“Shut up, Falon,” Christie hissed to her out of the corner of her mouth, and Falon had to suppress a surge of resentment. “What are the traditional duties of Brown Creek Grove?” Christie asked faintly, her face now white as a sheet.
Still glaring at Falon, Modesto the Reeve abruptly turned to face her sister Christie.
“The Squire or his Proxy in arms, an Heir of his body,” he said sharply, and then seeing Christie’s ghost white face, his voice gentled into a stern no nonsense sort of voice, “and either four additional trained fighting men paid for at the Squire’s own expense, or else two wagons and one month’s supplies for the militia of the East and West Wicks.”
Falon gasped in spite of her resolve to keep a stoic bearing. Papa could hardly get out of his bed, and there was no way they could afford to pay for four fighting men!
“In consideration of the circumstances, surely a looser interpretation of the obligations might be in order—” Farmer Doyle trailed off in the face of the Reeve’s unflinching gaze.
“And have every Tom, Dick and Harry pointing to the Rankins of Brown Creek Grove as the reason they failed to answer the call of a King’s Marshal, or arrived with less than was their full obligation?” Modesto said sharply.
Doyle took his leather cap off his head and twisted it in his hands, looking a little forlorn before slowly nodding his head reluctantly.
“We will meet your price,” Christie said woodenly.
Falon stared at her with wide eyes, shaking her head in a mixture of disbelief and incredulity. Papa would die if he answered the call, and their family couldn’t afford the rest even if he rode out the gate on their riding palfrey—a horse so old she was missing half her teeth!
“This is not my price, nor is it something to be haggled over in the market,” the Reeve said coldly, “this is a duty you Rankins owe the King, and I am just the messenger!”
“Brown Grove Creek has said it would meet its obligations,” Christie replied coldly. “Now that you have delivered your message I ask you to leave us, hireling,” she spat.
“You have two weeks to meet with the combined East Wick and West Wick muster, or you’ll officially be in violation of the charter organizing your land grant and the Estate will be subject to seizure by the Crown!” Modesto turned away from the house and walked over to his riding palfrey, a much younger, fitter version than her father’s old mare. Grabbing the reins of his pack horse, he rode off down the dirt path leading away from the estate.
“Well that could have gone better,” Christie murmured under her breath.
“If Brown Creek Grove wants any assistance with general carpentry and the like, I’ve a pair of sons too lazy for their own good,” Farmer Doyle placed his cap back on his head before tipping it at Falon’s older sister. There was a worried, pleading look in his eyes before he hurried over to his one-eared mule and scrambled atop its bare back.
“I work at cost, if there’s any metal that needs beat into shape to go along with that carpentry,” Vance the blacksmith said with a decisive nod, before walking over to his borrowed donkey and sitting astride. “Meanwhile, I’ll take this boar’s carcass over to the barn and get him strung up for you to clean. The Reeve will be needing the head in exchange for the bounty, but the rest is yours to do with as you please — I suggest you salt and smoke the meat, sausage the offals, and stew the bones. Boar’s tough, and one this big is unlikely to taste too good, but it will make for fine trail provisions. If you like, I can see that the hide is cured so you can turn it into your first trophy,” he offered, and Falon replied with a slow nod, since she assumed a boy her age would be excited to have a trophy of some sort. With that, Vance turned Bucket and the poor donkey grunted under the weight of its owner, hee-hawing in protest before settling under his stern hand.
“What was that about?” Falon asked, wondering what she had missed that they had a Farmer and a Smith both offering to help—for free in the case of Doyle’s sons, and at reduced price for the blacksmith.
Christie looked at her bleakly. “They were offering to help us get the pair of wagons in the barn fixed up for the campaign,” her older sister replied, her voice a barren wasteland compared to its usual fare.
Chapter 5: An Impromptu Pow-wow
Falon looked at her in surprise.
“They, or their sons and neighbors, will need those wagons and the provisions we are obligated to provide,” Christie whispered.
“But the wagon nearest the door is half rotted from the rain and other has two broken wheels, which is why we dragged it into the barn in the first place,” Falon snapped, feeling an unfamiliar numbness come over her, as if everything was taking place at a distance and not actually happening to her. It was as if her head had been filled with cotton.
Christie’s lips tightened. “We will just have to fix them both up then,” she retorted shortly, “it is fortunate that Farmer Doyle and the Blacksmith are so generous.”
“Generous,” Falon blurted, her left leg starting to quiver ever so slightly, “we haven’t the means to repair those wagons!”
Christie glared at her angrily.
“Well we don’t,” Falon replied hotly, her leg giving an involuntary spasm, “I don’t know about you, but father never taught me how to chop down trees and saw them into new planks and floor boards for a wagon!”
“Thus the farmer’s sons,” Christie raised a single eyebrow with icy disdain.
“Knock it off, Krisy, I’m not stupid,” Falon snapped, using her sister’s childhood short name—the one a younger Falon had always used for her big sister.
“Then don’t play the fool, sister. It suits you poorly,” Christie returned with heat.
“Why are you two fighting,” asked the twelve year old Kaitlin. Sinead and Blair, the two youngest sisters aged eight and six respectively, were peaking around her skirt. Falon realized they must have snuck outside the house as soon as the village men left to watch their sisters arguing with each other.
Falon suppressed the urge to turn and reassure her younger sisters that everything was alright. Things were topside down and downside up right now, so they most definitely were not alright and to tell Kaitlin and the others all was okay would have been a lie.
“The blacksmith said he’d work at cost. Cost, Christie,” she reiterated sharply, “we can’t pay for the iron to repair the busted wheels bands because—unless you’ve forgotten—we traded the bands away to pay for medicine for papa.”
“Then we’ll just have to buy more bands, Fal,” Christie sniffed.
“Why is Falon all covered in blood?” asked Sinead with a hint of worry in her voice.
“Yuck, there’s a dead pig in our front yard,” Blair squealed as she watched Vance drag the carcass over to the barn. Blair had been hiding behind Kaitlin before sighting the boar’s carcass, and without warning the six year old girl ran over and poked the dead animal with her finger before grinning mischievously, “Rogan is going to be so scared when he wakes up.”
“Blair Rankin, you get back in the house this instant,” barked Christie.
“With what,” Falon flared, and then seeing her three younger sisters suddenly looking at her with wide eyes she lowered her voice, “we don’t have any money, Krisy.”
Christie shot a glance at the nervous looking younger sisters and then glared at her furiously. “We have the ‘means’ to fix up a pair of measly little wagons, Fal,” her older sister snapped, despite the fact the wagons were neither small nor inexpensive to fix, “and we can pay in kind for any lack of expertise in metal or wood working,” she finished, raking her eyes up and down Falon as if it were all her younger sister’s fault for looking like a boy but not actually knowing how to chop up trees, split boards and repair broken wheel bands.
It was not the first time she had given Falon such an expression, and Falon hated it. It was completely unfair that she should take the blame for a situation like this one, but more often than not, it seemed to work out that way—at least when
dealing with Krisy.
Besides, Krisy was lying. Falon knew they didn’t have anything worth selling other than some of papa’s old rusty daggers and such—things he would notice missing as soon as he bothered to look at the wall above his bed, so those were right out. Then a terrible thought occurred to her and she stepped closer to her big sister.
“Not the dresses,” Falon hissed at her, trying to keep her voice down so the Littles wouldn’t hear here, “you can’t sell your mama’s dresses; we’re going to need those for later.”
“No, not the dresses,” Christie said shortly, her face flushing with anger, “let’s have no more talk of such things in front of the others.”
If it wasn’t the dresses…Falon paled.
“Not the candlesticks, Krisy,” she declared furiously.
“Not another word, Falon Rankin,” her sister said tightly, the look on her face promising pure murder later on if Fal didn’t shut up.
“They’re your dowry, and the only thing Mama Cink left for you when she went to Convent,” Falon pleaded, knowing how much the silver candlesticks with the Cink Family crest on them meant to Christie.
“I don’t have a mother,” Christie replied furiously, “Stella Cink is just another nun who ran out on her children,” Christie caught herself and took a deep breath before continuing in a more normal voice, “those candlesticks are mine to do with as I please, and no one else can say so much as boo to me about them now that Daman is gone.”
“No,” Falon growled, her left leg graduating from a mere quiver to an outright shake, “when Mama Muirgheal learnt her fifth spell and became a Sanctioned Witch, the Crown says I have no mother. Mama Cink on the other hand is still your mother, even if she is a nun. She’s just not papa’s wife anymore is all, and you should keep your Dowry. We can find another way.”
“Let’s get you inside,” Christie said stiffly, “you need to get cleaned up and put to bed before we send for a healer.”
“Another expense we can’t afford,” Falon shook her head in negation.
“We can, and we will,” Christie retorted in a tone that brooked no nonsense.
“Look let’s just wrap my ribs or something; I think they’re only bruised,” Falon lied bravely.
Christie narrowed her eyes and leaned over as if to take a look before, out of nowhere, she poked Falon in the ribs.
“Owe,” the younger girl gasped, doubling over with fresh tears in her eyes.
“Yeah, it’s just bruised,” Christie stepped back and closed her eyes for a moment as if in search of strength, “you big fat liar.”
“Falon lied?” little Blair gasped.
“Hush,” Christie said firmly and then turned, “I thought I told you little ones to get into the house.
“You only told, Blair,” Sinead said righteously, her face the pure picture of angelic innocence.
“Both of you, Scat,” Falon said her voice making it clear as day that they’d best listen to Krisy, or she’d make sure they suffered.
Seeing that both her older sisters were united in ruining their fun, Sinead tugged on her dress.
“I hate you,” she spat over her shoulder as she turned away, “come on Blair,” she grabbed the other little girl’s arm and dragged her back through the door with her.
“You too, Kaitlin,” said Christie.
The twelve year old gave her bigger sisters a rebellious look, when an angry voice cried out from the parlor, “You’re not our mothers!”
Rolling her eyes, Kaitlin turned back inside.
“Christie and Falon might not be your mothers, but Rogan and I can still put honey on your hair and frogs in your bed if you don’t listen, see if we don’t,” Kaitlin shouted, heading back inside to keep an eye on the two youngest sisters.”
“You’re a beast, Cat,” Sinead yelled back.
“Come on, let’s go jump on Rogan before he wakes up, that way he’ll be too afraid to go hunt for frogs to put in our beds,” Blair said in an overly loud, conspiratorial voice.
“If you two wake up your brother or your father—” Kaitlin began, then stopped and a loud series of feet thumping on hardwood came as the small ones ran away with Kaitlin in hot pursuit, “I’ll take a switch to you too”
Christie shook her head and opened her mouth.
“Ouch,” came the sound of a young male voice, “you’re bad, Blair and Sin!”
“Take that, Frog Face,” shouted the little girls unison. This taunting was soon followed by the sound of pure pubescent rage when Kaitlin finally caught up with them.
Fortunately, their ruckus quickly moved further into the house, and gradually even faded away.
Seeing the chance to make her case, Falon started speaking quickly before Christie had another chance to put her ‘overbearing older sister’ oar in.
“Look, it’s not as bad as it looks, Krisy,” Falon said stoutly.
Christie hesitated, looking very tempted to believe her younger sister. Then Falon shifted position because of her still shaking leg, and her face hardened into the sort of big sister face that let a sibling know there was nothing she could say that was going to change her mind.
“Come on, Krisy, be reasonable. We can’t afford to pay a healer on top of fixing the wagons,” she argued anxiously.
“You can be infuriatingly stupid sometimes, Fal,” Christie said giving the dead boar a significant look, “but you’re still our sister. We’ll call over to West Wick for Breanna the old blood Healing Wench,” she raised a hand abruptly cutting Falon off before she could keep arguing, “my mind is made up, Fal. Besides even if it wasn’t that bounty you won for the boar should be more than enough to cover cost of the Healing Wench.”
“We need every Silver we can muster, Christie,” Falon mumbled mutinously, her mind already racing to come up with a plan to sneak out to the barn. After all, if there was no sister to be healed, then the Healing Wench couldn’t rightfully request her fee now could she?
“Well you should have thought about that before you went and got yourself beat up by a filthy, disease-ridden pig, trying to play the hero,” flared Christie, clearly sensing the direction of Falon’s thoughts, “you’re an untrained girl Falon, a pair of trousers and Daman’s old Shri-Kriv doesn’t suddenly put hair on your chest, or teach you how to hunt boar!”
“I thought that was onions,” Falon grinned.
Christie looked at her blankly.
“That’s why I always like to keep some spring onion in my pockets,” she couldn’t help smirking at Christie’s uncomprehending look. Then she decided to take pity on her older sister, “don’t you remember what dad would always say to get Daman and Garve to eat their onions?”
The light of sudden understanding dawned on her big sister’s face and Falon couldn’t help watching with more than a little glee as her sister’s expression suddenly turned thunderous, before the first reluctant twitches of a smile tugged at the corners of Christie’s mouth.
Their voices lowered in a mocking emulation of their father’s tone, “Eat up boys, it’ll put hair on your chest!” they finished the last part of the tired, old line simultaneously. The two girls broke down giggling—or rather, Christie broke down—Falon on the other hand tried to break down giggling, until her ribs protested a few seconds in and she had to stop.
Then her mind stumbled over a worry even her older sister couldn’t ignore.
“Seriously, Sis,” Falon said removing most of the levity from her features before continuing, “won’t the Healing Wench have to take a look at my ribs and,” she blushed slightly, “uh, chest and other stuff,” she waved her wounded hand in the air vaguely, “what if word gets back to West Wick that I’m not one of our brothers? I’d think with the way the Reeve has his knickers in a twist that this doesn’t exactly seem the greatest time to…” she trailed off.
Christie bit her lip, and Falon silently crowed with victory. But she must have given something away because her older sister was now looking at her suspiciously.
&
nbsp; “I don’t know,” she said so hesitantly that Falon was certain of victory. Then Christie’s face cleared and the younger of the two sisters didn’t like the new expression she was seeing, “I’ve got it,” Christie declared.
Now it was Falon’s turn to be suspicious. “What have you got now?”
“We’ll ask for your mom,” Christie said triumphantly, “I’m sure she knows a healing spell or two, being a witch and all.”
Falon could only stare at her big sister with bug’s eyes.
Chapter 6: Digging In Versus the Big Reveal
“That’s a terrible idea, Krisy,” Falon said with dawning horror.
“No. No, it’s perfect,” Christie replied, excitement practically oozing out of her. She pointedly ignored the way her younger sister was gritting her teeth
“It’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard, Christie,” Falon ground out from behind her locked molars.
“I don’t know why you’re always so negative about Mama Muirgheal,” the older sister shook her head, as if at a particularly slow student.
“I have my reasons,” Falon crossed her arms and looked away, remembering the last ‘visit’ she had made to her mother’s. “Nothing she does comes without a price, Krisy…”
“I mean come on, so she’s a Witch,” her older sister threw her arms in the air, “so what? My mom’s in a Convent casting spells for the Order and the ‘betterment of the Crown’. Your mom’s been Sanctioned, so now she has to live out in the forest at least two miles from any village, but at least she stuck around so that you can still visit her,” Christie paused and angrily wiped a tear out of the corner of her eye before straightening.
Falon began to feel like the worst piece of stinky shoe leather, as if she were a complete heel—which was just the way she knew her sister wanted her to feel. Sticking out her lower lip and strengthening her resolve, she shook her head from side to side.
The Boar Knife (Rise of the Witch Guard) Page 4
