Mid-autumn is a time of year when the days are still warm enough to warrant summer clothing and the nights cool enough to justify winter apparel. It was early morning, and Elysande was bundled in cloak, shawl, and dense leggings and skirt as she trekked to the abbey. The sun provided some warmth, pouring its light into the village, but it had frozen during the night, and crystallized ice still clung to windows and frozen dew dusted the grass where the sun had not yet lain its gaze. The blazing leaves that had fallen from their arboreal homes had begun to turn a muddy brown, tattered detritus that filled the frozen puddles in the road ruts and the fields.
Her breath was a billowing cloud, floating slowly toward the heavens in the still air, fading plumes of white that dissipated behind her. Her need of counsel had surpassed her fear of the Dwellers, and she plodded down the track that lead to the abbey, fearful of what would become of her. She knew the monks had no rituals of their own to aid her, but they did have the ear of the Celestines. She feared them, as well, powerful spirits, perhaps even demigods, and she prayed they would be able to help. She knew not what the cost might be, and prayed it was not unbearable.
The lane that broke from the main road and plunged into a thick orchard of apple trees was the only indication of the abbey's existence if one didn't know it was there. The trees had been planted when the abbey was finished, several centuries earlier, and they provided reserves for the village during the long months of winter. The apples also provided ward against the Dwellers that named the surrounding forest theirs, a tithe of safety against disappearance and becoming ghosts, caught forever in the limbo of their emptied homes and streets.
She stopped at the orchard's edge, surveying the abbey. The granite faces were a dull, weathered white, cleansed now of the bird shit that had accumulated during the summer months, passing reminder of the messenger pigeons the Abbot maintained. The morning light glinted in sharp contrast against the shadows, a mosaic of bright spots on the upper reaches of the building where it pierced through the skyward clutching branches of the trees. The plain oak door set atop the three humble steps was not yet illuminated. The sun wouldn't grace it for hours yet. She moved forward, leaving the apple trees behind and climbed the stair to the abbey entrance, banged the knocker three times and waited. She clutched her cloak and shawl tighter to keep the cold away, shivering as the tree-cast gloom stole the warmth the sun had granted on her trek.
The door opened after some minutes and she was beckoned inside by friar Albrecht.
"A welcome visit, Elysande," he said, leading her down the brief aisle of the nave to one of the hearths on either side of the altar. Their footsteps echoed faintly in the otherwise empty room, the hollow-eyed cross of Tammuz watching from above the altar. "What brings you?"
She extended her hands to the fire, opening her shawl to recapture the warmth lost on the stoop and watching the flames as she considered how to phrase her concerns.
"There are troubles with the Dwellers of the wood," she said at length. The hot spark and crawl of the embers made it easier to speak, and she kept her eyes on them. "They... steal into my room. I... They do not hurt me, but I worry on the things they do."
"Has your family been making sufficient offering?" Albrecht asked, extending his own hands toward the fire. This was a worrisome revelation, perhaps even one the Abbot would need to be informed of. The Dwellers were never known to enter the homes of the villagers.
"We have been, aye, milk and apple." She glanced briefly at him. Of course they had been. Everyone did. "I placed salt and rosemary across the window when they first began coming, but it does not seem to stop them. I don't wish to cause worry, so I've not spoken with others yet. I came here to seek advice in the hope that you have writings that can provide relief."
Albrecht was quiet as he thought. Salt or rosemary alone should have stopped the Dwellers. They were simple spirits, easily stopped and easily appeased. Salt and rosemary together would stop most spirits, but what could be drawn to the village that could ignore salt and rosemary? There were no artifacts of any significance, even in the abbey, and even the burial grounds were quiet places. If there were places of the Wyld in the forests, it made no sense for those that would use them to bother anyone in the village unless some connection had been made with them.
"What do they do during their visitations?" he asked at length.
She pursed her lips and turned away from the fire to warm her back. She didn't want to say she enjoyed the visits, for she did. She'd never experienced such pleasures before, but admitting she looked forward to each night because of what it brought would almost certainly get her flayed and executed as a witch. Her main concern, though, was where such pleasures might draw her, especially since she feared she had instigated them, and the teachings of Tammuz were strict on such matters.
"They are intimate things, and they weigh on me," she demurred. "I would rather not speak of them in detail."
Albrecht nodded and changed tact with, "Have the Dwellers been given invitation to enter, perhaps?"
"I don't believe so." She wasn't sure. Would her actions have been invitation? "The salt and rosemary would have kept them out even if they had been invited, wouldn't it? I don't know what course to take. I'm worried of what may happen if things continue on as they have."
Albrecht made a quiet sound of agreement. This was beyond his knowledge, having never heard of the Dwellers doing anything like Elysande was telling him. He sighed.
"I will speak with Abbot Lucian. I don't know enough of the Dwellers to offer advice beyond what's already been tried, I'm sorry to admit. He's more learned than I, and perhaps he'll know what to do."
"Thank you, Albrecht." She leaned over and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "I'm glad for the help."
"You're always welcome here, Elysande," he huffed, but smiled at her. "Our ears are open to anyone who cares to talk. Return tomorrow and I'll take you to see the Abbot. Should Tammuz smile upon us, he'll know what needs to be done, though he may have questions."
"I expect questions. They may help me understand what's happening, too." She pulled her shawl closed again, capturing the fire heat to keep herself warm on the trek back through the orchard. "I'll return mid-morn tomorrow."
#
The Dwellers arrived at midnight precisely every night, bringing othertime with them, sequestering themselves and her from the mundane and ensuring nothing they did during their visits ever woke any of the others in the manse. Such activity almost always involved sexual pleasures to the point of delirium, pleasures she'd grown increasingly fond of. She was certain such pleasures in-the-flesh were far too exhausting to engage in as frequently as she did each night, but she'd had no inclination to discover if that were true beyond using her own fingers, a habit she'd taken to each night, slowly bringing herself to the brink of orgasm as she dozed, waiting for midnight.
A whisper over her skin brought her eyes open, a dark shadow moving above her, the features barely seen in the night gloom, long ears and wide eyes, thin lipped mouth with pointed teeth, and a narrow, defined body that belied the strength it possessed. Thick tufts of hair like manes ran from its head down its shoulders and back, and two more tufts sprouted from its elbows. She pulled her fingers away from the juncture of her legs and spread her arms to either side, arching her back and clutching her bedding as her orgasmic tension pulled higher. She needed release, was ready to climax already at the slightest touch, but knew her torture had just started in earnest.
