by Jacky Gray
Farmon spoke up. “Imagine. A plate of crispy bacon, tasty mushrooms, rich blood pudding and a golden egg.”
Chalette patted his arm. “Soon. Maybe we will have bacon at Samhain.”
The discussion turned to the minor setbacks slowing the progress on the two roundhouses. Privately, Eanje suspected the mishaps were the result of the strong competition between the two groups. She wouldn’t put it past several of the men to sabotage the other group’s chances by hiding or stealing tools. However, she could not imagine any of them were so competitive they would go as far as knocking down a section of the wall. And she was confident none of them had the power to cause water to flood the ground only in Farmon’s team’s house.
The following day it happened in Jarl’s house, too.
Lyran called an emergency meeting as a heavy shower worsened the situation. “Firstly – and I’m sorry to have to ask this of grown men and women – did anyone cause this flooding?”
“Aye.” Tasker spoke up. “We all did. I think we have dug too deeply and hit the water line.”
“I would agree with you, but we dug as deep on the first house and did not hit this problem.” Bryce looked as stunned as any of them.
Brom frowned. “If that were the case, I’m sure the first house would be filling up, too, but it is dry as a bone.”
Jarl nodded agreement. “I’m no expert on these things, but when I’ve dug pits for trapping, we went a lot deeper before reaching the water line. It’s as though someone tipped a few dozen vats of water into first one, then the other.”
“Or a personal raincloud emptied into each one on successive days.” Tasker winked to confirm the jest.
“These explanations defy logic. It seems to me a higher power is at work here.” Woodward’s calm assessment turned heads.
“Go on.” Lyran looked open to any suggestions.
“Maybe we should step back a little and make sure our drive to build all these round houses is the right one.”
Farmon shook his head. “Are you suggesting everyone should try to squeeze into the first one? The way the ladies have done it – thank you very much, in case I haven’t said it enough – we could maybe fit another dozen people in. But we would all be tripping over each other; certainly not my idea of harmony.”
“He’s not suggesting anything of the sort.” Wilona’s voice rang out, unexpectedly confident for one so young.
Amid the gasps and exclamations, Lyran caught Eanje’s eye, as though asking, “What do you know of this?”
Eanje shrugged, indicating her ignorance; she barely knew the girl.
Lyran gestured at Wilona to continue.
“I know we are all trying our hardest to minimise the amount of trees we chop down, but it is still far too many. If you had heard the screaming of all of those trees when you ended their lives, I doubt you would contemplate burning another branch.”
As she spoke, she met the eyes of each person in the room, and every single one looked away, unable to deny her truth. Finally she stared at Eanje, who held her arms open for a hug. The girl melted into sobs as she stumbled over and Eanje held her tight, noticing the sympathetic tears from Woodward and all the women. Even Goran put his arms round his mother with a sniff.
Bryce’s voice sounded suspiciously husky. “Do you have any suggestions to help us?”
Barthel cleared his throat. “This is why my designs all try to reduce the amount of wood …”
“Yes, but they still rely on burning living things. Can you not think of a design which uses the heat of the sun, or the warmth of the earth? Why must it always involve the death of trees?” Freeing herself from Eanje’s grasp, she ran out of the room into the pouring rain.
Barthel shot up as though to follow her, but Chalette pulled him back down as Jarl quietly grabbed a cloak from the hooks and followed her, leaving behind a roomful of people stunned into silence.
Lyran took Eanje’s hand, pulling her to sit on his lap as he warmed her shock-cooled body. “Did you hear the trees screaming?”
Although he kept his voice low, she felt the weight of many gazes as others waited to hear her answer.
“Not exactly heard, but I sensed the enormous misery.”
“Even though we asked permission properly?” Farmon frowned.
“Even though the forest was overcrowded and trees and animals are dying?” Bryce’s expression showed concern.
She stared at them, not quite sure how to explain it, grateful when Woodward stepped in.
“Imagine we didn’t have enough food and three of the people in this room volunteered to die so the others could live. No matter how bravely they acted, would the rest of us not be totally miserable about it?”
Every woman in the room turned to hug their loved ones, and Lyran beckoned Senna over to join with him and Eanje. Shaking her head, she swung into action, filling the cauldron with water and spices for a reviving brew.
It took a while – and several oatencakes – before people recovered sufficiently to start discussing ideas for alternative sources of power.
When a sodden Jarl appeared, carrying a cloak-wrapped body, all discussion halted.
Woodward shot to his feet, rushing across the room, as his daughter, similarly soaked through, closed the front door. “Sweetheart! I thought you were … Who’s that?”
All eyes were on the figure that Jarl gently laid onto the sheepskin by the fire. His eyes sought Wilona’s as he commanded her to use his bedchamber to get out of her wet clothes. “We don’t need any more people falling ill.”
Flinching at his harsh tone, Eanje leapt into action, grabbing a towel and pulling the girl through to her own room. If it were one of the children, surely Wilona should be hailed as a hero? She shrugged off the vexing thoughts as Linden appeared and between them, they helped the girl out of her clothes and into Eanje’s spare chemise and kirtle.
When she pulled up a chair to the fire to dry the wet clothes, she spotted both of Brom’s children clinging on to their mother. Everyone else stood around the body with expressions showing varying degrees of disapproval and, in a couple of cases, something akin to fear.
Her heart clenched as her head named the only person who could invoke such a reaction. Even as her mind screamed protests about the impossibility of that situation, the people blocking her view moved. The sight of his face overloaded her brain and she sank to the floor.
5 – Waning Moon
Waning moon: a time for reflection. Meditation can give a spark of transformation. The Crone aspect is good for banishing spells. Try calling on Hecate’s wisdom.
Winter 1348
Lyrelie
As the season of Samhain drew to a close, Lyrelie gave thanks for the few weeks of respite before the next weakening of the barrier between the two worlds. She hoped no one would realise all the plague deaths followed a pattern. From the new moon on the 29th through to the 31st, they buried the largest number of bodies so far. Thankfully, people were putting the close deaths of the five families down to the fact they were all in the same tithing.
When the four friends shared a meal that night, Lyrelie debated about passing on the news warming her heart.
“Come on, wife of mine. You have been smiling like a fox who just broke into a particularly full chicken coop. Let us in on this joyful secret.”
“Oh, dear. My concern is that, once you know, you will face the same difficulty I do in not accidentally revealing it to people who think of her as dead.”
“Aha. A big clue.” Freya narrowed her eyes. “It’s Paulina, isn’t it? She’s had her babe.”
Lyrelie clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oops. I just upset the apple cart.”
“Foxes, chickens, apples.” Verat shook his head, his expression droll. “I’m reasonably sure it was a babe. Was it a boy or a girl?”
“A boy.”
“She wasn’t due for a while, yet. Is he all right? I can’t wait to tell … Oh.” Freya’s enthusiasm waned. “I see what you mean. But s
urely we can tell Dagda? She would want to know about her sister.”
Cal rubbed his chin. “I strongly recommend against it. The fewer people who know about it at this stage, the better. Maybe a few moons down the line …”
“Meanwhile, we have some babes of our own to bring into the world. Cedany is just over a moon away, and if Lareeta’s isn’t here by Yule I will be most surprised.”
Freya nodded. “Poor Shayla is due on Wolf moon. It must be really hard to have a tiny babe with snow on the ground. I would be afraid he might freeze to death.”
“She won’t be giving birth outside, silly.” Verat chided his wife with an affectionate nudge.
Lyrelie stood, yawning. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could sleep for a week without wakening. Goodnight, all.”
~*~
Lareeta
Lareeta clung onto her mother’s arm as they read the notice on the board outside the council house.
“Until further notice, Avebury is placed under strict quarantine. With cases of the pestilence reported in many neighbouring towns, no movement is allowed in or out of the village.”
“Oh, Mama. Thank goodness you got here last week or they would never have let you in.”
Dimia’s smile held sorrow. “I will never be able to thank Senna’s parents enough for their kindness in bringing me here and looking after me.”
Lareeta smiled. “Rielle is a good friend to us both. I always give thanks for the day I walked into her shop after Papa …” Realisation widened her eyes. “What about Papa? Who will look after him if he becomes ill?”
Her mother’s lips tightened.
“What? What do you know? Tell me, please.”
As people approached, her mother patted her arm. “Not here. We’ll go home first.”
As they reached the house, Lareeta had convinced herself her father was already at death’s door. Then reason set in. No matter how horrible he had been in the past, her mother would not abandon him in his hour of need.
With less than two moons until Lareeta’s second child came into the world, Dimia refused to hear of her daughter taking any responsibility for her young son, Christian.
Lareeta bade her time while her mother took off his coat and settled him with a beaker of milk and an oatencake. She sensed the careful thought behind the words.
“You will find this difficult to believe, but your father willed it this way.”
“You do not surprise me at all.”
“Of course not. We have learnt, at some cost, that Garvenal wields authority over every aspect of his life.”
“Why should his death be any different?”
“Exactly. Since the last time you saw him, his dreams and visions have become stronger. They haunt him, because in his mind it is akin to witchcraft.”
Lareeta shook her head. Her father’s status in the church meant her handfasting to Taron, a carpenter who followed the old religion, had caused a huge rift for many years.
However, Garvenal’s respect for her husband, and in particular his best friend, Baxter, meant he eventually came round.
“What does he dream about?” Even as she asked, Lareeta knew the answer.
“The pestilence. He is convinced it is retribution from God for all the awful things people have done in His name. And he puts himself top of the list for his part in Magister Domenyk’s schemes.”
“But he had little to do with him …”
Dimia shrugged. “He blames his continuing illness on the things he did which benefitted the monster in his quest for glory.” Her voice dropped lower than a whisper. “And for his treatment of you. And me.”
Lareeta hugged her mother. “I hope he knows we have forgiven him for all of that.”
She nodded. “Taron’s unconditional acceptance of him, despite everything he put the pair of you through, made Garvenal question his blind faith in so many corrupt men.” She shook her head. “He is prepared to meet his fate with dignity and humility.”
An urgent knock on the door revealed Baxter in a high state of agitation.
“Please come. I think Cedany is having problems with the babe.”
Dimia gestured for her to go. “I’ll look after Christian.”
“Have you told Marena?” Lareeta reached for the small bundle the midwife had cautioned her to carry whenever she went out. It contained essential provisions for her own birthing, but she reasoned it might be useful.
Baxter hopped from one foot to the other as he took the bag. “I cannot find her anywhere. And Lyrelie was up late last night with the burials, so I didn’t like to disturb her.”
“You did the right thing. Mother, can I ask you …?”
“Of course. Christian and I will find out where Marena is and send her to you.”
“Try Dagda first. She knows most about what is going on in the village.”
It is not surprising. “She has made shoes and boots for most families.” Dimia grinned. “That woman is a marvel.”
~*~
Eanje
Eanje awoke with a dreadful headache to find Lyran watching her with a grave face.
He made no attempt to enquire about her health, opening with the question obviously bothering him. “What is he to you that you would faint at the sight of him?”
The implication that the interloper must be her lover cut deeply. She had no strength to defend herself against such an attack and closed her eyes, willing the images to go away. Why had she spent so much of her life beholden to men who did naught but chastise and abuse her?
Eanje had thought Lyran different, but yet again he leapt to an unsavoury conclusion, judging her for something outside of her control. Senna’s call for help saved her the need to reply.
When she awoke again, perfect blackness surrounded her and the light snoring said Lyran slept. Her aching throat and parched lips made separate requests for water, and she knew he would have left a beaker on the nearby ledge, because this was his habit.
As her hands closed around the precious thing, she thought of the many small ways he looked after her. Maybe she judged him too harshly – after all, on both occasions he had railed at her, it was no more than an angry reaction brought on by his jealousy.
Although not an emotion she understood, she had heard it said that many women thought it an admirable quality. In their eyes, it was the ultimate expression of how much their man cared for them.
Settling back, she sent a prayer to Gaia that by morning, it would be as though the incident had never happened.
Never before had her prayers been answered quite so exactly. She again awoke to Lyran’s grave face, but it broke into a smile when his eyes met hers.
He kissed her cheek with a gentle hug. “Thank goodness. I had begun to worry you might never wake.”
She frowned. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Three days. Everyone has been so worried about you. Especially Senna. Let me go and put her out of her misery.”
“No need. I have been waiting for the sound of voices.” Senna stood in the doorway, beaker in hand. “Drink this before you even think about getting up. And please take care today.” She shook her head with an enigmatic smile.
Lyran sat cuddling her while the infusion cooled, chatting about Paulina’s babe and anything but the unwelcome visitor. She began to imagine she had dreamed the whole thing, including Lyran’s unpleasant insinuations.
“You won’t believe how much fun Bryce is having over this. It is like a competition between him and Jarl, and he is currently winning.”
“I can imagine.” She sipped the hot liquid.
“I never saw it in the constable before. Now he’s found out Senna calls her babe Alex, he is jesting it would make an ideal name for his warrior son.”
“Poor Jarl.”
“Pshhh. I’ve no sympathy after enduring his bragging for so many years.”
Eanje said nothing. The rivalry between the two cousins put neither of them in a good light. He definitely seemed like a
different man to the stern one from yesterday, even humming a tune as he helped her to dress. Pulling her toward him, he hugged her tight before escorting her out as though to a grand ball.
She did not expect a round of applause, and Senna’s insistence she finish the drink now made sense. It gave her time to gather the entire village in the great room. As over three dozen people clapped and cheered, tears sprang to her eyes and Eanje faltered, grateful for Lyran’s support.
Bryce took the lead, quieting the room. “Eanje. Nothing was ever said at the time, out of respect for your privacy. Now the truth is out about what you did to save our village from that monster, all these people wish to show their appreciation for your courage and valour.”
“Three cheers for Eanje. Hip, hip …” Tasker led the cheer, winking at her as everyone joined in the hurrahs.
Although several dear faces were missing, it seemed as though, for the first time in her life, she formed part of a huge family of people who loved her. Lyran guided her to a chair and she sat, the hard wood emphasising this was not one of her dreams which would suddenly turn sour.
Except it did. She spotted the man who had caused her collapse, his smile as obsequious as ever.
Unbelievably, Bryce clapped him on the back. “Zane has been telling everyone about your heroic deeds for the past couple of years. How Uncle recruited the pair of you to cause upset in the village and manipulated Domenyk into hiring you both. The monster had a plan to turn everyone against Senna so he could gain power and wealth. But he hadn’t reckoned on Eanje’s courage or resourcefulness.”
She felt Lyran’s hands on her shoulders and made an educated guess about the reason for his change of attitude. Zane had no doubt spun some tale to avert his jealousy. She wouldn’t put it past him to say anything to save his skin.
Forming her features into a mix of modesty and humility, she looked past him to where Wilona stood, close enough to Zane to suggest a bond. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his skin looked very grey, as though he’d been ill.
