Page 8 of The Knucker King

“A good name,” Avice said with a firm nod.

She looked over her shoulder, suddenly exhausted from the excitement of the day. The flagstone path behind her seemed longer than before, and the markers for the stone circle may as well have been a thousand paces away.

“Lord, I will take my leave. We have been here for quite some time, and the days pass differently near your well.” Avice dipped her head with a curtsey. “I will return with an offering of thanks as soon as I can.”

“Travel safely.”

4

Chapter 4

Trewoofe

Trewoofe lingered a moment more. The sight of his little witch’s broad hips swaying from side-to-side as she departed sent a curl of desire through him. He was always glad of Avice’s company. The midwife brought him cuttings from her garden and honey cakes. He, in turn, would fill the leather bags she would bring, topping them up with the healing waters from the rivers that ran in the Underneath.

Something shifted from the mere admiration and fancy he had for her today. Trewoofe saw her grim determination to save the baby he now held, and how she pushed through pain and battled elements to give the child some chance at life. The Knucker also felt something stir beneath his scales as he watched Avice cradle and kiss the child. A painful feeling he had tried to forget over the many turns of seasons he had lived – desire.

You are a Knucker, he chided himself. The furthest you should venture from a soul-bound of your own kind… is another type of Dragon. A human woman is simply out of the question.

Hope grizzled and his gaze softened as he studied her. He carefully folded his fingers and thumb over her, so she was safely tucked against his pad.

Trewoofe stole a final glance at Avice.

Part of him wished he had not.

He watched as the woman and Grim jumped down from the final flagstone onto the soft moss beyond. As she landed, Avice’s generous rear rippled. Trewoofe jolted at the sight. He felt his blood rush to the folded crest behind his horns. It popped up, shaped and coloured like butterfly wings. The white membrane flushed brightly like Spring flowers of pink and purple. Of their own accord, the Knucker’s coils rippled and vibrated – the beginning of his kind’s courtship dance.

No.

Before Avice could turn back, Trewoofe turned tail and fled, bolting for his hole, running smoothly – even on three legs. Hope was safely held in his paw, tucked against his lean chest as he plunged beneath the earth. The cool dark helped calm his thundering heart. The rush of blood to his crest waned, and it eventually folded seamlessly back against his neck.

Trewoofe let out a huff through his snout. I do not understand, I have not felt that way since… The Knucker shook his head from side to side. My little witch has entrusted me with an important task, and I must get on with it.

He sighed down at the river that ran next the bank he stood on. He longed to swim, for the warm waters to soothe his reignited desire. The river glowed, whisps of shimmer rode the current to where the Piskies dwelled. The earthen walls were laden with a glistening rainbow of embedded crystals, each emitting a low hum, a sound like honey to his ears. He had always known it meant that the magic here was deep and old, even more ancient than him.

He dashed through the tunnel. Usually, he enjoyed languid swims in the river, its current taking him to the various Faeries who dwelled with him beneath the earth. But time was short. The healing properties of his saliva would not be enough to keep Hope alive indefinitely, only the transformation into Piskie would do that.

He had considered other Faeries that may take the child. Many had not had children of their own for many generations; they had twisted into something other since joining his Kingdom. The bitter sting of being driven out by the Cross God had changed them from playful and mischievous to downright dangerous. The Piskies would do. Their migration to the Underneath was more recent; they had not been warped, and they still produced children of their own.

Hope will need playmates.

He caught the distinctive scent of Piskie-led. The place in his Kingdom where Piskie-kind had settled when they had first asked for sanctuary from the world above. Spring blossoms and rotting leaves invaded his nostrils, making him sneeze. The jolt made Hope grizzle in his grasp, before she broke out into a wail.

“Hush, hush, now,” Trewoofe soothed. “Nearly there, little one.”

Then, there it was.

The shimmering, shifting river plummeted below. It tumbled into Piskie-led. A hole so deep it took Trewoofe many days to climb down, as unlike the Piskies, he did not have wings. Two guards lingered on the edge of plummet, and they stood to attention as he approached.

“Lord!” they exclaimed together, banging the butts of their spears against the soil with a dull thud, followed by a deep bow.

“You may look upon me,” Trewoofe shouted over the wail of the baby.

“How can we help you?” the female Piskie asked, taking a step forward on her bare feet.

She was undeniably beautiful: smooth, blue skin covered her long, thin limbs. Her dragonfly wings – translucent green – flicked in curiosity. She was nearly identical to the male that stood off to the side. Both guards left their chests uncovered and wore a wrap of lambskin around their hips.

“I know in the past, Piskie-kind has taken on the care of human children.”