Yew Tree Manor – The Prologue, Part 1
Yew tree manor was originally published as a three part story last year. The reception to it was unexpectedly and gratifyingly positive. The result was that the story grew, gaining a two part prologue and three subsequent parts. There was one element of the story that never really got filled in; The sword. It appeared in this, Part 1 of the Prologue and then briefly in the penultimate part of the story, but there was a gap (of about 16 million years) that I lightly skipped over. Well for October I thought I’d republish the story, rework it slightly and tell you what the sword was really for.
I also have a new story for the end of October, but you’ll just have to wait to see what that’s about. OK partly because I haven’t written it yet, but mainly cos it’s the new AlexSuze Halloween story and it wouldn’t do to give it away before the Eve of All Hallows now would it?
Prologue Part 1
We are the sum of our experiences. Aside from our physical makeup we are forged by our hopes and fears, our triumphs and our defeats, our love and our loathing. The choices we make change the course of our lives, perhaps minutely, perhaps wrenching us from one path onto another. But once made, they resonate throughout the rest of our existence.
None of us can foresee the outcome of the choices we make with certainty, and some of us are asked to make choices far too soon …
One moment there was no universe. Then, the fabric of reality rippled. It had done this before, many times, creating reality after reality. Some lasting for only a few milliseconds by our reckoning, yet teeming with life. Others lasting aeons, evolving into nothing but a grey void, before winking out of existence.
This one was going to be different.
For a millennium reality expanded. Within the primordial dust a consciousness coalesced. The first consciousness. It knew it was the first.
Its first though was a question, “Who am I?”.
“You are the first.”, came the reply, it was a female voice.
“If I am the first, then who are you?”.
“I am always”.
I’m glad we cleared that up thought the first.
“You are the first.”, repeated the voice, “You will exist as long as this reality exists. As the first you can choose two of these gifts.”
“Only two? Three seems more appropriate for some reason.”, said the first.
“Is immortality not a gift?”
“Point taken”. The first saw the gifts arrayed in front of him. He made his choice.
“They always pick those two …”, mumbled she who is always.
“Never mind.”, said Always, “I’ll see you at the end of this reality.”
It was early May. Elizabeth was walking alone across the downs towards the white horse. She climbed up the hill and over the earth ramparts of the hill fort. She was enjoying the solitude, and she needed to be alone after the morning she had just endured.
On the way to church she had argued with her father, again, about his choice of husband. Couldn’t she choose her own husband? Apparently not. He was a hard working man, from a wealthy family, dependable, she was lucky her father had chosen him for her. Or as Elizabeth would have it, he was dull, boring and snobbish.
As she mounted the last rampart she caught sight of the horse. It covered one side of the hill, cut into the turf by the hands of her ancestors. Scoured every third year by her village to prevent the turf overgrowing it. She walked carefully down hill towards the horse’s head. She liked to sit in the eye to think when things were getting too much for her.
Almost at the head Elizabeth stumbled on the rough ground and fell to her knees. When she raised her eyes again there was a figure curled up in the eye. It hadn’t been there before. No, it must have been …
It was a man. A young man. A broad young man, muscular forearms covered by a light linen shirt. A mop of short, black hair. As Elizabeth got closer she could make out his face, strong jawed, slightly olive complexion. A handsome, powerful face.
Elizabeth felt her heart flutter. Her stomach felt uncomfortable. Her breathing became rapid and shallow, heart beating so hard it could have burst out of her chest. Then further down, between her legs, a feeling that she’d never experienced before. A tingling, pulsing warmth as blood rushed to her sex. Her nipples became hard under her clothing, could this be due to the cold or arousal deep within her. Was she right to feel this way about a perfect stranger? The stirrings within her made her want to kneel beside him, take in his scent, perhaps steal a kiss.
She reached out to touch the unmoving vision of masculine perfection in front of her.
His eyes snapped open. They were icy blue. Then just for a moment black and infinitely deep. Then back to that compelling blue again.
She stepped back, flustered. “Are you not well?”.
“I’m not sure.”, the handsome stranger replied. He stood, slowly, swaying a little at first. He looked down at Elizabeth. Her thick dark brown hair fell away from her face as she looked up at him. Her face flushed, “What’s your name?”.
“Err, …, John yes John”, he floundered, as if trying to convince himself of it. “I think I’ll need somewhere to stay. I’ve got a feeling I’ll not be going home for a while.”
So Elizabeth took him home to meet her father.
Elizabeth’s father never did get to see her marry. She and John took flight a few days later, heading off into the night with a bundle of clothes and a few coins she had stashed under her mattress.
That was the first night they made love, the first of many.
As the darkness closed in on them they spotted the barn and made for its sheltering walls. They curled up together in the remains of last autumn’s hay. Kissing as they had done at every opportunity in the days since she found him. But here in their first embrace, free from the possibility of discovery, the fiery, smouldering passion in Elizabeth ignited.
They held each other close, hands exploring. He stroked her neck and shoulder with sure strong fingers, making her shiver and arch her back. Her hands first stroked then raked his back as her animal urges took hold.
They kissed, tongues darting, probing, jousting, giving form to their lust. She could feel his cock against her, hard and larger than she’d expected. But then what had she expected? Just the “essentials” that her mother had explained to her, on a quiet summer afternoon. “So you know what to expect on your wedding night.”.
Her hand reached down, to his groin, fingers unable to resist wrapping themselves around his throbbing member. He drew a sharp breath as her hand closed around him. He had only been a corporeal being for a few days. The sensations were new, and this was, overwhelming.
They each tugged at each other’s clothes, breathing fast and shallow. Their body heat rising despite the chill in the air. Soon they were in each other’s arms, naked, caressing every inch of skin, every contour. Elizabeth’s hands were ceaseless in their exploration of Johns beautifully toned body. She traced the curves formed by his muscles, feeling herself become moist, then dripping wet between her legs. His scent filled her nostrils, making her heart flutter.
John felt his consciousness split in two. One half fixed on the beautiful Elizabeth, the passion in her eyes exciting him. The other half intent on the burning desire in his loins and the raging, pulsating erection poised at the entrance to Elizabeth’s pussy.
He eased into her. Her labia parting to accept his thick cock. Slowly he pushed deeper, not wanting to hurt her, fighting the lust which urged him to spear her deep and hard, to pound her mercilessly. She stretched to accommodate him. The tiniest spec of doubt entered her expression as he encountered the resistance. He almost stopped, but her eyes implored him to drive deeper. As he did so the resistance was suddenly gone. He felt the change and was able to slide into her until her thighs rested on him.
Elizabeth gasped, or was it sobbed. A tear welled in the corner of her eye. Not so much in pain but perhaps a lament for the passing of her virginity. But she could not have given it more gladly and would never wish that it was not John who had taken it. Now she was a woman, possessed by this powerful man. This enchanting man.
He began to slide in and out of her. She moaned and urged him on with sweet words of love. He increased the speed of his thrusts as his lust took over. She drove him on, the flames of her own desire fanned by the intense stimulation from the amazing cock within her.
They both came very quickly, together and loudly. She screaming in her passion and he growling like an animal, howling like a wolf. The sound of their passion cut through the cool night air, across the surrounding fields. It was powerful and terrifying, animal and primitive.
Smoke rose from smithy chimney as it did every day. But this day was different. The dense forest surrounding the ramshackle building was wreathed in dense mist. The trees themselves, covered in moss, dripping with moisture, seemed to lean in expectantly, waiting.
The hand bellows had been pumped for an hour. Strong hands, blackened with soot drove air through the white-hot hearth. Sparks leapt upward in dancing clouds. The strip of metal was withdrawn, hammered on the anvil until it turned from white to cherry red, then plunged again into its own personal Hades.
Each hammer blow sent shivers across the forest, not from the force but from the passion behind the strokes. With each one the smith and the metal became closer, until those whose sight was keen enough would recognise they were one.
Elizabeth tugged at the donkey’s halter as it refused to move up the track. She wanted to get back, it was cold and she was too old to be out in the damp forest. But she could sense something ahead, powerful, but familiar.
As the smith plunged the metal into the water he felt like his sole was being torn from him. He screamed out loud, but a more powerful wail of exaltation and pain flowed from him into the earth itself.
He collapsed onto the beaten earth floor.
Then she heard the scream, not through her ears but in the pit of her stomach. She ran, abandoning the donkey, stumbling into the quickening twilight.
Elizabeth found him lying face down on the floor of the forge, the sword at his side emiting a faint blue light. How she dragged his almost lifeless body to bed he would never know. He awoke to find her mopping his brow, her fine silver hair as always in a neat plait over her left shoulder.
He smiled, a weak smile. He felt like the life was leaving him, but he knew it would return. As for her, he could see the last of her life-force guttering like a candle in a gale. She laid her head gently on his chest.
He held her until, with morning’s first light, the last breath left her body. And he cried, feeling a loss he had never known before and vowed never to feel again.