Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  Not only was she surrounded by good friends, but the impossible had happened. The dreadful troubles, which had turned her father into a cold, hateful monster and her mother into a brow-beaten wreck, were now all behind them. They had both changed enormously and the two couples met every other week, attending church and sharing Sunday lunch, usually in Marlborough, but occasionally at her own house.

  A shadow clouded her expression at the thought of the illness which had prevented Garvenal from having visitors or making journeys for almost two moons. But Lyrelie’s letter confirmed her father was well enough to receive visitors, so they would join together on Sunday. She thought her mother, Dimia, had been overcautious in not answering her letters in case the very parchment might carry a trace of the disease which had struck him down.

  However, there were reports from all over the country of an infection which had wiped out hundreds of people on the continent. With Dimia’s history of losing babies, her caution was evidently because Lareeta was pregnant.

  According to Lyrelie’s letter, Dimia had insisted on meeting in town as she was having the house fumigated for a third and final time. She insisted on sitting far away and repeatedly asked Lyrelie to wash her hands and change her clothes before writing to Lareeta.

  With a smile, Lareeta read Lyrelie’s final paragraph, saying how she was quite used to this level of precaution, but there was no need to do as Dimia suggested and burn the letter.

  As the days hastened toward midsummer, she could no longer rely on the darkening sky to give a warning when Taron would finish work – it stayed light until long after Vespers. Even as she had the thought, the bell rang, announcing six of the clock. It would not be long before her husband arrived. Tonight, Cedany and Baxter were to join them for supper. Everything was ready; she merely had to slice the bread, but not until they were ready to eat. The ham needed carving, although Taron always said that was the man’s job.

  Right on cue, Christian gurgled – he always seemed to know when his father was about to enter the house – and she scooped him up for their customary welcome-home hug. Sawyer must have closed up a little early tonight.

  As she opened the door, it was not her husband, but Magister Domenyk, raising his cane to knock the door.

  “Good eve, Lareeta, is your husband home?”

  “I thought you were him.”

  He frowned. “I had not even knocked the door.”

  “Christian has better hearing than I. He always knows when someone is about to knock.”

  “I see.” He peered at the babe in her arms and she instinctively wanted to snatch him away to protect him from whatever the man might find at fault. “A sturdy chap. Good name.”

  “He was born on Christmas day.”

  “Of course. His grandfather must be very proud of him. Is he well? I heard he was taken ill at Easter when Taron converted.”

  “Yes. I just got word today and we are to visit him on Sunday.”

  “I see.” His glance strayed to the table. “Well, I won’t keep you. I can see you are expecting guests.”

  “Cedany and Baxter. But I thought …”

  “Baxter, eh? Excellent. I hope you have a fine meal.” He doffed his hat and left, apparently in good spirits even though he had not achieved the purpose of his visit.

  She tried to recall the conversation to see what had made him so happy.

  “Where’s my favourite wife and son? Not waiting by the door? Has he finally lost his skill?”

  “Good eve, Taron. We just had the strangest visit.”

  “I saw the magister. He seemed inordinately happy. I didn’t realise he’d been here. What did he want?”

  “I cannot tell.”

  “Why not? You spoke to him, did you not?”

  “I did.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “What did he say?”

  She chuckled at the oft-repeated repartee, a symbol of their mutual fondness. “Nothing of note. He asked where you were and who was coming for supper and seemed pleased about Baxter – oh.”

  “What?”

  “He asked whether Papa was well, and when I said yes, he glanced around the room as though looking for a reason to leave. I believe that was his purpose, but what could he want with Garvenal?”

  “Who knows with that madman? But more importantly, they’ll be here soon and I see you’ve left me the ham to carve. And me out working all day. How sorely you treat me.” Smothering his smile with a pretend grumble, he washed his hands in the sluice pail and did his duty as she swung Christian onto her hip and bent down to retrieve the cheese from the thrawl stone, unwrapping it from the linen just as Cedany poked her head around the open door.

  “Coo-ee!” Where’s my favourite boy?” Scurrying in, she held out her arms for the babe, who giggled, turning his head away to hide in his mother’s shoulder until Cedany tickled his back.

  Lareeta delighted at the charade as she gave up her son to his would-be aunt and concentrated on serving the meal. Cedany handled the babe like an expert, and Lareeta wondered whether this would be the moon she finally caught after a year of trying. Something of her friend’s giddiness said an announcement may be in the offing.

  When Baxter stood, raising a glass, she smiled a secret smile, glancing at Cedany, who pretended total absorption in the little one.

  “I would like you to raise your goblets and drink a toast … to my father, Baker.”

  “To Baker.” As she echoed the words, Lareeta frowned, wondering if this were some intricate ruse.

  “Why are we toasting your father? Has he found a new recipe for bread?” Taron laughed at his own jest.

  “You will never guess.” But he was obviously too excited to allow them the opportunity to do so. “He’s been accepted onto the council.”

  “He has?” Taron’s expression displayed the same shock she felt. Although Baker was well thought of in the community, he was not formally educated like the magisters.

  “Yes.” Baxter’s pride in his father’s achievement did not allow him to take offence at their lukewarm reaction. “Apparently there have been moves to make the council more representative of the village so they have created two new posts. Farmon has been taken on to give the voice of the farmers, and my father for the artisans and craftsmen.”

  “What a good idea, you must be so proud.” Even as she spoke, Lareeta’s spine tingled with unease.

  “You have no notion.” Cedany’s muttered response became lost as Taron clapped his friend on the back.

  “That is marvellous news, and not before time. We are pleased for you, mate.”

  Baxter could not hold in the excitement any longer, looking as though he might burst. “And because he’s going to be a grandfather.”

  “What? I knew it.” Lareeta leapt out of her chair. “You wretches.” Her screech woke Christian, who’d been happily dozing in Cedany’s arms, and his initial whimper turned into a full-blown bellow. She did not care, hugging her friend and her son together in her excitement.

  Baxter frowned. “That’s a mighty pair of lungs. Do they all do that?”

  Taron grinned as he echoed Cedany’s earlier aside. “You have no notion.”

  ~*~

  Lyrelie hugged Lareeta like a long-lost friend, tears brimming as they stepped out of the cool church into the bright sunshine. Although her grandmother’s house was close, she had arrived late for the mass and crept into a pew at the back of the packed church, eliciting several frowns as she squeezed past people to reach the empty seat. It set the tone for her entire experience as she still managed to get things wrong despite trying to copy those around her.

  But all that was forgotten as she shared hugs with Cedany and Dimia, then the men, feeling grateful for the way they’d welcomed her into their group, inviting her to lunch. Not that she was ungrateful to her grandmother for her hospitality, but she thirsted for news of home, and one person in particular.

  She listened with mixed feelings as Cedan
y and Baxter shared their good news about the babe, trying to enthuse despite the questions desperate to burst forth. As Lareeta and her mother passed on tips about how to cope with the dreadful fatigue and nausea in the first few moons, her insides churned and she tried hard not to feel unfairly deprived of the life she had planned with Cal.

  At the other end of the table, Baxter’s announcement of his father’s appointment caused a stir as Garvenal stood and shook hands with him.

  “That is wonderful news. You must both be very happy.”

  “Ask about Domenyk.” Her father’s voice in her head startled Lyrelie, and she reached for her goblet to cover her confusion. What on earth could she say?

  “Bide awhile. I will direct you.”

  As Baxter chattered excitedly about the new initiative, she had an opportunity.

  “Did I hear that right? Farmon has been offered a post, too? Cal mentioned a committee enquiring into the two religions.”

  “That’s right.” Garvenal’s eyes narrowed as he regarded her. “I was in charge of that until I became ill.”

  “Working for Domenyk?”

  He paused. “The magister and I have worked on a number of such committees.”

  “That would explain why he came to the house last week, asking after you.” Lareeta piped up from the other end of the table.

  “Magister Domenyk? What a coincidence, he was here on Friday.” Dimia helped herself to more forcemeat and mashed swede. “What a charming man, always so courteous.”

  “Say something about how good these changes will be for the village.”

  As she did her father’s bidding, Lyrelie took in the reactions from the people round the table. Most showed approval, although Garvenal eyes widened. She reasoned his shock was because he had heard about Domenyk’s attempt to discredit her. It made sense if the man was a close associate, and she wondered if she should press about the other committees he had mentioned.

  “Do not say a word. Garvenal already has suspicions about you. In fact, I’m surprised he agreed to your presence in his house.”

  She sipped her wine, to disguise her thoughts that he had probably been tasked to find out more about her. She remembered Senna saying he had the gift of second sight.

  “Daughter mine. You must leave soon. Focus your thoughts on Cal and say nothing about anything else.”

  Thankfully, her comment had sparked a debate about Domenyk’s initiative, allowing her to sit back and observe. She felt Garvenal’s gaze once or twice, but Baxter’s state of excitement meant his attention was soon reclaimed.

  Taron declared they should be getting back, it was a long day for his pregnant wife, and Lyrelie walked back with them to the hitching post where they’d left the buggy.

  He gallantly escorted her the short distance to Rielle’s door where he gave her an unexpected hug he said was from Cal before hurrying back to the others.

  ~*~

  “And you don’t think Garvenal suspected anything?”

  “Hard to say.” Taron frowned. “I’m not fully convinced he’s MD’s man, despite their association. And I’m not at all convinced about keeping Jarl in the dark. I can understand not wanting to worry Senna, but he has superb espionage skills. After all those missions …”

  “Do you honestly think MD or any of his agents would drop their guard in front of him? Much better to have people like yourself who have strong ties with his allies.”

  As Uncle spoke, Cal fidgeted, his patience stretched to the limit during Taron’s detailed report. The small meeting comprised only himself, Eanje and Uncle’s ever-present deputy, Dennon, the only other one to remain masked. Cal could hold his tongue no longer. “What of Lyrelie? Did he not treat her with contempt? If MD’s been spreading his lies about her being a witch …”

  Taron shook his head. “I am confident such talk has not reached the village or Baxter would have quizzed me about it. He’s even more conscious of his standing in the village now his father is on the council.”

  “That has happened already?” Dennon glanced at Uncle. “Did your informant not mention it?”

  “The council are aware of the contenders, but so far only Farmon’s appointment has been approved.”

  “Things are moving too fast. I don’t like it.” Dennon frowned. “If he has some hold over Osman as you suggested, Ranly will be in danger of being outvoted.”

  “Or a tie, which as good as outvoted, because MD has the casting vote.”

  As Uncle gave the bad news, Eanje shook her head. “I think you are all missing out on the broader view. He is perfectly prepared to bide his time over the religious issues. This committee he and Garvenal attend understands the importance of the rituals. They know the difficulty of persuading farmers to give up something they firmly believe in.” She shrugged. “He quotes many anecdotes suggesting their prayers are responsible for the health of their herds and the quality of their crops.”

  “Not forgetting quantity.” Cal could not disguise his misery. “Father’s fields are so advanced, we may have to start harvesting early. No matter how much we thin, they keep coming back stronger.”

  “And this gives you a long face?” She grinned.

  “Because others are not doing so well and whenever he finds out, MD is sure to put it at the door of the first ploughing ritual.”

  “Performed by you and Lyrelie. I see your concern.” Eanje nodded, deep in thought.

  “Just when we were hoping the hue and cry had died down about her magical abilities, this happens. If she returns now …” He shrugged, refusing to say the words.

  Uncle stood, barely containing his anger. “That wretch. I wish he would leave them alone.”

  Eanje took his arm, persuading him to sit. “As I said, think of the broad view. Aside from his own personal vendetta against Senna, there are many reasons why her removal would benefit his scheme. She and Lyrelie share the connection to the earth which results in their ability to heal; not just people and animals but everything.” She shrugged. “Without their magic, the crops would not grow as well, the power of the old ways could be seen to be fading and people will turn to the church for succour.”

  Uncle’s voice grew harsh. “You are suggesting he would have them killed, as he did Lyran?”

  “I’m sure that would be his ultimate aim, but he is cannier than that. His need to make them suffer knows no bounds. He wishes to discredit them, destroy everyone who supports them, and only then, when they have lost everything, will he let them die.”

  Shocks ran around the room as the men took it in. Dennon recovered first. “You have obviously given this some thought. What is your plan?”

  Eanje nodded sadly. “I’m sorry, Cal. I’ve fought against this from the start, but right now, I can see no other way.”

  “I am to wed you.” Misery flattened his tone.

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “I have seen it coming for a while. If you think it will help …”

  “It is the only way.”

  “No.” Uncle roared. He slumped back in his chair, his voice a whisper. “It will destroy her.”

  Cal felt Eanje’s glare as her folded arms and subtle nod dared him to confess. He rued the day he had hinted to her about his conversation with Lyrelie. At the time, he could think of no one else to share the burden with.

  “It will not. She understands the importance.”

  Uncle sighed, his weary gesture suggesting resignation.

  Cal continued. “In Domenyk’s mind, if I ally with Eanje, he will have power over me.”

  She nodded. “’Tis true. He thinks I belong to him. But more importantly, if Cal forsakes Lyrelie, it will hurt Senna. Especially if he follows through with his plan for Zane and his gang to claim carnal knowledge of her.”

  “That wee caitiff. I’d like to string him up from the maypole.” Dennon spat in the corner. “He’s naught but trouble, enforcing a curfew and taking on the role of constable. Bryce would turn in his grave.”

  “A curfew? B
ut there’s been no announcement.”

  “Apparently there’s a notice up at the council house, but they are making a pot of coin out of the fines because nobody knows about it.”

  “Now you mention it, I have heard a bell at sunset, but I took no notice. How sneaky. I will pass it on to all our customers.”

  “Thank you, Taron. You’d best get on now.”

  Dennon left with him, but Uncle gestured for Cal to stay, shaking his head.

  Cal grimaced. “I know what you would say but, believe me, she worked most of it out for herself.”

  “That was always a risk; Eanje said we should involve her from the start. I merely wanted to be sure you were resolved in this course. No one would blame you if you refused to carry it through. It is not a trivial undertaking.”

  Eanje linked her arm through his. “You realise I am fully aware how much you love Lyrelie, and that I will merely borrow you for the sake of bringing this monster down. If it pleases you, I could visit her and ensure she knows what is going on.”

  “Thank you, but I do not think it wise. With so many spies around, it could be dangerous. For both of you.”

  “As you wish. Of course, there is a possibility we may only get as far as the betrothal at Litha.”

  “But that is a mere moon away. How are we to give a convincing performance of a grand courtship between now and then?”

  “It need not be grand. People have had time to get used to seeing you without Lyrelie for several weeks.”

  “More than that if the truth be told.” Cal’s face scrunched as he admitted the sad fact. “We’ve scarce been out in public since Imbolc.”

  “All the better.” Uncle appeared to have lost his objections to the scheme. “And they will remember how you pretended to wed Eanje at Ostara, and make their own assumptions about what has gone on.”