Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  “You are the only man in the village capable of taming me.” Her grin matched his.

  “Taming, never. But matching, maybe. If you continue to train me with the necessary skills.”

  “Of course. Now I know about it, there is no reason why I should not be more involved. I could rout out Zane, for example, and find out more about whatever he’s doing …”

  “No!” Cal’s shout startled her into silence, and once again he scanned around. “Sorry I shouted. But no matter how good you are, we cannot afford the slightest possibility of MD finding out. In fact, I will not mention it to anyone.”

  Lyrelie nodded. “That is wise. In these turbulent times, we cannot be sure who to trust. His influence reaches many people whose integrity you might think could not be breached.”

  “Good girl. I knew you would understand. For now, we should maintain the appearance of a soon-to-be estranged couple. I’m expecting the entire situation will come to head quite soon.” Scooping her in his arms, he kissed with a promise of all the good things to come once it was over.

  As they made their way to his parent’s farm, she tried to sort through all the information swirling in her head, recognising the need to talk it through with someone impartial. Cal seemed lost in his own thoughts and, true to his promise, her father stayed out of the way while Cal was near. Approaching the front door, she convinced herself to act as naturally as possible, pretending all was well with Cal and the incident with the magister had never happened.

  Two things, or rather people, prevented her from sticking to her plan. The door was opened by none other than Eanje, wearing her perpetually amused expression as she regarded the shock on both their faces.

  “Where in Heaven’s name did you two disappear to? Your parents were so concerned they were about to send out to the tithings for a search.” Her leer was nearly as outrageous as her wink and Lyrelie had no clue what would be a suitable reaction. Thankfully, the girl had her own mischief to make as she pushed them toward the dining table, continuing in a loud voice. “What a silly question to ask a courting couple. You obviously found somewhere quiet for a smutch. But wait a moment, your betrothal has not yet been announced, has it?”

  Lyrelie’s cheeks heated and she decided that was exactly the right reaction as she played a show of jealous outrage, clutching Cal’s arm. “It would have been at Imbolc if not for the fire …”

  “Are you really going to blame your indiscretions on the death of a hero? I have heard it all now.” The face belonging to the voice filled with triumph as its owner revealed himself.

  The breath caught in her throat as Lyrelie realised how easily she had fallen into the same trap she had accused Cal of. Even as a small part of her brain celebrated the fact she had achieved her objective without even trying, the rest of her was devastated by the horrified faces sitting round the table. Farmon, Chalette, Magister Osman and his wife Bernadette all wore identical expressions of horror.

  But worst was Cal – if she hadn’t known better, she would have believed he really meant the look of disgust and loathing. She did not have to act at all as words tumbled out of her mouth. “I did not mean any disrespect. I assumed people would know we were walking out after the first ploughing ritual …”

  Domenyk’s face darkened. “What’s this? Not content with flaunting yourself at any unsuspecting man in the village, you were involved in witchcraft?”

  He turned to Farmon. “I am truly sorry you had to find out like this. I have tried on several occasions to warn your son what kind of girl he was mixing with.” He pointed to her with all the drama of a world-renowned mummer. “Only last week, I had the misfortune to pass by the healer’s house while she entertained some young man. I knew Senna and Jarl were visiting the widow of poor Bryce, God rest his soul.” He paused to make the sign of the cross. “I considered it my duty to investigate, but as I approached, I heard laughter I can only describe as …” This pause went on far too long as he caught the eye of every person present. “… fiendish. Demonic, even.”

  Both women gasped, and their husbands hurried to comfort their wives.

  The man was not prepared to forsake his audience when he had them exactly where he wanted them. “That wasn’t all of it. I saw two shadows dancing and cavorting but, when she let me in, her companion was no longer there. I searched the place and found nothing. I believe he dissolved into smoke and rushed past as I went in.”

  A movement to her right caught Lyrelie’s eye and she realised Eanje had pretended to swoon. Cal wasted no time, stepping up to catch her. Even though she knew both of them were acting, it did not stop her from hurting inside. “He’s lying. There was no one in the house. My mother and Jarl searched the house …”

  “Arrgghh. Do not remind me. I still bear the bruises from where that oaf struck me. I swear he is in collusion with this witch. Poor Senna has no idea what kind of dark magic goes on in her house.”

  Lyrelie sucked in a breath, unable to comprehend the seriousness of what she had become embroiled in. Witchcraft and lewd behaviour were looked upon as grave matters for a much higher court than the local council. And he was a councillor, making these accusations in front of another councillor. She repeated her assertion that he lied, but her voice cracked. Trying to quell the hysteria which stole her speech, she again sought help.

  “Breathe. Calm yourself. Nothing can be done on the word of one man. They will not believe anything you say right now, and Farmon is thinking he will banish you from his house for scaring his wife. Apologise calmly and leave.”

  She glanced at Chalette, trying to send calming vibrations. “I – I’m sorry your lunch has been interrupted.” Meeting the gaze of first Farmon, then Osman, she poured innocence out of her eyes. “I was alone, using laughter to combat pain as my father taught me. Apologies for any distress this matter has caused.” Before Domenyk could grasp her intent, she stalked past Cal, holding her head high, hoping he would not do anything to counter the impression of wronged suitor, his best defence.

  Once outside, she flew down the path as though carried by a swift air current, only slowing to catch her breath when in sight of her house. Jarl waited at the door, hurrying to see her into the house, bolting the door.

  Her mother led her to the rocking chair, sitting with Lyrelie on her lap as they did when she was little. As the familiar sensations calmed her terror, she heard all three parents discussing her plight. Through tear-filled eyes, she saw a dull glow sitting on the opposite bench to Jarl. Straining her eyes made it even fainter but, when she focussed on a point a little to the side of it, she saw it take a beloved form. “Da?”

  The head, which had been staring at Jarl, turned, and her father’s dear face broke into a smile. “You can see me?”

  “Almost. It’s as though I can see the place you used to be. Like you got up a moment ago and left an impression of where you were.” She started to rise.

  He held up his hand. “Do not move. I will come to you.”

  In the blink of an eye he was no longer sitting at the table, but kneeling in front of her. Lyrelie felt the pressure of his hands taking hers; this close, he was even harder to see, even when she focussed away.

  “Daughter mine, you have been sorely wronged and I’m devastated that I could not have seen this coming. I’m afraid it takes a lot more time and effort to connect to people outside of my family. Even friends like Cora and Alfun are difficult.”

  “So you do not know about Eanje, then? Or Domenyk’s plot to fill the council with people who are prepared to forsake the old ways in favour of Christianity?”

  “How did you learn all this?” Jarl dragged a chair over to sit closer so they could all lower their voices.

  As she explained her theories, each person exclaimed over something she had learnt or conjectured. Lyran had not been present for all of Domenyk’s accusations.

  When Jarl heard his claims about demons and smoke, he leapt to his feet. “This is dangerous. We need to get Lyrelie out of here, now. He
could be sending a squad right now.”

  “Obviously, she can stay at my mother’s house.” Senna shrugged as she suggested an obvious solution.

  Jarl paced back and forth. “No. It is the first place they will look. Along with Alfun’s, Ranly’s and …”

  “I mean in the one in Marlborough. She has a number of rooms for her girls.”

  “That will be good for tomorrow, but we need to be clever about getting her there. Any vehicle leaving now will be searched. In the meantime she must hide somewhere they would not suspect.”

  Senna caught his arm to still his restless pacing. “I cannot think of anyone who would risk helping us, and I could not endanger my friends or neighbours. The consequences of hiding a fugitive are steep.”

  “I have the perfect place. Lyrelie, get a change of clothes and a warm cloak.”

  “Where will you go?” Jarl’s voice cracked.

  “Better that you don’t know. Tomorrow, when you have arranged a suitable transport, I’ll get her to meet you somewhere.”

  Lyrelie ran to do her father’s bidding, her head spinning. So much for all her plans with Cal – now she would be out of the way, unable to do anything until the hue and cry died down. Returning with her satchel, she added the package of food and water skin her mother offered. Jarl held out candles and a flint. They hugged her and she hurried out, following her father’s instructions.

  As she reached the small copse, he urged her inside. She crouched on the ground, trembling as a squad of militia stomped past. Thanks to Jarl’s instincts, she had not left a moment too soon.

  ~*~

  Cal could not bear it. As he watched the zealot spread vicious lies about his beautiful Lyrelie, he wanted nothing more than to box the man’s ears till he dropped. A dark, wriggling thing inside his head goaded that a real man would want much more satisfaction for such a slight. As the inner demon called for nothing less than a sword through the magister’s stinking belly, Cal swatted it away. He would never resort to that manner of violence. “Never is such a final word. You wait. There is lethal violence in you, waiting to be unleashed.”

  Before the hateful voice forced him into more action than merely clenching his fists, Eanje drew his attention back to the room, nudging his arm before swooning in such a way he had no option but to catch her. As he bent, her lips brushed his ear and she murmured, “Uncle.”

  The code word had the desired effect, bringing to mind their appointed leader, who styled himself Uncle. Although he’d only spoken to Cal three times, the dark mask proved an effective disguise for his face and voice. Cal was given scant opportunity to collect information.

  Eanje refused to be drawn, claiming she did not know either, but he figured she merely wished to protect herself. Something about her manner when she recruited him suggested the man had a hold over her.

  In an effort to detach himself from what was going on in the room, he thought back to the disturbing first meeting.

  The attack in the lane at Yule had left him wary and alert for some kind of retribution, but after a couple of weeks where nothing happened, he stopped carrying the small cudgel wherever he went.

  One of his weekly duties was to deliver parcels of ham, eggs and cheese to the alms-houses as part of his father’s tithe. He enjoyed the walk to the edge of the village, where Harvest Row sported several one-roomed cottages, built originally to house the itinerant harvest workers. Four had been acquired by the church and reassigned as alms-houses for the poor, who lived there for a nominal rent.

  Having emptied his basket, he normally returned via the woods, taking the opportunity to forage for whatever the season brought in terms of herbs, nuts, and berries. Certain funghi grew well in the dark, damp conditions, and he knew exactly where to find the best crops. He was so intent on foraging under a fallen tree, he did not notice anything amiss until he scrambled back out. The sack thrown over his head blocked out the daylight.

  A voice in his ear cautioned him to stop struggling. “Ya’re in no danger, but Uncle would speak with ya. We need yer help, but it is necessary that ya do not know where we take ya.”

  He was hauled to his feet and a voice belonging to a man of similar height to himself spoke. “If you fight, we will restrain you. If you shout, we will gag you. Better that you comply.”

  “How can I trust you mean me no harm?”

  “I give you my word.”

  “Give me your name.”

  “That I cannot, sonny. But our mission is to save Senna and her kin. Jarl would vouch for me.”

  Few names would inspire trust, but the man picked the right one. Along with the other man’s accent, it meant Cal had a reasonable idea who he was dealing with. “I submit to your terms. I will not fight or shout.”

  “No more than I would expect. Uncle chooses his people well.”

  All manner of questions filled Cal’s head, but he knew enough from his brief spell with Jarl to know these men had military training. He reached out in an attempt to sense their energy, coming back with images of wolves and bears. It was good to know his gift worked even with his sight blocked. The planning and execution of this snatch suggested an awareness of his routines which could only come from weeks of observation. Or inside information. From someone who had shown undue curiosity about every part of his life.

  Eanje.

  Despite their attempts to disorient him by making several changes of direction, Cal knew from the length of time they had walked, and the approximate distance, their final destination could only be one place – the disused cottages next to the row he had recently left. For year after year, they stood empty through the harsh winter moons, and nobody cared enough to patch the areas of daub which inevitably crumbled away. Years of neglect, and their proximity to the woods, had left most of the empty row in such a state of disrepair they were uninhabitable.

  His captors guided him over fallen timbers and piles of rotting thatch to something which echoed like a room, forcing him down on a chair. He made a move to remove the sack, but the Scot stilled his hand. “Please bear with us for a wee while, till Uncle is sure of yer loyalty. Can ya breathe, man?”

  “Barely.” The earthy stench, from the root vegetables the sack had housed, stifled. He felt some relief as they raised it a smidgeon, flapping the material to let in fresh air. Unfortunately, it afforded no new clues as they both stood behind him, outside the range of his slightly improved vision. The swish of skirts distracted, as he heard movement around the room and the scrape of chair legs on the floor. All sounds designed to disorient him.

  “We are sorry for the manner of your introduction to this band, but you are more than sufficiently intelligent to understand the need for secrecy.”

  “Hello, Eanje. I wondered when you would show up. I know these fine soldiers …”

  “Enough. We do not name names here or anywhere. It is not in your best interests to know the identity of anyone you come into contact with. We use code names. I am Angel and you shall be Lugh.”

  “I cannot think those would fool even the dullest of knaves. Yours is too close to your name, and the entire village saw me representing Lugh at the Wheel dance.”

  A low growl from whoever sat in front of him had her hastening to quell his outburst. “Code names apart, before we can trust you, we need to know how committed you are to our cause. What is your intention toward Lyrelie?”

  “None of your damned business.” He rarely swore, and the man’s grunt held pure warning.

  “Apologies for my oath.”

  Eanje’s voice softened. “It is understandable and shows your strength of feeling. Do you love her?”

  “Unreservedly.”

  “Would you die for her?”

  “Willingly.”

  “That is all we needed to know. Gentlemen.”

  This time, their stealth was such he could not be sure how many people left the room. Particularly with Eanje’s boots tapping across the floor as she lifted the sack and bent down to hug him. “Well done. You
have passed the initial test, but we need to know much more.”

  Another grunt. She stood, taking a position in front of him, propping herself against a sturdy table, behind which sat a cloaked man. The combination of her body and the table obscured most of his body, making it difficult to form an accurate picture of the man. The chair made his height difficult to determine and the cloak disguised his build.

  Eanje continued to lead the conversation. “You have been close to Jarl in the past; do you know him well?”

  “As well as any; he takes pride in remaining a mystery to most.”

  Another grunt had her changing course, asking his opinion of various other characters. He realised that the masked man in front took great pains only to give monosyllabic answers, denying him the opportunity to look for any speech patterns. Or an accent.

  “What about Lareeta? Her father has a high position in the church. Is it likely she has been sent as a spy?”

  He frowned. “Honestly, I have little to do with the woman. I know Lyrelie likes her and that is good enough for me, she has superb judgement.”

  “So, you would not think it strange that she has Taron studying to convert to Christianity? Or that she has persuaded two of her friends to attend church in Marlborough?”

  “I cannot speak for Baxter, and I barely know Cedany, but Sawyer is a good friend of my father and they are both firmly in favour of the old ways. As a farmer, you cannot ignore the seasons; it is how we live our lives.”

  “Well put. Admirable indeed.” The first utterance from the cloaked figure startled both him and Eanje, but she recovered quickly, asking more details about his father’s commitment.

  As he detailed Farmon’s active involvement in all of the Sabbat rituals, Cal sensed a change in the man and reasoned that this was the reason for Cal’s presence. Suppressing the outrage that anyone would think his father a traitor to his beliefs, he noticed that Uncle’s posture, leaning forward, had opened him up to Cal’s senses.

  It was a tough challenge to attempt a full energy reading while speaking, but he somehow managed. Both Bryce and the shorter man he determined was Dennon, a close associate of Jarl’s, had a similar energy. This man’s felt like a diluted version of bear and wolf, but Cal registered something unexpected. Very close to feline, it had a power and might he recognised as more leonine.