Stalking Tender Prey

by Constantine, Storm

  The sound of something being placed on the table, prompted her to raise her head quickly. She saw Peverel Othman standing across from her, smiling, his tall shape filling her eyes. He looked radiant and wicked. There appeared to be twigs in his hair.

  ‘You’re the green man from the forest,’ Lily said. Her heart had grown wings. She had never been so pleased to see someone in her life.

  Othman gestured at the pint glass he had placed before her. ‘A drink for my lady,’ he said, and sat down on the bench opposite her.

  ‘Thank you.’ Lily pushed her own empty half pint glass away, and dragged the full one towards her, took a sip. She wanted to demand why he hadn’t been to see her, but managed to curb her tongue. She must be cool about this, and not risk frightening him off.

  ‘Drinking alone, my Lily? So sad.’ He grinned at her.

  She felt he knew where Owen was, and was savouring the knowledge, something she didn’t have. ‘My brother has a new lover,’ she said. ‘But then I expect you know that. In fact, Owen seems to think it was your idea.’

  Othman laughed. ‘Hardly! We spoke about his feelings, and I simply advised him to follow his heart. That isn’t the same as giving someone an idea, is it?’

  She shook her head. ‘I suppose not.’ She wanted to say something about how Owen had never behaved like this before Othman had turned up in the village, then remembered her suspicions concerning Daniel had been quite long-standing. Perhaps Owen was wrong to blame Othman for making things happen.

  ‘Would you like to walk with me tonight, Lily Winter?’

  ‘I might.’ She smiled, drank some more of her cider. ‘Where?’

  ‘A walk in the woods,’ Othman answered, his eyes full of dangerous promises.

  Lily felt a tremor of desire course through her. ‘That would be... appropriate. If you are a green man, that is.’

  ‘Oh, I am, and much more than that.’ He laughed.

  Owen and Daniel had been long gone by the time Peverel Othman led Lily by the hand beneath the canopy of the trees in Herman’s Wood. Othman sensed they had returned to Low Mede but he couldn’t be sure. Their passage had left a vapour between the trees. Lily couldn’t perceive it. Not yet. He squeezed her hand.

  ‘Why here?’ Lily asked. She felt uneasy, not least because the woods had always been Owen’s territory. She dreaded coming across him and his friends now.

  ‘Forests are romantic,’ Othman answered smoothly. He paused, and turned to take Lily in his arms. His face looked very dark.

  Lily shuddered. She laughed nervously. ‘The cottage is empty. We could go there...’

  Othman said nothing. He pushed her gently against the wide trunk of an ancient oak, began to kiss her. She could feel the demanding hungry presence of his erection as his hips moved tantalisingly against hers. He must want her so much. This thought both surprised and delighted her. She felt slightly smug about Barbara Eager. If only the woman could see her now. She dared to run her fingers over the taut leather of Othman’s trousers, expecting him to cast her passionately to the forest floor. He stepped back. ‘Not yet.’ Holding her hand, he led her further into the trees. He seemed to know where he was going.

  Lily was not altogether pleased when she realised they were heading for the High Place. Did Othman know that was where she and Owen had first shared together? She felt it would be like him to want to make love to her there, but how could she really tell? Most of her thoughts about this man were romantic fancies. She tripped on the tangled bracken as he dragged her relentlessly up the slope.

  ‘There’s a path somewhere,’ she said. He ignored her.

  When they reached the summit, he let go of her hand and walked down to the hollow, where he stood with his hands on his hips, his head thrown back. He seemed to be sniffing the air. Lily went towards him, but halted a couple of feet away. She wasn’t sure he wanted her close to him now.

  ‘What do you feel, Lily?’ he asked.

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know...’ What kind of answer did he expect? She wasn’t sure what he meant by the question.

  ‘This is a very ancient site,’ he said conversationally. ‘It has been used in fertility rituals for many hundreds of years, perhaps thousands. Do you know what people used to believe about it?’

  Lily shook her head. She had unconsciously begun to hug herself.

  ‘Sit down,’ Othman said.

  Warily, Lily obeyed him. She was worried about incurring his disapproval.

  ‘Men came here to worship the Goddess, the archetype of female power. They shed their seed here for her. Women had their own rites. They would come here to dance in the light of the moon and to invoke the man of the forest. They believed it would make them fertile, but not only that. The power here could give them beauty, youth, vitality, the ability to ensnare the hearts of men.’

  Lily shuddered, glanced around herself nervously. She didn’t like this talk; it conjured ghosts in her head. ‘Owen and I used to come here,’ she said.

  ‘Of course,’ Othman answered shortly, as if her remark was too obvious to have been uttered. ‘The sacred flame is asleep in the earth here. Sometimes they have made it twitch in its drugged sleep. Sometimes...’ He hunkered down in front of Lily. ‘Shall we wake it up now?’

  Lily’s teeth had begun to chatter, even though the air was warm. ‘If you like.’ She wished he’d just come to her, hold her, caress her, possess her. He was behaving oddly. She didn’t like it.

  ‘Take off your dress, Lily.’ His voice was quiet. He reached out and stroked her shoulder, kindling a hot thread of desire within her. He watched impassively as she unbuttoned her linen dress and drew it over her head. Beneath it, she wore only an old pair of knickers. Briefly, she wished she’d put on something a bit more alluring, sure there were holes in the fabric, greyed by too much washing. Othman took one of her hands in his own, pressed it to her left breast. With the other hand, he squeezed her right nipple. She laughed a little, but his face was serious. ‘I want you to do something for me,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing appeals to me more than the sight of a woman pleasuring herself. Will you do that for me?’

  Lily was confused and embarrassed by the request. She didn’t think she could do that in front of Othman. ‘Well, I...’

  ‘Just forget I’m here,’ he said, and leaned forward to kiss her, pressing her own hand firmly against her breast. ‘You can ask anything of me as well.’

  ‘I’ll feel a bit... strange,’ Lily protested weakly.

  Othman pushed her backwards so she lay on the rough pine needles. He removed her underwear, ran his hands across her flat stomach, playfully pulled at her pubic hair. ‘We’ll start together,’ he murmured, lying down beside her. He kissed her deeply, filling her mouth with his swollen tongue. He massaged her breasts, scraped his fingernails across her belly, pushed his fingers inside her. Owen had never excited her the way this man did. It was like he made her drunk on sex, where anything was possible. As he worked dextrously at arousing her, his free hand guided her own fingers down between her legs. It no longer seemed embarrassing. Soon he was kneeling upright between her spread thighs, not touching her at all. She felt like a writhing mass of exposed nerves. As she continued the process he had begun, she was aware of him casting earth upon her. Fragments of leaves and twigs fell into her open mouth. She could see his hand moving above her. The ground beneath her body felt hot and wet like mud. Sharp things dug into her spine and buttocks. She pressed herself against them. Then Othman was pulling her hands away from herself, dragging her body up into a sitting position. She felt delirious. Now, he would take her. Waiting for it was the most exquisite pleasure.

  Something moved between her open legs. Something alive.

  Lily uttered a squeak, thinking of insects. Othman said, ‘Relax, give yourself up to it.’

  An invasive pressure, like a rough finger, touched her body. A moment of panic combined with her heightened sensuality. ‘What is this?’

&n
bsp; ‘You have invoked the man of the forest,’ Othman said in a soothing voice. ‘Relax. I am with you.’ He still held her hands, her arms stretched out before her.

  Lily sat quivering, her spine aching, as the spirit of the forest took on woody, loamy, mossy flesh and rose within her. It was a phallus of earth, rising up from the floor of the hollow, as thick as the organ of a stallion. The sensation was unlike anything she could ever have imagined: not exactly painful, but strange. She felt tears running down her face as the alien thing expanded within her, as if sucking up her own juices. Then it began to move, retracting back into the earth, thrusting up into her once more. It scratched her with twigs and bark, pressed painfully against her cervix. Now, as the hurt increased, her excitement mounted. She wanted the pain, wanted to be torn apart by the enormity of the alien thing that thrust into her. She pulled her hands away from Othman’s grip, grasped her own breasts, added her own movements to that of the forest lover. Othman was irrelevant. When the orgasm came, she screamed loudly, the cry of a mating vixen. With her release, she felt the phallus crumble within her, reduced to fragments of leaf and mould. She howled again, filled with a sense of power and rage. If she stood up now, her head would look over the tree tops. She was Goddess; pure female.

  When Othman pushed her back onto the earth, she fought him with nails and teeth. He thrust up inside her, grinding sharp fragments into the tender flesh. She gripped his body with her thighs, snarling, clawing at his back, lunging up to bite his face. When the next orgasm crested within her, it was as if a saline tide washed all the particles of earth out of her, cleansing and healing. She could concentrate on the pure aspect of pleasure without any interference of pain, however intoxicating.

  The next orgasm was calmer, leading her inside her own head. Here, she walked a long corridor, that seemed to be deep underground. She could pause to look at the wall paintings. They were of people performing rituals, dressed in cloaks of feathers. The corridor faded into dimness. She was losing it. Then, another spasm of release brought it back into sharp focus. There was a dark circular chamber, its perimeter hidden in shadow. All, in fact, was dark, but for a tiny blue glow in the centre of the room. Lily approached it. A ring of stones surrounded the light. Lily knelt beside them, leaned forward and blew upon the flame. It flickered slightly. She blew again. Her breath seemed to blow something away, an invisible obstruction that blocked the flame. It rose as a straight, blue luminance, casting azure light around the chamber. Lily saw humped, motionless forms clad in rags positioned around the ring of stones. Seven of them. She stood up. The chamber was fading now, and there was no further spasm of orgasm to rekindle the vision. She came to herself, panting upon the floor of the hollow in the High Place, Othman heavy and motionless upon her. She managed to push him off to get her breath. He lay on his back, looking at her. His expression was unreadable. Lily didn’t care. He had given her something, or had he merely been a tool for her to use? She walked around the hollow, needing to move, to expel energy. Neither she nor Othman said a word. Presently, she retrieved her clothes and dressed herself. When she began to walk down the hill, Othman jumped up and said, ‘Do you want me to walk you back?’

  She glanced behind her briefly, shook her head, raised a hand in farewell. She needed to be alone now. The forest did not frighten her. She was part of it.

  Once the girl had gone, Othman lay back down upon the earth. He could sense the flame beneath him, far below. There would be a temple of course, an underground vault. But where was the entrance? He didn’t think it was here on the High Place. There were only two viable options, he supposed. The church of St Shem, or Long Eden itself. Probably both. Now could be the time to gain entrance to Long Eden. Now, the guardian of the house might let him inside.

  When Lily got back to the cottage, she saw there was a light on. The thought that Owen might be home somehow reassured her. That surprised her. She felt very tired now, and sore. It was odd what sex could make you do, she thought. It did not seem odd to her what sex had appeared to make the forest floor do: that seemed only natural. She was a Murkaster, and they had been more than ordinary people. The idea of this did not seem strange now. She had acknowledged her connection with the vanished Murkasters and accepted it. Perhaps she would tell Owen about it now.

  She opened the front door and went into the kitchen, calling Owen’s name. There was no reply. Perhaps he was in the parlour.

  Lily uttered a shocked cry when she found Emma Manden lying on her sofa, drinking some of her strawberry wine. ‘I hope you don’t mind me letting myself in,’ Emma said. ‘But I wanted to wait for you. Was it good?’

  Lily felt herself blush; Emma’s remark brought reality crashing back in.

  ‘I told you he would come for you tonight, didn’t I?’ Emma said before Lily could answer her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lily sat down shakily on the sofa beside Emma.

  Emma lightly touched her arm. ‘Oh, don’t worry. We’ve all had fun up at the High Place. I know what happened to you tonight. Unfortunately, I was never strong enough to wake the flame, but then I’m not Grigori, and you are. Well, partly.’

  ‘What is Grigori?’ Lily took the bottle of wine and swigged from it.

  ‘The Murkasters were Grigori,’ Emma said. ‘They were not entirely human, which makes you the same, doesn’t it?’

  ‘If I’m not human, what am I?’ Lily laughed a little. She didn’t feel at all human at the moment.

  ‘Just something else. The Grigori are an ancient race, who have existed amongst humanity for many thousands of years, hidden, yet not hidden. They are powerful people, and possess abilities and senses humans don’t have. Perhaps you have felt the pressure of that deep in your heart, Lily. I know you must have felt different to everyone else you know.’

  Lily nodded wearily. ‘Well, yes, I suppose so. Mum told us we were, anyway.’ She giggled nervously. ‘But inhuman? That’s a little hard to take!’

  ‘Any harder to take than some of the other things that have been happening?’ Emma asked gently. ‘Look into your heart, Lily.’

  Lily sighed deeply. ‘I can’t think at the moment. It’s all too confusing. A week ago, I was an ordinary person with a fairly ordinary life. Now, my life has become full of mysteries, and I’m not myself any more.’

  Emma patted her arm, then jumped up from the sofa. ‘Don’t worry about it, my dear. Let me run you a bath. You look exhausted. Then we can talk.’

  Lily said nothing, watched Emma walk from the room. She heard the woman go upstairs. Of course, she would know this house. After a moment, Lily got to her feet. She felt stiff now, as if she’d been exercising furiously. It was an effort to get upstairs.

  Emma came out of the bathroom, and took Lily’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘I feel...’ Lily’s knees gave way, but Emma broke her crumpled fall.

  ‘Come on, into the bedroom. Let’s get those dirty clothes off.’

  Meekly, Lily allowed the woman to take control. It reminded her of when her mother was alive, of a time when she’d come into the cottage after falling off her bike and badly grazing her legs. The disorientation. The shock. It was the same. Also, the raw soreness, although it wasn’t her knees that pained her now.

  When the bath was ready, Emma helped Lily limp into the bathroom. The steam rising from the water was scented with herbs. Fragments of leaves floated in the bath. ‘Healing herbs,’ Emma explained. ‘Just get in, dear. Come on.’

  The water was exactly the right temperature. Entering it was like falling into a pair of comforting arms, relaxing against a soft body. ‘Mmmm,’ Lily murmured. She wanted to sink beneath the water, but Emma held her around the shoulders, gently flicking the water over her breasts and neck. She rubbed Lily’s arms and legs, stroking away the forest dirt. ‘There, that’s better, isn’t it? Shall we wash your hair?’

  Emma found shampoo on a shelf next to the sink. She used the toothbrush glass — murky and unwashed — to wet Li
ly’s hair. Lily gave herself up to the enjoyment of having her head massaged. ‘It’s like when Mum was alive,’ she said in a slurred voice.

  ‘Well, didn’t I tell you I was a relation of sorts?’ Emma said with a bright laugh. ‘We all need looking after sometimes.’

  When Lily got out of the bath, Emma wrapped her in a towel, and led her back to the bedroom. Lily had begun to shiver. ‘Is it getting cold?’

  ‘No. Lie on the bed, dear. I’ve brought something with me to make you feel better.’ She held a small, glass pot in her hands, and was unscrewing the lid. ‘Do you know, my mother had to do this for me once upon a time. I was very young, younger than you are now. This is a special ointment. I’ll let you keep it, and you can use it for a couple of days. Take off the towel, Lily, and open your legs a little. This won’t take a moment.’

  The ointment stung at first, but soon eclipsed the soreness with a soothing numbness. Emma sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Now I’ll get you something to drink.’

  ‘Wine,’ said Lily, flapping one hand against the bed.

  ‘No,’ Emma said firmly. ‘Wine won’t do you any good at all. Get into bed. I shan’t be long.’

  Left alone, Lily began to cry. She didn’t know why, because she didn’t feel sad. Everything just seemed so strange. Grigori: what were they? She thought of Ninlil and Shemyaza in the garden. They hadn’t seemed entirely human either.

  Emma came back carrying a tray of tea things. ‘I don’t know, my girl. You need some lessons in housekeeping, you and that brother of yours. The place is a tip!’ Her words were harsh, but she was still smiling.

  ‘Owen isn’t here any more,’ Lily said. ‘He...’ She couldn’t go on.

  ‘Oh, he’ll be back!’ Emma said. She took her cigarettes and lighter from a pocket on her skirt. ‘You’ve no need to worry about Owen.’