by Jacky Gray
When he’d met her, several years earlier, she’d been a half-starved waif with legs no bigger than a sparrow’s and an untidy mop of short, dark hair. Her fearless courage, and ability to match any of the lads in any sporting achievement, lasted well into the age when most girls had seen off long lists of suitors. And so she escaped the interest of lads who did not recognise her as a potential mate, but may have toyed with her affections. Which meant he had no competition for those affections – unless you counted Jarl.
Thankfully, his cousin showed little interest, and his military career took him elsewhere. Just as well, really. There were times Lyran had caught the two of them sharing a look or a jest and worried about the handsome couple they made with her dark fragility complimenting his cousin’s powerful Viking build. But Jarl had far too much loyalty and respect to encroach on another man’s beloved.
He glanced at his cousin, scrubbed and dressed up for the occasion – truly a fine figure of a man. And the only one Lyran could trust if … no! This was not the right time to be considering such drastic action. The macabre dreams had ramped up in frequency and horror just lately, but he wasn’t sure whether he should just ignore them and take his chances. He shook off the dark thought as his best friend clapped him on the back.
“Your last walk as a bachelor.”
“Aye. And long overdue. But we both agreed, the needs of the family come first, and she’s happy to have learnt so much from tending to her mother.”
Jarl’s non-committal grunt suggested he held his tongue rather than vent his true feelings about the situation. “Come then, or she’ll be here before us.”
Lyran grinned. “I can’t think of too many women who could birth a babe less than an hour before wedding her man, and still turn up on time looking radiant.”
This time, his cousin did not hide his frown. “Aye, man. I hope you appreciate how special she is and how lucky you are to have caught her.”
“Rest assured, I will be giving thanks for the rest of my life for that. Now, you need to walk on the left so I get the full benefit of the Michael energy for tonight.” He didn’t add that Jarl would benefit from the softening of the Mary energy, but saw from his face that the idea rankled.
The foolish notion that they should link hands as they walked to improve the connection slipped past his brain; not something which would gain approval from anyone in the village, so he declined to voice the thought. Nevertheless, as they walked, he felt a subtle link between them, as though mother earth herself wanted to bind their energies together.
He thought no more of it until he turned to watch Senna process toward the solar-stone. As she reached a distance he reasoned was the same as the height of the tall stone, she paused. No, that was wrong, the rest of the world paused and she continued to move toward him as though floating atop the grass like a spirit. A strange energy flowed between them and she seemed to glow even more than normal. The energy then flowed from him to Jarl before returning to her. As she got nearer, the strange, uneven triangle it made became more and more regular until all three were bound by an equal force.
Before he could gather enough wits to attempt an explanation of the strange phenomenon, whatever enchantment held him in its thrall released him. He blinked and she was once more clutching her father’s arm, moving normally toward him, her steps dainty and distinct.
Beside him, Jarl’s muttered oath suggested he, too, had been affected by some powerful magic.
Lyran whispered; his demeanour bland. “Did you see something uncanny?”
His cousin mimicked the insouciance as his eyebrow lifted a tiny distance. “I didn’t see exactly, but my senses picked up a massive surge of energy betwixt you, Senna and I, drawing us together in some manner of bond.”
Lyran barely suppressed his excitement. This reflected his intention so closely, he believed Gaia herself seemed intent on endorsing his pact. Taking it as a sign, he resolved that he would approach his cousin with his morbid proposal, but he would have to find the right moment. Which most definitely wasn’t now with his beloved Senna and her frowning father mere steps away.
~*~
Senna felt her father stiffen, bringing her back to the present. She continued her slow procession to the solar-stone, wondering how long she’d paused for and whether anyone had noticed. All around her the smiling faces of people she knew, and many more she didn’t, convinced her they’d noticed nothing amiss. Everyone beamed expressions of warm encouragement which seemed to have one purpose: to share the beauty and joy of this momentous occasion.
She heard Lyran’s voice in her head, explaining the solstice was a time when the sun stood still; he had such a head for knowing, that one. He’d spent many moons at a nearby town apprenticed to a family friend who was a physician, and had even studied at an Oxford colllege. The idea of the sun standing still would help to understand the peculiar sensation which had overwhelmed her.
Then she had no more time for pondering as she reached the man himself. With a shy glance at her father, Lyran lifted the veil over her head to settle around her shoulders. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips as he smiled his secret smile. The one which always weakened her legs, but never so much as today, when his very touch caused a melting inside her which had nothing to do with the midsummer heat.
The Archdruid cleared his throat and raised his hand to the sun. “Solstice sun, hail and welcome.”
The congregation repeated his words, as they did after each one of his entreaties to welcome the four elements, deities and spirits to the celebration. Finally, his focus turned closer to home as he welcomed the couple, their supporters and all their guests to the special occasion.
To begin with, he asked every person present to reflect for a moment on the nature of the union between a man and a woman. After a brief pause, he bade them think of ways they could ensure their own relationship with every member of their family could be strengthened and renewed by the energy of the solstice sun.
“A few moments ago, the sun stood still at the peak of its travel and, from now on, every day is taking us closer to the dark of winter. I want each and every one of you to determine how you can bring sunlight and joy into the lives of every person you meet today.”
While those gathered hugged or shook hands with the people around them, he turned to the altar, muttering incantations as he blessed the various items on it. Raising two goblets to the sun, the Archdruid brought them down slowly as he addressed his charges. “Lyran and Senna, until now you have lived as unique individuals with your separate talents and personalities. Today you will bond as one and build a future together, just as the two wines will mingle to become a harmonious new flavour.”
Senna had only seen the ceremonial blending once before and prayed she would not falter in her part by not saying the words properly or even dropping the precious liquid.
Lyran seemed to sense her anxiety as he squeezed her hand with a whispered reassurance. It helped that he went first, following the priest’s instructions as he poured red wine into a goblet and added a pinch of the herb and spice mix. He gazed into her eyes, reciting the words while pouring the wine into the blending chalice.
When it came to her turn, Senna poured white wine into the other goblet, sniffing the mix before adding her pinch. She recognised the heady aromas of sage for wisdom, along with lavender for serenity, and ginger adding passion.
Connecting with Lyran’s tender gaze, she poured the wine into the chalice, saying the script. “This wine represents my spirit, which will blend with yours to become a united and inseparable partnership.”
The Archdruid raised up the chalice to the sun, then swirled it three times before offering it to Lyran.
He bowed low, and then took the chalice, raising it in a toast. “For the girl you were, the woman you are, and the wife you shall be, Senna, my love, I drink to thee.” He drank deeply, and then offered it to her.
Starting with a curtsey, she repeated his actions and modified words before drinki
ng the remaining wine, savouring the enhanced flavour.
Everyone clapped as she placed the chalice back on the altar and the Archdruid invited those who had elected to speak to approach the altar.
Lyran’s father, Magister Ranly, was first, his voice loud and clear as he thanked everyone for attending. He made no secret of the fact he’d paid for the sumptuous, nine-course banquet that awaited all of them at the village hall once the ceremony ended. His curt bow acknowledged the spontaneous applause greeting this announcement, and he seemed set to leave when a discreet cough from Councillor Osman reminded him of the purpose of his speech.
“Oh, yes. And my sincere congratulations to Senna for winning the hand of the most eligible bachelor in the village, my son, Lyran. As many of you will be aware, he gave up a promising career as esteemed physician to nobility to take on the mantle of village healer.”
The enthusiastic clapping and whistling forced him to pause as people showed their appreciation. He seemed incredulous at the outpouring of love for his son, but his dour nature meant he did not allow it to linger. “Thank you. It appears from your reaction he’s making a tolerable job of the endeavour. I trust he will continue to provide the same service after his wedding.”
Senna reeled at the implied criticism, steeling herself against any outward reaction as she forced the semblance of a smile.
Lyran wrapped his arms around her as he murmured into her hair. “Take no notice of the words of a bitter old man. He means no offence to you directly.”
Osman replaced Ranly, standing next to the Archdruid, his face equally stern. “From what I’ve seen today, there is no possibility of this village’s healing status remaining the same.”
A shocked gasp rippled through the crowd as Ranly beamed his approval. Senna could not believe her ears and Lyran stiffened.
Osman held up his hands. “What I mean to say is that I can only imagine it will improve one hundred-fold. Very few people here will know that this morning, instead of indulging in leisure and pleasure as befits a bride, Senna rushed to my house and birthed our third babe.”
He paused to allow a brief reaction before continuing. “So with great apologies, I must return to Bernadine and her beautiful new daughter. She insisted I come along to pay my tribute to this gentle couple who never fail to improve the lot of everyone they meet.” He turned to face them and hugged Senna, ending with a kiss from Bernadine. “Thank you so much. If ever you need anything, just say the word.” He shook Lyran’s hand, leaning in close. “We’d appreciate if you could save us a morsel of cake.”
Several pillars of the community followed, ostensibly congratulating the couple. For the most part, however, Ranly’s guests spoke of their own importance and achievements, using the occasion as an excuse to promote their interests ahead of the up-and-coming elections to vote for a new council member. Senna barely knew any of them and wished the entire process would stop.
Finally, Alfun, who was walking out with her best friend, Cora, stood forward. As Jarl’s deputy, it was his responsibility to ensure the proceedings remained light and joyful. With a cheeky bow, he suggested that maybe the distinguished guests had forgotten the day’s purpose. “We are here to celebrate the union of two very good friends. I’m sure many here will have benefitted from their unending generosity. Will you join me in letting them know how lucky the village is to have them?”
As the thunderous applause rang out, he returned to Cora’s side, and the Archdruid let it go on for a moment before calling for order. “Will the cord bearers please get ready for the cording?” As they assembled, he positioned the couple so Lyran’s right hand gripped Senna’s left one.
Senna’s mother presented a yellow cord representing air. As the Archdruid knotted the cord around their hand, he told how the element of air brought the communication, enthusiasm and spontaneity they would need to strengthen their union. They both agreed to speak with kindness and good humour, and to treat each other as equals.
Other friends and family offered a red cord for fire and passion, a green cord to nurture the tender sapling of their wedding and a purple cord, for wisdom, peace and harmony. The Archdruid gave them a task for each one, ending with listening without judging and forgiving easily.
Presenting a pink cord for unconditional love, Cora stammered, seeking affirmation from the celebrant.
He patted her arm with a smile. “This is the final, and possibly the most important binding, as it represents three things every person would require, in or out of wedlock. They are health, wealth & happiness.”
He draped the cord over all the others. “Lyran and Senna, will you promise to love without boundaries and share each other’s pain and burdens for the rest of your lives?”
“We will.” As they answered, he tied the final knot.
“May these hands be blessed this day, and may they build a relationship founded in love, and rich in caring. Neither these cords, nor their knots form the bond of marriage; this is created by the vows you exchange.” He nodded at Lyran.
Senna listened as her soon-to-be-husband promised to be generous with his time, affection and understanding, and slow to find fault. She replied with her vow to be sparing in criticism, and generous in praise for things well done.
As he began the second vow, talking about regarding her with the deepest respect and using the heat of anger to temper the strength of the union, she narrowed her eyes. These were not the simple words he’d used during the rehearsal. She recognised the wording from a book in his father’s library. Reading the complex words, Lyran had shuddered, confessing an abhorrence of speaking in public. He agreed to keep it short and simple because the ceremony was already so long.
Suppressing a frown, she wondered how his father had persuaded him to change his mind. The man had done everything he could to interfere, insisting on an elaborate banquet, inviting all his self-important friends, and now altering the vows.
She could not decide whether to be angry or insulted by Lyran’s inability to stand up to his father. Was this to be the way of their marriage? With the magister decreeing where they should live, eat and dress in order to impress his distinguished friends.
As unnatural anger heated her blood, she caught sight of Ranly’s expression: self-satisfied triumph. He wished to provoke a show of anger, demonstrating her unworthiness to marry his son. She strove for composure, aided by a burst of positive energy from Cora. This gave sufficient clarity of mind for her to reply with a brief avowal of her willingness to accept all weaknesses and frailties with understanding and consideration.
Lyran smiled at her. “Senna. I vow always to share in your laughter and bring out the very best in you.”
She could not help but smile back as she added extra energy into her extremely apt vow. “Lyran. I promise to look for the brightness and positive in every situation and always to inspire and encourage you.”
“And I you.” His whispered agreement and the brevity of his third vow persuaded her to believe she’d over-reacted. After all, if she took her suspicion of Ranly’s meddling to the logical conclusion, she would have to believe the man had somehow contrived to bring Osman’s daughter into the world two weeks early. His wealth and influence might achieve many things, but not that.
Even as she suppressed a smile at her ridiculous thoughts, it happened again. As before, Lyran expanded the simple vow about sharing dreams and appreciating talents into a lumbering anecdote, full of poetic, virtuous language, and almost the length of a strolling bard’s tale.
This time, she recalled the wise words of the ceremony about not judging and forgiving. She would not allow herself to be manipulated by a pompous, bitter old man. The brevity of her response might have stood out if their fifth vows hadn’t been equally brief.
“I promise to take care of you and alleviate any ills.”
“I vow to face all uncertainties by your side and support you through any bad times.”
If he was aware of any alterations, or subsequent tensions,
the Archdruid did not let on as he surrounded their hands with his. “May these hands be healer, protector, shelter, and guide for each other. May the pure, simple love with which you join hearts and hands today never fail but grow deeper and surer with every year you spend together. You will now seal the vows you’ve shared by the giving and receiving of rings.”
Jarl stepped forward with a golden cushion bearing the two bands of gold.
The Archdruid blessed them, drawing several runes just above them as he intoned, “The perfect circle of the ring symbolizes the eternity of your love.”
He guided them through the exchange of rings, then surrounded their hands with his own. “On behalf of all those present, and by the strength of your love, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may celebrate with a kiss.”
All doubts and disarray disappeared as Lyran pulled her toward him and bent to kiss her.
3 – Right Royal Feast
As he leaned in to kiss his bride, Lyran faltered about “the eternity of their love.” At some point, he would have to share his secret with Senna. For now, he thanked the Goddess for allowing him to get through the traumatic vow-making without upset.
Never one to make a fuss in public, he’d been pleased when Senna agreed they should be kept short and meaningful. He had a real aversion to crowds, doubtless because of spending so many occasions in the company of adults in his youth.
The idea of standing up in front of his friends and family to recite the responses had filled Lyran with dread. The brief vows Senna had helped him to write with her impressive word skills were at the limit of what he could memorise, let alone deliver with any assurance.
Mere weeks ago, his father increased the pressure ten-fold. “So you are actually wedding this milliner’s daughter, then?”
Lyran clamped his mouth shut, determined not to rise to the bait. It had become a point of contention that every time Ranly mentioned Senna’s parents, he poured scorn on their successful business.
