The Yuletide Woodsman Read online

  THE YULETIDE WOODSMAN

  A SEASONS’ FAIRY TALE

  KATIE M. JOHN

  The Autumn Duchess

  The Yuletide Woodsman

  The Winter Queen

  http://www.katiemjohn.com/

  Copyright 2018 Katie M. John

  Little Bird Publishing House

  London

  UK

  No part of this story may be reproduced, uploaded or distributed without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I cycled along the bumpy footpath, taking in the dark ploughed earth, kissed with frost and a light dusting of snow. I breathed in the quiet, glad to be out of the house for a while.

  Home was chaos. Mum was baking mince pies for the school Christmas choir concert and dad was wrestling the Christmas tree out of the loft with the reluctant help of my younger brother, Freddie. Dad and Freddie were far too alike to work harmoniously on any kind of project.

  When mum had asked me to ride over to granny’s house to deliver a Christmas cake and several tubs of other home-baked goodies, I had jumped at the chance. Don’t get me wrong, I mostly loved the sweet-spiced frenzy of Christmas, the home a whirlwind of foliage, decorations, backing and carols blaring out in every room. My mum was Christmas crazy, as excited as any six-year-old. My friends all wished their mums were like her but they didn’t have to live with her, I thought, laughing.

  The bridle path had been made worse by the freezing puddles that had created craters in the impacted earth, and it took all of my strength to keep the bicycle moving forward. I couldn’t resist opening my mouth and ‘arghing’ as I pitched and bounced, causing my voice to come out in an amusing sort of song.

  Eventually, I came to the treeline of the small woods and the promise of a softer path. It wouldn’t be as bouncy or determined to throw me from my bicycle, but it would give me a good workout.

  I had travelled the same route at least two or three times a week as granny lived in a small village on the other side.

  Granny and I had always been close. She’d looked after me and Freddie whilst mum worked, but then granny had had a stroke and life changed. Things were different—painfully so, and it was part of the emerging adult experience that I could have happily done without—there’s nothing worse than watching someone you love become a shadow of their former self, and worse still, them knowing it too.

  However, there was hope; if she continued to do her physiotherapy, and listened to the professionals, she might regain some of the strength in her left leg and arm. She had already made great progress, even if she denied it.

  The sight of a small random collection of boxes, blankets and plastic sheeting that served as someone’s home, distracted me from these thoughts and led me onto others. This small, sad camp had sprung up a couple of weeks ago. Some poor wretch trying to find some shelter and warmth from the harsh winter.

  I hadn’t told mum about it because she would have immediately jumped to a gazillion nightmare induced assumptions and told me to take the long way around, fearing I was about to become the victim of some terrible crime.

  Despite this evidence that someone was living in the woods, I had yet to see them and aside from the fact I peddled a little quicker, it didn’t really worry me. All I felt was guilt that I would be returning home to a warm soft bed and a home-cooked meal and they wouldn’t.

  Today, something was different. There was movement under the blue plastic tarp and I began to peddle a little faster, keeping my eyes forward in the way we’re taught not to engage with any threat; a hangover from our pre-historic past when to make eye-contact with a Tyrannosaurus Rex would have meant immediate death. And even though Freddie would despair at my inaccurate palaeontological reference, shrieking for the thousandth time that humans and dinosaurs never met one another, I liked to think they did—or else the Flintstones was entirely wrong, which was something I wasn’t prepared to admit—ever.

  So peddled fast, face forward, successfully not being eaten by a T-Rex when I made the fatal error of glancing behind me to see an old woman emerge from the plastic. My conscience slapped me and I pulled the brake.

  The woman’s wore a muddied sheepskin jacket, some relic from the 1970s and a bobble hat that looked like a bad-taste parody of Father Christmas. My heart sank. It was a miserable fate at any age, and I couldn’t imagine how awful it must be to have no one in the world who cared enough to save you from it, or for you to believe that it it wasn’t the case.

  I couldn’t help but draw a comparison with my own granny, who was so loved and cared for, and it was this thought that compelled me to bring my bicycle to a stop and to lean it against the nearest tree.

  Moving the various tubs of home-bakes in the front basket, I selected a tub of cookies, which I had helped mum bake that morning, and made my way towards her.

  She was either rude, too busy, or living by the T-Rex rule, but she didn’t show me any sign of acknowledgement at all until I tried to clear the frog in my throat and croaked out an embarrassed, “Hello.”

  She turned as quickly as if I had just thrown a bucket of cold water over her.

  “What do you want?” she snapped returning to her task of fiddling ineffectively with the blue sheeting and some frayed rope.

  “I erm…” I began, screwing the toe of my boot into the hard ground. “I wondered if you might like these,” I said, holding out the plastic box like some sacred offering to a forgotten goddess.

  “What is it?”

  “Cookies. I made them this morning.”

  “Well, aren’t you precious,” she chided. She sniffed loudly before coughing up a large ball of phlegm, which she spat onto the floor near my feet.

  I wanted to retch but at the same time, I chided myself for being such a self-entitled princess when I pretended to be a social warrior. Determined to be of help, I asked, “Do you need some help with that?” I nodded to the rope and the plastic.

  She grunted and I took this as a sign she would but she was far too proud to ever admit it.

  As I neared, she handed me the frayed end of the rope and moved around the shelter, muttering as she went.

  She was filthy and from the smell of her, she’d not had a bath in several years. Nevertheless, I smiled and vowed to treat her with the same respect and kindness I’d want someone to show my granny should she ever fall on hard times.

  “Tighter,” she growled.

  I followed her chuntered demands, fighting down the frustration as I saw how unproductive her method was. With her current approach, we were never going to get the shelter secure and the weather was quickly turning. An unseasonal roll of thunder rumbled in the distance and snow began to fall.

  I looked upwards, biting my tongue and wishing I had just peddled by, uncharitable as that was. It was starting to get dark and I really wanted to get on with things. I zoned back into what was happening and frowned when I saw how I was now tangled up in the rope. Letting out a heavy sigh, I was just about to tell her when I suddenly hit the floor, face first, the rope tightening around my ankles, like an expertly lain trap. I had been yanked with a surprising amount of strength for a frail old lady.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Once I was over the shock, I tried to orientate myself, lifting my eyes to see a bright polished pair of black lace-up boots and long ruby velvet skirts. As my eyes travelled upwards, I saw the old crone was no more, and in her place stood a strong, majestic woman in her forties, with a back straight as a rod of iron and her chin held up with pride.

  “Who the hell are you?” I asked, trying to sit up.

  The woman dropped to her haunches, arranging her velvet skirts around her.

  “I am Queen Morag, Queen of the Forestia,
and you are...?”

  “Pissed off,” I said, sneering. I wasn’t go to let her know that ‘terrified’ would have been a more accurate answer. She laughed and it sounded like tinkling icicles. “Untie me!” I commanded sounding more courageous than I felt.

  “By all means,” she said smiling wickedly and raising her hands. At her magical command, the rope fell away and I was able to sit upright and take in my surroundings, which didn’t look all that different to the woods I had been in a moment before, except for a deeper covering of snow, and a missing bicycle.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “We are here, Forestia” Queen Morag said, springing to her feet and smoothing out her skirts. “Come on, you’ll catch your death if you stay out here.”

  “I stood and looked around the seemingly endless snow-laden tress.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “As you wish,” she said, smiling, and I knew at that point, she knew a secret I didn’t. My heart quickened but I wasn’t going to give into fear, and besides, my instincts told me that whatever dangers lurked in the woods, they were nothing compared to the danger that Queen Morag held.

  I watched after her for a while and noted how the snow had stopped and the white mist lifted to reveal a twisted thin and spindly castle behind large iron gates.

  “If you change your mind, just ring the bell,” she called over her shoulder, indicating the large bell suspended in a metal tripod structure that stood next to the gates. There was something about it that made my pulse race; some sense of bad omen and I gave a silent prayer that I would never have to ring that bell.

  When the gates of the castle closed behind Queen Morag, I did a three-sixty turn, inspecting the woods for any sign of imminent danger. It was quiet enough, I reassured myself.

  I began walking, wondering why she would go to such lengths to kidnap me, only to set me free in this strange new land. Suspicion clawed at my chest. She knew I’d come back. She knew I’d ring the bell. I had no idea where I was going, and the disquiet thought began to chatter that even if I walked for eternity, I would never find my way out of the forest; I hadn’t really escaped at all. I was being played with.

  The light had already been fading when I had made the mistake of stopping to help the ‘sweet old lady’, and now the night fell like a blanket over the trees, snuffing out the last remaining light. Soon, even the bright white snow gave way to the shadows and I stopped, allowing previously forbidden tears to fall.

  It was hopeless. I was alone in an endless forest and if I didn’t find shelter soon, I would be dead from the cold before morning. No wonder Queen Morag had been smiling as she walked away from me. She was one sadistic bitch.

  Just when I began to think things couldn’t get any worse, a low growl came from the shadows.

  “Great,” I muttered, steeling myself. I waited, listening hard so I could try and locate it. I’d got no idea how I was going to outrun a hungry, stray dog, but I guess I’d soon find out.

  My heart beat so hard I could barely hear anything else. A pair of amber eyes flashed in the gloom and my heart sank. The height of the eyes told me the beast was bigger than your average dog. All at once, the creature tipped its head to the sky and let out a howl that sent shivers through the forest.

  Wolf!

  I stepped back slowly, cursing the crunching snow under my feet. Something told me that the T-Rex rule was wrong, and as soon as I dropped my eyes, the beast was going to take it as a sign of my weakness.

  No, I needed to stare it down. Show it I was not easy prey, and I was not worth its waste of energy. But it was so cold in the woods and I’d not seen any other signs of life since I’d arrived. The wolf was hungry.

  In the distance, a fainter howl sounded. He wasn’t alone.

  I didn’t know what to do. They’d never taught me how to survive an impending wolf attack at school; it wasn’t part of the national curriculum.

  I tried to calm my breathing and clear my head so I could think straight. Thinking was going to be the thing that was going to get me out of here, not running.

  One set of amber eyes were joined by two others. And now there were three. I could almost hear Queen Morag laughing from her castle. This was the secret she had known; the woods were full of wolves.

  I really wasn’t sure how I was going to get out of the situation and a wave of helplessness washed over me, even though I wasn’t quite prepared to give in. No. I would at least try to survive.

  A soft yellow light grew around me. “Softly step backwards,” a male voice commanded in a low voice from behind.

  I started to turn around to see who had come to my aid, but he said sternly, “Eyes forward. Don’t take your eyes off him. As soon as you do, he’ll go for you.”

  I took step after step until I bumped into a hard body, much taller than my own. He smelled good, like safety; woodsmoke, herbs, and life.

  “Get ready to run,” he whispered low into my ear, his hot breath sending my frozen skin skittering. I nodded. My eyes still fixed on the threat in front of us.

  “Run!” he commanded.

  I took off fast through the woods, not waiting to be told twice, hearing the sound of the boy’s thudding footsteps behind me and the lighter fast padding of the wolves.

  A terrible yelping filled the air, and I stopped to see the young man swinging a lantern in one hand and a lethal wood-axe in the other, slashing and hacking into soft wolf flesh. Two wolves laid in a mess of blood and fur at his feet, and the remaining one was braced, baring his teeth, his eyes fixed on the woodsman, who stepped forward, swinging his axe and growling like the greater of the two beasts.

  The wolf took in the image of his two dead pack mates now spread across the snow and dropped his tail, running off back into the shadows of the woods.

  I doubled up, trying to catch my breath. I’d never run so hard in my life.

  “Thank you,” I managed to say between gasps.

  “Don’t mention it,” the young man said, stepping towards me.

  He was tall and broad, which made him look older than his face suggested; well over six-foot-tall, perhaps even nearer seven, and even against my height, he looked giant. His long chestnut hair was pulled back into a ponytail and he wore the outfit of a classic fairy tale lumberjack, leather trousers, a red and black checked shirt with a thick, heavy hand-knitted scarf. His sleeves were rolled up, despite the chill of the snow, and tattooed symbols wound their way around his strong forearms.

  “I’m Neve,” I said, holding out a hand.

  “Stag,” he said, smiling.

  “Stag? That’s an interesting name.”

  “I’m named after my grandfather.”

  I nodded and noted the large fierce looking axe hanging by his side, still dripping blood.

  “What you doing out here on your own at night?” he asked, kicking the lifeless carcass of the wolf with his metal capped toe before dropping to his haunches and removing a sharp knife from his back pocket.

  “I…” What the hell could I tell him? That I was abducted by an evil witch and transported to a fairy tale land where I’m destined to meet a ridiculously attractive woodsman, or possibly be savaged to death by wolves. “…I don’t remember.”

  He stopped his task of expertly skinning the wolf and looked at me. “You don’t remember?” he asked, incredulously. “Well, okay, where are you from? I don’t know you from the village.”

  I turned my head in the direction I thought Morag’s Castle was but when we ran from the wolves, I had grown disorientated.

  “Have you forgotten that, too?” he asked.

  I blushed. “I’m sorry. I bumped my head,” I lied, “and when I came round, I was here, in the woods.”

  He returned to skinning the wolves and I wasn’t convinced he believed me, but he wasn’t anyone to me for me to worry about that too much.

  I watched on as both wolves were freed of their fur and Stag butchered some of the choice cuts of the wolf meat, which he stuffed
into a leather duffle bag.

  It should have made me feel repulsed, especially as we had a pet dog and there wasn’t much difference between them, but I knew this was about survival. “I didn’t know you could eat wolf meat,” I said, mainly because the awkward silence was killing me.

  He looked at me as if I was crazy. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here, and if that’s the case, I’d better get you back to Queen Morag.”

  My stomach slid at the mention of her name.

  “No…that’s… I don’t want to go there. Surely there’s somewhere else you can take me. A village? Your house?”

  His dark brown eyes flickered with something I didn’t quite understand and a shadow crossed his face.

  “I’m sorry, chick, that’s not going to be possible.”

  “Why?”

  “The village isn’t safe.”

  “It’s got to be safer than…” I’m about to say Queen Morag, but I didn’t know how his world works, for all I know, he could be her nephew, or servant, or lover—unlikely but you never knew.

  He shook his head. “No, it’s best if I take you back to Queen Morag,” he said firmly, as if persuading himself.

  He picked up the rolled-up wolf pelts and strode towards me. He was big and strong, and he had an axe. Even if I ran, there was the chance the remaining wolf was still in the shadows waiting for vengeance for his brothers’ slaughter.

  CHAPTER THREE

  We walked in silence for a while but I knew Stag was watching me, trying to work me out. His lantern swayed as we walked, casting strange shadows. I’d not realised I had travelled so deeply into the woods.

  “How old are you, Stag?”

  “Eighteen. You?”

  “I was seventeen last month.”

  “You remember that, but you don’t remember where you live? Or your family?” he asked as the trees began to thin. The shadow of Queen Morag’s castle loomed in the distance.