Fairy Circle

by Johanna Frappier

  He left the tavern in a haze of wonder and high spirits. His father had never accomplished such a feat without a drink! The hostile attitude Jethin had worn like a second skin seemed to have sloughed off and disappeared with the wind. He suddenly had an idea and giggled like a child as he stepped lightly along his way. He walked a mile further, into the heart of town, and banged on the carpenter’s door. Bleary-eyed and grumbling, the carpenter answered his door.

  Before the man could utter a word, Jethin commanded him to make three beds (as no more could possibly be crammed into the small shack his mother called “home”) and the mattresses to match, and have them delivered to his home. Jethin grabbed the man’s arm, startling him further, and poured a number of coins into his worn hand. “I trust that will suffice.”

  “Most certainly, lad. Tha’ll do.” The man stared at the coins in his hand like a hungry dog.

  Jethin turned on one heel to head for home. The carpenter hailed him. Jethin turned to see him hobbling over. He offered Jethin, for a small fee, of course, the sale of his horse, which the carpenter proclaimed was a fine mount and agreeable working steed. He’d ready the horse - bit, bridle, blanket, and saddle - then present the snorting beast to Jethin a short time later. More coins clinked into the carpenter’s outstretched hands and not long after, Jethin found himself riding home on a spirited, tall, black stallion.

  In the morning, Jethin ordered his mother to hold out her apron. He dropped the remaining coins from the bag onto the worn cloth. His mother scowled. She cursed her son. She dropped the coins to the dirt floor and told Jethin she’d have none of it, this Devil’s gold, and went off to cry. For certain her prayers had failed to save her son. That day, Jethin did not attend mass. (He had been in many a church since then. Churches, in the off hours, are an easy place to pick up prey. In the off hours, churches were where the sinners slunk, hoping to get a quiet pardon.)

  Jethin called on his eldest sister. He pressed the coins into her hands and commanded her to follow him to market this morning, where he planned to buy the family a pony and cart and some food for the week.

  His mother screamed, “Let it be known to all that I denounce the Devil’s gold!”

  The eldest sister, Patsy, glanced toward the corner of the room where her mother was huddled on a small stool rocking back and forth, and then turned back to Jethin with an imploring look.

  “Never mind that silly, superstitious woman,” Jethin barked. “We have lived in poverty for too long. We will not exist in this filth any longer; not if I have anything to say about it! I am the man of the family. You will obey me. Follow me to market this instant!”

  He turned from his gawking brothers and sisters, the pitying look from his mother. He slammed the door of the cottage, causing it to fall from its frail hinges. Patsy hurried around the fallen door and struggled to keep at Jethin’s heels. With his strong, farmer’s body, he swung himself onto his stallion and reached to pull Patsy up behind him.

  “Do you see how frustrating it is trying to save people, Saffron? They were too dumb to recognize how I was delivering us all.”

  Saffron frowned, was about to speak, then waved him on instead.

  Patsy and Jethin rode to the market in silence. Patsy wondered how Jethin had come across the stallion and the gold and the silver but she knew better than to question him. They rode over hill and dale and along the edge of the sea and finally arrived to market.

  At dawn, the carpenter had spread word in town of Jethin and his new riches.

  Brother and sister were received in the marketplace like a king and queen. They had no need to dismount, for peddlers swarmed below them, holding on high their foodstuffs and wares. Everything they could possibly need, and many things that they wanted were offered up on platters and rough-hewn table tops. There were sweet meats and smoked sausages, fresh fowl strung up by their legs, exotic fruits just in off a ship from the Caribbean, vegetables, toys and wooden games, tools, hair ribbons and jewelry, great blocks of cheese, parsley, sage, rosemary, and yes, thyme, handy household devices… Jethin spied a cart and pony.

  Claudia watched them from the shadows of an alley, the corner of her mouth hooked up on one side. It was always the same. Her mistress could lure anyone with her beauty and her little golden coins. Claudia often mused how she was caught in the spider’s web the very same way! She looked down at her fingers – each adorned in rings of silver or gold - some with garishly big jewels. She mindlessly brought a sparkling ruby to her parted lips and licked the dust off it with her tongue.

  “Jethin, how do you know she was making out with her rings at that moment?”

  “She was always making out with her rings; it’s a likely filler in my tale. Let me tell my story my way, will you?”

  Saffron laughed and nodded.

  When Jethin had filled the cart (almost over-filled it) with goods, he ordered his sister to go home. He stood in the middle of the market, searching for Claudia. His mistress had not instructed him how to find Claudia so he stood dumbly, his stallion snorting by his side, in the middle of the teeming throngs of market day. The hot, oily scent of sausages filled his nose and his stomach responded with a growl. He relished the fact that he could actually feed himself today! He could buy any food that his heart desired and stuff himself like a pig! He could buy a pig and stuff it for dinner!

  Claudia watched him eat. She was crouched down now - he was closer to her alley and, if he turned just a little to the right, he would catch her spying on him. She winced each time he shoved the sausage in his mouth and ripped into the meat like a slobbering beast.

  Her mistress had peculiar tastes. He was beautiful, true, but his manner was low-country. She did not look forward to coming out and presenting herself to him. At last, he finished breaking his fast. She could stall no longer. She walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

  When he spun around, he silently appraised her. He was not exactly sure what had changed, whether it was he or Claudia, but she did not appear today as she did the day before. Where there used to be a flowing of dark hair, today he noticed her hair hung in greasy lengths on her shoulders. The soft skin of her face was not the shine of youth, but the oil of a long overdue washing. Even her bosom, which had played such a promising role last night in his long hours of fantasizing, was not so much “full” today but “fatty,” and painfully pinched by her broad corset.

  As moments became a whole minute, Claudia’s eyes burned with a growing hate for Jethin. She saw him. She knew what he was doing. He looked at her with disgust! Well, she thought, pity him. He has no idea what hell awaits him. But this did not calm her as she stood before him, he the sacrificial cow, ridiculing her with his eyes as if she were a dirty commoner. But she couldn’t let it go. “Aye, Jethin. You think me ugly today. No doubt twas the beauty of my mistress which hath blinded you to all else. Just you remember - I was good enough yesterday, and one day soon you will realize that I am quite a prize compared to some.”

  Ridiculous, he thought, what is she bleating about?

  “Indeed,” Claudia continued with a fiery conviction, “the fruit which is already rotted on the inside may still happen to wear the most beautiful, ripe skin.”

  Jethin didn’t appear impressed by her prophecy. He stood erect, his face the essence of disdain. His eyes flitted from her head, down the length of her body, to her toes and back up again. Jealous wench. “As fascinating as I am sure you find yourself to be, I do not wish to stand about this rank market all day listening to your incoherencies.”

  “You great snob, I am learned, and I do not believe “incoherencies” is a word! Listen to yourself. You are an embarrassment. Look at you, the dirty potato boy trying to crawl from beneath the plow and into society. You Sir, are a mockery!”

  He would have liked to slap her then.

  She would have liked to slap him then. “I have nothing more to say to you.”

  He scoffed. “Nor do I, you. However, we do have work to do; do we not? Plea
se, let us try to get it done so we can be away from each other!” Jethin made sure he had the final word.

  Claudia spun about on her heel and shoved her way through the congested crowd. She halted once, Jethin ramming into her back, and impatiently they waited for a mother to move her three mewling children out of the way.

  Claudia was relieved Jethin did not stalk off. This had happened before, several times. Her mistress’s “boys” were all smiles and hungry eyes for Claudia until they met her, The Countess Cecilia. Then they turned on Claudia so quickly she could hardly believe what was happening. What did her Mistress do to them? One perfect specimen had walked off after a tussle with Claudia and her Mistress had let her know, in no subtle terms, that it would mean Claudia’s death were she to run off another. But sometimes, even in light of death, it was so hard for Claudia to control her temper in the face of these arrogant, hell-bound boys.

  Now, she and Jethin began the ritual that started over every several months, ever since The Countess had met Claudia in that rat-ridden brothel so many years before. The boys - in this case, Jethin - would help Claudia with odd tasks too difficult or impossible for a woman to do; whether the barriers be brute strength or the dictates of society. Then, when all was completed, the Countess would take the boy for dessert, and she and Claudia would move onto a different town, a different country.

  What Claudia did not know was that this time would be different. This time, her relationship with the Countess would come to an abrupt and ugly end. For Jethin would not cower before The Countess when it was time for his death, but would stand before her proud, virile, and glorious in his youth, and the Countess would decide another fate, something special, just for him.

  Each day, Jethin snatched uneasy sleep for a few hours at dawn and a few hours at dusk. During daylight hours, he performed odd tasks for his new mistress. At moonrise, he raced to the side of the Countess.

  The Countess played him softly, smoothly, and thoroughly. Within a matter of days, he was completely smitten with her. She professed a great love for him and he believed in that love without question - her gentle touch on his arm while they shared a late dinner, the soft kiss on his forehead when she bid him adieu before dawn. He yearned for so much more. At moments, he pressed himself upon her to let her know that it was okay to express their love, to let her know that he needed to express his love.

  With a coy smile and firm grip, she always held him off. He was almost driven to the brink of insanity with unrequited desire for her, but each time he felt he could not possibly wait for her any longer, she whispered soothing nothings into his burning ear and was able to hold him off for another day. He was, after all, her employee, she reminded him. When his work for her was done, he would be a rich man. He would be her equal when they came together.

  He never questioned her. He never pressed her on the fact that it was odd, this request of hers, for him to build her a velvet-lined casket (She felt she needed a fresh bedstead.) He never asked her why they only met when the moon was high. He didn’t ask Claudia, as they were not on regular speaking terms. He took his orders directly from his Mistress, and in fact, had not seen Claudia in several days.

  He worked happily on his own. He whistled a ditty while he labored and thought only of the moment when he could finally claim the Countess and make her his.

  One night, yearning for new surroundings and a new boy, Cecilia decided it was time to shock Jethin with the truth - something that always gave her such a rush of pleasure - then devour him. Maybe it was only in her grandly delusional mind, but the more in love with her they were, the sweeter their blood tasted on her tongue.

  It was early spring. Jethin and Cecilia sat on the banks of a swollen river. A lover’s moon hung fat above their tipped-together, stargazing heads.

  “Jethin?”

  “Yes, my love?

  She turned to face him and shyly took his large, callused hand with her two delicate ones. She shivered with delight; this was her favorite part. It was the culmination of all of her arduous feigning – she would be rewarded with the sweet, warm, flavor of fresh blood spiced with just a dash of fresh fear. “I must tell you something, Jethin. It is something I can no longer keep inside.” Her eyes widened with the excitement she felt.

  He reached to smooth a curl behind her ear and stroke her cheek. In hushed tones he tried to soothe her. “Never fear, my love, what is it? You can tell me anything!”

  “The truth is…” she stopped. It was just too difficult for her to continue - the burden of the secret too great!

  “Come now, my lovely. You can tell me.” Jethin sat up straight and proud, so supportive of his delicate woman. The moon splashed his face and revealed such a tender countenance, a look filled with so much love.

  “What I must tell you is this. I am a vampire, Jethin. I am of the Order of the Undead. I drink the blood of men and have never regretted it.”

  Jethin did nothing.

  Cecilia watched him do nothing. She watched in fascination, as that silly enamored stare clung securely to his face! It was she who was shocked tonight. She found herself quite speechless.

  “But, my darling Cecilia, I have known of this for quite some time. I had guessed as much awhile back when the moon was just waning. I have waited patiently until you felt comfortable enough to tell me yourself.” Then, sheepishly, “I have waited patiently for you to change me. I wish no longer to remain a virgin looking in on your world as a ridiculous human outsider.”

  Cecilia lost all composure. She gawked at him openly.

  He smiled at her. It was nice to see her finally free of that mask of the “gentlewoman.”

  It suddenly became clear to Cecilia that Jethin thought she intended, all along, to make him a vampire when the moment was right. He had no idea of her gleeful plans to rip him to shreds. But, of course, he didn’t. He fancied she was in love with him. Disgusting! She turned from Jethin’s adoring eyes and contemplated this turn of events. While watching the river run, her gut gurgled and rolled in much the same turbulent manner. She needed blood. Swiftly, she came to a decision. Hmm. Why not? Why not make him a vampire and add some entertainment to her sometimes-dull existence. She was over a thousand years old – she would always be stronger than him. She could easily be rid of him should she choose to do so later on. Trap him outside as the dawning sun burned his flesh; drive a stake through his heart as his lay dreaming of her in his silken coffin. Yes, this was a wonderful idea! She clapped her hands in girlish glee and jumped up from the damp grass. “Come, Jethin. Let us convert you right now, on this, the finest of all nights!” Her voice was sweet, as if offering to buy him cotton candy at the fair.

  “I was thrilled with my new life, Saffron. I enjoyed the odd induction ceremony and loved the benefits of my new existence. I have the strength of one-hundred men. I can fully dilate my pupils - a little trick that always sends the natives running in fear. I can grip a man’s body and transfer an electrical current, which provokes the heart to stop.”

  He smiled at his memories of people opening their mouths to scream, at the barely audible “pop” that came from the chest when he applied pressure just so. When it was done, he would shove their slack bodies away from him in repulsion. It was too much trouble to suck the blood out when the heart wasn’t pumping it. He’d then have to expend the energy to go look for dinner.

  “Vampires also have night vision and miss nothing that walks, crawls, or slithers in the dark.”

  Jethin didn’t tell Saffron that he felt his passion for Cecilia vanish. Her beckoning lips, her shapely rear-end, her taut, high bosom no longer excited him as they once had. It had made Jethin feel just a little sad. Worse than that, Jethin lost the function to urinate – and something frightening had happened to him - the man below no longer stood for his morning salute! He lay there in Jethin’s lap, limp as a poor, dead soldier. When Jethin fully realized that Cecilia could not have wanted him as she pretended - for he knew now she had absolutely no urge - he fell into a
great depression that started the third week of his new life. He now understood, like a slap in the face, that most of their relationship was built on lies, Cecilia’s lies. She didn’t want him. Not in body. She had never wanted him and that shook him to his quickly-vanishing primal core.

  Cecilia knew exactly what was bothering him but felt too bored to get into it with him. He would get over it - they all did. He would recover in time and forget what it meant to be a physically-functioning human male. Jethin could take all of the time he needed; he had all of the time in the world! And she was right. In time, Jethin came out of his slump and the two monsters began their new life together. As a consolation prize, Cecilia offered Claudia to Jethin, to destroy as he pleased, in the hopes that he would perk up a bit. His moping and whining was making her edgy. Not quite used to this consuming lust for blood - which seemed to simultaneously replace his lust for all things sensual - Jethin was shocked at his fervor when he took Claudia to death’s door. He ripped into her body like a savage wolf. He was messy and panting and covered in gore when he was finally satiated. How she would have hated him one last time with his disgraceful show of mastication! Later that evening, he cleaned his teeth with an ivory pick and contemplated his new passion. His thoughts were interrupted by a tickling on his hand. He reached down and removed some straggling bits of Claudia’s oily hair from his lap with disgust.

  Jethin smiled at Saffron, who could never have guessed at his musing. It was unfortunate he couldn’t tell her the details of the disposal of Claudia. He wished he could make Saffron understand. When she became a vampire, she’d understand his joy in the act, the ecstasy of finally quenching fires seemingly too big to contain. She’d understand without explanation. It was like explaining sex to someone who had never had it. There was no explaining an orgasm. He frowned, realizing he couldn’t quite remember an orgasm. He had the fleeting urge to reach into Saffron’s window and strangle her for being what he was not. He had to get away from her.