Seeds of Time

by K. C. Dyer

  Now, as she sat in a place where she was totally lost, where there was no explanation for why things were the way they were, where nothing could be what it seemed, she came to a bittersweet conclusion. All the hated people who had spoken to her mother during her long convalescence were right. Darrell had survived a terrible accident. She had adapted to the loss of her leg. She had lived through the loss of her father. Nothing she faced in this strange place could be harder than what she had already been through.

  She lifted her head and stared with dry eyes at the boy, the dog, and the strange surroundings.

  “Deagh diu,” she said to the boy. “Good day. Where do we begin?”

  “Please allow me to introduce myself,” the boy said, formally. “My name is Luke Iainson.” He inclined his head. “And I know ye be Dara, a friend to my aunt.”

  Darrell swallowed her nerves and nodded her head. “My name is Darrell Connor, but Dara will do just fine,” she said. “How much do you know about me?”

  Luke looked nervous. “My mother’s sister was from Arisaig, a small village near here.” At Darrell’s puzzled look, he continued. “She was known to have the sight. Before the tragedy struck our village, she told me about ye.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily.

  Darrell noticed for the first time how dirty he was. His hair, long and pulled back behind his head with a grimy piece of leather lacing, looked like it hadn’t been washed or brushed for a long time. His eyes were startlingly blue, but they looked very tired. He glanced up at Darrell. His voice was quiet, remembering.

  “Y’have not heard of Arisaig?” When Darrell shook her head, Luke continued, his voice dream-like. “My aunt had some ... friends there. They would meet at night under the shade of an enormous rowan tree. Some say ... some say the tree has special powers. And if anyone knew of those powers, it was my Auntie Aileen.

  “One day in the summer of last year, I walked to Arisaig, pulling our family’s cart loaded with dried fish. My family trades some of the herring from my father’s catch for a fat cow from my uncle’s stock. In this way, we can have milk and cheese and they can have fish in the winter.

  “The cart was heavy, but I didn’t care, because it was a rare day, sunny and hot, and I had time off from polishing armour and cleaning stables.

  “I walked through the centre of town. My hands were sore — the wooden handles of the cart are splintered and old — and my throat was as dry as an old bone. I heard a voice, calling my name...

  “‘Luke! Mo cridhe. Come to me, my heart!’

  “I looked up and saw Aileen, my aunt. She stood under the rowan tree, beckoning to me. I turned the cart around and pulled it over to rest under the shade of the tree. I remember the shade was wonderful, cool. Even though there had been no breeze, I felt refreshed under the leaves. The tree is enormous, and its branches are so thick and plentiful with leaves that its shade is as dark as night itself.

  “‘Ye look so thirsty, a mhàigein! Stop and have a drink.’ My aunt had a skin bag of cider that she carried on a cord on her back. She handed me the bag, and I drank the cider. It was warm, but I was so thirsty it tasted like wine. Before I knew it, I had finished every drop.

  “‘I’m sorry Aileen ...’

  “‘Don’t say a word. Ye were thirsty.’ She looked at my dusty clothes and boots and patted the ground near the massive trunk.

  “‘Sit with me a while ... have a rest.’

  “We sat in the shade quietly, watching the people of the village going about their business. That was a wonderful thing about my aunt. She didn’t want me to talk all the time ... it was fine to be silent. I picked up a berry that had fallen from the tree. It was early summer, so the berry was green, but it had the strangest shape on the end, like a five-pointed star ... a pentagram.

  “‘Keep that,’ my aunt said.

  “‘Why would I want a green rowan berry?’

  “‘It will bring ye luck, a mhàigein, my lovely little boy.’

  “‘Aileen, I am almost a grown man. Please stop calling me that.’

  “She laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear. Her hair was very dark, like yers, but curly and much longer. My aunt was very beautiful. She was my mother’s youngest sister, about ten years older than me, and was mother to three children of her own. It wasn’t right that she called me a baby, she was really not much older than I was, anyway. I changed the subject.

  “‘Why are ye here, under the tree, and not at home with my cousins?’

  “‘They are resting through the hot part of the day, the way any sensible person is.’

  “Her voice was still teasing, but at least she had stopped calling me a mhàigein.

  “‘But why here?’

  “‘I am here to gather these green berries to dry ... and to meet with ye, boy.’

  “This made me even more curious. The rowan berries held much value, but I did not know why. I knew some of the women of Arisaig would sell the berries along with crosses made from rowan twigs as talismans and amulets, for good luck and bad. My aunt rested her cheek against the trunk and closed her eyes. When she opened them, I could see she was no longer in the mood to tease.

  “‘Luke, this is a sacred place. When I heard ye were coming today, I knew I had to watch for ye ... to meet ye here. There is much I have to tell. Much and little.’

  “She paused and took my hand. This was unlike my sunny aunt to sound so serious. I tried to make a joke. ‘Auntie Aileen, it is too hot to be so grim. The herring in my cart will dry up in the sun. Let us go back to yer home, and I will fill up this bag with more cider and put the fish in yer cellar where they will stay cool.’

  “Her hand squeezed mine, and I felt that she was looking right into my soul. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “‘Luke, the tree has whispered to me. A terrible time is coming. There will be much death, and the loss to all will be more than ye can know.’

  “I was caught up in her words. ‘Aileen, how can ye know these things? And why ... why do ye tell them to me?’

  “‘Because there is still time for ye, mo cridhe, and time for yer ma and sister.’

  “‘Now I know ye make fun of me, Auntie Aileen. Ye know I have no sister.’

  “‘Never mind that now, lad. The time is short, and my husband will soon awake from his sleep and need food before he goes back to work in the fields.’ Her eyes travelled across the town square to rest on the dark doorway of her small cottage in the distance.

  “Her face became very still, and she clutched my hand still tighter. ‘Luke, I may not be able to help ye for much longer. Some evil is growing in this place, and I fear it may come to rest upon me. I trust in God for my own soul, Luke, no matter what anyone tells ye.’ I started to speak, but she held up her hand. ‘If I cannot help, if I am lost to ye, watch for a girl. Her name is Dara. Ye’ll know her, for she will come to ye with my dog, and she will have the means to help our family through the terrible time that comes and save us from grief.’

  “I pulled my hand out of hers and got to my feet. The hair on my arms was standing straight up, and I felt very strange.

  “‘What do ye mean, the terrible time...?’ but my question was interrupted by a shout.

  “‘Aileen!’ It was my uncle, calling from the doorway. ‘The children cry for their mother, and I for my meal.’

  “The moment was broken. My aunt gathered her berries and a few fallen branches into her apron, and I picked up the handles of the cart. I delivered the fish to my uncle, and he pulled me away across the field to his cow shed, where I gathered a bo to walk back to Mallaig.”

  Luke looked back at Darrell, and his eyes cleared.

  “That was the last time I saw my aunt alive.” He made the sign of a cross on his chest.

  Darrell opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. Luke bent his head and struggled to find words. When he looked up again, Darrell could see tears swimming in his eyes.

  “I am afraid ye’ve come too late to save my family from g
rief, Dara,” he said quietly. “But ye still seem to me to be a gift from my mother’s sister. She was a good woman, and I loved her dearly.”

  Darrell frowned. “What do you mean, was a good woman. Is she —?”

  “Yes,” Luke nodded. “She is dead.” He dropped his head to his chest. Darrell looked away from him for a moment, to give him a chance to catch his breath. She glanced down thoughtfully at Delaney, with his brown fur singed to the skin on one side. When she looked back, Luke’s head was held high and his eyes were blazing.

  “Shortly before that visit to my aunt, I had been apprenticed to a soldier from the guard at Ainslie Castle. My days were very full and I forgot all about the conversation with my aunt. Nearly a year had passed since my visit to Arisaig, and I was cleaning out the stable where my soldier kept his horse one morning before I went to my apprenticeship at the castle. The day was misty and grey, and I heard a horseman ride through the village, ringing a bell. I could not hear his words, but my father came in the stable at a run and jumped on the horse.

  “‘There’s trouble!’ he shouted. ‘Stay with yer mother and the bairn.’

  “I ran into the house, but my mother was feeding the baby and had not heard the horseman. When my father returned that night, I met him as he rubbed down the horse, which was covered in foam. I was very worried because he had taken the soldier’s horse and it was only by luck that the soldier hadn’t called for his mount that day. My father would not go in to see my mother until he had washed in the Loch. He stunk of smoke and he was covered in ash. When he returned from the Loch, I heard my mother scream and I ran to her, but he stopped me at the door.

  “‘Leave her to her wailing, lad.’ We walked back to the stables.

  “My father gave a forkful of straw to the horse. ‘This is a terrible thing, when the witches and faeries take the life a good woman and a mother.’

  “‘What d’ya mean, Da?’

  “‘I mean yer auntie is dead, lad, and worse. She was burned for witchcraft, with Logan’s missus and another wee old one.’

  “My stomach clenched and I gritted my teeth to stop from losing my supper on the straw.

  “‘What happened?’

  “‘Och ... I’m not sure. I think it had to do with the wee charms she made. She knew too often when the milk would turn sour or the chickens would stop laying. Now that the sickness is sweeping the village, they blame her, and the people have turned on the women who helped them in the past.’ He shrugged. ‘Tis a terrible shame that the rain held off. If I’d been there an hour before, perhaps I’d have had time to get her away. When I got there the flames were high above the post they’d been tied to, and the smell of burning pitch and flesh was the worst I’ve ever known.’

  “I felt filled with fury. ‘What about her husband? Where was he?’

  “‘I found him in the house, badly beaten, with the bairns around him wailing. By then I’d paid a man to bury Aileen in his field and sent in a local village woman to feed the children.’

  “He stood up then, and looked at me. ‘This is a terrible sickness, Luke, and I need to find a way to see my wife and children safe.’”

  Luke cleared his throat and looked at Darrell. “That was many weeks ago. My father took his fishing boat out alone and we have not seen him again. He never sails alone ... always with two or three other fishermen.” Luke bowed his head. “I am sure he is dead ... drowned looking for a place safe for his family away from the sickness.”

  Darrell patted his shoulder awkwardly, with her heart pounding in her chest. “You couldn’t know this, but my own father died three years ago.”

  Luke shook his head and crossed himself again. “I did not know it, Dara. I am sorry for the loss.” He gestured at the wooden peg that stuck out from the hem of her skirt. “Ye’ve suffered much in yer life,” he said softly.

  Darrell nodded. “As have you.” She turned away to give Luke a chance to wipe his eyes, her mind racing. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “Your aunt was burned as a witch because she foretold a tragedy to come. Your family has been hurt. Your village and Arisaig ...” She paused and looked up suddenly. “Luke, you said that many people are sick and dying?”

  Luke nodded, mutely.

  Darrell rubbed the crease between her eyebrows and spoke sharply. “Is anyone in your family ill?”

  Luke nodded, miserably. “My whole family in Arisaig has died,” he said bitterly, and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “The flames that took my mother’s sister and the two other women did not help. People have begun to sicken everywhere. My aunt’s husband, overcome with grief and shame, hid in his home. After a week he too became ill and died in a matter of days. All his children, my cousins, followed him to their graves soon after.” Luke paused for breath and looked into the fire.

  “Now even here in our small village, the bodies are piling up so fast that they are no longer being given Christian burial. The dead are burned every morning in a place near the centre of the village.” He shook his head. “So many have died that soon there will be no one left to do the burning. It is as if Death himself walks among us.”

  Darrell started. She put her hand into the pocket of the brown skirt and felt a telltale shape there. She drew the object out.

  “The woodcut print...”

  She looked carefully at the picture that she had been given by Professor Tooth at the start of the summer term. The grim images of the dead and dying stared mutely out from the woodcut. Echoes of Professor Tooth’s words chased through her mind. Epidemic...Plague...Black Death. Among the bodies in the print, the rats foraged, gnawing bones. And slithering like a snake through the back of her brain came the memory of Professor Tooth’s lesson ... and a boy named Luke, dead at nineteen of the Black Plague.

  “It’s the bubonic plague,” she whispered and began to pace. In spite of all that had happened, she felt that there must be some small thing that she could do to help Luke before she tried to find her own way back to Eagle Glen. She put her hand to her head.

  “Think, think, think,” she muttered. “What do I remember about the plague?” She racked her brain to remember all she had learned from Professor Tooth about the Middle Ages. She looked sharply at Luke. “Do you think I could take a walk around the village with you?” she said suddenly. “I need to see this for myself.” Luke nodded. Darrell started toward the door, but halted in her tracks. She whirled toward Luke. “I know you lost your family in Arisaig,” she said slowly, “And I am very sorry for your loss. But has anyone who lives in this house become ill?”

  Luke shook his head. “My father has been gone since the death of my aunt. My mother has been in mourning for her sister and has not left the house.” He gestured at the ceiling. “She sleeps now, with my baby sister, upstairs.” He gave a wry grin. “For y’see, my Auntie Aileen did have the sight ... and she saw rightly. I did end up with a baby sister.”

  “Oh ...” Darrell didn’t know what to say. A feeling was growing inside her, something she recognized as determination. She realized she had to deal with one thing at a time, and pushed the thoughts of Luke’s aunt to the back of her mind with the other things she could not find time to explain.

  “I think the most important job right now is to avoid getting sick ourselves. If this really is the time of the plague, most useful drugs won’t have been invented yet.” She thought for a moment, then turned back to Luke. She looked critically at his clothes. “Do you have any, er, cleaner clothes or rags around the house?”

  Luke shook his head for a moment, and then brightened. “My sister’s christening robes! They are safely wrapped to save for the next child.” He ran to a cupboard and rummaged, drawing out a grimy package wrapped in heavy woollen cloth and twine. Darrell watched him doubtfully as he unwrapped the package, but was pleased to see a delicate baby garment, clearly made of silk or some other fine fabric, emerge from the grimy wrappings.

  “That will be perfect, Luke. Now, I’m sorry, but we need to cut it up.”<
br />
  Luke looked horrified. “Oh, no, my mother would never allow it. It is our family’s most precious possession, next to the rosary.” He pointed to a string of beautiful rosewood beads surrounding a pewter cross that hung on the wall near the fireplace.

  “I’m very sorry,” Darrell repeated firmly, “but if we are to save your family, it is completely necessary.” She picked up a knife from the large table and began to slice up the fine cloth. Luke crossed himself once more and looked guiltily toward the ladder that led to the upper storey where his mother and sister slept. In moments, Darrell had fashioned two face masks, similar to those her mother wore during surgical procedures at the hospital.

  “These are a bit rough,” she said as she tied one around Luke’s face, “but they’ll do for our quick tour of the village.” She fastened her own mask over her nose and mouth and tied it firmly behind her head.

  “Let me take your arm, so I don’t trip over this stupid leg,” she said to Luke. “And if anyone asks, say that I am one of your remaining cousins from Arisaig. That should keep people far enough away.”

  Delaney trotting behind, they stepped out into the dark lane.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As they walked through the streets of Mallaig, Darrell knew she was walking through a dark chapter of history. The village was small, only a couple of short lanes surrounding a village square. The few people they saw usually scurried out of their way, frightened, perhaps, by the masks she and Luke wore. Darrell was struck by the tiny size of most of the people she saw. She was certainly taller than anyone she had seen except Luke, who was about her size. The smell of the streets was dank and rancid, though the masks made it somewhat easier to bear.