Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

Unfortunately, the group of lads had grown, and one of them spotted Jarl, nudging the others. They had no care that they’d lost their place in the queue as they tagged along, shouting abusive comments at Jarl, questioning his manhood.

  Senna cringed as their voices combined in the popular children’s rhyme:

  “Jack and Jill went up the hill,

  to fetch a pail of water,

  Jack fell down and broke his crown,

  and Jill came tumbling after.”

  Jarl, however, took no notice, ignoring their antics as though they did not exist as he concentrated on conveying both pails to her mother’s house without spilling a drop. Sometime later, she realised he had not asked for directions; he knew where she lived.

  Taysen, Senna’s father, stood outside the house with a stern face and the gang of boys disappeared. He greeted Jarl with a brief, implacable nod, and gestured for her to go inside. She had no idea what he said to Jarl, but it was several moons before she saw him again.

  When Lyran met Senna

  Lyran had heard enough about this paragon from his normally taciturn cousin to make their first meeting somewhat of an anti-climax. According to Jarl, Senna was smarter and more attractive than any of the girls in village, and he spoke of her with such fondness, Lyran was surprised to find he’d only spoken to her once. Since he and his father moved back to the village a week earlier, he’d enjoyed the attention of several young ladies. He knew it was merely the novelty of a new face causing the many welcoming smiles, but in his opinion, there were several who could rival the girls in Oxford for looks. He hadn’t conversed with any long enough to assess their character, but he kept an open mind about Jarl’s claim.

  The circumstances of their first encounter didn’t help; an unfortunate incident and a case of mistaken identity. The cousins were foraging in the woods as Jarl showed him the best locations for the plants he would need to make the healing potions his grandmother had taught him. His attention was drawn away from rich crops of sage and wild garlic by the sound of running feet and sniggering as a couple of lads dashed past.

  They ignored Jarl’s shouted, “Hie,” and his cousin darted off in the direction they’d just come from. Sensing trouble, Lyran followed and, sure enough, heard shouting a little way off. As he neared, he saw his cousin fending off blows from a young lad who swore at him with each blow.

  “Hey, lay off him.” He caught the lad’s shoulders, pulling him back, wondering why Jarl had allowed such a vicious attack without landing a few punches of his own.

  The lad stumbled on a log, falling backward into Lyran, who tightened his grip so he wouldn’t fall to the ground.

  “Let go of me, you caitiff.” Squirming out of his grip, the lad turned to confront his captor and Lyran saw with horror the mud-smeared face and leaf-covered tunic. “You’re just like all the rest, thinking it’s such fun to torment me. I thought better of you.”

  Lyran frowned until he realised the last remark was aimed at Jarl, who spread out his arms in a placatory gesture as he apologised. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea it was you.”

  “And that’s supposed to make it all right? I never took you for the kind of boy who would kick someone into the dirt and laugh about it.”

  Jarl’s eyes widened. “It wasn’t me, I swear. A couple of lads ran past and I knew they were up to mischief. I found you struggling to get out from under the branch and pulled your legs to help you.”

  “I b-banged my head.” Tears ganged up to weaken the declaration and a fierce hand wiped them away.

  “Poor thing. If I had known what they’d done I would have chased after them.” He glared through the trees, muttering, “I will find them and they will pay. We don’t hurt girls, not in this village.”

  Lyran’s brows shot to his forehead as he tried to comprehend this information. The bedraggled creature stood before him with grimy breeches and short, tousled hair was a girl? He peered closer as she pulled out a tatty square of linen and wiped her face.

  Jarl gestured to her head. “What happened to your hair?”

  She reached up to knock out the twigs and leaves tangled up in the curls. “I chopped it off.”

  “So I see. It looks …”

  “Horrible. It makes me look like a boy. But it’s better than having them pull it all the time.”

  “Aww, Senna. I wish you’d told me before taking such drastic action.”

  Wait a moment. This was Senna? Lyran found little in this sulky urchin akin to the girl his cousin had praised as smart and attractive. Everything about her tone and stance spoke of surly belligerence. The type of hostile tomboy who would pick a fight with the toughest ruffian just to prove a point. He tuned back in as Senna suggested she had no more reason to trust Jarl than any boy his age.

  His cousin’s shame-faced stance stung Lyran to defend him. “From what he tells me, Jarl helped you carry water pails, earning himself a ribbing from the same lads who tease you. Is that not adequate example he is not one of them?”

  Senna scoffed. “That means nothing. They are forever picking on each other if they can find no weaker target.” Putting her hands on her hips, she glared. “And who are you to be telling me who to trust?”

  Eschewing propriety, he thrust out his hand. “My name’s Lyran. Son of Magister Ranly.”

  She ignored his hand, her tone edging on scornful. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

  His confidence faltered as he twitched his hand toward her. “No. It’s customary in Oxford to name the father.”

  “A magister’s son from Oxford. No wonder you reek of self-importance.” With hands remaining firmly on hips, she twisted her mouth into a full-blown sneer.

  “Wait. I only meant …” His gaze swept the area, seeking some form of salvation. He spotted the basket full of greenery and took a chance, keeping his hand outstretched. “And grandson of a truly talented healer. That’s why I dragged Jarl to the woods to collect healing herbs.”

  Taking her hands off her hips, her glare lessened as she followed the direction of his glance. “Ha!” The short explosion of sound fuelled a renewed stance as she folded her arms, eyes narrowing in suspicion which matched her tone. “You are merely trying to trick me because you saw my collection. If you came to collect herbs, where are they?”

  “I meant to seek them. I should have brought a basket, but the house is still in uproar. My father needs a housekeeper because neither of us is adept in household matters. You wouldn’t happen to know someone, would you?”

  “I should know someone because I’m a girl, is that what you are saying?”

  “I hoped you might know someone because you’ve lived in the village for so long.”

  “Did you ask Jarl?”

  He glanced at his cousin, hoping for some support; this girl was exposing him as a complete dullard.

  Jarl seemed delighted by the proceedings, and he wondered if his intentions were to tease by making her out to be the opposite of noxious harpy she actually was. Well, he could play games, too. Adopting his most sincere expression, he bowed low, bending his knee almost to the ground. “Mistress Senna, can you forgive my uncouth manners and allow me to make amends in any way you see fit?”

  “Get up, you dolt.” Jarl’s hiss surprised him. “Can you not see she is teasing you?”

  Finally, he saw the twinkle in her eye, wondering how he could have missed it. The rogues were in it together.

  She bobbed a curtsey. “Only if you will forgive my tease. I rarely get the opportunity to have fun at someone else’s expense. I merely wanted to understand the attraction.”

  He shook his head in admiration at the lengths she had gone to: getting the lads to attack her and even wearing boy’s clothes. But cutting off her hair? That sounded way too extreme. And when could Jarl have spoken to her? The cousins had not been apart in the past week. He resolved to get to the bottom of this puzzle one way or another.

  “Consider yourself forgiven. You may want to wash your face properly before returning to
the village.”

  “I will pass the river on my way home.”

  Picking up her basket, he spotted a couple of plants he would not have expected. “Dandelions and Deadly Nightshade? These can be quite harmful if you eat them.”

  Walking alongside, she raised her eyes heavenward. “Every country dweller knows from an early age that Belladonna is poisonous. But Mama uses it in a beautiful purple dye. She’s a seamstress, and Papa is a tailor.”

  “How interesting. You must have many talents.” He meant no offence by it and her dark shudder surprised him.

  “Hardly. I could not sew a stitch if my life depended on it. If you are looking for a seamstress, you should meet my friend Cora. She’s better than all the others in Mama’s workroom.”

  From behind them, Jarl snorted. “But you’d have to fight your way past Alfun – he gets quite possessive where she’s concerned.”

  “I see. And who would I have to fight to walk out with you, Senna?”

  Her laughter rang out pure and clear. “Behave yourself. I never intend to marry, or even court. At least not with anyone in this place. They are all far too childish and apart from Alfun, not one of them is worthy.”

  Jarl cleared his throat. “Ahem. You cannot possibly include me in that.”

  She glanced back. “Can’t I? What makes you worthy?”

  He did not hesitate. “I’m strong, brave and can run fast.”

  “Really?” Without warning, she darted off, and it seemed her feet did not touch the ground as she flew through the perilous undergrowth, nimble and sure-footed.

  Jarl let out a snort of outrage before stomping after her, his footsteps thumping on the ground.

  Lyran had no choice but to follow more slowly, hampered by the basket. He caught up with them, still breathless and laughing at the edge of the woods.

  Jarl clapped him on the back. “Sorry, mate. Forgot you don’t know the place so well. If you hadn’t shown up in another minute, I’d have come looking for you.”

  Lyran shoved the basket at him. “Your turn to be pack-mule. Next time, I get to be the racing horse. Although you sounded more like a wild boar.”

  “And what was I?” Senna grinned.

  “Definitely a deer. Swift, sleek and graceful.” Jarl’s answer was so fast, Lyran figured he’d been working on it even before she spoke. Her half giggle and warm smile said she appreciated his gallantry. At that point, he realised he wanted her to smile at him that way.

  On the way back from the river, he spotted the big mound Jarl had called Sillybury, or something close, and he proposed they should have a race to the top to prove who was fastest.

  The following day, she bested both of them in the challenge, and so began the almost daily quest to find some manner of activity, sporting or otherwise she could not best, or at least equal them in. He could never be entirely sure his cousin wasn’t holding back in some of the challenges. Anything involving strength, Jarl would take a small handicap, but apart from that, she excelled.

  Her adventurous courage impressed him most; some of the challenges gave him pause, but she would simply watch both boys, learning from their techniques and, more often than not, find a more effective way to jump across the river, or climb the tree or rock. But her particular skill was balance, she could ride a log down the river much further than even Jarl, and she could stand on either leg seemingly forever without wavering.

  Initially, Lyran thought she favoured Jarl, they shared the same daredevil fearlessness. Despite the impression she’d tried to give when they met, she had a lot of his easy-going, fun-loving nature. However, as he got to know her better, Lyran realised she was equally driven by a fierce intelligence and a knowledge of plants which equalled his own.

  Together they experimented with various combinations of herbs and spices, producing tonics, potions and lotions which eased pain, cleared symptoms and cured various ills. They both had the patience and tenacity required to make small modifications to a recipe in order to get the most efficacious result. As their connection flourished, he sensed Jarl’s boredom with anything remotely related to healing, and the darker part of him relished this as it meant her energy and attention were not diverted to his cousin.

  At harvest tide, the three joined in, along with all the village children, and the farmers fought over who should have her, as they claimed she brought them good luck. They were highly competitive, and whichever farm she helped with always manages to get the highest yield that day.

  Several moons after their first meeting, he saw her dressed in ceremonial finery for the first time at a Harvest tide dance. Her hair had grown out and she shone with an inner glow so bright he was unaware of any other girl in the room. As he danced with her, Lyran decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life with no-one else but Senna.

  Glossary

  Alms

  Charitable donations for the poor/needy

  Altar cake

  Used to ground energies after ceremony

  Archdruid

  Chief Druid who led rituals (Archbishop)

  Battle bundle

  Herbs to heal wounds and stop pain

  Beltane

  Mayday – celebration on 1st May

  Bridemaiden

  Bridesmaid (also bridematron)

  Breeches

  Trousers (pants)

  Caul

  Close-fitting cap to cover long hair

  Chemise

  Loose cotton (under) shirt

  Clove-gifting

  Celebration giving gifts to the poor

  Dais

  Raised platform or stage

  (Crystal) Elixir

  Made by placing crystals in water

  Esbat

  Celebration of the Moon

  Ewer

  Water pitcher with a wide spout

  Feyre

  Feast day or fair.

  Handfasting

  Marriage ceremony

  Herfest

  Autumn Equinox (Harvest) – 21st Sept

  Holly King

  Reigns during Winter

  Imbolc

  Candlemas – 1st Feb

  Kirtle

  Dress

  Kyrie

  Kyrie eleison – Lord have mercy

  Liquor

  Alcohol

  Litha

  Midsummer Solstice – 21st Jun

  Lughnasadh

  Lammas – harvest festival – 1st Aug

  Magister

  An official with training in the law

  Marchpane

  Marzipan (sweet almond paste)

  Michael line

  (Mary) Ley lines running across country

  Mummer

  Travelling actor

  Narrow

  Strict, severe, prudish

  Nones

  9th hour bell – mid-afternoon (3pm)

  Oak King

  Reigns during Summer

  Oatencake

  Oatcake

  Ostara

  Spring Equinox (Easter) – 21st Mar

  Pottage

  Soup or stew, normally vegetable-based

  Prime

  1st hour bell – start of day (6am)

  Quadruped

  Four-legged animal, cow, sheep, pig etc.

  Quenching

  Rocks heated then dowsed with water

  Sabbat

  Celebration of the Sun

  Salve

  A healing/cosmetic ointment

  Samhain

  Halloween –31st October

  Settle

  A wooden seat for two/more people (sofa)

  Sext

  6th hour bell – mid-day (noon)

  Sluice pail

  For rinsing hands

  Smallbeer

  Weak ale

  Solstice

  Sun at its extreme (longest/shortest day)

  Swaddling

  Thin sheet to wrap new-born babies

  Sweetmeat

  Small, edible delicacy
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br />   Tabard

  Sleeveless jacket, worn over a tunic

  Terce

  3rd hour bell – mid-morning (9am)

  Tithe

  Donation of 10% of earnings (to church)

  Tunic

  Like a shirt or jumper

  Vespers

  12th hour bell – end of day (6pm)

  Villeins

  lowest kind of serf – used as hired thugs

  Wassailing

  Wassail (also Waes Hael) is a spiced cider

  Wheel

  Ancient word for year

  Yule

  Winter Solstice – 21st December

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to everyone who has helped me to believe in myself – without you, my stories would never have lived outside of my imagination and my computer’s hard drive.

  Special thanks to the following – you know the part you played and words cannot express my gratitude: Icy, Kate, Jean, Karen, Emily, Janice, Kim, Veronica and Alice. Even when you think it’s good, there’s always room for improvement – grateful thanks for your excellent wisdom and advice to my awesome Beta readers, Sheila, Joanne, Bernie, Corine, Rebecca, Margo and the newbies: Norma, Emma, Nadine, Peggy and Stan. And a huge thanks to the lovely World Wise Writers and 10K Angels for their constant support and encouragement.

  But the biggest thanks have to go to you, dear reader.

  Thank You

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