A Veil of Sky, A Bed of Earth

"Oh, I'm just browsing," he said.

"Well, this is the ladies section, love. Gents on the other side," Brenda said. It was a fair mistake -- most of the boots were fairly androgynous.

"Yeah, right. I'm just browsing for me mam." he said, working his way up the row of shoes in a way that was intended to be nonchalant but wasn't.

"Oh, nice. Special occasion?" Brenda wondered if he'd say 'birthday' and risk the chance that she still remembered when that was.

"Not particularly," he said weakly. He stopped at the same pair the girl had just tried on. "These are nice."

"For ye mam? Wi' her knee? I'd save your money, pet," said Brenda without thinking. She couldn't decide if it was her business side or her wicked side, but she suddenly found herself following up with, "They're good though aren't they? Nearly sold a pair just a couple of seconds ago as it happens."

Neville took them off the shelf and turned them around in his hand. "What happened, Emily didn't..." he caught himself abruptly. "I'm mean, your customer didn't like them or they didn't fit?"

Oh, it's Emily, is it? noted Brenda.That's worth knowing.

"Oh, she liked them well enough, far as I could tell. Let's just say these boots are price for the higher end of the market."

"Oh, I see," said Neville. He looked at price tag which gave him a pause of more than a few seconds then reached a decision. "Ah, what the hell. I'll take them."

"Okay," said Brenda promptly. "I'll get you a pair from the back." It was a cardinal sin of retail, but she didn't even bother asking him what size he wanted. He wouldn't have known anyway.

When she came back and was ringing up the boots, her next move suddenly came to her. "You know, if you and your friends are planning on going walking, you know where's nice? Linton Heights. Do you know it? Of course you do, growing up here. I was just saying to a customer earlier how nice it was of an evening. Same customer who was looking these boots as happens. You could do worse than heading out there one of these evenings if you're after some exercise." She paused for a few second to give her last utterance extra weight. "Or tonight even. Weatherman said it would be uncommonly clement."

Unlike the girl, the boy's ears and face were clearly open. "Yes, thank you Mrs Baldwin. Linton Heights. I'll definitely take a stroll around there. Yes, thank you again. Bye." Message received and understood.

Brenda watched him go. Now there was another turn-up. Life seemed full of them these days. Maureen's lad all grown-up and courting, if such it could be called. She wondered if he'd give her the boots directly. Not likely, she reckoned. He was the sort to leave them round the back door with a note, then not make another move for a fortnight. Unless, of course, they bumped into each other on the moors tonight. Now, just what had possessed her to tell him about it? Pity, maybe -- as good an answer as any. Still, it was dangerous. The last thing she needed was word getting back to Maureen and the Women's Institute. And what did she think would happen -- he'd pull up in a Ford Fiesta, wind the window half-down and they'd be away?

Probably not. Still whatever was going to happen, she couldn't wait for this evening to roll around.

4. The Rite

Later that night, the Norris' van was again parked up, this time in a bunch of trees, with one of Elton John's less successful records blaring out of the windows. Brenda was trying a new pattern of pink baby socks 'for our Patricia's latest', a new, ambitious and slightly terrifying project for her.

"Nearly eleven-thirty," remarked Ted, returning to the van after his latest smoke. "She'll not show, not if she hasn't be now."

"Like as not." Brenda sighed. "Him neither."

"Oh, you was hoping, was you? Thought there was no interest."

"Nah, he's a lanky streak. I prefer my men with a bit of meat on them. Muscle for preference, but I'll settle for lard at my time of. Summit to grab hold of, at least...Oh, drat, I've missed the heel. I knew I'd bitten off more than I could chew wi' little booties."

"I still don't know what possessed ye. Her, I get. Him?"

"Dunno, really. He was just, kinda, there. Right after I'd told her. It seemed honest, like. The right thing to do, you know. Oh, hark at me. I've reached that age where I turn in ta someone's fairy godmother."

"Ye want to drive to somewhere a bit more populated while there still half a chance of some?"

Brenda paused her attempted unravelling. "Nah, twice in as many nights? I know ye think I'm insatiable, but I'm not that insatiable. Tonight was only on because it had a chance of being special like. Besides, let's get ye ta bed. You miss out on any more of your beauty sleep and in the morning you'll be joining up Mrs Morgan's washing machine wi' the lavvy outflow and then where will we be?"

"Alright, let me just head behind a bush for a tic and we can go."

Ted got out of the van. A second later he was back.

"That were quick."

"Nah, turn the stereo off. Listen and tell me if you can hear anything."

Brenda leant over and turned the volume down. "What?"

"Do you hear summit? Music like?"

Brenda listened. Then she got out of the car to hear better. "Over that way? Another rave, maybe? Thought they were cracking down on those hard."

"Nah, this is summit else, I reckon. Want to take a look?"

In answer, Brenda set off in the direction the music was coming from. Ted reaching into the glovebox to pull out a torch and then set off after her. A couple of hundred yards later, he stopped and relieved himself behind a tree and they continued. As they reached the edge of the small group of trees that counted more as 'cover' than an actual wood, Ted pointed up towards Linton Peak. On a sunny day, you could see nearly the whole of Yorkshire from its bare top. It was only about 400 meters away. And about 200 meters further up. The wind was fair wuthering for the height they were already, but that was definitely where the noise that might be music was coming from.

"Fancy a climb? I think there's some kind of light shining up there."

Brenda looked at it in dismay. She'd have skipped up it in her youth. At forty-five, it looked like a hell of a climb. Her husband was right though: there was something going on up top. She'd come out tonight hoping for the unexpected. It seemed ungrateful to turn it down just because it might involve a bit of a puff.

"Can do. But if that's a drug-deal and we end up on the 'Where are They Now' section of next week's CrimeWatch, I'm holding you to account."

Instead of heading straight up, they headed round for a while. It was a bit of hill that needed a strategic approach. They decided the western side was the easier and they set off upwards. As they climbed, Brenda found she was enjoying it, much to her surprise. Hell, if she had a bit of excitement and a bit of exercise like this every night, maybe she wouldn't need burn off some much energy sucking guys off in the back of her husband's van. She resolved, if this turned out to be nothing, to jump her husband's bones once they got to the top - once they'd both gotten their breath back, obviously.

Whatever masochistic enjoyment she was getting from it, it was slow going and they both nearly slipped a couple of times. To her great satisfaction, it was Ted who cracked and asked for a sit down half-way up. They rested and, while Brenda cursed at having left their thermos in the van, after a few minutes they were somewhat rested and ready to head off.

As they neared the top the noises resolved more and more into actual discernible music: orchestra, will a low flute or maybe a bassoon playing a dissonant tune over a crazy rhythm of drums and piercing strings.

"What's is that racket?" complained Brenda.

"Stravinsky," said Ted promptly. "Rite o' Spring, I reckon."

Brenda looked at her husband with new found admiration. He wasn't exactly a classically-trained plumber, but he had fallen into the habit of having ClassicFM on during his house calls. He said if customers had had an hour or two of Stephen Fry, they tended to react marginally better when he told them he'd have to come back Friday week once the appropriate ball-cock was in stock.

"Spring, eh. It's middle of summer," she said as if blaming him for the inappropriateness of the music.

"True enough. Come to think of it, it's the Summer Solstice tonight. Trust you to pick shortest night of the year for us nocturnal activities. Still, I guess it's the ambience they're after more than anything. Lark Ascending wouldn't have quite the same vibe. Does indicate that it's probably not drug dealers."

"Aye, well, you say that -- there's always that Russian mafia we keep reading about in papers." Brenda didn't really want to be murdered, but she'd happily continue to entertain the possibility if it stopped her husband being right twice in a row.

They finally and with some great sighs of relief, crested the hill. The peak was a mostly flat and rocky underfoot about the size of a basketball court. A figured stood in the middle, looking out over the valley, clocked from head to ankles in a robe.

"You came. I summoned you and you came," said a female voice.

Only once she had finished speaking did the figure turn around. Whatever sense of drama she was intending to create was largely lost because, before she had even finished drawing back the hood, Brenda stepped forward and said, "Ey up, Emily luv. Nice night for it."

Instead of answering, the girl let the full robe fall from off her. She stood naked at the summit - lithe and proud, in the full flush of youth. She seemed taller and fuller of figure when taken out of the society she struggled so much with. She wore no make-up; neither on her lips or nails or face. Her hair was long and naturally straight, reaching down to the start of her waist.

The music was interrupted by a sudden beeping. Brenda looked over and saw the girl's phone propped up against a small Bluetooth speaker and a rucksack. Behind the bag, her two dogs were sleeping. Naked, the girl went over to her phone, and, on the second attempt, successfully swiped the alarm away. She then fiddled with the music player until the music restarted, the same track. Returning to the centre of the natural platform she attempted to regain her pose.

"It is midnight. The ritual can begin."

She began to dance, it took her three refrains of the opening theme to get back in the centre and into a starting pose, but the music built slowly, so she hadn't missed much. Her dance began with just the arms and neck, twisting and angular, trying to match the strange sounds of the piece. She crumpled down into a foetal ball and then raised her hands up to her face, clutching it as if weeping, but he arms parted to show her face was emotionless and focused.

She ran, making a circle around the stage, pretty little ballerina steps that made Brenda wonder if she had been to classes. She stopped near a flower, a fragile bloom poking up between the rocks, which had somehow come to bloom on the most exposed part of the hill. Her hands crossing, she touched her knees and began to squat down, then, legs apart and torso forward, began to mime a caress just above it.

Barely a minute in, the music was now picking up intensity, with more wind instruments and a harp joining in. She stood and repositioned herself centrally facing the couple. She through her arms up and brought them down as if a catching a rugby ball and holding it to her stomach. She stepped backwards in a little running motion. The arms when up and then down again, then, just as Brenda was worried she would dance herself off the end of the peak, she stopped and, in three long strides, was back in her starting position.

The music changed and so did her movements. Everything was all in circles, arms tracing the radius of a circle and her body twisting round and round. She did that thing dancers do where their body spins, but their head stays pointed the same way until the last moment when it snaps around again. Yes, Brenda was certain she'd trained, though to what level she couldn't say. She'd have to check in with Mrs Thanet, who until recently held classes above the Working Men's Club.

Her hands went down once more to her thighs, and then she brought them up, this time never breaking the contact of flesh and flesh. They lingered on her hips then on her breasts, reaching the nipples before she broke away and flung her arms out. It was the first move of hers that felt sexual in nature, though her face was still stone. Brenda thought about tossing her clothes to the wind and joining her, but she wasn't sure she was invited and knew she'd never keep up with the pace or artistry anyway.

The orchestra freaked out, as Brenda, in want of a better word, would have described it. The flutes ran up and down the chromatic scale and now Emily ran one hand up and down the other arm, from fingers to shoulder. Gone was the sexuality and now she looked like a lunatic in the midst of an escape from a straight-jacket, spinning all the time as she did. A lunatic, Brenda noted, with exceptional balance.

Then her arms came back to her sides, remaining taunt and motionless and suddenly all her motion was in her feet. Her first kicks reached level with her knee, but soon they went higher, up to breast height. With her legs moving freely, her pussy was now frequently visible. She was unshaved but not naturally hairy. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but it seemed as though her hair there matched that on her head, blond wisps forming a triangle. She was spinning, but less now than before, the kicks being more difficult. But as the momentum of the orchestra intensified, she spun round as a she kicked the air higher than she had done before.

It seemed to Brenda, that time slowed down and she hung suspended in the air, but when she did come down she landed badly, her left foot, the first to touch the ground, slipping backwards on the rocks and her ankle twisting and she lost all grace, tumbling forward with arms outstretched to break her fall and those then buckling too. There was a crack as her head hit the rock.

As she fell, Ted moved forwards, but suddenly the two dogs were awake and between them. One let out a deep growl of warning. Ted stopped in his tracks, trying to get a good look at how Emily was and if she was hurt badly enough to risk angering the dogs further by rescuing her.

The girl lay there motionless for a second, but then looked up and for the first time in the wild dance she smiled. The fall became part of the routine, her lying there hugging the ground, arms at out in front of her and then returning to her sides. She pushed herself up from the ground a few inches only to fall back to it a second later. She rolled over, breast pointed skyward and thrust her arms out, then instantly she was back on her belly and kissing the rock. The dog still stood between then, but seeing she was okay, Ted backed away, right arm outstretched in mollification, and, taking Brenda's hand in his left, they both made a seat for themselves on the rocks.

The music switched to a cacophony of attacking strings. She continued to spin around and around, belly then back facing downwards, but she also moved in a horizontal circle, till her feet, and notably her pussy, were facing Brenda and Ted. Now she pushed first her knees up and then her hips, thrusting her sex towards them, again and again, in a frenzied simulation of love making.

Finally, she fell backwards, as if simulating a climax. There was a momentary lull in the music. She got to her feet and was suddenly unsteady, her knees almost buckling underneath her. Brenda looked at her. Was that from the fall just now, or did you cum for real just now? As she straightened out, Brenda could see blood pouring from both her left knee and from the right side of her head, but she was laughing and danced her way to right in front of the couple.

"Why do you not release your sexual energy? The Great Goddess demands it."

Ted raised a hand up and was just about to touch the girl on the breast when Brenda slapped it away. "She means wi' me, you great 'nana." The girl was gone anyway, dancing her way round the edge of the mountain.

"Bren, what's going on here?"

"Seems like I'm blowing you, that's what. By order of her nibs, the Great Goddess."

"Oh, well if there's a goddess involve it'd be rude not ta. You going to do it to the music?"

"Am I heck as like."

They struggled to their feet and Ted let his trousers fall. The moors were chilly even in high summer, so neither felt like undressing further. The performance had excited Ted already, so Brenda had naught to do but drop to her knees and take him straight away. As she started, he looked down at her and caressed the back of her head. She took him out of her mouth long enough to speak.

"You're alright. I'll not be offended if ye watch her. Performance of a life-time if you ask me."

The girl was now taking great leaps round the edges of the platform. Even while in active service, Brenda tried to keep half an eye on her in case she fell again. The girl may have the movements of a ballerina, but her figure was fuller and without proper restraining, her breasts flew all over the place as her momentum and gravity fought over them.

Brenda focused on her husband taking him deeper and deeper in her mouth. She'd normally tease him before starting in earnest, licking around the edges, working her way up, but now she began at the half-way point, the dance already having served as ample foreplay. She'd said she didn't mind, but she was acutely aware as she worked that her husband's attention was fully on another woman. A woman who was dancing in front of them -- somehow for them, but also somehow not for them. A woman, no a girl, at her most desirable age, skin soft and figure full, alluring to all. Even now, the blood that pumped round his shaft, holding it erect, came from want of her, not from want of his old, tired wife. You could cry or you could be happy to be alive. It was the most excited been since the first time they'd gone to the woods together. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the girl perform a cartwheel. What a show-off!

In a perfect world, Ted would have cum at the climax of the dance. As it was, he came suddenly at an interval of no particular dramatic importance in the music. He held her head and pushed forward hard, so his fluid went straight-down her throat, with only a vague salty aftertaste working it was back up. He withdrew, so she could breathe properly, and they remained there, him on his feet and her on her knees, watching the rest of the performance in almost embarrassment. If the girl noticed, she did not show it and continued to dance in a world of her own.

Eventually the music stopped, a final sound of flutes trilling away, and with it the girl came to a rest. She collapsed onto the floor, laughing and giggling even as she struggled for breath.

"It worked!" she gasped. "It worked!"

The magic, figurative or literal, that pervaded the very air was in danger of being shattered when her phone's MP3 player suddenly skipped on the next track, which turned out to be Billy Joel's 'Uptown Girl', but Ted gathered up his trousers and went over to pause it. All was left was the original calm of the night. Even the wind seemed to have died down.

Brenda came over to join her husband.

"She's a proper barm cake, that one."

"So, what we expecting at this point? The Stay-Puft Marshmellow Man to come waddling over the hills any time now? We say a quick goodbye and make a dash for the van?"

Brenda didn't answer but grabbed the cloak from the floor and wrapped it around Emily. As she did so, the girl reached out and touched her hand. "He draws near. He has been called."