Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  This suited Eanje well as she could take her share of the lessons and be close enough to be there in an instant if one of her babes should need her. Although Alysen continued to enchant every adult, Tryslan still complained long and loud at every opportunity whenever he was more than a few feet away from her, Senna or Alex. The only other person with any chance of quieting him was Lyrelie, and they discovered he would sleep for a while at the back of her classroom.

  When she returned from giving her end-of-the-moon report to the council, Eanje was shocked by the sight greeting her as she peeked in Lyrelie’s class. She and Wilona supervised a group of older children identifying herbs and mushrooms. At the back of the room, Tryslan happily bounced on Zane’s knee, gurgling as he played peek-a-boo.

  “Is everything all right?” Jarl’s low tone startled her.

  “You would not believe this.” She stood back as he glanced inside.

  “Wilona leads foraging expeditions every moon so the seniors understand about seasonal differences and can spot the dangerous plants. It’s a popular class.”

  “Look at the back of the room.”

  He scoffed. “I know it’s not ideal, but Zane has some expertise, and the extra pair of eyes has proven useful.”

  Eanje tightened her lips. Was she the only person in the village who did not trust the snake? And her initial impression of Wilona had almost completely reversed as the girl’s passionate connection to nature had turned into something more sinister and controlling.

  ~*~

  Jarl

  Eanje’s reaction rang a warning bell in Jarl’s mind. As he waited for sleep to come, Jarl ran through what he knew.

  When they discovered Zane’s unauthorised transfer, he, Bryce and Tasker had watched the lad closely, looking for signs of danger. Nothing happened, and he made himself indispensable to so many with his helpful advice and close relationship with Wilona and the Sylvans. The lack of incidents in the first few moons had not made the three men any less vigilant and, when Aleksi and Dennon arrived, they had extra pairs of eyes.

  He recalled a small incident just before Alex’s birth, but Cal assured the snake had no power over him. Since then, Jarl would admit his mind had not been fully on the task. And when Eanje produced, four babes in the house meant sleep deprivation took its toll. He focussed as something niggled.

  The tension between Cal and Zane continued to grow. After nearly losing his composure at Tol’s handfasting, Cal had been suitably impervious to the snake’s attempt to sabotage the sword dance he had worked so hard to create. Jarl would alert the others to be extra vigilant.

  Again, the full moon had plans for his dreams.

  The knock announcing Coline’s arrival was anything but tentative. She stormed past him in high dudgeon, speaking in English. “Thank you for handing the landlord access to my body. I had hoped to stall him for at least another week, by which time I intend to be long gone.”

  “Whoa, hold on. I would have said no. But your eyes pleaded.”

  “For you to refuse him. I suppose we had better get it over with.” She reached for ties on her bodice, a fumble betraying the nervousness behind her show of anger.

  “Stop. I have no use for a woman’s unwilling body. Your maidenhead can remain intact for another week.”

  She glared at him for an instant, then launched herself at him, her hand outstretched to deliver a slap.

  Never had any person come closer to catching him unawares. Her near success only happened because it was the last reaction he expected after relieving her of the unwanted duty. However, his reflexes meant he caught her wrist with less than an inch to spare. He anticipated the secondary attack, catching her other wrist, too.

  Instead of struggling like the hellion her demeanour suggested, she went limp, her eyes filling with tears.

  He paused, his natural instinct to comfort her tempered by a suspicion it was merely a ploy. As the tears turned into sobs, he swept her up in his arms, carrying her to the bed. Sitting on the edge, he remained passive as her desperate sorrow expended.

  She cried as though she had saved up a lifetime’s tears, and he tried to imagine what could have befallen her in the few days it had taken him to sail to the Danish coast and back. From the scant clues she had let slip, it appeared that the landlord had not yet forced her into prostitution, although she obviously feared it as inevitable. He guessed the other wenches had enlightened her.

  Maybe she had been attacked on her way from the port to the auberge; many unsavoury establishments filled that side of town, along with a number of dark, dangerous alleyways. From what he’d seen to date, her attitude toward men seemed far more deeply rooted than a single incident, no matter how traumatic. Thinking back to all the things she’d said, he suspected she had been frequently abused, by more than one of his gender.

  The two noblemen she worked for did not look the type, and it was obvious from the number of offspring they both enjoyed healthy relations with their young wives, who appeared very much in love. But why would they give her up so easily? Unless they had toyed with her and become bored. The puzzle occupied his mind, preventing him from dwelling on the enticing aroma of her skin which called to his senses with the promise of soft sweetness.

  Finally, her outburst ended and she ground the heels of her hands into her eyes in an angry gesture. She shifted herself off his lap, prowling around the room, searching for something. “Pah. Is there nothing to drink in this God-forsaken place?”

  “I can send down for a pitcher of ale or some wine if it pleases you.”

  “Nothing about this situation pleases me. Surely a soldier would have something stronger to help him sleep.”

  A cheeky glint lit his eye. “I thought that was your purpose.”

  She whirled around, something akin to hatred marring her features.

  “If you want to slap me, do it. I won’t stop you. Reason tells me you need to punish some person – man – for the way you have suffered. This body has seen far worse damage than you could ever inflict. If it makes you feel better …”

  “Only one thing will make me feel better and nothing you could say or do will help.”

  “How do you know? I have travelled the continent extensively for the past decade and learnt a thing or two along the way.”

  “Really?” For an instant, her eyes shone with hope, lighting up her face with a beauty which robbed him of speech, thought and the ability to breathe.

  Then reason returned and the radiance diminished as she shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but it is too late.”

  As her body slumped into absolute dejection, he realised he could actually attend to one of her more immediate needs. In his bag was a bottle of Portuguese wine, a present from Captain Holt for a job well done. He leapt off the bed, startling her into a defensive stance which looked totally out of place on a young, intelligent woman. It felt far more fitting for a Parisian urchin or a pick-pocket in London’s busy streets.

  Only then did he get a clue to the severity of her experiences. This smart, beautiful woman had suffered in the worst way at the hands of more than one man. If he ever got his hands on them, they would understand the meaning of suffering.

  Retrieving the bottle, he led her to the sofa, then bent down on one knee and offered it to her. “I have no goblets, but I have every confidence you will manage somehow.”

  Her giggle charmed him as no sound had ever done as she took the bottle, opening the stopper. She sniffed it and took a tentative sip, wrinkling her nose. “It is not completely odious.” Raising the neck to her lips, she glugged it back as though it were the cheapest filth from the grog shop.

  He watched in fascination, smiling at the thought of Captain Holt’s face were he to witness the spectacle.

  “What? Why do you mock me?”

  “Not you. Captain Holt. I doubt he has ever seen anyone treat his ‘finest Portuguese wine’ with such disdain.”

  “Really? Portuguese my eye. That’s cheap French rotgut in a f
ancy bottle.” She patted the seat next to her. “I hope he didn’t try to impress that Italian caitiff with it.”

  Jarl laughed out loud at her language, wondering where a girl of her obvious breeding would come across such terms. Sitting where she indicated, he took the bottle, sniffing and sipping as she had done. Although not exactly rank, it tasted no better than anything he’d drunk in countless taverns all over the continent. “I have to agree with you. Nothing special at all. Poor Holt. He’s been hoodwinked.” He put the bottle on the side table.

  “Save your sympathy. I suspect that man didn’t achieve his riches without exploiting dozens of poor innocents.”

  “He’s actually a war hero.”

  “So he killed a host of unfortunates, too. Is that supposed to impress me?”

  “You really don’t like men, do you?”

  “Influential men, no. Men who think they are powerful because they imagine they own other people. No one owns another person. It’s not right.” Her voice lowered as though she lost conviction in her words, and she grabbed the bottle, taking another healthy swig.

  “Not all men are like that, you know.”

  “Of course I do. For some reason, I meet more men like that than any other.”

  “May I respectfully suggest you are mixing with the wrong circles?”

  “Suggest away. At the other end of the spectrum, you get men like Monsieur Grab-tits. The one who would have got a lap full of hot broth if you hadn’t ‘saved’ me.”

  “My apologies.” He struggled not to grin at her vulgar description. “I promise not to attempt to rescue you ever again. It is perfectly obvious you can look after yourself.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” She swigged, handing him the bottle.

  “To Coline. A woman who needs no saviour.” He toasted her with the bottle, then took a small gulp.

  “To … I don’t even know your name.”

  “Danton.”

  “Really? You are as much a Danton as I am Coline.”

  “True. But it is better this way.”

  “True indeed.” She giggled. “One of us has had too much to drink. And I’m having my doubts about you.”

  Despite appearances, Jarl had only had a few gulps of the strong wine, whereas she had consumed over three-fourths of the bottle. He had no motive for getting her drunk other than to allow her the benefit of a good night’s sleep. The signs pointed to the fact she had not had too many of those for a while.

  Tomorrow night would be soon enough for him to start unravelling the mystery of this beautiful enigma.

  13 – Blue Moon – October

  Blue moon: a magical time, twice as powerful. Great for short-term plans. Strong, brief goals. Significant change.

  Cedany

  As the carriage rocked and swayed, Cedany glanced at her daughter, tucked into the nest of fleeces in between the two benches, one arm flung around Lareeta’s son. The two were as close as any siblings and, with barely two weeks between them, they could almost be twins.

  Lareeta spotted her indulgent smile and added one of her own. “Two peas in a pod.”

  Cedany chuckled. “I was just thinking they have a bond nearly as strong as Eanje’s twins.”

  “I disagree.” Lareeta’s eyes twinkled. “I think it’s much stronger. Those two are as different as chalk and cheese.”

  Raising her eyes heavenward at the tease, Cedany spotted a familiar sight. As Lareeta’s husband, Taron, slowed the horse over uneven ground, she pointed to the river bank. “I did not expect that to look so similar. It looks like people travel the identical routes in this world.”

  Baxter called out from the front. “Look, here’s the bit where we first met Eanje all those years ago.”

  The women exchanged grins. Some things hadn’t changed, and Cedany’s husband was one of them.

  “Hush. You’ll wake the babes.”

  The two bodies stirred, then snuggled back together.

  She whispered. “It will be strange going back and not seeing the familiar sights. From what your mother has said, it’s quite different. You must be keen to see her again.”

  Lareeta nodded. “I’m so happy she is with Rielle and Taysen, they seem well suited as friends.”

  “I’m impressed with the way she has found a vocation after so many years running your father’s household.”

  “She is nothing like the timid woman who lived in the shadow of my father all those years.”

  When they met her, however, Cedany saw Dimia had lost weight and dark shadows stained the corners of her eyes. Lareeta’s concern for her son’s unfavourable reaction to being woken up meant she did not spot it.

  The two men were also oblivious and, not wishing to upset anyone as they shared a meal, Cedany held back her concerns. She listened to the conversation about plans to build a school near to where Lareeta used to live. After dinner, she casually mentioned her concerns to Rielle.

  “Do you think so? I cannot see much difference myself, but that could be because we see her every day and any change may have happened gradually over several weeks.”

  The following morning, they walked past the site of Lareeta’s old home and Cedany watched mother and daughter swap a melancholy glance as they stood in what would have been the garden. Something about the place made her uneasy, and this feeling intensified when they reached the church.

  Even Baxter seemed uncomfortable and was only too happy to take their daughter outside when she started wailing fit to bring the rafters down.

  As she stood, Lareeta stumbled and Taron rushed to catch her. “What’s wrong, my love? You are very pale.”

  “I am fine, but I’d like to get out of here.”

  Handing the babe to Dimia, Taron supported his wife with Cedany helping to lead her to a bench outside.

  Lareeta caught Cedany’s eye. “D-did you feel him?”

  “Who?”

  “My father. I felt his presence at our house and very strongly in the church.”

  “I’m not sure. I felt something, but I would not like to say it was Garvenal. It was very dark.”

  On the way back, Baxter waited until they were clear of all the other churchgoers before speaking. “Did anyone else notice the difference from when we used to come before?”

  “Apart from there being fewer people?” Taron grinned.

  “Do you think so? I thought it seemed almost as full as when we used to come before.”

  Helping Rielle past a muddy patch, Taysen frowned. “I can’t say I attended too many masses in the old place, but I would say you are right. I hadn’t given it much thought until now. It does seem a little strange how many Christians got through compared to Aveburgh.”

  “Anything apart from that?”

  Cedany voiced her thoughts. “I did not enjoy the sermon. It focussed on the power a man has over his wife.”

  Baxter nodded vigorously. “I thought so, too. I do not remember hearing that passage before, but it seemed to me the priest advocated that if a woman does not obey her husband, he has the right to chastise her.”

  Rielle glanced at her husband. “I have not experienced many of these scriptures, but now you mention it, I have noticed a large imbalance. I can no longer do things I used to; only Taysen is allowed to embark on things like building a workshop and applying for a licence.”

  Taysen held her hand. “We would not be able to return to our previous way of working. I would have to run the business and Rielle would have to work for me.”

  Cedany frowned. “Surely this is against everything Gaia wanted. It seems to be a step in the opposite direction.”

  Baxter agreed. “It makes no sense at all. Why would you want to stay here under these conditions? I think you would be better off returning to Aveburgh.”

  As they neared the site of Lareeta’s old house, Taron added his opinion. “This is no longer the thriving market town it once was. What on earth would keep you here?”

  The couple exchanged a dark glance as Dimia stopped. “Me.
They do not wish to tear me from my home.” Her speed startled as she fled to the patch where Garvenal’s house had stood in the other world. She burst into tears.

  Lareeta rushed over to embrace her. “Mama. It is not him. Some dark spirit sensed your need for a connection and has been trying to control you from beyond the grave.”

  A fiery light lit Dimia’s eyes and a deep voice issued from her mouth. “You cannot have her. She is mine.” Demonic laughter filled their ears and she collapsed.

  With a shout, Taron dashed over as the sky darkened and a fierce wind howled, stirring up the autumn leaves.

  This spirit had not reckoned on the power of three as Rielle took charge. Speaking calmly, she reminded them that tomorrow was October 31st, an important Sabbat where the veil betwixt the living and the dead was thinnest. “And it is also an Esbat, because it is full moon tomorrow, and because it is the second full moon in October, the blue moon power is doubled, giving a triple dose in all.”

  Following Rielle’s bidding, the three women formed a protective triangle around Dimia’s body. The three men formed a second triangle around them, the two babes clinging to their fathers’ backs as she instructed.

  In unison, the women called on the power of the triple moon goddess, maiden, mother and crone, asking for her help in banishing the demon back whence it came.

  Then it was the men’s turn, invoking the elements of earth, air and fire to lock him away in a fiery pit, deep below the earth. A clap of thunder accompanied a bolt of lightning which fizzled to the earth a few feet away.

  Finally, they all invited the power of water, augmented by the strength of the God and Goddess to heal Dimia of the evil which had invaded her body. As a gentle rain washed down on them all, Dimia stirred, holding out her arms for her grandson.

  Cedany watched in disbelief as her own daughter squirmed until Baxter let her down. She crawled over and, at the instant she snuggled on Dimia’s lap, the sun came out and a rainbow arced around the three of them.

  Thanking the deities and elements for their help, Rielle bade everyone to join hands as she led a brief thanksgiving prayer. She ended with a complex exchange of hugs among every person resulting in much-needed healing laughter.