No Iron in the Mushroom Circle

Large white mushrooms grew in a perfect circle at the edge of Sylvia's lawn. She cut the power to the lawnmower, wiped sweat off her brow with the back of her hand, and stepped closer. Sure, she'd seen mushrooms like this in the area before. And there must be a rational explanation for them growing in a circle. Her imagination drew her irresistibly closer anyway.

Faerie circles could lead an unsuspecting traveler to the land of the Fair Folk, where time passed more slowly. The Lady and her horned consort held court over a never-ending feast. There was no space in this uncanny realm for mortgage payments, student loans, dead end jobs…

Sylvia stepped into the circle of mushrooms.

Nothing happened.

She laughed at herself. She hadn't gotten so carried away by her imagination since childhood. She stepped out of the mushroom circle, wiped some pollen off her glasses with her shirt, and restarted the lawnmower. She carefully circumnavigated the ring of mushrooms.

As she passed her patio, she spotted her Great Dane/German Shepherd mix, Toby, lounging on a cushioned chair in the shade.

"Freeloader," she said affectionately. "Go weed the garden."

Toby's only response was a friendly look.

Sylvia finished mowing her lawn. The warm morning blossomed into a muggy day. She checked the forecast and decided it would be better to walk Toby in the humid heat of the afternoon than the thunderstorm expected that night. She reapplied her sunscreen, leashed the beast, and started down the road.

A mile down the road, Sylvia and Toby turned onto a wood chip path into the arboretum. Moist heat clung to Sylvia's skin. At least the thick foliage overhead provided some relief from the sun. Eventually, Sylvia and Toby crossed paths with three men wearing viking costumes, including high leather boots and fur-lined vests.

The tallest, a rail-thin man, had a platinum blond mullet and patchy goatee. He carried a hammer.

In the center stood a heavy-set man with sandy dreadlocks and a bushy, unkempt beard.

The man with bodybuilder muscles and a shaved head stood only a little taller than Sylvia. He carried foam and plastic packaging that looked as if it had come from the butcher section at a grocery store.

"Is there a Renaissance Faire here today?" Sylvia asked.

"Hello, beautiful," the shortest one said. "No Faire, just some… fun."

Toby planted himself between Sylvia and the men.

The tall one stuck out his chin aggressively. "We have a RIGHT to dress like our forefathers," he said. Then he laughed as if it were a joke.

Sylvia shrugged. "Sure. Have a nice day." She clicked her tongue at Toby, who obediently returned to her side. They sidled to the far left side of the path to give the cosplayers space, and continued on their way towards the lake. The men's voices grew more distant as they continued their walk out.

Sylvia and Toby approached the lake, and Toby picked up a scent that interested him. He pulled forward and tugged at the leash.

"What has gotten into you?" Sylvia asked. "Calm down, Toby."

He led her to a vandalized pear tree. Sylvia knew immediately it was the work of the cosplaying men.

Black and red ribbons twisted around the tree trunk. Someone had carved the wolfsangel symbol into its bark, and written in chalk, "May WHITE LIGHT shine." Below the words, twelve raw chicken thighs had been nailed to the tree trunk.

She groaned. Those men had had a "rite" to dress like vikings.

Toby lunged for a chicken thigh but obediently followed her commands: "Stop! Sit."

Sylvia surveyed the vandalism: Nazi color knots; misused ancient pagan symbol; white supremacist prayer; a bloodless sacrifice of butchered chicken affixed to the tree with iron nails within the reach of dogs or coyotes, who could choke on the bones.

Sylvia pulled her keychain out of its usual place in her pocket and used her bottle opener to dislodge the nails. Toby whined for the chicken, so she deboned a piece and gave it to him, disposing the rest in a handy trash can. She rinsed her hands in the lake.

She cupped her hands together and carried a bit of water to the tree. It took a few awkward splashes, but she managed to wipe off most of the chalk.

It was hard to reach the ribbons, but she eventually managed to untie them and throw them in the trash too.

Sylvia ran her fingers over the carved symbol. "Wish I could do more," she said.

Her walk with Toby continued on their normal path around the lake. Sylvia could not stop ruminating on the "vikings." She had heard of alt-right racists appropriating pagan mythology, but she didn't realize it was happening so close to home. Of course, they had performed their rite on a highly visible pear tree in a popular arboretum: a deliberately public message.

Sylvia wondered if she should report it to the police. Would they understand that it wasn't just vandalism and the free practice of religion? Those men had inscribed the tree with hate speech.

But, Sylvia had destroyed the evidence. Only the symbol remained.

She sighed. She could at least submit a statement or something.

Sylvia and Toby finished their walk at the park and returned home. Heavy clouds rolled in overhead. She refilled Toby's water bowl and watched him settle back down on the patio chair. "I'll be back soon, Boy," she told him.

A few light raindrops sprinkled down on her truck's windshield during her drive into the center of town. When she pulled into the Civic Complex and parked between Town Hall and the police station, she could see lightning dancing through the clouds.

Two uniformed officers stepped out of the station and climbed into a cruiser. Sylvia's heart dropped into her stomach. One was the blond mullet man; the other, the muscular skinhead.

She watched them drive away.

The sky let loose with warm, pounding rain. Sylvia knew in her bones that making the report would accomplish nothing.

She did it anyway.

An hour and a half later, the rain continued to drive down heavily. Sylvia ran from her truck into her house. She called for Toby, who emerged from his hiding place in her bedroom closet. He whined and shook at the thunder.

Sylvia filled his dish with kibble and sat beside him, reassuring him as he ate.

The mental image of the vandalized tree burned brightly in her mind. Those alt-right jerks were harming nature and promoting the harm of people, too.

"They used nails," she told Toby. "Imagine wanting to follow the Old Ways, but with iron. The Fair Fo…"

Sylvia stopped short.

Iron.

She had iron on her person when she stepped into the mushroom circle. The keys she kept in her pocket. The tiny hinges and screws in her glasses. Stainless steel earrings.

Sylvia took off her glasses and placed them on the coffee table with her keys and earrings. Did the zipper of her jeans have iron? She didn't know, so she changed into a wrap skirt to be safe. Once she was certain she had no iron on her person, she stepped out into the dark, stormy evening. Toby followed, his head low and his tail between his legs.

Warm wind whipped at her clothes and hair. Rain soaked her to the bone. She paused at the edge of the mushroom circle. She removed Toby's collar and tossed the stainless steel nametag in the direction of the house.

They stepped through.

A cool, calm, misty evening greeted them on the other side of the faerie circle. Sylvia and Toby found themselves beside the lake again, face to face with the wolfsangel-scarred tree.

"Good evening, Sylvia Elizabeth Locke."

Sylvia spun around to face the speaker. They looked like a tall, lithe, handsome man, with uncanny blue eyes and wild black hair. They wore deerskin trousers, a silver torque around their left bicep in the shape of a snake, and a circlet of ivy leaves. They lounged atop a green and white woven picnic blanket spread with a veritable feast.

To complete the picture of perfection, Toby rushed to the stranger, licking their face and begging to be pet.

"Good evening," Sylvia said cautiously.

"You may call me Zee. Please, join me."

Sylvia sat on a corner of the blanket and marveled at its softness.

Zee prepared a silver plate for Sylvia, instinctively choosing every morsel that appealed to her the most: plump raspberries, crisp sugar snap peas, a wedge of fragrant cheese. They poured mead into two silver goblets, handed one to Sylvia, and toasted with the other. "To old ways in a new world."

Sylvia hesitated. "I thought…" Sylvia trailed off.

"Yes?" Zee asked.

"I thought it was dangerous to eat the food of the Fair Folk," she admitted. "There were old tales of travelers losing track of… time…"

“And themselves,” Zee agreed. "You are free to leave any time you want, and you may stay as long as you like. After all, there is no space in this uncanny realm for mortgage payments, student loans, dead end jobs…"

Sylvia toasted: "To old ways in a new world." The sweet, heavenly mead spread warmth through Sylvia's core.

She pointed at the scarred tree and asked, "Will that ever heal?"

Zee gave it a solemn look. "It is the kind of wound that will never fully heal. But over time, it will matter less."

"Like divorce," Sylvia remarked.

Zee threw their head back and laughed.

Sylvia eyed her plate. She hadn't had dinner yet. How long would she stay in the realm of the Fair Folk if she had a single raspberry? What about one bite of the cheese?

Toby let out a deep sigh. He had stretched out on the blanket with his head in Zee's lap, clearly drifting off to sleep.

Sylvia said, "I reported the jerks who hurt that tree to the police. But, they are the police. They might do it again."

"If they do, and you’re around," Zee replied, "Pull the iron out again, will you? That stuff hurts."

"I will," Sylvia promised.

A moment passed silently. She decided to at least taste the raspberries.

Sheer perfection.

Sylvia looked deeply into Zee's beautiful blue eyes. "I could stay here forever," she blurted out.

"You could," Zee agreed. "I could introduce you to the court. The Lady would positively dote on Toby here."

"But then, who would pull out the nails?" Sylvia asked.

Zee shrugged. "Somebody. Or nobody."

Sylvia considered her plate again. She looked at Toby, napping on Zee's lap. Then she considered the scarred tree trunk.

"We're going to go back," she decided.

"Very well."

Sylvia put down her food and rose to her feet. She clicked her tongue at Toby, who roused and groggily joined her.

Zee stood up too. "May I kiss you, Sylvia?" they asked.

Sylvia blushed. "Yes, I'd like that."

Zee stepped forward, leaned down a little, and placed their lips on Sylvia's.

Sylvia woke up to a temperate, sunny morning full of birdsong. Toby cuddled her on her cushioned patio chair. She blinked at the morning light, temporarily disoriented, then sprang to her feet and dashed to the edge of her lawn.

A single white mushroom poked through the unkempt grass, accompanied by a small knot of ivy vines and a single ripe pear.