Oak Do Hate

on its own.

  She pushed her way through some shrubbery and found herself in a clearing surrounded by elms. Except technically it wasn't. There were enough oak trees to create a canopy over the area, but the ground was more open than in other places because there were a dozen or more coppiced oak stools of different ages scattered about.

  She realized she was in a coup. She had always been fascinated by the fact that hardwood trees could be cut down near ground level, and yet new shoots would grow out of the stumps to replace the old trunks. Such could be harvested after a certain number years, the length of time depending upon what they would be used for. That would start the cycle all over again, and if the stool was harvested regularly, the tree would never die of old age. From the look of them, she estimated the stools were at least a decade old, with some more likely two, and at least one looked to be overstood, indicating it was much older. She realized that it must have been some time since that clearing had been properly managed.

  She approached the overstood stool, and stopped dead. It was the largest in the coup, over twelve feet across, with half a dozen good-sized trunks growing out of the stump. She felt her skin prickle and her hair stood on end and a shiver ran down her spine.

  I know this place! I've been here before.

  She had forgotten, but the memory returned to her with sudden force. When she was five, Mandy had brought her there on a picnic, promising to show her fairies. They had returned six more times before they abruptly stopped. After that Mandy refused to take ever again, no matter how much she begged, and when she tried to go on her own Mandy punished her. After a couple of years she was allowed to play in the woods by herself, but by then she had begun to wonder if what she had seen was real. When she wasn't able to find the coup again she decided it had been just a childish imagining, and the memory slowly faded until it had disappeared.

  But I had seen fairies, I know that now!

  The memory had returned as strong and clear as if the events had occurred just the day before. She had watched them dancing in and among the stools to a raucous melody played on tiny flutes and violins. Some scampered over the ground and leaped from stump to stem and back again in great (for their diminutive size) flying arcs, while others rode leaves and twigs in circular patterns like they were caught in a whirlwind.

  She became aware that the night seemed lighter. She switched off the torch, and as her eyes adjusted she saw that the coup glowed with a faint silvery light like that which illuminated the staff grove. At the same time she perceived movement around her. Scanning the coup she saw short, dark, man-like shapes moving among the stools and intact trunks. She switched on the torch to get a better look and the shapes disappeared. She wasn't sure if the light frightened them off or just made them impossible to see, but she decided to take a chance. As soon as the light went out, she spotted them again, and then they came out into the open. They were even shorter then she was, probably only about three feet high, but squat and solidly built, even robust, and quite ugly, with exaggerated noses, chins, and ears, puffy cheeks, gnarled skin, and long spidery fingers. They wore rough peasant clothing and red hats that looked like the caps of toadstools. They approached her in a cautious manner, but ringed her in so she couldn't leave.

  Oakmen.

  She recognized them from her studies of English folklore. They were a kind of fairy, who protected forest animals and tempted travelers with poisonous fungi disguised as buns. They lived in coppices that had been harvested at least three times, especially if they were filled with bluebells. Though there were no flowers that late in the year, she remembered from her previous visits that in the early spring they carpeted the floor of the whole forest until not an inch of ground could be seen. According to legend, an oak-bluebell coppice was a malevolent and dangerous place to visit at night, because the oaks bitterly resented being cut down, a hatred passed on to the Oakmen. She brandished the Beretta, pointing it at different individuals. She doubted the bullets would harm them, but the nearest ones blanched and fell back a short ways whenever she confronted them. Nonetheless it didn't cause them to retreat. She realized that the steel in the gun intimidated them, but they weren't so frightened as to abandon their captive.

  She became aware of a sound rising in intensity. The night had been quiet until then, and it sounded like wind blowing through leaf-laden branches, except the air was still. When it became loud enough she realized it sounded like wailing and mourning, and she dimly saw the surrounding elms swaying in time to the rise and fall of the implied dirge. It was as if they were grieving for the harvested oaks.

  A glowing silver mist rose up from the center of the stool. It reminded her of the way Vlad could form out of shadow, so she wasn't surprised when it coalesced into a figure. It was as tall as Vlad, but much thinner, like an emaciated cadaver. It resembled a human female, its face like that of an ancient crone, but it was hard to say for sure, being as the skin looked like tree bark. It wore a robe of barkcloth and its hair looked like root fibers. It eyes were without pupils and they shined silver as a glowing silver mist wisped from its mouth. It just seemed to float in the air, the hem of its robe dissolving and blending into the mist.

  She approached the stool. The Oakmen in front of her parted to give her room, but they collected in a semi-circle behind her to prevent her from running away. The being drifted to the edge and stared down at her, but did not speak. She felt she should be afraid, but she wasn't. Despite the threat of the Oakmen, there was no malice in the creature's gaze. In fact, she was more fascinated than apprehensive. Despite the fact that the Order protected Great Britain from paranormal threats, that would be the first one she had ever seen.

  "You would be the Spirit of the Oaks."

  "'Tis true." Its voice sounded like a chorus made up of men and women, young, middle-aged, and elderly, ranging in tone from the highest soprano to the deepest bass, all speaking in perfect harmony. "An advantage is displayed."

  She found its mode of speech odd. She wondered if it was natural to its kind or if it was affecting an editorialization, such as the majestic plural. "Not really; that's all I know."

  "The identity is unknown."

  "My apologies for my rudeness. I am Sir Differel Isolde Churchill Pendragon Van Helsing, 16th Baronetess of Denver and Director of the Caerleon Order for the Companions of St. George. At your service." And she curtseyed.

  "Why the honour of a visit?"

  "I came to rescue my people."

  "People?"

  "The humans being turned into trees outside these woods."

  "People who are owned?"

  "No, of course I don't own them! They are my servants, they work for me."

  "Working people?"

  She felt like she was going in circles. "Yes, this is my estate."

  "The Mistress of this Place?"

  "I own it, or rather my family does; I'm the latest generation. It's my home."

  "A meeting of equals."

  She wasn't sure what that meant, so she decided to get to the point. "Do you know who is responsible for what's happening to them?"

  "The Spirit of the Oaks."

  She had expected that answer. "Why?"

  "The Masters of this Place have been cutting down the trees for twelve hundred generations. Time to settle accounts."

  There were so many questions crowding in her mind, each demanding to be spoken. She didn't know which had priority, but if she had time she would voice them all, so she decided to indulge her curiosity. "Why did you take so long to act?"

  "Time as mortals understand it is meaningless; a day is as a millennium, and an eon as an hour. However, the awakening has only recently occurred."

  "I don't understand."

  "There is a soul of the forest, which acts for the trees, which cannot act; which speaks for all the denizens, which have no voice; which formed when the forest first takes root, but cannot manifest until full maturity."

  "You mean you slept for three hundred years?"

 
"Not as mortals mean it. No action could be taken, but all that went on was watched, and all that was done was remembered, within the bounds of the woods."

  "I see. Those of my family who cut down your trees are dead and gone. I have done nothing, and would never do anything to harm your forest. I'm too fond of it."

  "That matters not. Trees come and go, but the forest is eternal."

  She felt her temper flare. "My family isn't a forest, and I'm not a tree!"

  "Yet, the analogy holds. Each generation affects the next and is affected by the previous."

  She almost objected again when she considered the Spirit's words. She realized the analogy did hold. Each member lives for a time and then dies, just as a tree does, yet the family continues, grows, and changes, like a forest. And just as the life and death of each tree, flower, bird, and animal affects its neighbors in one form or another, each member of a family affects all the others, or at least those who are closest. She knew how she would feel if some outside force killed members of her own family, so she could sympathize with how the Spirit felt.

  Even so, it's taking the analogy much too far. There were still fundamental differences between people and trees, even if those differences were not as far apart as she originally assumed.

  The question was, how to get the Spirit to recognize that.

  "Very well, I can accept responsibility for the past actions of my family, but my servants are not members of my family. They bear no part of that responsibility; they should not be punished in my place."

  "Servants of the Masters are accomplices to the Masters' deeds, and so must contribute to the restitution."

  Oh, bugger! But that reminded her of another question. "You caste the summons that brought them here."

  "'Tis true."

  "Why was I not affected?"

  The Spirit stared silently at her for some moments, as if trying to figure out how to respond. "The answer is not known. There surrounds an aura, one not fully recognized, but which is reminiscent of the gift of second sight; which protects from the influence of glamour, though not from enchantment in general."

  Another memory burst through to her conscious thoughts. The last time Aunt Mandy brought her to see the fairies she had caught one of those that flew in circles on leaves. When the tiny gossamer lady offered a wish in return for her freedom, she asked to be able to see fairies anywhere at anytime. Once she released her, however, other fairies gathered around her. At first she thought they were angry, but the lady asked her if she loved the woods. When she asserted that she did, the lady declared that as long as she and her family protected and cared for the forest, they would be blessed with health, luck, and prosperity. It was after that, that Mandy stopped taking her there.

  "I think I may know. Seven years ago I promised the Little Folk who play and dance in this coup that I would watch over their woods and take care of them. They may have protected me."

  "It could be as said, but was truth spoken?"

  "Can't you speak with them? I'm sure they'll vouch for me."

  "The Spirit is of the woods and the oaks; no power can be exercised over a free people. Yet, if what was said was true, the Folk would have come already. Without such testimony, there is no reason to delay the inevitable."

  Differel tried to speak, but couldn't; she tried to move, but found herself paralyzed. The Beretta slipped from her fingers and dropped to the ground.

  "There is deep regret the action must be taken against such youth," the Spirit said as the Oakmen closed in, "but with the Mistress will pass the last of the Masters of this Place. The wrongs done will not be fully compensate for, but will be sufficient."

  She panicked. NO! Please, stop, listen to me! I can make it right without this!

  "Do not despair. If it gives comfort, think of this: there will