Many a Fool

Over the centuries, many mortals and fools, have attempted to reach the remote village of Whalescliffe, nestled far between the rocks, forest and sea, protected from the kingdom beyond. Memories of the small hamlet, only accessible from land through the ancient forests, are now lost to time and few have heard stories of the tiny community perched beneath the cliffs, looking out across the cold Elfin Sea. The hidden trails, once woven across the forest floor, are now gone, free from uninvited visitors for longer than living memory.

***

Boris and Anna Sopforth were making their way back to the hotel in Barkinsbrook where they were staying, a break from their busy lives in the south of the kingdom. The bright evening of earlier had turned grey and an increasingly heavy rain threatened as the blackened night approached,

“Don’t worry my dear,” Boris put his arm around Anna’s broad shoulders, “I think it’s just a couple of miles. We can find a shortcut instead of following the road. Come on girl, get your coat fastened, you know what they say about it being grim up north!”

“Boris, you are an absolute nightmare,” Anna giggled, and then arm in arm, they faced into the brisk wind and headed in the direction of their hotel.

In Whalescliffe, the strong north wind was whipping in off the sea, lashing its way across the crests of the mountainous waves, lifting the sea and hurling it against the crashing harbour wall. From his elevated position in the snug of the Fisherfolks Arms, Asa Tansforth looked down on the village that had been his home for over sixty years, and out to the tumultuous sea beyond. His leathery brown skin shone in the soft candle light and his hands twitched over his strong woollen-clad thighs. His eyes scanned across the churning harbour, where paraffin lamps reflected against the lighthouse’s huge curved mirrors, casting a long light into the darkness. ‘Old Ambrose is doing a handsome job tonight’ he pondered his friend, the lighthouse keeper, facing into the storm and protecting the folk of the sea. Asa’s moustached lip quivered and an unexpected shiver trickled down his spine. A sense of unease took him unawares, creeping into his bones, and as Asa moved his hand over the fading anchor and scythe tattoo on his forearm, he began to wonder whether this night might bring more than just a storm.

“Anna, I know this might shock you, but I think I’ve got us lost,” Boris' face, pale in the darkness turned to his wife, head down against the rain, breathing heavily as she dragged her buxom frame along the small path they’d been following.

“You said you could find the way. You said that it would all be fine,” Anna’s voice raised to a shrieking crescendo, “what are we going to do now?”

The rain was getting heavier and even though there was no apparent path, the pair decided to head into the woodlands to escape the increasingly ferocious and bad tempered weather. Into the forest they ambled, the rain at their backs and the distant rumble of thunder chasing them as they went, the wind whipping their ears and bellowing at them for being so foolhardy.

As the tempest roared, the pair wandered further into the forest, fumbling through the dark, making their way blindly, without thought or reason, they trudged onwards, their flimsy coats bound to their skin as the water penetrated into their weary bodies. The gibbous moon hid away from them, refusing to cast any light on their situation, and all they could do was keep on moving, through the trees, aimlessly stumbling onwards.

***

The following morning dawned bright and clear in Whalescliffe, a stiff breeze blew in from the Elfin Sea, scattering any lingering clouds and the people of the village scurried along the streets and lanes, busy with their daily lives. Whether at land or sea, everyone had their role, their hands and hearts working on the boats or farms, the buildings, houses and every part of Whalescliffe. While mainly the men laboured the sea and the land, the womenfolk would congregate in the Great Hall of Sanctity where every piece of fabric and clothing in the village was carefully crafted.

Making her way from the inn, along the glistening streets to the Hall of Sanctity, Flora Tansforth marvelled at the wonderful morning. The weak January sun cast some warmth against her face, lighting it in hues of amber and gold, and Flora thanked the protectors of the sea and the forest for her happy life in Whalescliffe as she turned the corner into the high top lane where the Hall of Sanctity had been constructed by her forefathers so many years ago. It was there that she came face to face with two very wet and pale creatures, the likes of which she had never seen. Their faces were white and puffy, their legs short and stubby, and their clothes were thin like paper, soaked and plastered to their little rotund bodies.

Flora took a step back, her hand to her face, about to turn and raise the alarm, but then one of the creatures spoke.

“Please, we need help… we got lost… we were trying to get back to our hotel in Barkinsbrook…” Boris Sopforth reached out to her, his other arm around the shoulders of Anna who was quivering so greatly that almost everything around her shook.

Flora, nor any other living soul in Whalescliffe had ever encountered anyone from beyond the village, such had been the village’s isolated existence for so long, no one ever spoke of what would happen if an outsider ever found their way in.

“You must come with me,” Flora began to think quickly, if she could get them back to the Fisherfolks Arms, Asa would know what to do, and at least she could make them warm and dry. Whoever they were, and wherever they’d come from, Flora had no heart for anything other than compassion.

And so, carefully and tentatively, Boris and Anna followed Flora through the cobbled streets and alleyways. Even in their dishevelled and pitiful state, they noticed their new surroundings, the ancient low buildings, curving roof-lines, unusual flowers and plants that edged the streets, the clatter of horse hooves as a dray carrying milk and vegetables made its way past a little bakery from which warming aromas escaped. They both knew that wherever they were, it was not like anywhere they’d been before.

***

Asa sat with his old friend Ambrose Porthouse in the snug of the Fisherfolks Arms, their mood pensive, whilst upstairs, Flora was helping the new arrivals, finding dry and warm clothes for them and making them comfortable.

“We’ve never had to deal with this, not in our lifetimes,” Ambrose tapped his broad brown fingers on the table, his other hand pushed through his wiry white hair.

“I heard tales about it, but never saw anyone from beyond here, not ever, not even my father remembered any such thing.” Asa looked out to the sea where the waves had calmed since the night before, and in the harbour the younger men were returning with the morning’s catch. “All I know is that we must protect what we have. We cannot risk our community becoming known to those outside.”

“You’re right my friend, we cannot allow the balance of our lives to be cast askew,” Ambrose’s eyes flashed with warning, “the protectors of the sea and the forest have served us well all these years. These people must have been sent to test us, I cannot think of any other reason.”

“And so, we must not allow them to leave, we cannot risk that,” Asa looked his friend in the eye, “we must keep them here, allow them to become part of our community, and if that does not work out then…” The two men looked at each other and nodded in grim recognition and a moment of heavy silence passed between them.

Asa rose and headed towards the door, “I’ll see if one of the lads down in the harbour will take on that pasty looking fellow upstairs and we’ll get him earning his keep. Flora will make sure the woman is put to good use.”

Later that morning, in a simple but comfortable wooden bed, heavy woollen sheets covering their bodies, Boris and Anna woke from a deep sleep in the small attic room at the top of the Fisherfolks Arms. A cold light fell through the little round window at the room’s gable end but there was warmth from a small fire and a candle lit the dark where they lay.

“Well my dear,” said Boris, rubbing his little piggy eyes, “that was lucky, I thought we’d had it last night in those woods.”

Anna yawned and pushed herself up on the pillows, regarding the fine woollen nightdress that she’d been too exhausted to notice earlier. “You got us into a real mess Boris, thank goodness for that woman that found us. I can’t remember her name can you?”

“No my love, but we must thank her before we leave. This place really is quite quirky isn’t it. All candles and fires and things, there’s no electricity in here or anything.” Boris, in a pair of heavy knitted pyjamas, rolled out of the bed and looked for his clothes, but finding them gone, he and Anna dressed themselves in outfits they discovered neatly folded on a small wooden chair.

“Well, look at you,” laughed Anna as she regarded her husband in a high necked woollen sweater and a pair of tan leather trousers.

“No so bad yourself,” he laughed as Anna twirled round in a long green knitted dress, showing off her hips and curves. “Let’s go and find someone, get our clothes and then get moving.”

After Flora had fed them a hearty breakfast and introduced them to a rather cautious and guarded Asa, as his guests, he offered to show Boris the harbour and suggested that Anna spend time with Flora. Swept up by the couple’s generosity, Boris and Anna felt unable to object, and eventually headed in opposite directions, each agreeing that it was a wonderful opportunity to see the village and that they could stay another night as they still had five days of their holiday left, so there really wasn’t any hurry.

 Asa took Boris through the bustling village to the docks where he was swiftly introduced to Oscar Strongarm, a gruff man who ran a fleet of fishing boats and was more than happy to have another pair of hands on board, however pale and pudgy they might be. Boris was thrilled at the prospect and happily spent the rest of the day in the dock yard, ready for the arrival of the next catch.

Anna, meanwhile, had accompanied Flora to the Hall of Sanctity where she met other women of the village as they knitted, wove and stitched. Anna marvelled at their skills, of which she possessed none, “Not to worry dear,” said a fair haired young woman, “we’ll have you knitting in no time!” but even Anna, who was usually oblivious to most things, noticed the way the women regarded her, and the murmurs between them as she sat in their midst.

“I’m shattered,” said Boris as he climbed into bed, after an afternoon at the docks, “but it's worth it, tomorrow I go out on the boat with the others. Oscar down on the harbour, I think he quite likes me, he said he’ll get me some waterproofs for tomorrow, made from special stuff that the women make.”

“Yes, I saw them doing that today,” yawned Anna, “they seem to think that I’m going to be staying here! They talked about training me and everything. Can you imagine?” 

“I think I’d like to be a fisherman, with the men on the docks, out at sea. I think I’d fit in pretty well,” ignoring Anna’s concern, Boris mused his own situation.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Anna laughed, “you’re too unfit, you wouldn’t last a day! All the men here are tall and strong looking, they’re all so tanned and weathered.”

“I expect you’re fairly unusual yourself amongst the women,” rebuffed Boris, “that Flora, she’s pretty old, but she’s got a fine figure, I bet she was a real looker in her day.” And Boris turned over and fell into a deep slumber, where he dreamed of riding the ocean waves with the men of the village, it was all going to be so wonderful.

Downstairs in the snug, Asa, Flora, Ambrose and Oscar, quietly discussed the unprecedented situation. “She’s pleasant enough,” Flora looked at Asa as he nodded, “and he’s eager.”

“Very eager,” Oscar took a sip of his beer, “tomorrow will tell us whether he’s going to be of any use on the boat. Can the woman weave or sew?”

“No, not at all, but we have to give her a chance, both of them,” said Flora.

“Flora is right,” Asa patted his wife’s arm, “we cannot let them leave, so we must try our best… we do not want to consider the other options, not yet.”

The following day, Boris got his wish and sailed happily out onto the Elfin Sea with the men of the village, where he tried as well as he could, hauling in the slippery fish that tumbled onto the decks. It did not escape Oscar’s notice however, the frequency in which Boris retched over the side of the boat, returning with a green tinged smile and joining the men in singing sailing songs as they heaved and rolled their day over the raging sea.

A week later, in Barkinsbrook, the hotel receptionist, charged the account of Mr and Mrs Sopforth for the additional days they’d stayed at the hotel, whilst in Whalescliffe, a small patch of hair was beginning to develop on Boris' upper lip, and although Anna was unaware of the anchor and scythe tattoo that was now inked onto her husband’s right calf, she couldn’t help but notice the strange twang that he’d adopted to his speech and the way he talked, as if their normal lives no longer existed. He’d even abandoned his vegetarian diet and relished the meaty stews and fish laden dishes that Flora cooked for them. Anna though, was struggling, even though the women were kind and helpful, she knew she was a burden, dropping stitches and weaving the wrong threads each day. She’d tried to speak about leaving, but something in her bones told her not to raise the matter with Flora or Asa, who seemed content to feed, clothe, and house them.

Boris stood on the deck as the boat returned to the harbour, the little cottages and buildings glinting in the sun, welcoming them home. ‘Home,’ he thought to himself, ‘this truly feels like home’ and he smiled and turned to his ship mate, slapping his little white hand on the man’s broad back. “This is the life for me,” he said.

The other man wiped the sweat from his brow and cast a dark eye over Boris. “There’s still work to do,” he said and headed back towards the wheelhouse where Oscar Strongarm stood and watched.

***

Some nights later, after Boris and Anna had retired to bed, Asa and Flora sat by the fire with Oscar. “How are things going on the boat with Boris?” asked Asa.

“I wish I could give you better news Asa,” Oscar looked intently, “but he is a liability. The man thinks he’s a wonderful sailor, but he’s lazy and weak, he can’t gut a fish to save his life, so much of the catch is being wasted.”

“Is he really that bad?” Flora was nervous of the way the conversation might turn, knowing full well that the same could be said of Anna, who was ruining more of their work than ever.

“Yes,” Oscar said darkly, “and from what I hear, his wife isn’t much better. It’s been a good few weeks now. It’s not working.”

“I will speak with Ambrose and the others in the morning,” said Asa, pulling Flora close to him, knowing how their decision would distress her.

***

A storm consumed the night, lashing against the windows of the Fisherfolks Arms, where Boris and Anna, feeling unusually tired after eating Flora’s soup, fell into a deep sleep. Asa and Oscar acted swiftly, the effects of the herbs would not last long.

***

Boris heard the sea, and felt ropes around his ankles and wrists as strong hands heaved him into a small vessel at the water's edge. Then all was black again and when he awoke, it was to the relentless roar of the waves. He tried to reach out to Anna, but she was far away, deep within the impenetrable trees, an offering to the protectors of the forest, her body bound, her head slumped onto her chest where she dreamed of home.

Boris heard the oars plunging into the icy sea and the protectors in the heavy black clouds boomed and roared, as Asa’s voice sang loudly into the night. Then, far beyond the beams of the lighthouse, rough hands grabbed Boris, casting him overboard, where the depths of the sea consumed him.

Anna awoke with a terrified scream, echoing in every nook and hollow of the dense woodland, as trees bent and twisted around her, the groaning forest took her, then grew silent once more.

***

In Whalescliffe, the villagers returned to their lives, as though the strange couple had never been amongst them. In the snug of the Fisherfolks Arms, Asa and Ambrose, their faces heavy with burden, sat quietly by the fire, while Flora knitted, her hands trembling with each stitch. The act of protecting Whalescliffe had been against their nature, but the village remained, as it always had, safely nestled between the rocks, the forest, and the sea.