around for his knife. Typically it was gone and he had little choice but to scramble up the far slope, stinking mud caking his hands, slathering over his arm hair and matting his looped braids.


What he saw on the other side wasn’t encouraging, the forest ended, the dark line of thick shrubs, ivy and bushes had blocked the open expanse of swamp from view. Now that he’d stumbled through the final line of trees he could see it all. The land ahead was sere, drab and speckled with patches of dull green algae and moss and looking from side to side he couldn’t make out anything resembling a real path. Muttering to himself he pushed forward, the further from the trees he got the better, this swamp had to link up with the River Drem eventually. From there he could follow it back to the village and get help for the others.  After half a mile he was wading through thick sticking clay up to his knees, squelching, each leg sucking and tugging at the muck as he forced his way forwards away from the tree line. A mile out and the mud was up to his waist and threatening to creep higher as it sucked and squelched around him. He had to force each leg forward, shoving the thick semi-liquid clay out of his way to keep moving rather then lifting each leg. This left a churned up wake of thick brownish grey clay behind him, the slick surface was otherwise undisturbed and doing its best to cover his body.


As without warning all resistance vanished and he plunged under the surface as he fell straight into a hidden pool of slimy muck. Clawing his way to the surface Trevor coughed and spluttered, struggling forward blindly until his hands sank into thicker mud and he was able to haul himself out of the pool and wipe his eyes clear. His body was coated now, the remnants of his chequered vest had slipped off him in the pool and his bare chest glistened with a smooth layer of brown liquid mud. Staggering to his feet he took a step forward, foot sinking in the muck then another, testing the ground as best he could as his entire leg sank into the clay and he once again had to force his way forwards. There was still no sign of the river or what was supplying this swap with its water and Trevor cursed and clawed through the muck. He fell twice more into hidden pools of muck, the layers of slime clinging to his body growing thicker until he was unrecognizable even to himself. He was nothing more than a mud covered humanoid shape and the third pool sucked off one of his boots. Try as he might there was no sign of it and uttering the choicest curses he could think off he pulled off his other boot and hurled it out over the mud flats in a fit of pique. 


“Oh my poor man,” a soft lilting voice trilled quietly, “You do appear to be having a bad day,”


Turning slowly Trevor was prepared to fight off whatever attacked him but instead found himself staring at a beautiful woman standing atop the surface of the mud as if it was a solid surface. Her skin was a deep brown and her hair tumbled to her shoulders in thick ginger curls. Her outfit appeared to have been woven from leaves and she walked lightly over to stand before Trevor, one hand held out to him welcomingly.


“Come human, let me guide you to a safer place then this swamp, it is most inhospitable.”


“No tricks?” he queried sternly, eyes darting from side to side as he checked to see if she had any friends waiting to ambush him, “My ‘mater always warned me about accepting help from fairies.”


“She sounds like a sensible ladies, you can’t trust a fairy, I however am a dryad, come let’s get you away from this mud,” she smiled softly and Trevor gingerly took her hand and gasped as his feet rose up out of the mud and he found himself walking alongside this enigmatic woman. 


She smiled encouragingly and led the way toward a copse of large trees, her hair blowing gently in a wind that Trevor couldn’t feel through the layers of mud caking his skin and hair. Under the cool shade of the trees however the stench of the swap fell back as they entered a quiet glade. There was a single pool of clear water whose run off fed the swamp and though the ground was still slick mud it didn’t have the same salt water stench that coated the rest. Trevor turned slowly, watching the dryad woman as she walked over to pool and gestured toward it invitingly.


“Swim woodsman, cleanse the stench of the swamp from your body, I know just how noxious the mud of my land can be.”

Trevor moved closer to the shore of the pool and looked around warily before crouching down and gingerly testing the water with his fingers. It was slightly warm but otherwise felt like any other pool of water he had ever encountered, “What do you mean by your land?”


“This swamp, the mud flats of fairy, it is my domain, it gives me life and I guard it from intruders. You however do not seem to be a threat so wash away the mud, relax you are safe from danger here.”


Licking his lips nervously Trevor looked at the water then back at the strange woman, “But… ah…” he gestured toward her, “I… you are…”


She laughed, a soft, silvery peal of sound that made Trevor feel nice about himself, “I shall not watch, rinse your skin, wash your hair; oils and a comb are on the stone ledge,” she motioned toward a rocky outcropping nearby then turned toward the trees, “I shall procure us refreshment whilst you bathe.”


Trevor waited for a moment as she walked off amongst the trees then slipped the remnants of his trousers off before easing into the water. The pool of water reached up to his stomach at the edge but as he moved toward the outcrop of rock the warm water rose higher until it was lapping about his neck. The woodcutter found he was leaving a trail of brown in the water behind him and that he really had to scrub his skin to get the caked on layers of muck to wash off him. It grew easier once he found the ivory comb and bottle of strange oil on the ledge the enigmatic fairy lady had pointed out to him. The oil frothed up into a strange foam that cut through the mud as if it was nothing, melting it off his skin to mix with the warm waters of the pool. It also made it much easier to comb the caked on layers of muck out from his braids, leaving his hair and beard to float cleanly atop the surface of the water.


Trevor quite lost track of time as he scrubbed and combed and cleaned his body, the water felt nice, his skin seemed to appreciate the strange oil. He’d never felt so clean, at home he might wash off in a stream or the big metal bath in the garden but never had he bathed like this. What helped was the pool was constantly being refreshed by the clear stream of water pouring into the pool, forcing the residue of mud staining the water to pour out the far side away toward the swamp.


“I take it you are enjoying the water woodsman?” the silver voice asked suddenly, startling him out of the warm reverie he’d sunk into once he was convinced he was clean. He turned around, standing up in the water. 


“Yes, the water is very warm, tha.. thank you Miss. ah.. what do I call you?”


She smiled softly, kneeling down to pick up what looked like a blanket woven from mosses and held it out in front of her, “Names are power woodsman, but you may call me Birch, it will suffice for today. Come, get dry and join me, I have procured food for you.”


Smiling at the invitation Trevor climbed out of the pool and let her wrap the blanket about his body, “You can call me… woodsman for now then if names are so important.”


“You’re ‘mater taught you well, but come, sit with me, enjoy,” Birch led him a short distance from the pool and encouraged him to sit down. Trevor obeyed then marvelled over the foods she started to lay out between them, cherries baked into a sweet pastry tart, fresh grapes and some sort of melon. Strawberries coated in sugar powder and sweet nuts and seeds baked and glazed in honey. She refused to let him feed himself though, gently lifting each one to his lips, encouraging him to take small bites and eat them one at a time.


She drew closer with each morsel and Trevor’s breath caught as she gently teased one hand along his bare arm, dislodging the blanket so it fell around his waist, “You are so strong woodsman,” she breathed, her hand squeezing his bicep, admiring his muscle, “I am glad you escaped the woodland guardians.”


Trevor reached for her, his nose filled with her scent, the warmth of her body so close to his but then she was suddenly gone. Gracefully she moved away from him, circled the glade and returned with light steps with a large gourd. She knelt gracefully and poured a clear golden liquid into a tankard of spun glass and silver filigree.


“This is the finest mead my sisters make Woodsman,” she leant forward, pressing the cup to his lips, “The perfect accompaniment for our meal.”


Without thinking Trevor drank, the liquid was thick, it flowed down his throat and it burned in a way that made him tremble. His eyes grew hazy, his body heated up and then his large hand closed around hers and he tipped the tankard back further, gulping the mead eagerly until nothing else remained.


She drew back then, a coy smile on her lips as she ran her eyes admiringly over the woodcutters body, “More?”


In reply he held the tankard out and she obligingly refilled it and once again Trevor drank, his eyes sparkled, his vision fogged and he felt as if nothing was beyond him. He could have run a thousand miles, climbed a thousand trees, his muscles hummed with the need to do something, anything, he was filling up with energy. Then she was straddling his lap and her lips pressed against his. Trevor trembled as Birch’s body curved against his, fingers touching, stroking his flesh in all the right places leaving him panting by the time she broke the kiss and smiled up at him through thick lashes. “I lied a little bit… there is a small price for me rescuing you…”


Swallowing heavily Trevor managed to grunt then lift his hand and brush his thick fingers along the side of her cheek, “Wha… what do I have to do?”


Her lips brushed his ear, her fingers danced across his sides as she murmured quietly,“Give me your name,” her voice made Trevor tense, the touch of her tongue sliding along the outside of his earlobe made his breath catch and he groaned. Her presence, her touch was more intoxicating than the mead and with a shuddering breath he gave her what she wanted.


“Trevor, ah my woodsman you give me a gift… a beautiful gift,” she kissed him again, her lips locked to his and the world ceased to exist for the woodcutter. All that mattered to Trevor was the trembling need, the burning lust from her touch. He felt like he was on fire, that he would burn up if she stopped. Only through her touch, through the lingering contact of her lips on his and then her tongue sliding into his mouth could he expel the fire burning in him.


She moved her body closer, lifted her hips, her stomach pressed to his as she parted the soft heather blanket and smiled up at him, “Are you ready my woodsman?”


Trembling Trevor nodded then gasped as she sat back down, warm flesh encircled his shaft, his hips moved up and with a cry of delight she pushed herself down all the way in one smooth motion. Tilting backwards Trevor spread his arms, braced himself against the floor and just sat still as she gently raised herself back up the length of his needy shaft. This time as she sat back down he thrust with his hips, crying out as he felt the skin split along the length of his arms. From wrists to shoulders it peeled back like the skin of some exotic fruit. He should have been screaming but the only reaction he could manage was to cry out in pleasure as she clenched about the entire length of his shaft.


“Wha… what is …” he tried to speak but she silenced him by kissing him once again, her tongue delving into his mouth as she squeezed his length. Trevor’s will to resist collapsed, the mead and the intense sensation surrounding his dick was too much. He eagerly thrust again, hips drawing his shaft free of Birch’s body only to slide home once again! This time the skin split along his legs, the burst of pleasure as flesh parted broke any lingering concern he still harboured, it felt too good. Another thrust and more skin split and soon he was rocking back and forth, cradling the dryad in his lap, lost in a haze of pleasure as more and more of his skin split. Birch’s hands were soon moving across his body, peeling back the torn skin, tearing it from the tough bark that lay beneath the surface. Trevor could feel her smooth fingers stroking over the rough surface of his new skin and her touch, her scent was driving him wild with desire, making him thrust harder, faster until with a sudden crackling pop his shoulder blades seem to burst!


He felt two heavy spurs of jagged bark rising up out of his shoulders at the same time that she gripped the tear around his neck and pulled his head off. Skin peeled free of his body taking his old face with it. Blinking madly to clear his hazy vision Trevor held himself still for a moment but Birch wouldn’t let him catch his breath. She clenched around his shaft forcing his attention away from what was happening to his body and made him return his attention to pleasuring her. He closed his hands around her shoulders, long jointed twig like fingers squeezing her smooth flesh as he rolled them both over so she was lying beneath him. For a moment Trevor stared at the backs of his arms, they were covered in a thick layer of moss instead of hair. The dark emerald green carpet clinging to his new skin, feeding from him like the plant he was. His beard was the same, a heavy carpet of moss hanging down his bark chest but right now it wasn’t important, what mattered was the warmth about his cock and bringing himself and Birch to ogasm.


Leaning down he kissed her again, his tongue snaking out of his mouth, a long supple vine that matched the vine emerging from her mouth. The glamour of beautiful, smooth skin human that Birch had been wearing was falling away. As he rocked his hips up and down, thrust his shaft in and out of her smooth bark covered body he saw her for what she really was. She was wood and flowers, plant and vine just as he was, right now though that didn’t matter, with every thrust, every grunt and woody moan of need the last vestiges of his humanity fell away. His head was tall, a soaring crown of bark split down the middle by a cascade of tangled vines. His eyes were acorns, his face was blank, blocky, chiseled from bark, capable of only basic expressions but his cock, oh his cock still worked. It was flexible, thick with an undulating will of its own, more a vine now then a stiff tube of flesh. It felt amazing though, all Trevor wanted to do was use it on birch and keep the pleasure coming. Birch’s smile was predatory now, she wrapped her legs about his inert tree body, clung to him and teased him. The vines that made up their tongues tangling, wrapping, sliding back and forth against one another until Trevor reached the peak of pleasure and fell over the edge into orgasm. It was intense, a long, drawn out moment of delight that made everything cease except for the pleasure! Trevor howled, his voice a deep bass woody sounding moan and a surge of warm sap slammed from his pulsing shaft into Birch. It went both ways, he was pouring rich sap into her and something was settling into the grain of his new body, a strange energy that seemed to ooze out of the dryad and the land. It was anchoring his body, weighing him down and then darkness engulfed him and he slumped senseless against the dryad.


With the sun sitting on the horizon, a red line through the clouds revealing in what direction west lay in Trevor came back to himself. His vision cleared and his wooden body creaked as he slowly staggered to his feet. He felt… strange, his body felt tight. Looking around he spotted Birch on the far side of the clearing, once again disguised as a human smiling coyly as the sun sank lower. Frowning and deciding it was time for some answers Trevor started to walk toward her, he was aiming for intimidating, after all he was a beast of wood and vine now. But he almost lost his balance and fell flat on his face as his feet stuck in the ground; he turned, grunting and tugging with all his strength but his feet seemed to be too heavy. He couldn’t pull them free at first and it took a great of effort to dislodge the muck and lift his right foot half an inch above the surface. What he saw made him scream, his toes had elongated, his entire foot split into several long writhing tubers of thick white hairy flesh that coiled into the mud and tugged his foot back under against his will as they buried into the earth.


Trevor swayed from side to side then gasped as his legs swelled, the thick bark stretching and spreading until it merged together into a solid trunk, lifting his torso higher as his body surged toward the sky. His elbows creaked, arms pushing toward the sky as, shoots emerging from his crazily jointed fingers, causing them to split open as they surged forward to become branches, spreading and dividing as his arms merged above his head to continue forming his trunk! He was changing faster now, bark and shoots spreading out and upwards, it felt as natural to become a tree as it had once felt to breath or walk. 


Standing proud and tall the tree that was his body quivered with desire. His roots had buried themselves deep, his branches spread high, waiting, trembling, needing something and then… then the tension exploded outwards and upwards to every branch! Leaves burst forth, flowers uncurled, delicate blooms with gently glowing ethereal blue petals that swayed in the wind. He felt so different, it was hard to focus on anything beyond his branches or the gentle motion of water from the earth below. He could feel the trees around the grove, the pool and beyond the wide encompassing world of the swamp, growing, living, existing, it was him and he was it. For a moment he was lost in the sudden vastness of his thoughts but slowly, inch by inch he was able to focus on the woman before him.


She was a hazy shape against the evening gloom and she was smiling, her fingers stroking his trunk, “Thank you Trevor, you set me free, no longer am I bound to one place, I thank you for taking my place,” 


He tried to speak, to reach out and snap her scrawny fairy body with his rough bark arms, the best he managed was to rattle his upper branches as the last rays of the sun played across his leaves and the flowers brightened as twilight fell. 


“Thank you, I go now to join those who came before me in the great woods, your place is here. Each day you shall walk the swamp as mobile and as free as the mud permits but each night you shall take root as I used to do and nurture yourself and the land with your body and your mind. One day perhaps someone will take your place and you can join us in the woodlands as a Hamadryad. Until then good bye Trevor, feed well and grow strong.”


With those words she walked off, leaving him alone, stranded, trapped, branches spread toward the sky, roots buried deep, sap flowing through his his heart and the swamp calling his attention to it. As the night began his thoughts flew out to shroud the swamp, his humanity had been stolen, exchanged for fleeting pleasure and now… now he could only grow as nature intended.


-0-


Scooping a large handful of Mud Pie out of the bowl he was sharing with Rog, Karl grinned at his son before licking the delicious chocolate confection off his hand and fingers. It was lightly spun sugar, cream and chocolate, transformed into a mousse like the sort served at the Earl’s castle. His son was silent as they polished of the bowl and moved on to examine the rock scones laid out on a tray to one side. Karl was mostly interested in the big frothing tureen filled with soup. The feast was all and just what they deserved, spread out in all directions before them as they devoured their way through the exotic and fantastical dishes that had been cooked in their honour!


Delicate spiced strips of roasted insects atop a bed of golden oak twigs followed a large snail straight from it’s massive shell. There were no manners here, no need to sit on ceremony or etiquette just the joy of the feast, the bountiful food and the company of his son and the others. Rog had found a lightly swirled meringue peppered with nougat and was scooping it up and into his mouth with delight. Karl wasn’t sure he wanted anything sweet just yet so grabbed a salad of mixed leaves, oak, birch, maple all tossed with a variety of small nuts and tiny pellets of mixed seed and fine grasses. He’d eaten most of the salad before his son pushed a platter of white wrapped dumplings into his lap, they were exotically spiced and crunched delightfully as he bit into them, the web like outer coating slightly tacky to the touch with a layer of salt and oil. He’d just crunched his way through the fourth one and was trying to decide between a plate of lightly folded seaweed or a tankard of rich amber nectar when Rog took the plate of seaweed. So Karl shrugged and took a hefty gulp from the rich ale. It had a sharp, piquant taste and made him groan softly as it warmed its way down his throat. He came up for a breath of air when the world suddenly fell out of sync, the background music scritched to a halt with a sudden plonk of disharmony and Karl found himself holding a battered iron tankard that stank of moose piss.


Cursing he dropped the tankard and looked around wildly. What had moments before been a sumptuous feast was now revealed to be nothing more than the detritus of the woods piled around him with Rog on the other side. His son was scooping up handfuls of what looked like pond scum and rabbit droppings and devouring them with delight and Karl felt his stomach heave as he released what he’d been eating. He tried to stand up and grab Rog, to stop him eating. His stomach heaved again and he fell over and threw up, his stomach expelling the filth he had been tricked into eating. He felt weak and lightheaded and as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand he looked over at his son who was scooping up a large pile of dog shit and devouring it with a look of delight on his face and grimaced.


“Rog… snap out of it,” he tried to move, to reach over and stop him but his body refused to obey. The song of the surmelle still held him prisoner, his mind was clear but his ability to move was still being kept from him. He looked over toward the source of the lilting music and glared into the green and purple eyes of Ritmico as she strummed her xylotar, claws dancing over the metal bars with skill.


“He can’t hear you woodcutter,” she whispered, “He’ll continue to think he’s eating an epic feast until I say otherwise.”


“Stop it, please,” Karl begged, “Stop him… you can’t do this to us!”


“I can Karl, you came into our forest, you violated the grove of Golden Oaks for greedy, selfish, human reasons.” She settled down onto a rock, paws dancing over the keys of her instrument, watching the woodcutter, “The lives of your men were forfeit the moment one of them raised an axe against the trees. The others are gone, the forest has claimed them, fairy law has judged them and they are no longer here.”


She changed key suddenly, the music taking on a darker tone and Karl saw Roger freeze, his son sitting dumbly and immobile on the opposite side of the disgusting faux feast, “You however did not harm the trees, you had an axe but you didn’t actually use it. Fairy law says you are simply to be thrown back out of the woods but your son…” her head turned to look toward the teenager, “He cut wood, he chopped the branches, his life is forfeit.”


“No... “ Karl begged, struggling sit up, to move, to grab the bitch and snap her scrawny neck, “Have mercy, please… please he’s only a boy, take me instead.”


“Interesting offer,” Ritmico whispers, her mismatched eyes meeting Karl’s, “His crime is grave but as his father you could shoulder the burden and set him free but your life would be forfeit.”


Karl turned his head to look at his son who was still frozen, delicately holding a stick coated in sap as it were the greatest delicacy ever and shuddered. He lowered his head for a moment then looked at the despicable fairy creature again.


"I'll do it, I'll accept my son's fate as my own," he was trembling, his body shaking at the thought of dying, of being killed by these creatures. She lifted her xylotar, pointing it toward him and nodded once. Her eyes held a hint of respect, or at least approval and for a moment Karl felt at peace. Then she moved her hairless fingers towards the keys and his nerve broke, "Wait," the surmelle frowned at him but waited expectantly so Karl swallowed what he had been about to say and mumbled, "Can... I at least say goodbye... before I die?"


A calculating look flickered across her muzzle and she leant forward, "Best not to do so human, let him wake up beyond the wood with no memory," she paused her eyes boring into Karl, making him flinch before she spoke again, "There is a single possibility that would let you both live through this."


"How?" Karl demanded, trying to move his arms to reach out and shake the creature, "You said his sentence was death!"


"His crime is unforgivable but..." she paused, small tongue licking her nose as she made him wait, "rather than shoulder all of it, you could agree to shoulder a portion of his debt. You would both be punished in the fae way but you would both be guaranteed to live."


"Yes, I choose that," Karl shouted, not wanting to die, "I'll take part of his punishment.'


“Are you sure? As it stands if you take all that is owed your son can return home, untouched by our magic, unmolested and live a free life.”


“How will he grow to be a man though, without his father,” Karl countered, eyes wild, wary, clawing at the hope being offered him, “This way we both go home, we both have a chance, I shall shoulder only a part of his burden so we both may live.”


“Do you not think you should consider the other options? Or ask the child if he wants you to take just a part of his burden.”


“No, he is a child, I am his father, I choose life for both of us,” he grinned at her, “This way neither of us have to die.”


“Very well Karl," Ritmico sneered at him, whatever respect she'd shown at his willingness to save his son had been extinguished by the craven manner he leapt upon this new offering, "Know that you will have to live with this choice,” 


She jumped forwards and landed atop his head, her clawed paws gripping his hair as she continued to play her strange instrument. Karl let out a deep bass growl of distaste as he was forced to sit cross legged on the ground and not struggle as vines and roots wriggled out of the earth to bind him place. Once she was done she leapt off his head and span her xylotar, strumming a final chord that made his headache and teeth pulse in pain. With a flourish she slipped it back into the sheath on her back and stood before Rog looking up at him with a thoughtful expression. She hummed a couple of notes and the teenager suddenly groaned and dropped the dock leaf he had been chewing on and looked around worriedly.


His gaze found his father then noticed the short, fuzzy brown and yellow creature standing in front of him. She smiled softly at the boy, “Hello Kyle, I am afraid your father has taken the craven’s bargain, so all I can give to you is life.”


“You can talk? What do you mean… I.. dad what’s going on?”


“It didn’t work son, we wasn’t fast enough, the fairies caught us, but it is ok, I did a deal  we’re both going to get out of this.”


Ritmico snorted and shook her head, casting a contemptuous gaze in Karl’s direction, “Sadly for you he is a coward or else you would be free right now, on your way back to your mother.”


“I am no coward, we had a deal, I share his sentence and we get to live!”


“Yes… the craven route, now be silent,” she hummed a gentle note and the woodcutter’s voice died mid curse as the surmelle turned back to the young man. He was trembling, eyes wide with fear but he managed not to piss himself which was something at least.


“What… what are you going to do to me?” he asked, “What did… dad do?”


Picking up a long twig of broken golden oak Ritmico turned it around in her paws, “You cut the wood of the Golden Oak, your life is forfeit, I offered to let your father shoulder the burden, to take your death like a man so that you might live.”


“No…” Rog groaned in horror, eyes flicking to his father, “He can’t, I won’t let him do that!”


“Oh don’t worry Roger,” Ritmico squeaked, “He was too much of a coward to accept my offer, he bargained for his life as well as yours. So now… he shall be punished according to fae law and I am afraid you must be as well.”


“Wha…. what are you going to do to me?” 


“Give you a new purpose in life of course, show you a different way to live,” she smiled up at him and pulled a tiny dagger out of her pouch. She sang to it quietly and it buzzed into life; darting forward and slashed across Roger’s side, fabric flew in several directions and the knife swung back and slashed again, reducing the teenagers tunic to rags. It disposed of his trousers in the same manner and cut him out of his sturdy work boots, leaving him wide eyed and trembling and very naked. All the while Ritmico sang to the knife and once the final scrap of cloth had been disposed of it flittered back into the surmelle’s hand.


“Say farewell to Roger, and hello to something new,” she raised her hands, still holding the knife and began to sing. Her voice was rich, powerful and lilting, not at all like the animalistic squeak that haunted her speaking voice. The boy squeaked in shock as he felt her magic affect him then he gasped as hair sprouted across the length and breadth of his body. It was a deep orangey red colour and in seconds it covered his body, thickening up into a lush red pelt. Ritmico adjusted the pitch of her song and the fur around his hands lost it’s colour, lightening to white whilst his feet and calves darkened to a rich chocolate brown tone. There was fear in his eyes now, terror in his scent but Ritmico continued to sing, the boy had violated the forest, cut the golden oak he had earnt death but she would give him life just like his father wanted.


Raising her paws above her head she scored a line in the air with her blade as her voice wove it's spell about him. Slowly she lowered herself into a crouch, holding the boy in her power he didn't have the will to resist. She watched as the teenager shrunk in response to her gestures, his limbs shortened, his torso shrank, his red furred body contorted, twisted and changed with every note that wrapped about his body. She shepherded his face into becoming a muzzle, fangs grew in and new glands released a scent much more pleasent than the former stench of humanity that was so distasteful to her sensitive nose. Hands were becoming paws, feet were lengthening, toes bending, claws growing until Roger stood trembling, tense and wide eyed on all fours. Some of the mass being siphoned off from his former size was pushed out backwards from his spine, joints clicking, fur growing, tail exploding in a ploof of bottlebrush fur with a white tip.


He staggered, his new feet sliding out from beneath him as he tried to move, large eyes that were still quite human in their nature staring up at Ritmico in horror as she approached. She looked back at Karl, the woodcutter was crying, tears sliding through his beard as his son’s humanity was ripped away. He kept mouthing a silent plea over and over but the rules of fairy did not permit compromise so the surmelle finished the change. Her spell still held Roger immobile so she made a big show for Karl of transforming the dagger. It morphed into a long piece of leather padded wood with two metal rings on either end. She showed it to him then stepped to the side, straddled Rog’s neck and tugged the bit back between his teeth. The fox yipped and bit down and shuddered as Ritmico stood up holding a pair of long leather reins.


Smiling at the only remaining human the surmelle settled comfortably on the saddle that slipped into place atop her fox mount's back and shook them lightly. Her song humming in the air as she made Roger stand up and face his father. Their eyes met one last time, the spark of intelligence, the sight of the human slowly fading from Rog’s gaze as hazel colour bled into the whites of his eye until the bright, glittering orbs were those of an animal. Cunning, clever, but dumb, well trained, nothing more than a suitable mount for a fairy creature and then the song cut off and Ritmico bowed to Karl from her seat atop the fox.


“It is done, I have given your son life and to you… I also grant life,” she shook the reins and Rog surged forward, paws pattering swiftly over the grass as he ran toward the trees. Karl turned to watch, his voice bursting back as he cried out in anguish as his son ran away. He was nothing more than a beast now to serve the fairy creatures whim. Roger vanished into the trees without looking back, he was a fox now, his mind, his instincts were bonded to his mistress. Karl instinctively knew this, Ritmico had kept her end of the bargain, she had given his son life and stolen all that had been him! The woodcutter fell forwards, head slamming into the turf as consciousness fled, unaware of the figures watching from the forest, waiting, preparing there was one more human left to punish and then… justice would have been served.


-0-


Sitting up suddenly Karl gasped and clutched at his chest, it hurt with a deep searing pain and when he looked down he saw a strange, sickle shaped mark curving across the centre of his chest. The skin was raw, hairless and looked like old scar tissue long since healed though there was a lingering sense of pain.


“Goodbye Karl,” Ritmico said as she pulled her new mount in besides the woodcutter, “Your punishment is now set, enjoy life and remember what happens if you cross fairy law.”


“You…” struggling to sit up he reached for the fox but he nimbly skipped backwards out of reach, “Give me my son back, release Roger!”


“Roger?” Ritmico quipped patting the vulpine’s neck, “There is no Roger here, just Vicenzi my faithful mount. Take care Karl… if I were you I’d stay in the wilds, walk away, find someplace to bare your punishment with grace,” her hind legs tapped the fox’s flank and he leapt away, vanishing into the underbrush swiftly.


Pulling himself up onto his feet Karl shook his head, stared dumbly at the trees for a moment then started down the bank toward the River Drem. The sun was sinking toward the horizon, a cold wind was blowing out of the north and the bastard fairies had stolen his vest, his axe, his team… and his son. By the time he made it back across the ford he was shivering, stumbling along through the twilight towards the distant lights of the village. How was he going to explain this to his wife, to Rory’s children, Darren and Trevor’s sister and her husband. It made no sense, he had been sure they could get in and out undetected, what had given them away?


As he approached the village he left the road, boots sinking into the heavy soil of the fields as he made his way toward his cottage. The lights were on, which meant Marna was still up, no doubt fretting over the fact they were not back yet. She’d had misgivings enough about them going into the fairy wood, now… how was he to…


Stopping just outside the cottage he stared at the lights, trying to find the courage to go inside, he hesitated and was about to turn away in shame when the door opened and his wife stepped outside.


“Karl?” her voice was quiet, questioning, her eyes darting from side to side, searching, “Roger… where is?”


He couldn’t meet her gaze and after a moment he lowered his head to stare at the floor, “I… we… Marna there was....”


She walked forwards and grabbed his arms, shaking him lightly, “Where is he, what happened?”


“I… the fairies… ugh…” he shuddered, one hand clutching at his chest, pain blossomed through his chest, a stabbing sensation that forced him to his knees. He could hear Marna shouting, tugging at his shoulders, calling his name but the world was being drowned out in the rising pain. His flesh was crawling, sweat pouring down his skin as he started to tremble and shake as whatever was happening rose toward the surface. Lifting his head he stared up into the face of his wife and beyond her to the sky, the sun had set, night had fallen and as he blinked back tears of pain his vision wavered his eyes changed. Suddenly he could see everything clearly, there was little colour but the cottage, Marna, everything was brightly outlined, crisp and clear as if the sun was still in the sky.


Slamming his fists against the ground to fight back the pain he tried to scream, to shout at Marna to run but she was still trying to help him. Other shapes came running up, neighbours responding to her screams and his anguish. He could feel his skin crawling, his bones lengthening, his torso was growing hunched, his face pushing forward and with a sharp crack his entire face shoved forwards to form a muzzle. Teeth erupted out of new gums, displacing, merging, until nothing but gnashing fangs greeted his new thick tongue as his shriek of pain became a bestial howl.


Greasy, thick fur was spreading over his sweat coated body, his knees were swelling, changing, giving him a bestial gait. Finger and toe nails stretched, twisted and became razor sharp claws that scored the ground as his hands swelled to bestial proportions to match his disjointed, canine like feet. The tail growing in was the least painful part of the whole process, the dis-orientating slithering change of his ears however hurt. Especially when the wild cries and shouts of his neighbours suddenly became clearer, stronger, piercing and uncomfortable. It was meaningless garbage, noise and frantic shouts and the stench of fear, confusion and horror that made his nose tingle. A nasty taste, like acid or bile invade his throat as the disgusting scents of human made his feral sense of smell react. Staggering to his feet Karl glared at the gathering of humans, panting heavily and shaking his body as his fur finished growing, his stretched skin stopped feeling tight and became the natural encasement for his powerful body.


He growled as one of the females said his name, his yellow eyed gaze snapping to focus on her. How dare these… these humans judge him, he was a wolf, lone killer, hunter of the night they were prey. He growled louder as the female came closer, reaching out a hand toward him and that was enough for him, he leapt forwards, clawed arms tearing at her arms as his powerful jaws snapped forwards! The metallic taste of blood chased away the bile of humanity and he discarded the corpse, blood staining his thick fur and chased the others. His growls over-rode their screams, their panicked stench drowned out by the sharp taste of fresh blood, the delightful sampling of warm flesh. He killed some, maimed others, if they were lucky they would be blessed like him when next night fell and rise as fae wolves to hunt and kill beside him! 


For now though the humans had fled to the stone structures and hid from his might so he returned to the site of his first kill, threw back his head and howled his victory to the sky! He then picked up his kill and dragged it away into the darkness to feed and revel in the blood of victory! 


-0-


Ritmico sat astride Vicenzi and watched the human woodcutter wake up, with the rising of the sun he had transformed back into a human. It didn’t take him long to realise what he had done, to recognize the scattered bones and flesh that had formerly been his wife. The surmelle watched him gather her to his chest and start to cry, rocking back and forth, the blood of his nights kills still covering his body, matting his beard and hair.


Patting her fox mount’s neck she focussed her voice and let it sing in his ears, “I warned you not to go home,” his head came up, fear, horror, anger all flashing across his face as he looked around wildly for her, “You chose life, every night when the sun has set you shall be the beast who hunts in the darkness. Every day you shall wake and remember, you shall live just as I promised.”


He pleaded, he begged, he threatened, it was all very melodramatic and human, shaking her head in amusement she whispered softly to him as she guided Vivenzi away back toward the fairy wood. “You chose life, you could have picked death but your own cowardice caused this, nothing else… fairy law is neither kind nor free, but it is just. Your son lives, you live… how you bare with your curse is neither here nor there.”


With that she booted her fox mount forward and left the woodcutter to his fate, he had violated the sanctity of their woods, caused great harm to the golden oaks. Justice had been met and the humans would hear of the tale, of the woodcutters folly in the forest of the fae folk and think twice before invading again.


~fin