Never Too Mighty
Oberon stared up at the tree. ‘Who hung him?’
‘I did.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he stole something precious, he broke the rules.’
‘Why have I been brought here?’
‘Because you stole something precious, you broke the rules. Come with me and I will show you another thief.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘You have no choice, now come, time is of the essence.’
‘I am Oberon, King of the Fairies. I rule the woodlands of Athens, and I wish to leave now, so be a good man and point the way out.’
‘Ha, you have much to learn. Do you see that man stood up to his waist in water? Good, his name is Tantalus. He was once a mighty king but he stole food from the Gods.’
‘Why?’
‘He thought it would make him divine.’
‘Why is he tethered to those branches?’
‘The punishment for his crime is to be denied food and water forever. Those boughs produce luscious fruit but when he reaches for some, they pull away. The water rises up to his neck yet when he lowers his mouth to drink, it ebbs back. His name lives on forever in lexicons so that we know what it feels like to be tantalised.’
‘Am I to be hanged or tantalised?’
‘That depends on you. Even the King of the Fairies must obey certain rules. So when you stole your wife’s beloved pageboy, a sacred rule was broken. You will be banished until you truly atone for your crime.
The place of your exile will be cold, we have chosen a land in a future time and to keep a record of your rehabilitation we have enlisted the help of a famous bigot, a character known to the people as Alf. You will work for him.’
‘Am I to be a slave?’
‘No, you will receive payment for your toil. It is called ‘cash’ used for the purchase of warm clothing, hot food and shelter.’
‘I won’t go.’
‘Unless you want to end up like Tantalus, you have no choice. If you do as we bid and truly see the error of that theft, and atone for the hurt you have caused Titania, then you may return to your Athenian woodlands and reign as King. What say you?’
‘I, er, I need time to think.’
‘You don’t have it. Do you see yonder pavilion tent?’
‘Yes.’
‘Inside you will find clothes of the style worn by the people you will work with. Put them on. Leave your woodland garb behind. You will be stripped of your powers and become mortal.’
‘Mortal – you mean I might die?’
‘Possible. So you must be careful and do as Alf the trader tells you. Once you are dressed immediate exile will take place. Fare thee well King Oberon, I wish you success with your rehabilitation.’
~
Snow falls on the cobbles that surround the market stalls. Those people shopping have their collars turned up against the bitter wind, scarves wrapped tight around necks. A fruit and vegetable stall lightens the gloom with its colourful display. Two men, one sporting a striped apron over several layers of woollen jumpers the other is flapping his arms in an attempt to keep warm.
‘Okay Oberon, cover your ears, our first customer of the day is approaching, now don’t forget, she’s allowed to give the pears a little squeeze ‘cos she’s a regular, regular’s are our bread an’ butter, so no slapping her wrist.’
‘One should live in my woodland, where fruit is for the plucking, straight off the tree.’
‘Yeh, well remember why your not in your woodland and cover your bloody ears.’
‘Why? My ears were caressed by immortal Titania they are deemed to be of great beauty.’
‘They’re pointy, folk buying fruit and veg don’t want to be served by a pointy-eared hobgoblin. Now here she comes. Good morning Mrs Jenkins, a bit nippy isn’t it, got a taste of sunshine for you, lovely mangoes, ready to eat.’
‘Swamp food?’
‘No Mrs Jenkins, that’s yer mangroves. These mangoes ‘ave just been flown in from Australia.’
‘Hmph, ‘ow much?’
‘Pound each for other customers, ninety-five to you.’
‘Eighty-five, not a penny more.’
‘How many?’
‘Two.’
‘Eighty-five it is. Now Oberon’s get some lovely plums, go on lad, show Mrs Jenkins your plums.’
Oberon bends down and brings out a box lined with purple tissue, like a magician, his hands move with grace as he peels back the paper to reveal flawless juicy plums.
‘And ‘ow much you charging for ‘em?’
‘Pound a bag.’
‘Ninety pence.’
‘Done. Now then Mrs Jenkins, Oberon’s got some smashing sprouts, still on the stem. Show Mrs Jenkins yer sprouts Oberon. And what’ve I told yer – pull yer flamin’ hat over your ears.’
‘Alf, why are you always on at him – leave him alone – he’s a good lad and there’s nowt wrong with his ears really. Yer don’t have to work for the old sod Oberon? You’d get a job anywhere.’
‘Now Mrs Jenkins, Oberon is articled to me. I’m his tutor, his mentor to show him the ropes.’
‘Mentor, tutor, all your good for is sniggering and snarling at those that can’t help being what they are.’
‘Its okay Mrs Jenkins, Alf has taught me well. I am a foreigner to your land but I’ve soon picked up your ways, thanks to him.’
‘You don’t want to be picking up many of his ways, I can tell you. Now I’ve got a recipe for a Christmas chutney. I’ll need shallots – quite a lot, tomatoes, and a nice firm cauliflower. And whilst you’re at it, find me a fat, juicy ginger-root. Hey, what’s he up to? Your mentor’s given you the slip.’
‘No Mrs Jenkins he’s gone to get our brew. It’s his turn.’
‘Well – that’s the first time I’ve ever seen him do something kind.’
‘Everyone says bad things about him, but to be honest, he’s kept his word, set me on the right path, pointed out what I should and should not do.’
‘Oh he’ll do that all right – he’s good at giving orders. He wants to practise what he preaches, that’s what I say. Now how much do I owe you?’
‘I’ve written it down. See he’s even taught me to add up, take away and read and write. I owe him so much, and I think I might actually miss him when I have to leave.’
‘Aw, why do you have to leave?’
‘My er, term ends in one month’s time.’
Alf calls from the café doorway, ‘Watch her, see that girl, grab her Oberon, grab her quick.’
A teenager has her hand in Mrs Jenkins’s shoulder bag. Oberon picks up Alf’s distress, runs round to the front of the stall and grips the girl’s wrist. When Oberon lifts the teenager’s arm in the air, she has Mrs Jenkins’s purse held in a tightly clenched fist.
The crowd of shoppers cheer.
‘Crikey, you moved so fast.’ Whispered the teenager.
Oberon stared into her eyes. ‘You are so young. Don’t make the same mistake I made. Work for your cash. Buy only what you can afford.’ He saw; almost felt she understood what he was trying to tell her. She nodded and let go of the purse. He caught it with his free hand, and let go of her wrist. She ran off, disappearing into the swirling snow and gathering crowds.
Mrs Jenkins was taken aback. It had all happened in a flash. She paid for her goods and pressed a five-pound note into Oberon’s hand. ‘Have a drink on me. I’ll be back next week and if it turns out okay, I bring you a nice jar of home made Christmas chutney.’
~
Back in the woodland, Oberon stared up at the man still hung from the tree.
‘What did he steal?’
‘The melody of another man’s tune.’
‘That isn’t much.’
‘To the man who created the melody, it was. The verses were poetic, the song made a hauntingly beautiful air. He loved it and that man stole it.’
‘Have I truly been away so long?’
‘Yes, you have completed your full sentence. But here, the time has hardly moved.’
‘Will Titania take me back?’
‘Will you give her the boy?’
‘Yes, oh yes. I was jealous of him. How wrong is that?’
‘Not wrong – immature perhaps.’
‘Immature – crikey, I’m as old as the world itself – I can’t be immature.’
‘Oh you can – remember I am older than you. Where did you find a word like crikey?’
‘Mrs Jenkins – she said it a lot and there was a girl, a maiden, er, teenager who uttered terrible oaths, she and I became friends. I will miss her.’
‘Perhaps she will become a fairy. Titania has new fairies in training at the moment.’
‘A human cannot become a sprite.’
‘Who said your teenager was a human?’
(c) 2023 Pat Barnett.
Pat Barnett’s “Never Too Mighty” weaves a captivating tale that explores the intersection of fairy folklore and modern urban life. The story centres on an unlikely encounter between the Fairy King and a Cockney market trader, creating a delightful tension between the magical and mundane. Through skillful narrative pacing and atmospheric detail, Barnett crafts a tale that challenges traditional power dynamics while maintaining a sense of whimsy. The story’s strength lies in its ability to blend the ethereal qualities of fairy lore with gritty street-level realism, creating a unique narrative voice that resonates with both wonder and authenticity.
Born in post-war Gorton, Manchester, Pat Barnett’s journey from punch-card computer operator to acclaimed writer spans continents and careers. Her transition to writing came after working as a nursery nurse in her fifties and spending a decade in Australia with the Noosa Scribes. Now based in North Yorkshire, Barnett draws from her diverse life experiences to create stories that blend gritty realism with supernatural elements, often incorporating her Manchester roots into her narratives.
“Never Too Mighty” appears in Barnett’s collection “Creatures,” alongside other tales that explore the mysterious and supernatural. The anthology showcases her talent for finding magic in everyday encounters, from morning walks to ancient Yorkshire buildings. Each story in the collection examines the thin line between ordinary and extraordinary, inviting readers to discover wonder in unexpected places. The book represents a masterful blend of folklore, contemporary life, and the timeless art of storytelling.
