“That is not amusing!” Garrett said, sharply.
The boy’s grin melted into a frown. “I only jested, Father.”
“Well, I will go if he goes with me.” Marc fought off a smile.
“That is not amusing either, Marcus,” Garrett said with less fervor. The leader studied his face for a moment. “You are not planning on going in there, are you?”
All humor left Marc. “Me? No! I have no desire to find out if the stories are true.”
The men laughed good-naturedly after which things settled down to a good round of hunting stories until dinner.
And what a grand dinner it was! The birds and squirrels went into a rich soup flavored with dried vegetables and herbs. The women took the evening ration of grain and added it to the soup instead of making the same porridge they had all tired of long ago. Topping it off, each person received a small slice of roast goose—a treat that they had not seen in a long time.
As the women cleaned up after the meal, Marc watched one of the girls in particular. By far the prettiest in the village, she was blessed with a generous bosom and sturdy hips. Her long, light brown hair was so fine the slightest breeze would fan it out in waves that reminded him of ripe stalks of grain yielding to the press of the wind. When she smiled, the sparkle in her hazel eyes caused him to go all soft inside. He cared deeply for Valeria but knew while they were lifelong friends, she did not hold the same desires for him.
Seeing Marc look her way, she came over to where he sat. “How was the meal?” Giving him a friendly smile, she reached for his empty bowl.
He fought down his want for her and smiled back. “The soup was very good and the goose—heaven itself.”
Willie, seated at Marc’s right, popped up and handed over his bowl with a small bow. “My thanks to the ladies for a most delicious supper.”
“You are ever the gentleman, William.” She moved down the line until she stood before Donald.
“Hello, Valeria.” He put his hand on hers as she tried to take his bowl. “Shall we go for a walk after you are finished?” He smiled sweetly but Marc knew the sentiment to be false. More than once Donald had boasted Valeria would be his one day.
She returned the smile, retrieving both her hand and the bowl. “No, thank you.”
“Well, how about sitting by the fire, then? I have many exciting stories to tell.” The young man raked his fingers through his wavy, shoulder-length black hair in an attempt to draw her attention to it—many of the girls found that part of him appealing, but Marc doubted it would influence Valeria’s mind in the least.
Rolling her eyes in irritation, she started to turn away. “No, Donald.”
He lightly grabbed her wrist. “You will enjoy yourself, I promise. I like you,” he added after a slight hesitation.
Anger flared to life within Marc, a sudden, crackling heat flowing over him; he had enough of Donald’s poor manners. Rising, fists balled at his side, he started toward him but Sean earnestly gestured for him to sit.
“Let her deal with him,” Sean whispered, a knowing look in his eyes.
Sean was right. Strong-willed and self-assured, Valeria would prefer to handle this matter herself. Reluctantly yielding to his friend’s wisdom, Marc retook his seat, letting the heat encompassing him ebb away to be replaced with concern. She glanced appreciatively his way.
Valeria shook off Donald’s hand, her gaze taking on a sudden hardness that caused a shiver of cold to ripple down Marc’s spine. “No, I would not enjoy myself. You desire me for my body, not my mind or heart. You want me, but you will never have me.”
Silence filled the common house as Donald’s expression sagged. “Do you not like me?”
She shrugged, her glare softening. “I like you as much as any of the other men, but not in the lustful manner you feel for me. I like no one in that way.”
Donald stiffened. “Why not? I lead the bo—the young men on hunts for our food. Have I not brought us regular amounts of birds to eat?” he boasted, pointing his thumb at his chest.
Valeria frowned, brows pinched, her impatience clearly showing. “All the boys work together to gather those birds and we appreciate it.” Pausing, she slowly shook her head. “Why can you not admit it was Marc who remembered that thousands of birds used to nest in the cliffs? His wisdom has helped feed us these past months, not yours.” Valeria hefted her stack of bowls to underscore the point.
Letting out a near silent chortle, Sean looked sideways at Marc, trying hard not to smile.
Standing, Donald pushed past her in a huff. “Your loss.” Before leaving through the north doorway, he glared daggers at Marc, his black eyes fairly burning beneath heavy brows. Besides the obvious anger on his face, Marc thought he could feel other emotions come from him—hate, jealousy, and oddly enough, fear. Glancing at Garrett, Marc saw deep regret play across his features. He, too, disliked Donald’s behavior.
With an audible sigh, Valeria looked downward. Moving to her, Marc gently touched her shoulder.
“I’m sorry Donald treats you this way.”
She raised her gaze to meet his, her sad expression changing to one of thankfulness. “Do not be. It is his doing.”
Sean came alongside of him. “Val speaks the truth. Don is foolish to treat both of you so poorly. He acts like a child.”
Marc nodded, wishing the situation were different. “I pray for the day he grows up and can be our friend once more.”
Giving them both a sad smile, Valeria viewed the exit Donald had left through. “As do I.”
— o O o —
Later on, while taking wood off his pile for that night’s fire, a familiar voice caught Marc’s attention.
“Let’s do it now, before it becomes any colder.” The voice belonged to his neighbor, Ethan, talking to Valeria as they started down the long northern path leading to where their animals were kept.
“May I give you a hand?” Marc called out, turning toward the path.
Ethan stopped and looked back at him, his iron brazier swinging slightly on its chain. “It would be appreciated.”
Dropping the wood by the entrance to his hut, Marc grabbed his staff and caught up to them. Valeria smiled, the wavering orange glow of the coals in the brazier accentuating her soft curves. He tried not to notice. “I see it is time to open another pot.”
She gave him an odd smile. “Yes. How did you know?”
He wondered the same thing. “I guessed. It has been a while since the last time.”
Her expression warmed. “It has.”
The two of them followed Ethan up the path, trying to avoid the trickle of snowmelt flowing along its muddy center. While the brazier’s embers did little to offset the almost total black of night, illuminating a tiny circle at best, Marc knew his way from memory. The land rose gently upward for a time then leveled off at a wide glade densely covered with mature oak trees and scattered patches of melting snow. These trees belonged to Marc’s family, their leaves and acorns essential for tanning hides. Continuing north, they emerged from the grove and crossed over the small creek for which their village was named. Ahead stood the shelter that housed Ethan’s three pigs and four sheep.
As always, Marc approached the structure with caution, wary of predators drawn to the animals within. Built against the base of Rocky Hill, the shelter had shoulder-high stone walls with rough-hewn wood beams fastened atop. It spanned two shallow, adjoining caves that penetrated no more than ten paces into the stone of the hill, yet were deep enough to protect the animals from the elements.
Loosening the chain, Marc helped Ethan open the heavy wooden door deeply scarred by the fangs and claws of hungry wolves and bears. Valeria checked on the animals while the men headed for the southeastern corner of the shelter where dozens of large, long, cylindrical clay pots lay stacked on their sides like cordwood, over half of them open and empty. Hanging the brazier from a central beam, Ethan dropped a handful of small sticks onto the coals, causing them to quickly catch fire, thereby provid
ing more light. He pointed at the next full pot.
“We will open this one.” He looked over his shoulder and called to his daughter. “Valeria?”
From a peg on a nearby post, she removed an armful of crudely made cloth bags. “Ready, Father.”
While Marc held fast the lid to the pot, Ethan used his knife to cut away the beeswax seal. Valeria handed her father a bag which he held under the opening. Easing the pressure on the lid, Marc allowed a stream of acorns to flow out. Once full, Ethan tied the bag off and started on the next one. By the time the pot was empty, they had filled twenty-one bags. Taking a quarter portion of acorns from the last bag, Valeria fed them to the animals who voraciously consumed them.
“Thank you for your help, Marc,” Ethan said, hanging a bulging sack on an overhead peg and patting its side. “And thank God for your great-grandfather. If not for all those oaks he planted, my animals would have died that first winter.”
Valeria struggled to lift another sack. “Do not forget Oren, Father.”
Ethan deftly took it from her and placed it on the next peg. “Yes, God indeed blessed us through his wisdom. Now let us finish and return home.”
On the way back, Marc followed the other two, keenly aware of Valeria’s beauty. He earnestly tried to put his desire for her from his mind but could not. He had known her all his life and they had been the best of friends for as long as he could remember. But over the last few years they both changed so much; she into an attractive woman and he into a man. And with those changes, his feelings toward her grew more complex, more awkward. He often found himself unsure how to act around her.
Valeria smiled back at him, causing him to stumble into a bush, tearing the sleeve of his tunic. Paying it no mind, he returned home and collected the firewood once more. As he went to enter his house, he found her blocking his path.
“Let me mend that for you.” She held up a needle and thread.
A lump grew large in his throat. “Do not worry about it.” Moving around her, he parted the leathers of the door and went inside, dropping the wood beside the stone-rimmed fire pit in the center of the hut. He heard her follow, but kept his back to her. His mother paused in putting his two younger sisters to bed and looked past him, her face brightening.
“Hello, Valeria.”
“Evening, Judith.”
Gwen, the eldest, sat up and cheerily waved. “Hi, Val.” Peeking out from beneath the blanket, Stella just smiled.
Valeria returned the gesture. “Hello, girls.”
Turning, he found her standing by his bed. Before he could retreat, she grabbed the torn fabric of his sleeve. “Hold still. This will not take long.”
“But this is little more than a dirty rag. It is not worthy of your skill.”
“That does not matter. You helped us and now I can help you.”
As her needle swiftly mended the damage, he relished the warmth of her hand against his arm, his desire for her almost painful in its intensity. Sadly, she did not feel the same toward him, or anyone else. She made that clear an hour ago in the common house. All he could ever be is her friend, nothing more. Her closeness brought to the surface fragments of dreams he recently had about her. In one of them she ran toward him, smiling. In another, she offered him a big slab of meat on a plate. But the last one was from a dream he had repeatedly experienced—her swimming naked in a small pond. That thought unsettled him.
She snapped off the remainder of the thread. “All finished.”
Marc looked at the repair instead of her eyes. Anything but her eyes. “Perfect. Thanks, Val.”
“My pleasure.”
For a moment she stood there, obviously waiting for him to say something, but it was as if the power of speech had left him. Feeling self-conscious, he fidgeted and looked around until she broke the silence.
“What are you doing tomorrow? Looking for more birds?”
He shook his head a bit more firmly than necessary. “Uh, no. Garrett wants us to hunt with the men. They saw some deer tracks today.” With nothing more to say, he fell silent.
“A deer? Oh, I haven’t tasted venison in a long time.” Her gaze flitted several times between him and his mother. “Well, I should go. Good luck tomorrow.” He detected a subtle sadness to her voice.
“Thanks,” he said as she left. With a sigh, he slumped down on his bed, causing the straw within the hides to crunch loudly.
“Are you all right?” his mother asked, concern deepening the creases around her eyes.
He looked at her, hoping his face would not reveal his thoughts. “Yes.”
“You seem otherwise. And you were a little rude to Val.”
“I did not know what to say.” Marc chewed on his fingernail.
She smiled warmly. “You have known her all your life. If anything, you used to talk too much.” Gwen and Stella giggled mischievously. His mother cast them a cautioning glance. “Shush. Go to sleep.”
Marc remained silent, not wanting to further discuss Valeria. Kneeling by the stone ring, he stoked up the fire for the long, cold night. He watched the smoke twist and turn as it exited through the hole in the center of the roof. “The meal was good today,” he said quietly as his mother joined him.
She nodded, holding her trembling hands nearer to the flames. “When is this darkness going to end? This is the third spring that has not warmed. It is as if the sun has gone mad.”
“I think it will be warmer this year, for the snow is mostly gone in the open places. The moss on the rocks is greening up, and today Walter saw wheat shoots poking up through the ash.”
Her mouth crooked into a shallow smile. “Good. Maybe this year the grain will grow, for we need it. We have only nine or ten more months’ worth of stores remaining. When that is gone....” She released a shuddering sigh. “God help us.” After a moment, she continued. “Still, we are very fortunate to have had Oren’s help.”
“Yes, we are,” he murmured.
Marc recalled when the old wizard appeared in the village the month before, telling them to gather the ashes from their fires and spread them upon the snow that covered the grain fields. Everyone thought it an odd request but followed his advice. Oren later stood before the people, raised his staff high and made a series of incantations. Taking a handful of grain, he cast it out over the nearest field, making more incantations. After instructing everyone to keep out of the fields, he departed, telling them he would return soon to witness the change. And change it did. Everywhere they had spread the ashes, the snow quickly melted away.
“That wizard sure knows his magic,” Marc said. “Things are getting better.”
“I suppose, but it seems so.... Since your father died that first, hard winter, I have worried so. Even though times are terrible, you always try to find some good in it.” She sighed gently, her green eyes softening. “You are much like him in that way. I wish Davi could be here to see the fine man you are becoming.”
A pang of loss clenched at his insides. He, too, missed his father. While his absence affected them both, his mother shouldered the brunt of it, having changed much since the darkness came. Her once full, rosy-cheeked face was now gaunt and hollow, with dark circles under her eyes. Her pale lips and pallid skin reminded Marc of how his grandmother looked shortly before death. Still, no matter how much the hardships had ravaged her appearance, the fire in his mother’s eyes had not diminished.
“You and Donald are still not getting along,” she said, breaking the silence.
Staring deep into the coals, he hesitated to confess his thoughts. “He finds fault with everything I do, then points out how much better he is, yet I do not remember doing or saying anything to insult him.” Whatever his former friend’s reasons were for tormenting him, Marc determined not to let his own pain or anger show, or allow himself to appear weak in Donald’s eyes. Or anyone else’s. Somehow he would find his own way to be special, to be the best at something and make a difference.
“These are difficult times, Marcus, and that
can bring out the worst in people. And young men often get a bit cocky, trying to show how big and strong they are. Donald has it by the barrow full.” She patted his hand tenderly. “Patience. Someday things will be better between you. Good night.” Kissing his forehead, she retired to her bed.
Long after the others had fallen asleep, Marc lay awake, watching the patterns made by the fire on the roof and walls while many thoughts occupied his mind. Yes, life was difficult, but deep down he knew the situation would improve and his family would come through it. The certainty of that belief puzzled him. Why did he feel that way? Was it just hopeful thinking, or could there be something more to it?
As he drifted closer to sleep, he contemplated better days with his father, learning the family craft of tanning and leatherwork at his side. He remembered sitting by the fire at night, learning to read and write. Of those who lived in the surrounding villages, few could do so. In Oak Creek, his father taught all who wished to learn. A good man and father, he encouraged Marc and his sisters to learn everything they could. Pride and love for him swelled within Marc’s heart as a comforting warmth washed over him.
In his mind he heard his father’s voice telling him he would one day become someone who would help many people. Where had that memory come from? He never got an answer for he finally succumbed to the gentle bonds of slumber.
Chapter 2
Up before the rest of his family, Marc stepped outside and found the dark sky held a heavy dampness, making him wonder if it might rain soon. If so, it would be a welcome change from all the snow they had seen. Going back in, he packed his things, adding an oilskin for good measure, grabbed his staff and joined the other men at the common house.
“Good morning to you all,” Garrett said when everyone had gathered. “As we discussed last night, we know there are several deer somewhere in the valley north of Red Cliffs. Since that area is so large, we will need to spread out to find them. The men will travel alone through the thickest part of the forest, from the eastern side of the valley to the center. The boys will take the meadows on the west side, but they should go in twos, one elder with a younger, and no one is to cross the creek. If any of you boys spot a deer or fresh tracks, run back to Broken Rock and blow your whistle. That will be our meeting place. Don’t try to be a hero.” The leader’s gaze paused momentarily upon Donald. “Let the men catch the deer. Remember, if we hunt well, we eat well. Good luck.”
Haunted Tree (The Magus Family Chronicles Book 1) Page 2
