by Jacky Gray
“This is dreadful. As I remember, they are breaking the rules by not keeping that log.”
“Aye, but Domenyk seems to get away with flouting regulations; I’m sure he is greasing the palms of people on the council.”
“I heard the county sheriff ordered an inspection in the summer.”
Brom snorted. “Aye. The magister personally showed the official around. Somehow the quarry satisfied all the safety principles, and the man only directed his questions at the foreman and the man who replaced Tasker.”
“I take it he is not a villager.”
“Nope. Nor the new deputy. I suspect they were sent to spy on the rest of us.” His tone became even bleaker. “It seems as we have no choice to comply or risk endangering our families.”
“Have you tried …?”
“Everything we can think of. We could not approach anyone on the council because we would have no clue who supports Domenyk. And the likes of us do not mix with anyone with power enough to stop him.”
Jarl tightened his lips, regretting his decision to spend so much time away from the village while a snake like that stepped in to make his friends and neighbours suffer. He reached for the man’s arm, shocked at how thin and wasted it had become. “I’m sorry you and yours have suffered like this. Is it the same in the other guilds?”
“I have no idea. I’ve not been to the Waggoners since Samhain. There’s barely enough to put food on the table for the bairns, and not a coin left to spend on Tabern’s outrageous prices.”
“A sad state of affairs indeed. Let me investigate further. I’ll have Senna call on your wife when I have news. We can meet here, but it may take a while.”
“Thank you, Jarl. It’s good to know someone in the village will stand up to that man.”
On his way home, Jarl thought about the past few days; his confidence in his ability to glean information was severely hampered by recent events. All anyone wanted to do was catch up with his unexpected connexion. Senna’s regard in the village was such that every person he spoke to wanted to hear all about how he’d wooed and won the hand of the popular healer.
Without exception, by the time each person finished interrogating him, they promptly found something important requiring their immediate attention. If he didn’t know better, he might suspect some form of conspiracy.
After the second fruitless day, his attempts to discuss it with Senna were thwarted by Lyrelie’s presence. The very last thing he wanted was to involve his stepdaughter in case the knowledge might endanger her in some way.
Help came from an unlikely source during his first experience of Dagda’s famous Sunday lunches. Her sister, Paulina, was married to the village constable who made it perfectly clear how little time he had for the magister’s power plays and deceptions. Jarl had barely spoken to Bryce, and immediately took to the Scot’s wry humour and outspoken ways.
It was obvious the man spent most of the meal reciprocating Jarl’s wary assessment of his character and trustworthiness. Every question felt like an examination of Jarl’s integrity. Bryce had an uncanny knack of appearing to be fully engaged in a different conversation while registering everything else going on around him. Recognising the military training, Jarl quickly came to like and trust the quietly competent man, a perfect foil for Paulina’s garrulous, erratic behaviour.
Barely two days later, Jarl returned from his hunt to find the constable examining the damage to Senna’s front door. Quickly surmising the work of a thief, Jarl’s first concern was for his wife as he dashed inside to check on her.
He’d never seen her anything less than calm and matter-of-fact about any situation, but the wanton damage and destruction of her home reduced her to tears. Or so it appeared as she rushed into his arms, clinging on tightly.
“My poor love. Are you hurt? What happened?” He caught Bryce’s eye, seeking explanation.
“From the little I can make out, the house was empty, so no one was hurt. One of yer neighbours spotted the open door and sent his lad for me. When Senna arrived, he detained her until I got here, and accompanied me inside. Whoever did it was long gone.”
“Where’s Lyrelie?”
“With Freya. I’m only glad she’d planned to spend the night there, the sight of this would frighten her.” Senna gestured at the mess. “We can have it all cleared by the time she gets home.”
“A wise move. There’s no point in alarming her with details.” The constable’s gaze swept the room. “While ya’re straightening it, try to determine exactly what they’ve taken, it may give us a clue to the identity.”
“Of course. Although I cannot think of anything of value someone might want.”
“More to the point, I cannae think of anyone in the village who would do this. It was clear at Yule that ya both have the support of the people. I would venture to suggest it must be the work of an outsider. Unless either of ya can think of anyone with a grudge?”
At Senna’s darting glance in his direction, Jarl picked up on her uncertainty. No matter how good a friend Paulina was, her husband effectively worked for Domenyk. It would not be sensible to put him in a position where he had to cross the vindictive magister. Jarl led her to a chair, adopting a formal tone. “I’m sorry, Constable. My wife has had a serious shock; she needs some time to recover. I assure you we shall contact you soon with any further details after we’ve cleared up.”
“I understand. I shall continue my investigation with yer neighbours, and initiate a request for information from the tithing chiefs. We’ll soon determine the whereabouts of every man in the village, and the presence of any strangers.”
At the door, Bryce lowered his voice. “Ya need to be very careful who you talk to. I understand ya’ve been asking questions around the village. I suspect this attack on yer house may be some kind of warning.”
“You think so?” Jarl could not imagine anyone he’d spoken to capable of such an act. “But I barely asked anything, everyone became tight-lipped before I could.”
“The mere fact of ya talking to folk would raise suspicion – ya’re well known as a man of few words.”
“Only one person is responsible for this.” Discretion stopped him using the name.
Bryce caught the meaning. “I understand yer reticence, but I’m fully aware of a certain magister’s attempts to undermine yer standing after his pursuit of Senna ended so badly.” His pointed glare intentionally raised suspicions.
Jarl lowered his voice. “Are you suggesting the snake chased after Senna even when Lyran was alive?”
“I had my suspicions, but afore I could voice them, it was too late. And much as I wanted to get involved at the quarry, the sheriff insisted on using his own investigators to ensure impartiality.”
Alarm widened Jarl’s eyes. “Are you saying the county sheriff was bribed?” Not the first time he’d heard it.
After a long, hard stare, Bryce shook his head. “I have no evidence, merely an unsettled feeling. For some reason, I cannot stop thinking about what happened. Sometimes, I feel as though Lyran is in my head, urging me to re-examine the evidence.”
Jarl fought to control his reaction, but before he could speak, the man forged on.
“I’m convinced the magister is involved with people who wield more than just local influence. Everyone in his direct employ is too afraid to speak out. I believe he has many informants.”
“For goodness’ sake, man.” Jarl caught his arm. “You need to watch yourself, too. He is prepared to go to any length to achieve his ends. You saw how he manipulated the crowd at the feast of fools. Never underestimate him.”
“Thankfully, there are still sufficient men of honour on the council to hold his ambitions at bay. But I sense his willingness to use outside agencies to discredit anyone who stands in his way.”
Jarl nodded, opening the door. Walking down the path, Bryce raised his voice. “I strongly recommend ya alert the local tithing to keep watch. If yer wife or daughter had interrupted the burglar, they may have co
me to harm.”
“Certainly, Constable. I think it wise to alert all the women not to go anywhere alone until those responsible are caught.”
~*~
Lyrelie had no idea of quite how much anxiety the up-and-coming role was causing until she caught herself sighing. Pushing it away, she searched for her warmest clothes, adding a pair of thick woollen hose under her skirts to keep her legs warm on the chilly day.
The mixed feelings continued: excitement and exhilaration were overridden by equal parts of anxiety and dread. It was such a responsibility; what would happen if something went wrong?
The ceremony for first ploughing, normally held on Imbolc, was to be done two days early due to several premonitions of heavy rain on the day itself. Many of the villagers remembered back five years when the portents had been ignored and over half of the resulting crops had been blighted. Cal had been present at the meeting and he said the mood had been very dark.
Twelve of the farmers wanted help with the blessing, so the Archdruid had enlisted help from Senna and Marena, whose burgeoning healing talents had been put on hold when her third child demanded every minute of her free time. Alfun offered to lead ceremonies for a couple of others in addition to his own, but it still left them one short.
Lyrelie had heard her mother and Jarl discussing it with the Archdruid; the short days made it impossible to do more than three in daylight.
“I suppose if I started at dawn and cut each one short, I could manage to do four, but it would not be fair on them and I would feel responsible if their crops failed.”
“Is there no one from the surrounding area? I do not remember helping last year.”
“We were lucky. The weather was so clement we did it over two days so your help was not required. ’Twould not have been possible for you to do it without Lyran.”
“Of course. You need the balance of male and female energy. I suppose you could leave one until Imbolc eve; there might be a break in the rain.”
“It’s possible, I suppose, but which farmer would want to take the risk?”
“Mama. It’s obvious. I can do it. I have watched you many times and I am more than able to call the corners …”
Even as her mother’s face screwed up with her many objections, Jarl and the Archdruid exchanged glances which suggested they considered the idea.
“You do seem a little young; however, I am aware of your abilities. Who would partner you?”
“Why Cal, of course. We could do his father’s fields because he has such a connection there and …”
“That sounds perfect. Thank you my dear. Your help is most welcome and gratefully received.” The Archdruid stood, placing his hands on her shoulders as he kissed the top of her head. “I have every faith that your ceremony will be such that the man will have an even better crop than normal.” He pretended to shudder. “He will become insufferable. And we shall be to blame.”
Lyrelie shook herself back to the present, completing her outfit with a warm shawl as her mother shouted up that Cal had arrived.
If anything, he seemed even more nervous, and the cause of his initial reluctance finally became clear. He would have the added pressure of performing the ceremony under the watchful eye of his parents. She had not taken that into consideration when she’d told him of the scheme.
The complete silence as he accompanied her down the lane hinted at his displeasure; normally he’d be curious about her day or regaling her with tales about the muck-spreading, fence-mending or any of a dozen winter tasks. Several doubts vied for her attention. Although it was not done for the two of them to be walking together without a chaperone, when news got out that they had paired for the blessing, it would be as good as a betrothal in many people’s minds.
If the truth be told, this was her most compelling reason for suggesting it. In her mind, Eanje crossed his path far too much, whether deliberate or otherwise. And he felt compelled to detail each meeting as though driven by some manner of guilt. The woman occupied his thoughts far too often for her liking. After Freya’s revelation about Verat, Lyrelie was even less sure where Cal’s feelings lay.
She hoped the excitement of performing the ceremony together would deepen the bond between them such that he would forget the lure of the beautiful older woman. But right now, she sensed a darkness about him which did not bode well for their task. “Is something wrong, Cal?”
He glared at her. “Why did you not tell me about the burglary? I felt such a dullard, hearing about it from Ea – someone else. I thought I was supposed to …”
“Eanje told you? When did you see her?”
“Yesterday. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Because there was nothing to tell. Someone broke the door but they must have been scared away because they didn’t take anything. Mother said they made a bit of a mess; they were probably in a hurry, looking for valuables.”
He frowned. “Are you sure? That’s not what I heard.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Lyrelie sucked in a breath, trying to dampen the surge of anger.
“No. But it’s possible Senna might not have told you the full extent of the damage.”
“Now you’re calling my mother a liar.” She stopped dead, all notion of remaining calm forgotten.
He stopped, taking her in his arms as he tried to atone. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to vex you. I was worried about the idea of you being all alone and attacked by a tall, dark stranger.”
She stiffened, assaulted by the memory of the wraith she’d decided was no more than an illusion of her overactive imagination. “What makes you say he was tall and dark?”
He glanced away with a shrug. “Nothing. Was he?”
“Tall, yes. But as for dark …” She gulped. “How? I mean, what makes you think I was attacked?”
“I knew it! What else aren’t you telling me?” Anger turned his voice icy as he released his hold.
“Nothing.” She reeled backward. “There was nothing to tell. Look, if you do not calm down, you will blight the ceremony and all your father’s crops will fail.”
“Tell me, Lyrelie.” The harsh severity did not sound like her Cal. “I’ve been dreaming about you being attacked for the past three nights.”
“So why did you not tell me about your dreams?” She already knew the answer. Someone had been dripping venom, and she knew exactly who. As she glared, his anger dissolved into remorse and his tone softened to normal.
“I – I’m sorry. I see now what has happened. It is all part of the general unrest spreading through the village. Tell me what happened.”
Struggling to find the correct words to lessen the terror of her experience, she stumbled through the account, ending with, “I could not be sure whether I’d imagined it or not. I know Mama and Jarl have spoken of feeling Da’s spirit and wondered if it could be that.”
“I see. It is clear why you would not mention it. Will you forgive me for doubting you?” His hand beseeched.
She clasped it. “If you will forgive me for doubting you.”
His answer was to draw her near with a kiss and she responded tenderly, feeling the strength of the connexion between them. A bond which gave them both the necessary courage and ability to perform the ceremony as though they’d been doing it their entire lives.
Farmon requested support from all the families in his tithing, and they turned out in force, adding their energy as they circled the ring of balefires, one for each field. Cal led the line of men sunwise around the ring, weaving in and out of the fires. Lyrelie led the line of women in the opposing path, all singing the blessing song.
They started slowly, wary of bumping into each other or stumbling into the burning branches which smoked from the oil-soaked faggots Cal and Lyrelie had added at the end of the ritual. The heady mix of vapours from the herbs and spices worked their magic and, by the third time around, people were having to run to catch up with those in front.
They led both lines back outside the
ring where they joined together, alternating between male and female. Each person gave thanks to Mother Earth and Father Sky for everything they would provide to nourish the crops in the coming year.
By the time they had closed all the corners and ended the ceremony, Lyrelie’s legs wobbled. The intensity of shouldering so much responsibility took its toll, and she pitched forward. Farmon reached her before Cal, swinging her up in his arms and carrying her to the farmhouse despite her protests.
“Whisht, will you, my dear girl. I have never felt such power in the ceremony, even when the Archdruid himself did it. You have a rare gift there.” He laid her gently in the rocking chair by the fire. “Chalette will be happy for you to rest here awhile. You must stay for supper, then Cal can drive you home.”
Farmon winked as Cal hurried across the room. “He’s keen to show off his new trap, it’s his pride and joy.”
Lyrelie smiled as Cal protested at his father’s tease, grateful for the chance to rest and delighted by the tasty supper Chalette provided.
On the following day; the rain held off in the morning, and Lyrelie watched the door. “Cal has had plenty of time to collect the ashes from each balefire. Does he not care enough to ask how I am?”
“You are not being fair. After all that effort to charge them with magic, it would be daft not to gain the most benefit. He will be up to his eyes in animal dung, mixing in the precious mix to make the potent fertiliser.”
Lyrelie could not help her childish resentment. “And then he’ll be too busy spreading it on the ploughed fields.”
Senna grinned. “You could always offer to help.”
The following eve, Freya seemed in much better spirits as their friend, Willow, joined them to supervise the younger girls in the meeting room. The breathless excitement caused by running through the rain took a while to subside, so Lyrelie led a calming meditation. The older girls had everything under control as they created the altar, known as the Brideog bed, and prepared for the following day’s procession. They told the tales of Brighid, while the younger girls tore up old clothes to make bandages which were left out for the saint to bless.
