Man and Tree

By Wayne Mansfield

Nathaniel, a horse-riding traveler in eighteenth century Europe, emerges from a vast forest to see a field of golden wheat. At the centre of the field is a large tree and, at its base, a man. Strangely, the man appears to be talking to the tree.

At the village inn, Nathaniel asks the barman about the man and tree. The barman refuses to tell him anything, so Nathaniel decides to visit the man himself. The following morning he rides back to the field, where he notices the man is still there, talking to the tree.

He introduces himself to the man, whose name is Adam. When questioned about why he sits beside the tree, talking to it, Adam reveals a story so amazing, it borders on being unbelievable. Nathaniel, too, has a similar tale, the conclusion of which is just as bizarre and shocking as Adam’s.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Sep 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781634860512

Wayne Mansfield

Wayne Mansfield is a Western Australian writer. He has been writing for nine years and has been published in Australia, the United Kingdom, and the United States. Additionally, he wrote a monthly erotic story for the German publications Macho and Dreamboys for two years. His novellas and stories usually have a horror, futuristic, or fantasy theme, although he does write contemporary stories such as The Hiding Place, which received Honorable Mention in the 2013 Rainbow Awards.

Book preview

Lovers

Chapter 1: Arrival in the Village

Nathaniel struggled to keep his eyes open. Several times he almost fell from the saddle. Only a surge of adrenalin and lightning reflexes, causing his fingers to tighten around the saddle horn, kept him from plummeting to the hard ground.

How much longer? he asked, patting his jet-black steed on the neck and provoking a snort and a shake of its head. You’re just as tired as I am, aren’t you?

The forest, which had bordered the dirt road on both sides for a good part of their journey, had at last begun to thin. In the distance, he could see a field of golden wheat turned copper by the late afternoon sun. As man and beast drew nearer, Nathaniel noticed a lone tree standing like a sentinel at the centre of the field, its thick trunk twisting into myriad leafy branches.

At first, Nathaniel could see nothing out of the ordinary about the tree. It was a little larger and its trunk a little stouter than those in the forest. He simply put that down to the fact the tree had space to grow, to spread its branches. It was a luxury this tree had that the others in the forest, growing in greater number and in closer proximity to each other, didn’t.

Upon closer inspection, Nathaniel noticed something at the foot of the tree. A man. He had one arm around the tree, but even more bizarre was the fact he appeared to be talking to it. His curiosity piqued, Nathaniel rode his horse to the edge of the field, yet despite the breeze blowing in his favour, he still wasn’t able to catch a single word the man was saying.

He watched the man for some time, wondering what could have prompted such strange behaviour. Did the tree hold some significance for the man? Had it been the scene of a tragedy, or had the man buried a loved one there, forever protected from the elements by the enormous umbrella of its foliage? He could have pondered the mystery for hours without ever learning the truth, and when he realised he’d spent far too much time trespassing on the man’s privacy, he kicked his heels against the horse’s belly and guided it back to the road. With renewed vigour and a flick of the reins, he had the beast galloping towards the nearest village, which, fortunately, was no more than a few miles away.

He rode into the village, drawing the attention of every villager he passed. As a traveller and therefore a stranger in most of the places he visited, he was used to such scrutiny. He located the village inn, dismounted, and tethered his horse. Happy to be out of the saddle, he stretched out his arms in a great sweep and arched his back, relaxing his tired muscles before pushing through the door.

The stink of stale beer and smoke assaulted his nostrils immediately. As for the interior of the inn itself, it was nothing out of the ordinary. The low thatched roof, the exposed beams of oak, and the whitewashed walls stained black with soot from the fireplace and the many candles positioned on sconces around the room were commonplace. The wooden tables were marked and pitted, and the benches had dips where countless pairs of buttocks had worn the wood smooth.

Since the afternoon was now advancing towards evening, there were a dozen or so patrons sitting in pairs and small groups at the tables. Each one had turned their attention to Nathaniel. He doffed his hat and walked through them to the bar.

Good evening, he said, greeting the man behind the bar.

The barman was reed-thin and his skin was ruddy and leathery. His cheeks were gaunt and the expression on his face stern.

Evenin’ he replied, his voice flat and devoid of warmth.

I wonder if I might have lodgings for myself and my horse for the night?

The barman frowned and wiped his hands down the front of his stained and tatty apron.

"That’ll be two gold