Fellowship & Fairydust

Young men had begun to spend more time than was usual down by the river. Mothers would tut, looking out, hands on hips, across the fields in search of their boys. Sometimes, even husbands, who had plenty to keep them busy what with the animals and the milking, would slope off. Hours they’d be gone sometimes. When they’d return, there would be an air of stillness, of secrecy about them. They’d be sheepish to the remonstrations of their wives and mothers. This hadn’t gone unnoticed by the womenfolk.

“I’m telling you, if that lad of mine goes off once more, I’m going to follow him and throw him in myself,” said Nell.

It started so long ago, nobody can really say if the river ever existed before Peg Powler lived there. Perhaps it had? Or perhaps they’d been born in the same moment? Everyone knew that the Tees had tendencies towards violence and unpredictability. Everyone knew that, in these moments, Peg would peer up from under the surface and grab you, pulling you under into the swirling, murky green depths. And everyone also knew that if she did so, you’d never be seen alive again.

Too many little innocents had been lost this way. Found days later downstream, floating gently in a pool of tinctured grief.

Peg Powler was a monster. She existed always, but came viciously awake when the river raged in spate. She loved the rain, causing foams and mists in small cataracts of energized, rushing water. Her hair was green and lank, wafting like weeds in the currents. Her eyes were bright and red, never ceasing in their search for one whose feet she could reach. Her arms were long and her grip could clasp and never let go. She loved to be terrifying, because that was all she knew how to be. She loved to live in a terrifying river, yet she didn’t know how to be gentle and life giving.

Peg had no love for the river in the summertime, when it was filled with ducklings and sprat, warm at the edges and beneficent. So, she hid in these times, in dark pools, under massive rocks, waiting for the river to roar once again.

Peg, would watch and wait. Perhaps it was the coming of the rains on the river that awoke her? But somehow, she knew just when the river would rise. Something would stir her from her treacherous waiting and Peg would begin frenziedly washing. Wash, wash, washing her filthy garments, causing her suds to pop, in white foam mountains  swirled round and round by the eddying waters. Sure enough, after the suds would appear, the great Tees would arise in a wall of water to take the sleepy valley by surprise in its gushing, tumbling rage. This was Peg’s moment, to grab and drown those poor unsuspecting children, who played so sweetly in the warmed water.

But why were the boys being so drawn to this treachery? Why? When their loving mothers had told Peg Powler’s dark doings in terrified whispers to them. Keep safe! Keep away! Learn the moods of the river, orPeg Powler will surely get you, and I cannot bear to find you lifeless, dear child.

The new day dawned and Nell found that the cows had not been milked. Her good son, Jack, had sloped off again to the river. Snorting in frustration, she turned swiftly down the hill in pursuit, muttering unkindnesses under her breath.

The river cut its way through limestone terrain that held rich farming land. The riverbanks were deeply wooded. An occasional cow would break through the undergrowth to drink, otters played unhindered, and the kingfishers darted about. The Tees was a rich and beautiful being and Nell had grown up all her life in its care. She loved it like a Grandmother. Yet she had no love for Peg Powler, that Hag.

Suddenly, Nell spied her Jack. He was standing transfixed, looking at a large rock in the river’s swiftest flow. He had taken off his boots and was standing ankle-deep in the shallows. Nell followed his gaze and there, half on the rock and half immersed in the current, was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

Her long hair was dark and flowing, her eyes were the deepest amber and her bare breasts were like glossy, creamy suds, glistening wet and soft. The woman was looking directly at Jack and smiling. Nell watched as they gazed at each other, so absorbed the didn’t notice her. She quietly walked away, without being seen, but she was shaken. Shaken and filled with a fear that she could not name.

That night, Nell decided to talk to her son about what she had seen and to warn him that her heart had felt a danger, that this woman was not a good one. Yet, one thing led to another that night and she didn’t find the time to speak up. The clouds had started to mass and that meant rain was coming. Much had to be done before it fell and she was needed on the farm. Long hours they all worked and when she finally fell asleep, she had no mind left for worry, and no mind to speak.

Rain fell that night. Warm, welcome, autumn rain, which washed the land and ripened the apples. Nell was awoken by it drumming on her window as the dawn broke. Suddenly, she remembered her warning and quickly got out of bed to wake her son.

“There’s no need, Pet, he’s already out,” her husband said to her. Panic and terror swept through her like a burning flame. Turning away, she ran towards her greatest fear, sobbing no, no, no, not my baby, not him.

She could hear it long before she saw it. Where yesterday there was a gentle flow, now the Mighty Tees was white, spitting, frothing like an enraged snake. It roared and cascaded, barely contained within its banks. Of her son there was no sign.

Nell looked deep into the waters and was sure she could see two red eyes, glinting like molten rocks, barely beneath the surface. Long strong fingers reaching towards her. She quickly retreated from the river’s edge, and ran back to her farm.

Jack never came home.