The charcoal burner had not returned that night. His wife sent their eldest son to find him-out to Black Mere.
The sun was a memory as the evening cloud blurred the edge of the forest where it ran into the glass flat shallow lake of the mere. The lad, only twelve or so, called for his father as he skirted the water,one eye on the inky forest shadows in case of ambush- for in these days there were many cut throats and desperate men with crazed minds.
He came upon the slashed body of his father almost unseen-he tripped over his dead father's foot. The small fire was nearly out- there had been a visitor too. The boy looked at his father face down in the black water and shuddered with the damp or fear-it did not matter. Now he saw deep footmarks in the soft black mud- and a puddle of dark blood. It was hardly dry. The boy tried to pull his father up out of the water but it would not move-instead he fell back with one of his father's shoes as his reward.
Back in the village word spread and as women howled in terror, men gathered arms and went out into the trees calling for vengeance and to the devil himself-for some god fearing folk always blamed such events on Evil. They were right of course-for this death had been caused by Evil. That force that possessed the mind of the killer was now pumping the adrenalin in Ruth's veins as she made her way through thorn bush and bracken northwards to her destiiny in London. Ruth who was born Anais, lover for one sunshine filled Spring afternoon with the archer Thomas, had now bloodied her knife once more.
"Witch! Come out!" they cried- but their quarry had vanished. The villagers learned of the deaths of children and father on the coast soon after as the blacksmith arrived - the story was the same-a young beautiful woman who emerged from the dark woods and changed into a devil.
Thomas knew nothing of this of course as he too forged northwards-but he kept to the track which made progress quicker yet no safer-for robbers knew this was a fruitful path to lay ambush.
Thomas kept his bow, Angel, ready strung. He kept his hood back even in the rain showers- many a good soldier had been caught blind in France for the sake of a cold neck. His eyes scanned left and right ,up and back in harmony with his ears. He knew the tell tale alerts of the smallest of creatures from the days spent hunting with his brother and father. But the forest was quiet. In fact, it was beginning to become a concern to Thomas-where were the raucous magpies and crows ?
No more than a mile from Thomas' chosen path walked Evil. Ruth who was Anais, two people sharing one form; the gentle girl who he had made sweet love to and the same girl who had shared his mother's house, Ruth was also Anais. Anais whose mind had been turned to obsession for revenge on a man, now any man, who triggered memories of the day she witnessed the massacre of her family.
The hatred she carried was tempered by faces and people that did not trigger that awful memory- even Thomas had been in grave danger though except he had reminded Anais of her own dead brother in some fashion. His mother was her mother-their hearth was her hearth. The charcoal burner she had met at the mere that night had evoked the Evil. His demand of a kiss after seeing her bathe could only end with his death. Anais had gutted him like a pig with the Spanish blade she had secreted with her belongings in the hollow tree- and why not? The charcoal burner would have revealed her true identity and purpose. His death was avoidable, she thought -but his actions were deserving and judgment was swift.
As Anais paused for a drink, she heard the snap of a twig. She dropped down low. In the clearing of a small glade of silver birch she saw Thomas. She knew Thomas would follow.- she knew this would end their sweet moment of bliss. Anais had left Ruth behind at that riverbank when they had made love. Now Thomas was a threat. When they next met, Thomas would welcome Ruth but he would be answered by Anais. Anais was a different beast..
Thomas froze out of instinct. He did not hear or see Anais. It was rather the flight of three blue tits that had hurried away from the treetops above her, dipping up and down in their flight. Thomas felt the pommel of his dagger then feigned a carefree jaunt, whistling as he strode onwards.
It would be dark in an hour; Thomas and Anais were both making their plans for survival.
