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“Home, sweet home,” Ryan said in satisfaction. “At least for tonight.”
The bothy was nestled in a small dell, protecting it from the worst of the Scottish winter weather. A small burn, still flowing merrily despite the low temperatures, cut across in front of it, while an enormous holly tree grew up behind one corner, and the other end of the building was covered in a curtain of ivy, obscuring one of the windows.
Alec eyed their night’s accommodations somewhat dubiously. “Remind me whose idea it was to come hiking in the Trossachs on winter solstice?”
“I think that would be Jon and Jason’s,” said Ryan, as he wrestled with the door. “They’re both masters of manipulation.”
“And we’re masters at being manipulated,” said Alec ruefully. “We really don’t have as much authority over them as we think we do, do we?”
“Absolutely not,” Ryan replied, as the door handle finally turned, letting the fading December light into the bothy.
Happily, it appeared to be a well-kept example of the type. There were a couple of solid looking bunks at the end with the ivy-covered window, a decent cooking setup, and even an old armchair. Ryan considered the latter, wondering how on earth it had been transported up here, ten miles from the nearest road, and how much the cushions would sag if he tried to sit in it.
“Home, sweet home.” Alec echoed Ryan’s earlier sentiment. “I’ll get the fire going while you unpack the supplies?”
The bothy was small, but the two men moved easily around each other as they got everything set up. The preparation of a much-needed hot meal was accompanied by comfortable chat and small, affectionate touches. Their careers and lives didn’t allow for what one would call a proper relationship, but over the years they’d found themselves coming back together whenever circumstances allowed, and had developed something that worked for them, even if from the outside it might have appeared slightly dysfunctional. The anomaly project had thrown them together for longer than usual, although neither of them were under any illusions about how suddenly that situation could change.
An hour later a simple meal had been cooked and consumed, and both men were relaxing in front of the fire. Alec leaned over to his pack and rummaged around in a side pocket for a moment before pulling out a battered whiskey flask, which sloshed promisingly when he waved it at Ryan.
“Can I tempt you?”
“Good man!” Ryan knocked back the dregs of his cup of tea and held it out for Alec’s generous pour.
They savoured the whiskey for a moment or two and then, at some unspoken signal, both cups were set aside, and their lips met in a kiss.
Their movements were unhurried - there was no particular need to rush things, and Ryan simply enjoyed the feeling of Alec’s mouth on his, the sensation of Alec’s stubble rasping against his skin, and the warmth of Alec’s hand settling on his shoulder. He shifted a little in his chair to try to improve the angle, and in the back of his mind wondered whether the tatty armchair, which Alec had claimed, would support both of their weight at once…
The handle of the front door rattled suddenly, and they jerked apart, slightly startled. After a split second, Alec called out, “Come in!”, and Ryan tried not to feel disappointed that they were going to end up sharing the space with other hikers.
But nothing happened. The door didn’t open, and no one called back to them. Their eyes met in a questioning glance, and then Ryan reluctantly got up and made his way over to the door. The handle rattled again as he reached it, less vigorously this time, and he grabbed it before it stopped moving and yanked the door open, debating internally whether he was going to find some latecomer playing silly buggers, or someone collapsed on the doorstep, in need of help.
There was no one there. Ryan hesitated for a moment, and then took a step over the threshold, craning his head around, and half expecting to find a novice hiker slumped next to the door, having bitten off more than they could chew on this short December day.
“Anything?” Alec asked from behind him.
“Nothing,” Ryan replied. “No one about.”
“Maybe the wind?”
“There isn’t any,” said Ryan. “It’s as still as the grave out here. Although…”
“What?”
Ryan squinted. The channel of the burn was about twenty yards from the front door of the bothy, and the land on the other side of it was mostly flat until it rose sharply in a crag another thirty yards beyond.
“What is it?” Alec asked again.
“Lights,” said Ryan shortly. “On the other side of the burn.”
“Torches? Other hikers?”
“I don’t think so…” The sky was completely clear and the full moon was casting a silvery light over everything, but it was above the crag, which meant the ground on the other side of the burn was mostly in deep shadow. Deep shadow in which several ghostly, white-ish lights seem to drift, this way and that.
“Ryan!” Alec was peering over his shoulder, but when Ryan pointed towards the lights, anything else the other man had been about to say died on his lips.
“What do you think they are?” They were like nothing Ryan had ever seen before.
Alec’s hesitation was telling, and Ryan eyed him sharply. “Alec…?”
“They look like will-o'-the-wisps,” said Alec quietly, sounding embarrassed.
“Will-o'-the-wisps?” repeated Ryan incredulously. “Are you kidding me?”
Alec was about to say something else when the sound of running footsteps broke the still night air. The short grass and moss muffled them slightly, but it sounded like something was in a hurry…and was dashing directly towards the bothy.
“Shut the door!” snapped Alec, and then, when Ryan didn’t immediately comply, “Ryan!”
Obeying the tone rather than the word, Ryan hurriedly closed the door, at which point Alec leaned over a shot the bolt - which so far they hadn’t bothered with - into its socket.
Not a moment too soon - the door shuddered in its hinges as something barrelled into it from the outside. There was an unearthly shriek of disappointment, and both men stood, tense and silent, waiting to see if it happened again.
When it didn’t, Ryan crossed to the only window not obscured by ivy, and peered out. “Theres nothing there,” he said. “I can’t see anything - well, apart from those lights.” He turned back to Alec. “Will-o'-the-wisps?” he repeated again. “What the fuck is going on, Alec?”
“I’m not an expert,” Alec said, but in the tone of someone who knows that excuse isn’t going to cut it.
“More of an expert than me, apparently,” Ryan pointed out, rapidly reaching the end of his tether.
Alec scrubbed a hand across his face, hesitated, and then said, “My Gran was a bit of a folklore nut. I used to stay with her in the summer holidays, and she’d tell me stories about pixies and bogles, things like that. Sometimes she’d take me out walking in the woods and show me fairy rings and other signs of the Folk…”
“The Folk…” Ryan asked, hearing the capital letter.
“I always told her I didn’t believe her, but there were things…things I couldn’t quite dismiss. She lived in the middle of nowhere, on the edge of the woods, and I’d see stuff sometimes - out the window, or when I was in the back garden…”
“Things like pixies and bogles?” said Ryan sceptically.
“We deal with rips in the time that spew dinosaurs into the modern world!” Alec retorted, obviously stung by Ryan’s disbelief.
Ryan opened his mouth to snap something back, but then shut it again. He couldn’t deny that Alec had a point. There were definitely things in this world that were unexplainable. “Okay,” he said slowly, after a moment, “So what do you think that was out there?”
“I really don’t know. Like I said, I’m not an expert.”
“So no idea why whatever it is might be bothering us?”
“Not really. Except…”
“Except what?”
“Well, it is the winter solstice,” said Alec. “The darkest night of the year. Typically a time of transition and change - according to my Gran, anyway.”
“But what does that have to do with us?”
“Nothing, probably. We could just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I remember her telling me something about the Holly King and the Oak King, and how they fight for dominance every midsummer and midwinter.”
“Midwinter? As in, today?”
Alec nodded.
“So let me get this straight - two ancient pagan kings are locked in an eternal battle for dominance, and we’re stuck in the middle of it.”
“Maybe…”
“Fucking brilliant,” Ryan muttered. “So what do we do?”
“Well, I think so long as we don’t go outside, and don’t invite anyone else in, we should be safe.”
“Should be?”
“I’m not the expert!” Alec said again, finally showing some irritation.
“Sorry.” Ryan held his hands up in surrender. “It’s just a lot to get my head around.” He smiled ruefully. “You’d think I’d be used to this kind of insanity by now.”
Alec shrugged. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that insanity can always level up.”
“Wait, you said Holly King? There’s a sodding great holly tree outside, would that mean we’re protected?”
“I don’t know, specifically, although I think I remember my Gran telling me that holly and ivy both have some general protective properties.”
“So we’ve got holly, ivy, and any other damn thing you can think of that’ll keep us safe overnight.” Ryan paused. “Maybe we don’t tell Jon and Jason that we relied on plants to protect us…”
That provoked a laugh from Alec. “My lips are sealed.” He glanced around. “Although, speaking of other forms of protection…I don’t suppose you found any salt when you were making dinner?”
Ryan crossed to the shelf above the bothy’s makeshift kitchen area. “As a matter of fact, someone had left an old tub, yes. Although fuck knows who thought to bring a canister of salt on a hike to the middle of nowhere.” He prised the tub open. “There’s not a huge amount left though.”
“Sprinkle as much as you can across the door threshold and on the window sills. Salt can also provide rudimentary protection from supernatural nasties - although I’m not sure it will do much against the Holly King if he decides he really wants to talk to us!”
As the night deepened, activity seemed to increase around the bothy. By mutual agreement, neither Ryan nor Alec settled down to sleep, and they took turns keeping watch out of the window not curtained by ivy. There was nothing much to see, except the continued drift and dance of the will-o'-the-wisps on the other side of the burn, but there was an almost continuous barrage of noise - more running footsteps; laughter, both malicious little snickers, and loud, sharp cackles; occasional unearthly wails; and once something that sounded like the clash of swords, followed by a deep rushing sound, as if a gale was bearing down on them.
Several times, the bothy’s door rattled and shuddered again, although nothing ever succeeded in getting inside, and Ryan still wasn’t entirely sure what they’d do if it did.
“Alec…” It was approaching 7am, and although the sun hadn’t yet risen, the winter sky had lightened significantly. Ryan peered out the window again, wondering if his tired eyes were playing tricks on him. “Alec,” he said again.
“What is it?”
“The will-o'-the-wisps are gone.”
“All of them?”
“Yep. Does that mean we’re safe?”
“No clue,” said Alec. “Although it might be a good sign. I haven’t heard anything for a little while now either. Have you?”
Ryan realised he hadn’t. “Maybe it’s over…”
“Only one way to find out.”
Both men eyed the closed door, its scattering of salt still barricading the threshold.
“Let’s chance it,” Ryan decided, and before he could second-guess himself, he crossed to the door and pulled it open, bracing himself for…nothing.
The sky was still clear, and there was enough light for him to tell that a heavy frost had settled overnight. Every leaf of the ivy crawling up the side of the bothy was outlined in glittering white, and a sparkling blanket had been cast over the mossy banks of the burn, and the short grass in front of the bothy - a blanket that clearly highlighted the myriad of footprints crisscrossing the entire area, some of a familiar shape, and some less so.
“Looks like there was quite the party out here last night,” Ryan observed.
“Yeah, and they kept me up all night with the ruckus,” Alec replied. “I’ll be writing a strongly worded letter to the local council.”
Ryan chuckled, and then narrowed his eyes. “You’d better come and look at this.”
He risked a step outside the bothy as Alec joined him on the threshold. Both of them stared down at the wreath of holly that had been left a couple of yards away on the worn path up to the door. It was the only vegetation in sight that didn’t have a coating of frost.
“Who do you think left that?” Ryan asked.
“I can think of one obvious candidate,” said Alec. “I suspect the Holly King has left us a message.”
“But what kind of message? A warning? Or a gift?”
“An acknowledgement, I think,” said Alec slowly. “Both the Holly and Oak Kings have been known to leave wreaths like this for mortals who get caught up in their activities - in gratitude for not interfering, or an apology for the inconvenience, usually.”
“But what do we do with it? I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy carrying that all the way home with me.”
Alec thought for a moment, glanced around, and then nodded to himself. Grabbing his thick winter gloves from inside the bothy, he put them on and then stepped forward and carefully lifted the wreath from the ground. Gesturing Ryan aside, he hung it on an old nail protruding from the bothy’s wall. The glossy green leaves and bright red berries looked instantly festive against the dark grey stonework.
“We accept your gift,” Alec said loudly to no one in particular.
There was no response, but Ryan felt himself suddenly relax as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the top of the crag. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful winter’s day.
“Time to leave, I think,” said Alec.
Ryan slung an arm round the other man’s shoulders and placed a light kiss on his lips. “Agreed. We don’t want to outstay our welcome.”
“If we get a move on, I’ll treat you to a bacon butty at the pub at the bottom of the valley.”
“Now you’re talking!”
Gathering their belongings and tidying the bothy didn’t take long, and by the time the sun had lifted itself completely above the crag they were ready to set off. Neither of them felt like lingering any longer, but as they walked away Ryan could have sworn he heard the holly tree behind the bothy rustle its branches in farewell…