Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  “Hush, Sennalina. You have no need to fret. Your child will be unscathed by the transfer.”

  Eanje watched Jarl’s face darken at his cousin’s tender use of an old endearment as Senna suggested the trauma could not be good for the babe.

  Lyran pretended to frown. “Because pregnant women are so rarely sick?”

  Senna tutted. “You know what I mean. All the stress and the blood …” She pulled the dish toward her and coughed, her body jerking as she emptied her stomach.

  Although obviously weakened by the effort of crossing between worlds, Jarl seemed determined to tend for his wife’s needs. He helped her to sip from the beaker when her arms lacked the strength to hold it to her lips.

  Eanje could not tell if his overt concern was fuelled by a desire to circumvent Lyran’s tender care. Nor could she tell if the healer discerned his cousin’s obvious jealousy. Understandable, given that Lyran had been married to Senna for the better part of two decades. And had ordered Jarl to marry her when he died. What a mess this was!

  As though reading her thoughts, Lyran winked at her, suggesting fresh air would aid her swift recovery. Allowing him to help her to her feet, she leaned on him as he cautioned Jarl that he and Senna needed to sit for a while longer before attempting to rise.

  “Psh. It’ll take more than that wee journey to …”

  “You may be strong as an ox, but have a care for your wife and the babe. Eanje has had a while to recover.” Lyran nodded to a tall man hovering near the door.

  The Scot approached; his expression stern. “Aye, man. Ya’ll need tae heed what Lyran says. The man kens what he is talking about.”

  “Bryce, man. How good to see you again. Tell me what you pair have been up to all these moons so you can’t even offer a beaker of ale.”

  As the man assured the first batch was “nigh but a few days off being ready,” Jarl cuddled Senna to him, kissing the top of her head.

  Eanje caught a glimpse of something dark crossing Lyran’s face before he approached her with a smile.

  He supported her to take her first step, but her legs felt as though they would not hold her weight. With a huff, he bent down, scooping her in his arms, bidding her to wrap her arms around his neck. As she did so, she felt a curious sensation and, out of the corner of her eye, caught sight of the dismay on Senna’s face. At least, it looked like dismay. A hopeless mess, indeed.

  Six people sat down for a meal that eve, prepared by Tasker, the quarryman who died in the same “accident” which had claimed Lyran’s life. He freely admitted to having no talent for cooking and blushed as Senna complimented him on the clever design of the fire pit he had fashioned out of rocks.

  Jarl grudgingly agreed one or two things were a little more important than the luxury of ale or wine.

  When pressed, Tasker haltingly described their efforts to create a supply of stones for building the first dwelling to house the families which would start coming across shortly. “Building with stone is much less harmful as it doesn’t involve cutting down as many trees as we would need if we created the entire structure from wattle.”

  Eanje listened as Lyran spoke of the exhaustive measures to conserve the natural resources. And how they must be mindful not to damage the delicate balance in their quest to provide shelter and food for the men and women destined to inhabit this new world.

  “Gaia is very strict on this. Every tree we cut down must be replaced.” Lyran passed around a misshapen clay platter filled with nuts and berries.

  Jarl scoffed. “I think you’ll find the woodsmen take it as a matter of pride to do that.”

  “But we have never had to start from scratch before. We will soon exhaust the nearby forest. Almost everything we use requires wood, from buildings and carts to every stick of furniture.”

  “Aye, and that’s before we start burning it for warmth; which we will need tae be doing right soon. There’s already a nip in the air.” Bryce chipped in as he handed the platter to Tasker, who added his thoughts.

  “All the tools we use in the farm and kitchen require wood. And every household uses the same tools.”

  Lyran nodded. “It’s a good point. We should have some way of sharing things, especially at the start. For now, each tree will be replaced with three new plantings until harmony is restored.”

  Jarl munched on the problem as he chewed and swallowed his mouthful. “It seems to me we could learn a lot from the way animals live together in packs. If three or four families banded together under one roof, it would reduce the need for building materials.”

  “And the amount of wood burnt for cooking and heating.” Bryce nodded. “In fact, the presence of so many bodies will go a long way toward heating the house.”

  Tasker warmed to the theme. “Fewer tools and utensils, even cooking pots. And they could share a cart.”

  Eanje spoke up. “The stone walls will keep the heat in better than wattle, and people could wear an extra layer of clothes or a sheepskin tabard inside the house.”

  “These are great ideas.” Lyran nodded. “We could train people to look at every area of their lives where resources can be used more efficiently to give less waste.”

  Senna raised her eyebrows. “Some of us already ensure every part of an animal is used.”

  “Even the bones?”

  She nodded. “They are always boiled to make the broth.”

  “Then what do you do with them?”

  “Some of them are used in medicines. Others are ground for fertiliser.”

  “And the rest?” Lyran’s relentless questioning had Senna squirming.

  Jarl put his arm round her, answering on her behalf. “They are burnt on the bonfire at rituals.”

  “Some of them, I’ll grant you. But we could do so much more, making tools and knives and even using some of the larger bones in place of wood in making the wattle.”

  Again, Eanje noticed tension between the two men, wondering if either of them discerned the subtle conversation going on between their bodies as Lyran’s challenged and Jarl’s defended. She could not decide if Bryce had observed it as he changed the topic to how they were to thatch with no fields of straw.

  Jarl described how Bernadine had organised several groups of women in communal tasks to prepare for the aftermath of the pestilence. “They were happy to join teams making brand new clothes and blankets to replace the ones which may have become contaminated by the disease.”

  “So, we are to cover the roofs in blankets?” Lyran’s face again showed hostile discontent.

  Jarl regarded his cousin with a cool stare. “One team helped the thatcher to create bundles of straw with the intention of replacing the roofs of any affected houses.”

  Senna backed him up. “Our research in Oxford suggested some of the fleas carrying the disease can lie dormant in the cold weather, and the thatching and soft materials seem like ideal places for them to hide.”

  Lyran’s face soured as his cousin exchanged a warm smile with his wife, but Jarl wasn’t finished baiting him. “The idea of using animal hides to cover the roofs is not so ridiculous. They would at least keep the worst of the elements at bay and would be much quicker to create as a temporary measure.”

  Eanje decided she could no longer watch the two men ruining a lifelong friendship over this impossible situation and yawned loudly. “This sounds fascinating, but I think we should all go to bed early and allow our bodies to rest after this trauma.”

  “I could not agree more.” Senna stood unsteadily and both men rushed to her aid.

  Being closer, Jarl reached her first. “Hope you’ve given some thought to privacy in the sleeping arrangements.”

  Bryce stood. “Aye. You and Senna will have the vestry and Eanje the sacristy for now.”

  That night, Eanje’s dreams filled with a cacophony of incidents, each one worse than the last as horrifying scenes of violence and brutality combined with dread. These familiar dreams often tormented her nights, always culminating in her worst fear –
bound to a chair while a faceless figure sharpened his knife, giggling inanely as he described his intentions.

  Something robbed her limbs of their strength and a gag prevented her from shouting out. Tears of frustration scalded her eyelids as she contemplated her demise.

  “Eanje. Wake up. You are caught in the midst of a noxious dream.”

  The low tone took a while to break through her strangled consciousness. Attractive and somehow safe, its owner did not immediately come to mind. Suddenly her arms became free and she lashed out, her subconscious hoping to maim whoever restrained her.

  “Ouch. Eanje, it’s Lyran. You are safe.”

  Finally, she could open her eyes and, as her vision accustomed to the dim moonlight, her eyes confirmed it was indeed the healer standing beside her cot.

  “What are you doing in here?” Her brain refused to make sense of her current situation; she knew naught except the room seemed much too tiny to be her chamber in Shayla and Quinn’s house.

  “Your shouting woke me. And was in danger of waking everyone else. You’re in what used to be the church; we all are until we can finish the first house.”

  As memories returned, she struggled to shake off the sinister figure which haunted her dreams. She shivered.

  “Are you cold? Move over.” He gave her no choice as he climbed in next to her. “My body heat will warm you quickly. I sense your chill is not because of the cool autumn night, but the grip of a fearsome dread.”

  Eanje’s lifestyle left her with no qualms about being this close to a man she barely knew. In truth, he had inhabited her thoughts so often in the past few weeks, she felt as though she knew him well.

  His next statement surprised her. “Tell me about your childhood.”

  “What?”

  “You have suffered a shock and your mind would like nothing more than to wallow in feelings of anxiety and dread. If you divert it by recalling happy memories, you will conquer all the distress.”

  Eanje narrowed her eyes; her childhood had so few happy memories.

  “Take your time. Start with something to do with being outside in nature. I’ve noticed how this calms you.”

  She relaxed, smiling as his words conjured an image of the huge gardens at her first home. And the scary man who tended them, shouting at the two lads apprenticed to him.

  A shriek of laughter made her turn to see her younger brother and sister being chased by the maid responsible for their care. They split up to make the job harder, giggling as they evaded her outstretched arms. Catching the poor girl’s eye, Lyrelie gestured for her to branch left while she ran after her brother. He seemed determined to reach the stream running along the bottom of the garden. No doubt with the intent of jumping in again.

  She was too quick, grabbing his arm and toppling him to the ground where she tickled him unmercifully. When he finally submitted, she persuaded him to return to the house with his sister.

  The maid crossed herself fervently. “Thank the lord you were there or I would have had to jump in after him.”

  Eanje smiled at the harassed girl who only looked a year or two older than herself. “What task was so dreadful they had to escape?”

  She bobbed a curtsey. “Your mama came out for a breath of fresh air, but they were making so much noise chasing each other round the courtyard she asked if I would take them up to the nursery.”

  “You need say no more, I have the sense of it.” Eanje frowned at the idea of trying to contain her brother’s four-year-old energy in the house on the first sunny day after weeks of rain. “How about if I accompany you all to the garden house? We could keep them entertained and they will get some fresh air.”

  “That would be wonderful. Are you sure you …”

  “Do not even say it. You know how much easier it is with two of us.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. You are very kind.”

  “You seem calmer now. I take it you found a pleasant memory.”

  The sound of Lyran’s voice brought her out of her reverie, and Eanje smiled. “Yes. My brother and …” Her voice choked as less pleasant thoughts gripped her.

  He seemed to understand her turmoil, not pressing for details while she composed herself. She breathed deeply, seeking the fortitude to continue. “Th – they were running away from the maid, who feared another soaking having to rescue him from the stream.”

  “This was in Oxford?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “We lived in a beautiful house with many servants and the gardens would rival those of the finest palace in London. Mother used to …” This time she could not hold back the tears, and he held her until all the stresses and strains of many moons – or even years – spent themselves in an outpouring of grief.

  He even produced a square of linen and she dried her eyes, thankful of the gloom which hid the ugliness tears always produced as they swelled and blotched and reddened. Not that she had cried for many years, and especially not in the presence of a man.

  Until Lyran, she’d never met a man whose kindness and concern had filled her with feelings of safety and caring. His father was almost such a man, but she knew Ranly had many issues around contact and would have striven to hide his acute embarrassment.

  Unlike his son. Despite Lyran’s efforts to remain impartial, Eanje could tell he, too, felt the strong bond of attraction between them.

  Only one man had ever provoked such feelings in her, many years ago, their time together so brief she had almost forgotten him. Given her treatment at the hands of so many of his gender, this dearth of connexions did not surprise.

  “Correct me if I am wrong, but I imagine the last thing you are able to do right now is find the serenity needed for a good night’s sleep.”

  “You are not wrong.” Her breath hitched. “Far too many foul thoughts rival themselves to torment my mind with their nasty energy.”

  “If you would permit me to help, I know a way of ridding yourself of their power over you.”

  She snorted with equal parts amusement and derision. “I might have guessed you would offer passion as a cure for what ails me. So like a man to think of his body’s needs.”

  The scandalised tone sounded genuine as he cringed back from her. “I never meant anything of the sort. I merely spoke of a technique I learnt in Oxford to diminish bad thoughts which hold you in their thrall.”

  Had she misjudged his intentions in climbing into bed with her? Of course, he likely still had feelings for Senna, his wife of many years, who lay with her new husband in the vestry, a few dozen paces away. “I’m s – sorry. I never meant to imply impropriety on your part. I know you are not like most men.”

  His low chuckle delighted her ears, sending a shiver of sensual energy to tease and caress her skin. “I imagine I am like every other man where you are concerned. You have a unique ability to appeal to the baser instincts in all of us. If – and I stress, only if – you were to offer yourself to me, I would be extremely hard-pushed to turn you down.”

  She giggled. “But, I suspect, turn me down you would.” As long as Senna still has breath in her body. “Well, you have put me well and truly in my place.”

  When he did not respond with an immediate retort, she asked about this technique. He explained it involved relaxing into an almost meditative state, and telling the disturbing story, answering the questions he would ask.

  Eanje hesitated, concerned about revealing the more distasteful aspects of her life to this man. For whatever reason, she did not want him thinking badly of her, even though she had no chance of ever winning his heart. As the thought popped into her head unbidden, she wondered at her reasons for entertaining such an impossible notion. Maybe she should keep to childhood memories.

  “We could maybe attempt it with something I already know of, like the death of your mother.”

  She flinched. Could he still read her thoughts? For several weeks before they moved across, he had appeared in her mind at times of stress, speaking as though he had done that very thing. However, when
she had woken up next to Senna and Jarl, he assured the three of them that, in this world, he could no longer enter their minds as he had done from the place he called “source.”

  Following his instructions, she lay back on the cot, emptying her mind of all thoughts and concentrating on breathing to the rhythm he counted until she lost all sensation but the sound of his voice. As she related the incident with her younger siblings, the images in her head were as vivid as before. She heard the chuckle in his voice and his questions suggested he observed every aspect of the scene.

  “Your mother had been ill for a while, had she not?”

  Eanje nodded. “For several years. I think the effort of birthing the twins weakened her.”

  “I had not realised they were twins. Carrying two babes instead of one puts extra strain on a woman’s body.”

  “Every winter would see her afflicted with many maladies, particularly in her chest. I cannot remember many moons when she did not cough into her kerchief.”

  “Coughing is a symptom of many diseases.”

  “Papa sought advice from many of the most esteemed physicians, one of whom convinced him she must have the King’s evil. He even arranged a visit to London, but the King would only perform the touch in winter and she died at midsummer.”

  Lyran nodded. “I have heard of this remedy for scrofula, but I am sceptical as to its efficacy.”

  Eanje drew a shuddering breath. “It is a mercy she died without knowing she had passed on the disease to her children. They both died within weeks of her death.”

  He asked her to describe their illness and, when she mentioned the rash which covered their bodies, he held her hand. “I would venture to suggest it was the other way around. I suspect they had some manner of pox and passed it on to her. You are lucky you were not exposed to it.”

  “No one else would tend to them. I bathed their bumpy skin in saltwater two or three times a day and fed them gruel, which was all they could eat. Even the slices of orange we bought from the market at great expense would have them emptying their stomachs.”

  “And yet you survived?”