Peggy Powler & The Banyards.

[BIAD]

There's a old wood-lined track that begins where Calder's Way twists westwards that -with the assistance of a stone-built
stile, allows any curious visitor over the famous highway's wall, past the crumbling remains of the old Kennington's place
and a pleasant meander through shrouding avenues of blackthorn bushes mixed with crab apple trees.

If this inquisitive traveller adheres to the narrow trail as it crosses a shallow beck where large polished stones allow such
a progress, they'll notice a breath-taking panorama of swaying fields of wheat and lush meadows of grass-cropping sheep
that seems to surround a gentle hummock topped with a bunch of tall elm trees.

Wiping one's brow from the hot summer sun and the exertion of this peregrination through luscious farmland, it might
be a nice idea to politely ask the little half-Fae sitting beneath one of those great creaking timbers if she could spare a
drink of water from the dented and weathered canteen laid in the tall couch grass beside her.

After thanking the shoeless female in the large wide-rimmed headwear for the quenching, a comprehensive audit of what
she was surveying might deliver a feeling on fulfilment for making the journey for our imaginary wayfarer. The many fields
of sun-seasoned cereal and collections of grazing livestock roll away before the ideal viewing point and with the shade of
a hat brim or hand, the beautiful patchwork of lush farmland could be seen to eventually give way to a site holding a
strange cone-like structure neatly roofed in thatch.

The drowsy diminutive damsel sitting beneath the great leafy boughs had left that building when the sun hadn't gathered
enough time to produce the current warmth the elm's branches were now shielding her from and now with a swig of water,
ruminated on the last few days when she'd temporarily lodged with the peculiar family who lived there.

Peggy Powler -the Last Witch of Underhill, slid her battered canteen back into her supernatural satchel and placing a
long stalk of grass between her smiling lips, mulled over that strange time she'd spent in the Banyard home.
.................................................................

Elmer was a Banyard, it was obvious to anyone who'd decided to visit the sparse community amusingly branded with the
same name. Peggy smiled cordially at the small duplicates and their mother waiting outside their funnel-shaped abode to
be introduced by their round-faced father who asked the question again. "You stay with us, yes?"

Initially, one might assume some type of inbreeding had occurred, but one would be mistaken. The eighteen families that
made up the widely-spread farming colony were simply a product of a group who'd agreed to cooperate in a particular way.
But -and it was something that the wandering warlock had always struggled to grasp fully, they all looked very similar.
However, she knew through past experiences with those who would inform instead of gossip, this was just an extraordinary
physical correlation that had nothing to do with unnatural parentage or indecent ancestry.

There was something else that added to the notion that something strange went on with this closely-knit folks to personify
a sameness among them, their clothing. Both the men and the women wore wide-rimmed hats that would rival Peggy's
own, but there was a slight difference when it came to actual clothing for the sexes.

Females -young and old alike, wore charcoal-grey smocks with three large buttons on the left-hand side to keep the drab
garb fastened. Men wore the same, but with britches of the same colour and any buttons were in the right-hand side. All
the Banyards, whether farmer or merchant sported knee-high boots and spoke in that clipped unemotional fashion.

This collective kept themselves to themselves and were reluctant to interact with outsiders. If it hadn't been for a chance
meeting with a local Gnome, the little sorceress taking a short-cut to Cumberland Howe would have continued on her trek
where awaited a quiet bay with it's rolling dunes and wild orchards of peaches.

Domby Crustop had invited the ambling woman of the pleasant attitude for a brew of dandelion tea before commenting
about a dilemma currently on Elmer's property. With an empty cup and teapot, the little Witch had thanked the old Fae
for his hospitality and decided to see if she could help. After all, country-folk were always welcoming.

"Barn good place for Witch" the humourless farmer said plainly and pointed a pudgy finger towards a well-constructed
outbuilding that looked like it had never been used for storage. The inwardly-leaning wooden sidings were flawless and
painted brown to keep the winters at bay. A quaint window bedecked in a white frame above the two large doors implied
a upper room and the familiar coned roof adhered to the Banyards' manner of construction.

Did this place of temporary lodgings bear a connection to the miscreant that had supposedly brought trouble to Elmer's
residence? The loft would make an ideal position to monitor the farm yard and apart from the fruit-laden pear tree directly
opposite the barn's window, an elevated view of the meadows could well assist in finding what was troubling this offbeat
family.

Turning back to scutinise Elmer's dopey-looking face for his reasoning, Peggy failed to attain anthing to indicate that the
sheep-herder arrived at the same conclusion. "Er, Aye... it'll be a canny place te' watch fur' yer visitor" she agreed and
deliberately left any enthusiasm of her response.

Elmer Banyard, a surname all the community used, remained like one of Calder's Way's signposts for a few moments
before nodding his accord. But Peggy felt it a fair wager that the dumpy-shaped yokel could've been merely dislodging
an inquisitive fly from his floppy hat instead. Waiting a moment in case Elmer had merely forgotten to herald the names
of his wife and four children, the little befuddled sorceress waddled over to the impeccable barn without any inauguration
to the restrained Banyard family watching her sally.
.................................................................

Domby had suggested it was a yett-hound that had struck Elmer's sheep and over a second cup of his delicious tea, the
Gnome added that he'd had found a strange print in the mud of a nearby stream. Asking if the little chap had heard a
constant low baying in the night, Mister Crustop had disappointingly shook his head and waited for his more experienced
guest's better judgement. Peggy had sipped her sweet beverage before finally shrugging. However, inwardly, she felt the
baneful human-faced canines weren't the culprits.

Now surveying the palatial accommodation of the barn, she absently wondered if Elmer and his brood had any insights
to what had attacked his livestock. Stepping over the threshold of the would-be watchtower, Peggy's musings focused
on the huge animal snoozing beside a hay-filled manger.

[BIAD]

Peggy Powler was confident that this was truly a rare event in the Banyard calendar and sitting quietly at the neatly-laid
dinner table, the hatless sorceress studied the children sat either side of their father. Like their guest, the teenage two
boys and two girls of around five summers old had removed their own broad-brimmed headwear and now the meek
spellbinder could see their hair styles that once again, attached them to the analogous Banyard tradition.

Either the head of their neat-as-a-pin household or his dowdy wife had performed the shearing. A pruning of their own and
their children's locks by using a mixing-bowl from their kitchen. With ears sticking out like handles of a two-handled jug,
the Banyard progenitures scrutinised the woman who's head barely reached above the table. "You find barn true?" Elmer
asked in his usual blunted terminology and turned his attention to the round woman arriving from the steam-filled scullery.

Peggy came out of her review and replied "Oh Aye, but Ah' wus' caught off-guard by the big hoss yer' have in there" she
joked and noticed her playful riposte fell on the exposed ears without the impact she'd expected. The stone faces of her
hosts had now turned to the large porringers of food their Ma was carrying in and the little Witch concluded wholesome
mirth was a stranger under the funnel-shaped roof of this unflappable menage.
.................................................................

Even after a decent length of time squatting in the Banyard's thankfully-secluded outhouse, another crouching period in
a clump of wild Daisy Bush and finally an unwanted bout of vomiting beneath a Beech tree, Peggy still felt bloated from
the enormous feast that she'd endured earlier. The hot day was already beginning to wane as the Last Witch of Underhill
wearily lumbered back to the barn from her inspection of the outlying acreage of Elmer's property.

With her stomach muscles still throbbing from their forced rejection, she absently patted the muzzle of Cadmun -a name
Peggy had gleaned from the exiguous dialogue at the dinner table and lethargically climbed the stairs to the loft.

She'd located the stream Domby Crustop had mentioned, but the bantam-sized surveyor with the well-stocked belly felt
the only discernible marks she located in the mud could've been caused by a traveller using a walking-stick. With a short
wander along a trail avenued with blossoming bushes and a few wild malus trees, Peggy found nothing to indicate a lair
or hideaway of a skulking beast who enjoyed slaying livestock and this thought came on the heels of realising a reluctant
evaluation into the victims of this unknown cut-throat would be required.

Elmer Banyard had stashed the three dead sheep behind a wall of haybales in a thicket of Hornbeams and Beeches
with the intention on burying the carcases at a later date. Peggy believed that an immediate interment would've been
wiser considering the stench of the decomposing bodies she was met with as she climbed over the string-parceled
animal fodder, but the delayed burial did give her the undesirable opportunity to examine the wounds inflicted on the
poor creatures.

After gagging back her stomach's demand to regurgitate her midday banquet during her search for fleece-hidden wounds
on the glassy-eyed corpses, the shuddering sorceress ceded to her body and afterwards, took some solace that her bare
feet didn't get dowsed during her intestinal outburst. If the killer of of Elmer's ewes was nearby or a nosy squirrel roosting
in the tall tree that took the brunt of the enchanter's spontaneous chunder, the words this abstract eavesdropper would've
heard were "Whey, yer' bugger!".
.................................................................

The lanterns were lit in the Banyard home and Peggy Powler guessed the look-alike family were sitting down to another
spread of food. Sitting on the berm of the barn's only window, the serene spell-worker had allowed the cool breeze into
the empty -but neat, garret by sliding the frame up and peacefully watched the summer day ease its way into evening.
This wasn't merely a secret enjoyment of the little woman swaying her unclad legs on the window sill, Peggy was also
taking inventory of her darkening surroundings.

Accounting the shadows that crept in with the night was always a canny function to cleave to when faced with a adversary
who had access to a wider terrain than oneself. As good as a rabbit snare, knowing the shape of the dark can let a good
watcher know when it's time to make one's move. The lonely latrine could be glimpsed if Peggy leaned out and peered
away past the tubular gambrel of the Banyard's haven of abundant nourishment. Behind the toilet, a line of neatly-cut
hedgerow led off to where the observing augurer had splashed the bark of a Beech. A memory that caused Peggy to
intuitively caress her tummy.

Behind the pear tree directly outside of the barn was the familair sight of a well-kept plough, a hallowed harrow and a
clump of shapes that were now mere Machiavellian silhouettes plotting knotty schemes in the gloom of the evening.
The four figures leaning against a trim and perfectly-shingled shed were scarecrows that Peggy had admired long
before the sun had dropped behind the faraway hillock of elm trees.

It seemed that even the all-weather instruments used on Elmer's farm could never be seen in a less-than respectable
condition. The quartet of reclining bird-scarers sported charcoal-grey tunics and large hats like their owners. Even from
Peggy's constrained position, she thought their clothes didn't appear to be hand-me-downs. Below the peacful loft,
Cadmun agreed with the only two-legged inhabitant of the improvised watchtower with a nose-quivering snort.
.................................................................

Under a full moon that mimicked Elmer Banyard's head, a curious Tawny Owl hooted from the pear tree in harmony
with the faint steady sound of snoring from the upper-room of the barn and for a moment, four shapes stopped their
walk and waited for any sign of noticing their clandestine stroll. No lights came on in the windows of the farmhouse
and no half-asleep farmer blundering out of the door waving a crossbow around. With the caliginosity maintaining its
usual rural tranquility, the quartet of stiff-limbed shadows shuffled off into the dark and a little face slowly appeared
at the barn's window.

[BIAD]

Resisting the urge to ignite her thumb, Peggy Powler tread softly through the dew-dampened grass beneath a grove of
Elderberry bushes and followed what she believed were the animated scarecrows. The pocket-sized sorceress smiled to
herself under the wide brim of her hat as she carefully avoided any twigs that may alert the four straw-stuffed prowlers
heading away from Elmer Banyard's farm. Her hidden humour derived from her rationality of what she was taking part
in, a covert surveillance of homestead-items that resembled humans. As if Domby Crustop wasn't capable of shooing
birds from a seeded field, she ribbed herself silently.

Reaching a severely-straight line of wooden fencing amalgamated with long stretches of neatly-pruned hawthorn bushes
that would take her -thankfully, past a herd of settled-down-for-the-night sheep, Peggy stepped closer to the shadowed
shrubbery and mentally swam in her memories of her time browsing the many ancient books at the home of Myrddin,
the greatest of all Wizards.

Steering worryingly close to where the dead sheep had been stacked, the stealthy necromancer was relieved once more
to see the four inflexible figures awkwardly ambulating towards a large expanse of corn glowing dully under the plenilune
in the starry sky. Peggy now knew her single-file prey were Kit-A-Can-Sticks, mannequins possessed with an arcane spirit
not unlike the Ignis Fatuus or ghost-lights she'd used in the past. Somehow -she conjectured, these wobbling scarecrows
had become bedevilled with a force that needed sacrifices for some dark unknown reason that the Witch holding her nose
from the stench of decay, hoped to discover tonight.

Like haunted broomsticks, the hat-wearing effigies floated over the railings and glided noiselessly into the ocean of corn.
Peggy scurried low and absently kept one hand on the rear of her poncho, maybe because the crouching spectator didn't
wish a venatic stoat or passing flittermouse to observe her pants-less virtue. But as the little Witch ducked into a small
space where the hedgrow allowed a fair view of the moonlit glebe, she could see that the Kit-A-Cans had split up and
were now taking the positions of a cross and there they stood like skinny Banyards awaiting partners to dance with.

Peggy had seen The Mowing Devil and brought the terror to heel for a family in Nine Banks, but the sight of a bright-blue
swirling incandescence causing the corn to flatten in a circle between the stationary mock-scarers was a sight that left
the concealed conjurer open-mouthed. The hovering glow blotted out the stars and shamed the moon with its brilliance,
but apart from whatever fieldmouse was scampering away from the falling stalks, only a wandering Witch witnessed the
coming of the hunched naked shape in the corn.

"Oh bugger, it's Black Annis" the Last Witch of Underhill softly informed the musty darkness of the hawthorn bushes
and turning slowly, she prepared herself for another battle with those who exploit the few people who still adhere to the
old ways. Sliding her hand into her satchel, Peggy carefully drew out a knobbly staff that was almost as tall as herself.
Some of the more senior villagers over on the Isle of Murdigon used to call them Shille-rods, but in Fae parlance these
stout willow sticks are known as Danann Wands.

With her magical arsenal ready, the lip-nibbling necromancer looked back towards the strange auroral scene amongst
the corn just as the darkness suddenly stayed her next movement. The night was still again and the big moon held sway
once more. Squinting into the twilight, Peggy scanned the effected field for any sign the Kit-A-Cans were moving, but
the faux-light being cast down on Elmer's land failed to reveal any sign of further covert ju-ju. It was then she glanced
behind her and saw four floating shapes pass by where she'd been hiding. The scarecrows were returning home.

Waiting with bated breath, the crouching augurer abiding where hedgehogs snuffle out their noctural menus saw that
no one or no thing followed the lifeless counterfeits in their wake. Waiting until a passing snail had reached its damp
destination of a young dandelion leaf, Peggy apprehensively shuffled out of her thorny haven and made her way to
where the profane assembly ahd taken place. With her wand at the ready, she warily crept into the depressed area
of corn and looked for signs that her initial assumption was true. Somewhere in Myrddin's old tomes there had been
a description of who had appeared here tonight and on those pages, what powers Black Annis treasured.
.................................................................

A weary sorcerer's small hand was only a mouse's tail away from knocking on Elmer Banyard's door as the stars began
their paling from the sky. Dawn was still some distance away and even though Peggy guessed that the elliptical-shaped
head of the homesteader was still buried deep in a pillow and dreaming of turnips, she believed the dozing dullard should
be made aware of what was troubling his property.

But standing there at the threshold of the Banyard domicile, Peggy arrived at the decision to wait and get her own ducks
in a row. Black Annis was not a monster to be trifled with and the 'Bitch O' The Oak' -as some Magicians had branded
her, was wily as any fox and dangerous as winter-hungry wolf.

[BIAD]

"Don't un-stand..." Elmer Banyard responded after listening to Peggy Powler's heavily-edited re-telling of witnessing the
arrival of Black Annis. The little necromancer had chanced a quick nap during the unfolding of the dawn and sticking her
sleep-woolly head out of her satchel, the noise of creaking leather below the loft told her the farmer had finally gotten out
of bed.

"...Who Annie?" he added with his attention more on preparing Cadmun for some unknown toil and the hatless Witch
adjudged any physical showing of her exasperation would also be wasted on the lunkhead attaching the bridle to the big
horse. "Annis..." Peggy corrected and wondered what a small spell might conjure up from the slow-witted mind of the
farmer. "...Ah' wished thee'd listen te' me, Elmer. There's a bad thing on yer' land. A bad-thing and Ah' divna' knaw how
long it's ben' comin' te' yer' farm" she delineated with earnestness.

The round-faced villein of the soil stopped his equine-tailoring and slowly turned to peer at the temporary tenant to the
room upstairs. It was a moment the Last Witch of Underhill believed a breakthrough was coming regarding the heinous
force that had puppeted the scarecrows his children may have dressed and the ritual that had penetrated the reticent
sacrament of last night that had brought Black Annis to this world from another. "Me go to Solomon Banyard" he stated
dully and with a click of his tongue, both he and the giant steed set off to  leave through the barn door.

The morning was bright and the neat building creaked just a tad as the sun's heat began to do its work on the brown
-painted wooden walls. But at the same time, a certain poncho-wearing spellbinder wiggled her little finger and the
brace of brawn and buffoon in her company halted their sojourn to someone called Solomon.
.................................................................

There was muscle under his stout stature, Peggy had to cede as she delicately held Elmer's waist on their way along
the hedge-lined farm track. Cadmun plodded along steadily as the now-hypnotised farmer unknowingly reiterated what
he knew before the diminutive diviner had arrived at his home. His narration was stunted as ever, but enjoying the slow
ride in the copacetic surroundings, the smiling sorceress reckoned she'd gotten a good handle on what he'd said.

Elmer was Autumn-ploughing in the same field Peggy had seen Black Annis arrive in during the previous night. Cadmun
-usually a docile steed who knew where his bread was buttered, suddenly steered away from his rod-straight sod-cutting
and with rolling eyes and constant snorting, refused to return to the spot where his mainshare had stopped in the furrow.

In a monotone voice, Peggy's companion continued to explain how he -himself, had unharnessed the frightened brute
and dragged the plough across the location until he felt Cadmun was okay to continue. Surprisingly, the rest of the
work was uneventful and the whole field had been prepared for seeding.

In Spring, Elmer, his family and this Solomon-fellow's kin had trodden the turned soil and in a parallel line, they cast
corn seed along the rows. The little Witch could only imagine the mute camaraderie that held sway during their toil,
but accepted it wasn't her place to judge this weird community of look-a-likes.

Erecting two twine-bound lengths of Ash, the Banyard children had used some their uniform clothing to create four
eternally sullen-looking scarecrows to keep any hungry avians away. A simple seasonal family task that the heeding
augurer realised Elmer's offspring had no idea held unsettling undertones. The wood of Ash was supposed to be the
foundations of the first humans and its sap held magical properties for new-borns Peggy noted and her smile waned.
It seems even the disciples of Black Annis were made with -as Elmer my suggest, Big Ju-Ju.

The mesmerised farmer continued his story about poor growth of cereal in the field and how sheep shied away from
being close to the fences, he ended his droning just as their mount turned a glade and a funnel-shaped house stood
waiting for them. Peggy's digit moved once more and Elmer pointed at the building without changing his tone.
"Solomon Banyard" he informed the little woman sat behind him.