by Power, Max
“Wait!” Benjamin called after her, expecting Daisy to at least turn back and look at him, but she kept walking. Benjamin called her a second time, but she ignored him again. He had no choice. She had left him none. He scooted through the high ferns after her and grabbed Daisy by the elbow.
“Listen to me please.” He hoped to at least get a hearing from her, but she was blunt in response.
“No!”
There was a resolve in her voice and Benjamin knew that they were going to go forward, no matter what he said to Daisy. Still he held her arm and made the determined girl look at him.
“OK, I will go with you,” he conceded, “but trust me, you are making a mistake.”
She looked at him suspiciously. There was something in the way he spoke to her that told her he was not being completely honest. She was sure of it.
“You know something don’t you? There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it Benjamin? Why don’t you want me to go on?”
He released his grip on her arm.
“It’s not safe.” Benjamin looked away into the Wood as he spoke. Daisy wasn’t going to be fobbed off.
“How do you know?” It was an insistent question.
“I just...” he hesitated for a moment easing back on the excited tone that was creeping into his voice...“I just think it’s a bad idea to go wandering deeper into the Wood chasing after God knows what? There could be some weirdo or something else weird lurking in here. This place doesn’t have a bad reputation for nothing.”
Benjamin was not really sure, what it was about the wood that frightened him. He just knew that they should go back. It seemed he would never persuade her.
Daisy circled him and slapped her hands firmly on her hips. She had a drive to go forward that was unexplainable, just as he, was developing a deeper sense of foreboding. Why was he stopping her? How dare he stop her!
“Nonsense!” She declared. “You’re full of stupid, stupid nonsense!”
Her voice was raised now and she was becoming angry. Daisy had no idea why. All she knew was that she had to go on and Benjamin was trying to stop her. She shouted at him, losing some of her composure and acting completely out of character.
“You’re a coward! That’s it! I’m right aren’t I? You’re afraid to come with me, afraid of silly children’s stories about the bogey man in the woods. That’s what it is.. Isn’t it?”
Daisy went red in the face with her peculiar fury and was unrecognisable from the girl Benjamin had almost kissed a few minutes earlier. But as she finished her little rant, Daisy lost the flush from her face and her cheeks became pale. Benjamin watched her switch from a sweet little girl, to a ranting raving lunatic, to a faltering sickly thing in a few short minutes. Her knees buckled and he barely had time to dart forward and catch her before she fell to the forest floor in a faint.
“Daisy May!” He called her name with a desperate concern growing inside him. But she couldn’t hear him.
“Daisy May!”
She heard her name being called, but it wasn’t Benjamin’s voice that she heard. It was another voice that called her. Daisy recognised the voice but couldn’t place it and as she lay semi-unconscious in Benjamin’s arms, Daisy felt afraid, truly afraid for the first time. She opened her eyes again but a blurring Benjamin swam before her face. He was holding her ever so tenderly, calling her name over and over again, trying to bring her around.
Daisy knew he was trying to help her now but maybe it was too late. There was someone or something else with them in the Wood. It was not a good thing. The thing that watched her, as she lay in Benjamin’s arms slowly coming back to her senses, was watching her very closely indeed. It could not take its eyes off her. The thing that watched had been patient. This moment had been a long time coming but at long last, she had come. Patience was a virtue. Good things come to those that wait and the thing in the Wood that watched her had been very patient indeed. It had been lying in wait for ever so long. Daisy May had come and answered its call. Destiny had arrived in the form of this young girl and now there was a sense that at last, Daisy May was finally about to become part of the folklore, part of the history, part of the story of Darkly Wood.
CHAPTER TWELVE – PHILAGREA MANCUSO
The oldest story, the very first tale as it were of Darkly Wood, belonged to an extraordinary individual with the extraordinary name of Philagrea Mancuso. His background was different depending on who told the story, but it was always very colourful. Some said he was Spanish, a sailor extraordinaire at a time when sailing the high seas was more than just an adventure; it was the occupation of the fool hardy. Others told of him as an Italian mercenary, others still as a nobleman and there were those, who said he was nothing more than a rogue and a thief. Whatever the truth of the matter, Philagrea was a man of exceptional talent.
He arrived in Cranby from whatever foreign field he originated in, on a horse so white no one had ever seen such a creature before. He wore, so the legend goes, a light suit of armour, the shiniest black one could imagine and he had a fabulous mane of glorious black hair to match, so fabulous that it put his horse to shame. They say he had a beard, a small black one on his chin and a thin black moustache. Philagrea was a magnificent creature, a wonder to behold.
His first task on arrival in Cranby was to kill the very first man he encountered. It was not however without good reason, for when he came upon the man, a man whose name time had forgot; the man in question was beating his wife at the side of the road. He was using one half of a wooden rod, the other part having being discarded once he had broken it across her back. The reason for their dispute varied from story-teller to story-teller, but it was only secondary to the events that transpired as a result.
Philagrea, if the story was to be believed, dismounted and asked the man to desist from administering the beating to his wife. The man laughed in his face. He laughed long and hard for you see, Philagrea was a man of tiny stature. On horseback with his long flowing locks, he cut an impressive figure. On foot he stood but four feet ten inches tall.
So the man laughed and when Philagrea threatened to give him a thrashing, one which he informed the man he truly deserved, the wife beater turned on Philagrea intent on delivering a similar punishment to the fancy little man with the peculiar accent. Unfortunately for the forgotten man, Philagrea was well versed in the art of hand to hand combat and his small frame disguised the body of a miniature thoroughbred, perfectly balanced and primed to fight. Philagrea loved to fight. He was born to fight.
Before he knew it, the wife beater lay on his back, black and blue and begging for mercy. Philagrea saw no reason to offer any such mercy and promptly drew his sword and ran the man through. It was no less than he deserved and the man was not missed.
So began the legend and his tale grew longer and stronger by the telling, so much so that it eventually became impossible to tell truth from fiction. There are of course some common stories as part of the Philagrea legend, related by all tellers, such as the one of the wife beater and perhaps the core of commonly told stories are the most likely ones to hold any truth.
That he slew a dragon tore up an oak tree with his bare hands or bedded seventeen local women, seem a little circumspect to say the least. He did it was believed, marry the beaten wife, a young beauty it was said who bore him no children. It is also said that she died in childbirth along with their child and it is also said that he never married again. Of course this version contradicts the seventeen other women story completely.
Philagrea was held to be the town’s savior, when a rabblerousing mob drew into the town intent on plunder and pillage. The virtual one man army that he was, Philagrea dispatched one after the other with his sword, twenty in total, all from the back of his horse wielding his sword and killing without mercy all those that would seek to attack the tiny village of Cranby. Overnight the hero, he was fated and feasted and thus glorified as the savior of their community.
Tales grew longer and stronger stil
l about how no man could better him at arm-wrestling and how he could pull five men across the line in a tug-o-war, virtually miraculous given his stature. His bowman-ship was unsurpassed and he could split an arrow at fifty paces and take a low flying bird straight out of the sky with a single shot. No man could keep with him for drinking and there was no woman who would resist his charms, had he so chosen to deploy them. Yes indeed, Philagrea was a giant among men, the likes of which only come along once in an age. But it was not how Philagrea lived that was most intriguing about his story; rather it was his ultimate untimely and unusual death.
One fine spring day or so the story goes Philagrea went out riding along the edge of Darkly Wood. Back then it was a place that held no fear for mortal men. As it turned out, Philagrea was to become the originator of the tales associated with Darkly Wood. Before him, Darkly Wood was nothing more than a peaceful forest atop of Cranby and was indeed, at the time known by some other name, forgotten now but a predecessor even to the name Cranby Wood. He rode there often and enjoyed the solitude and the time it allowed him to consider his lot in peace.
Philagrea, despite his rumblings, was a man who enjoyed nothing more than a peaceful life. He had lived hard and fought many bravely, always the victor, his life was full of adventure. But as the years passed and time grew around the legend of a man, Philagrea began to appreciate the more quiet moments in life.
On the day in question, the day that heralded his end, Philagrea rode around the Wood until he came by chance upon a Stag. It has been a long time since Darkly Wood and its surrounds have seen any deer, but back then it was not an uncommon sight. Philagrea, being an excellent horseman could not resist the chase and as soon as he spotted him, he took off in pursuit of the beast. He was seen from the town, galloping at full tilt, hot on the heels of the magnificent creature. Philagrea and his horse cut a distinctive image, instantly recognisable even at a distance. For its part and were the stories to be true, his prey was the most magnificent stag to have ever graced the land.
It was a mighty chase and the story goes that on more than one occasion, the hunting couplet was seen out-maneuvering each other back and forth across the edge of the Wood until eventually, they both disappeared. Now this being a story of great magnificence, it is said depending on who relates the tale that this battle royal lasted all day long. Some say, it went on into the next afternoon and the truly ungifted story tellers push their luck with an exaggerated extra day. Nonetheless whatever the truth, both man and beast took it in turns to take a respite from their duel.
Sometimes, the great stag would come to a stop and turn to face Philagrea as if to say, ‘hold on a moment while I catch my breath,’ and sometimes Philagrea would draw back from the chase with the same need in mind. Either way, the hunter and the hunted respected each other’s informal unspoken request and each understood the other more deeply than many a pair of men might have been able to.
On occasion, the stag would flick his heels one way or the other and in a flash be into the trees, bounding powerfully through woodland a smaller beast would find too difficult to navigate. Now and then he would lose his pursuer and when he did, the creature would stand stock still, vanishing into the forest as though he never existed. But the wily Philagrea would in such moments, draw his mount to a complete standstill also. He would wait and watch and listen patiently, until a flicker of light or a rustle of wind would draw his eye to his prey and then, they would be off again.
Once, the monster actually turned on Philagrea and charged him down so bravely, that Philagrea was taken by surprise and was almost dismounted. His wonderful horse Bastion paid no small part in saving his bacon. But it was only one time that this happened, for Philagrea would not be caught in that way a second time. On and on it went until finally there was neither sight nor sound of man and beast.
Philagrea did not return to the village on the day that the great hunt ceased. Nor the next day, nor the next. Finally on the third day, his beautiful steed came limping into Cranby. Bastion was cut badly on both flanks and covered in blood and mud. There were broken branches and twigs mangled into his saddle and bridle. The poor creature was lame and must have endured a terrible ordeal. Clearly there had been some misadventure and the villagers set out to the Wood to find their local hero.
Although there were men who could track a beast in the dark among them, none could make sense of Philagrea’s trail. The mighty hunt had been attacked with such ferocity and had lasted so long, that it was impossible to tell which set of tracks led where. It was an incredible scene of destruction. There were new paths carved into the forest where both man and beast had chased and harried each other, crashing through virgin undergrowth with ferocious pace and power.
They searched for hours until near dark and were about to give up hope when Philagrea’s horse reappeared. Bastion had been tied up in Devon Millbrook’s stable awaiting the return of his master. Clearly he had broken free from his ties at the stables, limping past the bewildered onlookers heading purposefully into the Wood. It was clear that he knew where he was going and they followed as one in silence, eagerly anticipating where he might lead them.
Bastion led the way deep into the forest through paths barely big enough for him to squeeze through and the Wood snarled and groaned around them, as all the while darkness crept ever closer. After a long trek and just as some were giving up hope, the wonderful creature stopped. He seemed to sniff the air for a moment and then, despite his terrible wounds took off at a gallop through a clearing in the undergrowth just ahead of the search party.
They were amazed at his sudden burst of energy for he seemed to be very close to death’s door. It was taken as a sign that Philagrea must be near. They gave chase on foot and almost lost him a couple of times, until indeed finally they did. The men stopped and listened, sure now that some calamity had befallen Philagrea. The sound of the troubled horse snorting, gave away his position just out of sight through the next clearing.
Slowly, tentatively, the men made their way through a narrow gap in the trees and in the failing light, gathered in the small clearing in total silence. What they saw shocked them. What they saw, startled, amazed and horrified them. To a man they fell silent. Philagrea’s horse Bastion the once noble steed, lay panting its last breath, loyal to the end by his master’s side. But it was not the sight of the poor horse that was the cause of their shock and horror.
In all the telling and re-telling of the story, many details are told differently. There are a multitude of ancillary stories that get told, some completely new creations of the individual story tellers. No one ever tells the story quite the same. That is of course, with one exception. The telling of Philagrea’s tale always ends the same way. Every version ends with identical perfect detail. For no matter how fantastic a person he was or how amazing a life he had led the details around the discovery of Philagrea’s dead body, could not really be added to or exaggerated in order to gain some extra element of drama.
The men, who first told the tale, were the men who followed his horse, the men who found his body or rather their bodies to be exact. The final part of the tale was so shocking that it is always told the same. Who could make it up? Who could add to the strangeness?
Lying next to the dying and loyal Bastion, was a tangled mass, an intricate web of ungodly creation, a merging of bodies that was as unnatural as it was unbelievable. But still, there they were. Philagrea Mancuso was dead. The beautiful, magnificent stag that he had pursued lay with him, a part of him. They were a mesh of one, those two, man and beast, a stomach churning amalgam of both, inseparable but identifiable individually. Their torsos blended together. Their legs entwined. Philagrea was missing an arm and the beast seemed without its front legs.
They were a bloody evil, a mangled couple and no one could comprehend how this could come to pass. The creature’s antlers, were twisted and broken back from the top of his head, and they jutted straight through back to front, clawing out through the front of Philagrea’s
bloody torso. In his one remaining hand, lay the heart of the mighty creature, no longer beating. It was mottled, cold but strangely still dripping blood. No one would ever forget they said those that found the thing in the forest. No one could ever forget the first tragic tale of the Wood they said. And no one ever did.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - LOST
Benjamin held Daisy May close. She was so pale and he almost felt as though he could feel the warmth leave her body. The young man had no idea what was wrong with her and all he could do was try and protect her. Daisy moved, more stirred really and opened her eyes. Benjamin said nothing. He simply watched her come round and held her. Daisy had been out cold for almost five minutes. She blinked but made no other move for a few moments as she regained her bearings.
Slowly, Daisy pulled herself up to a sitting position with a little help from the frightened Benjamin. She looked around and then looked at Benjamin. Memories of what had just happened flooded into her mind, but she simply could not believe her own actions. Daisy felt cold and weak and a little dizzy, but most of all, she felt a little ashamed.
“Are you ok?” She asked Benjamin looking to see if she had gone too far, if he disliked her now for her outrageous and uncharacteristic behaviour.
“Are you ok?” he returned the question out of genuine concern.
She tried to stand and struggled, so Benjamin assisted her. Once on her feet, Daisy again looked around her, while Benjamin waited patiently for an answer.
“I’m so sorry,” she offered, “really I am. I don’t know what came over me. I’m so, so sorry.”
She was genuine in her apology. It felt as though in remembering what had happened, Daisy was recalling the actions of some other person. It was someone she had never met before and she did not like it.
“Enough. No need to apologise. What’s important now is that we get you home.”
