Siebold

by Lee Savino

  “Fools are harmless, unless they bend the ear of a crowd, and use fear to stoke favor.” I bent to rearrange my herb bundles. “Has Father Gerald been speaking against me?”

  “He mistrusts any woman who does work beyond his understanding. But,” she ducked her head as if examining a bunch of dried camomile. “Father Gerald is not who I’m worried about. Have you noticed the soldiers?”

  “I have.” I’d seen a group of them lurking on the edge of the market, heavily armed and rough looking.

  “Who are they?” I asked Mistress Donna.

  “Offa’s men.”

  I schooled my features, though I knew that name.

  “He wants to rule this valley. Set himself up as lord of all you can see.” She flapped a hand but the worry in her tone belied her flippant act. “He’s attempting to conscript men from each village to join his army.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To enforce his tax.”

  “I see,” I let my cool tone give my opinion of this.

  “Mmmm,” Mistress Donna shook her head slightly. “Careful, Mistress Meadhan. In these dark times, a woman living alone so far from the village might not be safe.”

  “I will be careful,” I promised. “You be sure to do the same.”

  “Oh, have no fear for me. I have many sons,” she raised a hand and waved, and a strapping young man loped towards us. The dimpled grin stretching his red cheeks was his main resemblance to the midwife. “Alwyn,” she greeted him.

  “Mother,” the young man gave her a kiss. “Mistress Meadhan.” He turned his grin on me, and despite my disinterest in dallying with any men in this village, my stomach fluttered.

  “Take these to my hearth and lay them out. Gently, now,” Mistress Donna ordered, handing her son the herbs. A fond look stretched over her face as she watched Alwyn stride off. “That one gives me so much trouble,” Mistress Donna said with satisfaction. “I expect he’ll be the next to give me grandbabies.” She turned back to me, and her smile turned sly. “Now you, Mistress Meadhan, would make a fine mother. I don’t suppose you are in the market for a husband?”

  I choked back a laugh at her forthright comment. “Not today. Although I hadn’t realized they sold husbands at this market. I suppose it’d be a convenient way to acquire one. Like buying a goat.”

  “Not quite like a goat,” Mistress Donna glanced back at her son and then swept her gaze over me, as if sizing me up for a wedding gown. “You just let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I will,” I promised, though inwardly I shuddered. I had no interest in spending my life shackled to a man, even one as handsome and genial as Mistress Donna’s son seemed to be.

  I did keep an eye on the rough-looking men Mistress Donna had warned me about. Offa’s men. He offered protection, but if the villages would not pay him, his punishment was cruel. Offa the Bloody, they called him. He was a bullying, bragging warrior.

  And his men were the same. As the sun rose high, they swaggered through the market, grabbing goods and offering little coin, and refusing to haggle. I was lucky they stayed away from my stall, though a few eyed my brown skin with curious disdain. I kept my head down and served my few customers, ignoring Father Gerald whenever he came swaggering past my stall again.

  Late afternoon, my skin prickled, and I turned under the pretense of looking for some herbs in my basket. A few stalls away, Offa’s men had gathered around Father Gerald. The fat priest was glancing my way and pointing. At me.

  “That’s the one,” he said clearly, catching my eye.

  No. This was how it began. Suddenly I was a child again, watching a priest point at my mother. “Witch,” he cried, and the rough men of the village came and took her and--

  No. I shut my eyes a moment. My hands were fisted at my sides. This was how it began. But I could break the cycle.

  Swiftly I packed up my basket. I left a few bundles of herbs lying on the table as a gift for anyone to take. I was almost finished when someone rushed up to the stall, crying my name.

  “Mistress Meadhan, come quick.” It was Eira, the girl from the village. Her face flushed from running. “You must help.”

  I hesitated. Father Gerald and Offa’s men were watching. “What is it, child?”

  “There was an accident. A boy is hurt.”

  “Show me,” I was out of my stall and hurrying behind her before I could stop myself.

  Eira led me out of the market and down a forest path. I listened, but no one followed. But any relief I felt at avoiding Offa’s men vanished when we came upon the site of the accident.

  A few of the village youth milled around a large fallen tree. As we approached, their ranks parted to show a boy on the ground. His leg was stretched before him, and Eira gasped at the sight of the bloody wound. Among the red was a flash of white--bone.

  “What happened?” I kept my voice calm.

  “We were climbing on the trunk, and he fell,” Eira said.

  “Run back to the village, all of you,” I ordered as I lowered myself down next to the boy. “Fetch his family.”

  A pause. “He’s the priest’s bastard,” another child offered. “He has no family.”

  A quick glance told me they were right. The boy with the broken leg was thin and dirty, his hair crawling with lice. His face was gaunt with pain, but his starved and bruised body spoke of abuse and neglect. He stank as badly as the priest.

  And I was going to help him. But the fewer witnesses to what I would do, the better.

  “The sun is setting. your parents will be looking for you. Go. All of you. Now.”

  Only Eira hesitated.

  “I’ll take care of him,” I told her, and waited until the pattering of the children’s footsteps faded.

  Up close the leg looked worse. The boy’s jaw was clenched white, his eyes wide as he stared at a point beyond his leg. Brave boy. Another might have fainted.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, to distract him.

  “Dafydd,” he gasped.

  “Dafydd, I’m going to heal you now.” I swallowed. To do this was to put my life in his hands. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him to promise never to tell what I’d done. But he was only a boy, and alone.

  I hovered my hands over his leg and called my power. A pause, as if my magic couldn’t believe it was being called so soon again after this morning. Then the flow hit me in such a rush, energy crackled down my braids. Warmth pulsed from my hands. The boy cried out, his body jerking in the grip of my magic. A light flashed and it was done.

  I eased myself up on shaking limbs. The boy scrambled to his feet and backed into the fallen tree, fear written on his face.

  “Your leg?” I motioned to the limb. His clothing was still ripped and bloody, but the boy was standing with weight on both legs.

  He blinked and looked down as if he hadn’t realized he’d been healed.

  I waited a moment, but the boy remained mute. Inwardly, I sighed.

  “Go to Mistress Donna,” I told him. “Tell her I sent you. I’ll give her two whole ginger roots if she’ll feed you for a week.” It would be a good trade. I was the only one who could get the root to grow, but this boy looked like he needed ten meals a day to gain his proper weight. “She has sons,” I muttered to myself as I turned away. “She’ll have enough food.”

  “Are you a demon consort?” the boy called after me. I halted but did not turn. “Father Gerald says you are.”

  “He is mistaken.” I gathered my skirts and strode back the way I came before I said something worse.

  I was almost back to the market when the weight of the boy’s words hit me. Demon consort.

  What had I done? I healed a boy who might bring down death onto my head. All my hiding, careful secrecy, ruined by one boy’s broken leg.

  The power in me rose up to give comfort, and I pushed it back down. Distracted, my feet stumbled. I caught myself and dusted off my hands, but people noticed. I could almost hear their thoughts… Witch woman. Her
skin is dark because her mother lay with the devil… I would have to pack my things up tonight.

  “Mistress Meadhan,” A young man hustled up to me. “May I help?”

  “No need,” I answered briskly, shouldering my basket.

  “Are you sure? I’d be happy to escort you home.”

  I whirled to give him the sharp edge of my tongue, and my eyes caught on his winsome dimple. It was Mistress Donna’s handsome son, Alwyn. There was no fear written on his face, no disdain.

  Perhaps I was overreacting.

  “No, thank you. I like to walk alone. And I’m sure your mother needs you.”

  Alwyn leaned back on his heels, looking thoughtful. “She likes you. She’d be glad to hear I was spending time with you. Besides, if she heard I let a defenseless woman go home unescorted, she’d box my ears.”

  I smiled at his charm despite myself. “I thank you, but I am no ordinary woman. I am not defenseless.”

  He nodded, but stepped closer. “Still, there are vagabonds around,” he murmured, glancing towards the group of Offa’s men who still lingered in the market. “I’ll at least walk you through the village.”

  We set off, and I found myself wishing I could feel a stir of desire for this strapping and courteous young man. Like any healthy woman my age, I’d dallied with a man, but resisted all attempts to make me into a wife.

  “Thank you, Alwyn,” I told him firmly when we reached the edge of the village. “Please tell your mother you did your duty.”

  “Take care, Mistress,” he touched his forehead and sauntered off. He was a good man, and would make another a good husband. But it was best for me to avoid all attachment, lest my powers became known and I had to leave this valley suddenly.

  Memory struck me: my mother hiding me in the corner of our hut while angry men pounded on the door. You must hide, she told me. Hide, so you might survive.

  I was so preoccupied with these thoughts I did not notice someone was following me.

  4

  Siebold

  I slunk along the edge of the village. The angry buzzing around my head had subsided, leaving me empty. Leaving me longing for the woman who’d blazed so brightly in my life.

  So I hid in the brambles and waited. I dozed, doing my best to ignore the scent of roasting meat, the irritating bray of human voices. Once I was a fierce warrior, but now I was reduced to this pathetic thing, hanging on the edges of the places of men, waiting for the glimpse of the sun.

  A wind ruffled my fur. The air had grown cool, but when I raised my head a warm draft caressed my face. I was on my feet and hustling through a grove of pine before I registered the sweet scent.

  It was her. The woman I’d met on the path. She was holding her basket and talking, talking with a villager. A man.

  I lunged, but at the last moment, reason held me back. I might be seen by the villagers. And I had no right to this woman.

  No, howled the beast within. She is mine.

  Then let us hunt, my reason responded. What predators would we be, if we startled our prey?

  The beast subsided, but I could feel him crawling below my skin. Fur rippled along my limbs and back. If the woman dallied a moment longer with another, a monster would erupt from the forest and carry her away.

  For that is what I was, and would only ever be. A monster. Not even she could save me. But, in her presence, I might become whole.

  The villager was saying something, but he was leaving. Without hesitation, the woman turned on her heel, and strode away. Down the path, right past me.

  I followed.

  Her scent held accents of herbs and spices. Her braids swung around her face and her skin glowed. I’d never seen a woman like her, and yet I couldn’t look straight at her. The power within lit her up like the sun.

  How would I approach her? Stealthy, like a wolf? Or proudly, like a warrior?

  Maybe I could carry her off. But I had no place to keep her. I’d lived in ditches, in caves, in groves near a slow running brook or another source of water. The beast allowed me no home, no rest.

  I had little to offer a woman. Not even a lodge to lock her in. Perhaps I could get some rope--

  An unclean scent caught my nose. Men, unwashed, holding iron weapons. With their clanking blades, it was a wonder I hadn’t heard them before.

  They were following the sun. But, unlike me, they didn’t sense her light. They brought darkness and they wanted her. The woman that belonged to me. But they would not catch her and keep her, as I would. My monster recognized other, lesser monsters. And these men were evil. Hovering over their heads was a miasma, the stench of their violence and lust.

  They could not take her. I would not allow it.

  5

  Meadhan

  A snarl made me whirl. A wolf stood on the path--the blond one I’d met that morn. He was back, and looked bigger than I remembered. He stood tall on the path, his growls ripping the air--but he wasn’t looking to me. Beyond him was a band of warriors--Offa’s men.

  I clutched my basket and backed away. For a second I was a child again, hiding in my mother’s hut.

  The wolf growled again.

  “Call off your dog,” one of the men ordered me. I stiffened. I was not a child any longer.

  “It’s not a dog,” I spoke before I thought. “It’s a wolf.”

  A few of the men made a sign against evil.

  “It’s not mine,” I added, but none of the men looked like they believed me.

  “It’s no match for us,” the leader spoke again, but he didn’t sound certain. He motioned his friends forward. A few of them edged closer to the wolf, but made no move to attack first.

  The wolf attack came so fast, all I saw was a blur. One moment it stood on the path, proud, golden fur glinting in the light. The next, it was gone, and the men were scattered. Several were bowled over, flailing for their weapons. One howled, clutching his arm.

  I slapped a hand over my mouth.

  “Hold,” shouted their leader. He’d staggered upright, clutching a sword. He glanced this way and that, flashing the whites of his eyes. “It can’t take us all!”

  But the wolf could. And did. With a sickening crunch of bone and splashes of red, it moved through the warrior band. Men were sobbing like babies, screaming, running away. The wolf returned to the path, faced the defeated warrior band, threw back its head and roared.

  An axe struck its side. A bad hit--it bounced off, but with a spray of blood. The wolf did not yelp in pain, or show any sign it noticed. It roared again and charged.

  The last of the men turned white and scrambled away.

  “This isn’t over,” the leader shouted, presumably to me. Then he yelped and fled with the rest. I was left on the path, clutching my basket, staring dumbly at the huge beast who’d menaced an entire group of armed men...and won.

  The wolf swung its head towards me. And I saw its wound, the red staining its beautiful fur. My hand flung out automatically, not to stop the wolf, but to heal.

  And the wolf stayed still and let me. For the third time today I called the golden power and let it roll through me, fat, lazy ripples winding down my arms like a shimmering snake. I half expected a light to stream from my fingers to touch the wolf, but instead a wind merely ruffled its fur. My magic slid over the giant creature, licking at him and liking the taste. It found bits of the curse lurking in corners, and chased the darkness away.

  When I was done, I felt drained, but whole. Like I’d run up a mountain, but my legs were pleased by the exertion, and after a short rest I’d be able to run more.

  “Thank you,” I told the wolf, because even after healing the small wound, I was still in his debt. I did not know what Offa’s men wanted with me, but it would have been nothing good.

  I turned and continued down the path. If there had ever been any fear within me of the wolf, it was gone now. I didn’t question why I so easily trusted the wild beast. But we’d bonded, first this morning, and again at dusk.

  Dawn and
dusk are times when it is easy to use great power. My mother’s words came to me easily, as if she was walking beside me. Most babies are born in the evening or in the early morn, when the veil between worlds thins. If you work a spell at these times, take care. The balance is easily broken.

  The theory of balance was one my mother discussed with me often. Nature designed the world with balance. Night and day. Shadow and light. The sun and rain. Death and life.

  Too much sun makes a desert, my mother had told me. In her travels, she’d seen deserts, so she would know.

  Every gift is also a curse, Meadhan. Remember that before you use magic. Power demands a price.

  What would my mother say about the wolf’s curse? Was I in his debt or he in mine? I’d done my best to chase off the curse hanging over the wolf, but did that bind him to me instead?

  It took a few more steps before I was brave enough to look back, but finally I did. Sure enough, the wolf was still following me.

  I stopped. “Go home. Back to your den, or wherever.”

  The wolf sat back on its haunches to hear my orders, its tongue hanging out as it panted.

  “I do not need an escort,” I almost told the wolf the same thing I’d told Alwyn, but then realized it was not true. “At least, most of the time I don’t. Your help was welcome, but I can defend myself. Go now. Be a wolf.”

  Perhaps I’d gone crazy, talking to a wolf. But this was no ordinary wolf. Unbidden, the vision I’d seen of the blond warrior that morning came back to me, and I pushed it away.

  Hoisting my basket higher on my hip, I kept walking. I sensed without looking that the wolf was following. Why was some part of me pleased?

  “Very well,” I said, when my hut was almost in sight, and the wolf showed no signs of disappearing into the woods and leaving me alone. “You may follow me home. But you’re not coming inside.” Only a foolish woman would invite a wild beast into her home. Even if he were no ordinary wolf.

  “Especially because you’re no ordinary wolf,” I muttered to myself as I pushed my door open. I set my basket down and grabbed a jug before ducking back outside.