The Hermit of Lammas Wood

by Nathan Lowell

  “That’s why you’re a hermit. To see?”

  “It’s a calling. The Lady calls one or two every generation to be mother to the world. I was lucky enough to be the one.”

  “At the expense of not knowing your granddaughter?”

  Gertie’s smile tilted. “I know her better than she knows, I think. I see her; even in Northport she’s one of the brightest stars in the winter sky.”

  “But she doesn’t see you.”

  Gertie’s face drooped and she took another sip of her cider. “No. She doesn’t. She’s paying the price for my gift, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s not too late.”

  “P’r’aps.” Gertie lifted and dropped one shoulder in shrug. “We still got a lot of work to do here, you and me. After that...” Her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes. “After that, we’ll see.”

  “What work is that important?” Tanyth asked.

  Gertie grinned. “You wanna hear the trees, don’t cha?”

  Tanyth’s gaze went to the window. The afternoon light had already faded to near twilight as the sun took shelter behind the mountain to the west. An evening purple replaced the dappled gold and green. “I’m not sure.”

  Gertie sighed. “Can’t say as I’m surprised.” She sat back in her chair and cradled her cup between her two palms. “Well, let’s get something to eat and you can ask more questions.”

  “I got one now,” Tanyth said. “Where do you get the bread?”

  “Make it.”

  “What about the flour?”

  “Barter for it with the trappers. You met Nick. He usually brings me a fifty-pound bag every spring. He dropped off the fresh one just a couple weeks back.”

  “You’re not an herbalist at all, are you?”

  “Not really. I know stinging nettle from sage. Mint from rosemary, but no. I’m mostly a busy body.” Her grin made Tanyth smile in return.

  Chapter Twenty-four:

  Terrible Gossips

  Tanyth found her bedroll next to the hearth and vowed to never try to drink along with Gertie Pinecrest ever again. The room swam around her. Only the sure knowledge that the stones could not move kept her from trying to grip the floor.

  She lay there in the glow from the dying fire and gazed up at the oblongs of moonlight that marked the windows. A hundred winters seemed an incredible amount of time until she realized that it was only twice as long as her whole life. Less, really. Someone born when the cottage had been built might have been still alive when she started the long path that led her to it. Those who did the actual building were long gone, but time felt a bit more fluid to her—a bit more forgiving, somehow.

  The night wind whispered in the eaves of the cottage. A storm blows from the west, sweeping a bit of snow onto the peaks but dropping icy rain on the lowlands. Across the valley and over the next ridge, two women huddle in their bedrolls and stare at a meager fire. The scent of roasted rabbit wafts on the breeze. Far to the south, a dark blight festers in a notch on the coast.

  Tanyth sat upright in her bedroll and blinked her eyes wide in the dimness to wake herself. She found that she was not sleeping.

  Gertie’s chuckling interrupted the sound of the winds in the eaves. “Told ya,” she said. “Terrible gossips, trees.”

  “You heard it?” Tanyth asked, lowering herself back onto the hard floor.

  “Almost every night, there’s a wind that blows up the valley. Surprisin’ what you’ll hear if you listen.”

  “Storm comin’?”

  “Aye. ’spected as much. My hands ache somethin’ awful when the weather changes. Trees not tellin’ me what I don’t know.”

  Tanyth rolled onto her side and cradled her head on an arm. “Never heard the like before.”

  “Never been far enough from people to hear before.” The old woman sighed. “The price we pay for the gift.”

  “You’re here.”

  “Aye, but only barely. The older you are, the less you’re here until your body gives up and lets you move on.”

  Tanyth felt her eyes closing and sleep stealing over her. “That’s why the girls had to leave,” she said, her voice a low murmur.

  “Aye. They’re young and alive and very much there. The wind finds them and the trees see them clearly. Old sticks like me? Only barely here. Easy to overlook an old woman but even then I can’t hear as well. See as much when you’re here.”

  Tanyth heard the cot’s ropes stretch and scrape as Gertie rolled over. If she was going to spend too many more nights here, she’d need to make a bed of her own. The stone floor offered scant comfort to old bones.

  Breakfast brought griddle cakes and slices off a pork sausage along with a fresh pot of tea. Tanyth felt none of the aftermath from the cider. Perhaps a trifle bloated, but none of the headache or nausea she expected from an afternoon and evening spent imbibing strong drink.

  “No chickens?” she asked while they waited for the griddle cakes to brown.

  Gertie shook her head. “None since I been here. Thought about ’em often enough.”

  “Need a rooster for eggs.”

  “That might be why. Never felt the lack of poultry since I been here so never thought about it.”

  Tanyth reviewed the larder in her mind. “Fish, elk, venison...pork? Somebody keeps pigs around here?”

  “The Lord and Lady raise boars all through the oak woods below the valley’s foot.” Gertie gave her a wry smile. “Easy to forget they always have the biggest farm.”

  Tanyth laughed along with her. “True. Something I thought I appreciated, but prob’ly need a few more lessons.”

  Gertie reached in with a wrap of cloth and grabbed the handle of the skillet, flipping the griddle cake in it with a practiced twitch of the wrist.

  “You’re pretty good at that.”

  Gertie grunted. “You’d be, too, if you done it for twenty-odd winters.” She settled back in her chair with a low sigh.

  “I can do that, you know.”

  Gertie gave her a shallow nod. “I know. Leave an old woman somethin’ to do. Not like it’s a great effort.”

  “So what’ll we do today?” Tanyth asked after a few moments of silence.

  “Hot springs. Calendar. Need a bath. Prob’ly show you the graveyard. I need to write in my journal, too. Prob’ly should do that right after breakfast.”

  “You don’t have a garden?”

  Gertie shook her head. “Never saw the need.”

  “What you do for greens?”

  “Plenty of goosefoot and purslane. Reminds me, we should go down the valley and pick some fiddleheads.” Gertie shrugged. “Never saw the need to grow it when I could just walk out and pick it.”

  The griddle cake began to send up small wisps of smoke so she flipped it out onto a plate. “There’s honey if you’ve a sweet tooth.”

  “No maple syrup?” Tanyth grinned as she asked, expecting a sharp answer.

  “No maple trees. They don’t take to the altitude as well. There’s a stand a few miles south, down toward the coast, but nothin’ near enough here.”

  “You feelin’ all right, Gertie?” Tanyth leaned over the table and looked at the woman closely.

  “I’m fine. Fine. Not used to drinkin’ with company, I guess.”

  Tanyth accepted the answer and topped off the old woman’s mug with hot tea before addressing her griddle cake. A bit of the creamy goat cheese added a savory bite to the otherwise bland flatbread.

  “Where d’you get the baking powder?” Tanyth asked.

  “What?”

  Tanyth pointed to the griddle cake. “No eggs in this, but you put in flour, salt, baking powder and goat milk?”

  “Oh, yeah. Get it from one of the hot springs. Grows in crystals. Kinda pretty. You can grind ’em up with a couple of rocks or a mortar and pestle. Like salt. Same place, actually.”

  “What about the goat milk?”

  “They’ll be around later this morning. They’re here by midmorning almost every day.”

/>   “They?”

  “You’ll see.” Gertie shrugged. “I’m so used to just going day to day, I don’t think of it any more–just do it when it’s time.”

  Tanyth finished off the griddle cake and sipped at her tea. “You don’t find it borin’?”

  Gertie smiled. “Never. There’s always something to do, something to see. There’s the trees and the animals. I get the odd visitor and then sometimes one of the old women makes the journey up to visit me, like you.”

  “Who was the last one?”

  “Harriet Rockland. Fussy woman. Hated sleepin’ on the stone but never thought to add an extra pad.”

  “What’d she come to learn?”

  “She heard voices. One of ’em told her to come see me.”

  “Did she hear the trees?”

  “No, poor woman just heard voices in her head.”

  “Did you help her?”

  Gertie sighed. “Not really sure. She came, spent a couple of weeks here and went home again. From what she said, she hated every minute she was here and jumped at the chance to head back to Northport with a couple of lumberjacks goin’ that way. The trees never speak of her.”

  “Supppose she made it back safely?”

  Gertie sighed again. “I ’spect so. That kinda stuff, the trees talk about. Truth is most people out here are decent folk. They got the same temptations and desires as anybody, but most of ’em learn to control ’em or they don’t last long out here.”

  “There are times I think this must be a hard life,” Tanyth said, her gaze straying to the golden-green sunlight on the windows. “Other times it feels...well...it just feels right.”

  Gertie reached across and patted Tanyth’s forearm. “People got hard lives wherever they are, if they think it’s a hard life. Some have trouble findin’ enough to eat. Some got no roof over their head. Some don’t know about the Lord and Lady...or if they do, they don’t trust ’em.”

  “Met a few of those,” Tanyth said.

  “Too many people think the Lord and Lady’s just an excuse. That they’ll just take care of a body if ya believe enough. They don’t have enough sense to reach out a hand and pluck an apple.”

  Tanyth smiled. “You don’t have to sell me. I’ve been living off the land for a long time. When yer needs are simple, there’s plenty to go around.”

  “You’re gonna like it here, Tanyth.” Gertie smiled. “You gonna start your book now?”

  “My book?”

  “Yeah. The herb book? Wasn’t that what you wanted? To find a quiet place to write your book?”

  Tanyth felt the hair on her arms prickle. “Well, I was told you were the last keeper of the old knowledge. I started out to fill in the blanks on stuff I don’t know.”

  “I’m the keeper, dear. Not the owner.”

  “The library,” Tanyth said.

  “Yeah. The hermit keeps the library safe and helps old women understand the All-Mother’s gifts, such as they are.”

  “So, not every woman gets a gift like this?” Tanyth waved a hand around in the air, not exactly sure where to point.

  “Most get something small. Some get more. Those with strong gifts have heavy responsibilities and you’ve met most of those women along your path over the last twenty winters. At least those here in Korlay. There are others in other lands. Some with gifts as strong or stronger, I imagine.”

  “You never met them?”

  “They never came here.” Gertie’s mouth curved around in a wry grin. “Sometimes the trees catch a wind from far away and they whisper tales. Terrible gossips, the trees.”

  “Heavy responsibilities?”

  “They’re the healers and midwives, quite often. Herb lore is prob’ly the most common but there’s them that study the animals instead of the plants. There’s lots to know about how to live. Me, I’m a gadfly. Flitterin’ from one interest to another. I can tell you which rocks are salt and which mushrooms to pick. If your cow’s sick, I can prob’ly tell ya why.”

  “If my mule’s lonely?” Tanyth asked with a grin.

  “That was good advice. A dog makes more sense than another mule. Easier to feed, and the mule’ll appreciate the extra protection.”

  “You heard that?”

  “Course.”

  “This is all real.”

  “Real as this cottage.”

  “Why isn’t it common knowledge?”

  “What makes you think it’s not?”

  “I thought I was goin’ mad when I first started dreamin’.”

  “You’re the only one who thought that.”

  A fragment of conversation wafted through her mind, a memory of a warm man who carried more wisdom than he knew. “Somebody else told me that once.”

  “You shoulda believed him.”

  “How d’you know it was a man?” Tanyth challenged.

  “My eyes are clouded but Squeek sees really well.”

  Tanyth bit her lip and hid her face, pretending to sip from the empty cup.

  “Well, I need to write a bit in my journal. Can you clean this up?”

  “Fresh water?”

  “There’s a spring just the other side of the cold room. You can get a bit of that and then use the hot water from the bottling room to do dishes. Saves heatin’ wash water.”

  “You mentioned a bath?”

  “Oh, yeah. You’re gonna love that.”

  “Well, let’s get goin’ then. Daylight’s burning.” Tanyth stood and collected the dishes into a neat pile. “We’re not expectin’ visitors today are we?”

  “Trees didn’t mention it. You can check with the sparrow hawk. See if anybody’s come into the valley.”

  “Later, maybe. I don’t need to know that bad,” Tanyth said.

  “Practice, dearie. Practice.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ve had more’n twenty winters’ practice. I’m still new at all this.”

  “You’ll be surprised how fast you pick it up.” Gertie lifted herself out of her chair, using her arms against the table to push.

  “You sure you’re all right?” Tanyth asked.

  “Yeah. Slow startin’ this mornin’. Don’t have young’uns to impress and get movin’ for today.” She grimaced and glanced at the cider jug. “That don’t help much right now, either.”

  Tanyth snorted. “I know what you mean, but it sure tasted good last night.”

  Gertie chortled a bit. “That it did. That it did.” She crossed to the bookcase and pulled down a leather folder with papers stuffed inside. She slipped a quill behind her ear and grabbed a small bottle to take back to the table. “Don’t just stand there, dearie. I’ll be done here in a few minutes. You get them dishes done up and then we’ll go take a walk outside.”

  Tanyth nodded and pushed through the door to the store room. A walk outside sounded like a very good idea.

  Chapter Twenty-five:

  Sticks And Stones

  The midmorning sun warmed the back of Tanyth’s jacket. Being in the high country just felt colder most of the time. The Shear Moon would rise in a few nights and being bundled up in late spring seemed at odds with what she knew.

  Gertie held her naked arms out to catch the sun’s rays. “Feels good on the old bones.”

  “Don’t know how you can go without at least a jacket,” Tanyth said.

  “Used to it. That’s all.” Gertie turned her face up and basked for a moment. “Well, let’s take a little walk around, shall we?”

  She headed north up the valley. A narrow trail of scattered rocks didn’t so much mark the path as provide the clue that it existed at all. Only a lack of plant life set it apart from the loose scree at the foot of the mountain. A few dozen feet beyond the cottage’s clearing, the apple trees gave way to an alpine meadow across the head of the valley. It spread a carpet of green grass and blossoms upward into the slopes before the stones of the mountains discouraged further adventures.

  “It’s lovely.”

  “Spring is my favorite time here,” Gertie said.
“The grass seems greener somehow. Or maybe it’s just that Squeek sees it as greener after bein’ cooped up all winter by the cold and the snow.”

  A sturdy frame building with walls of unmortared stone perched to one side, squared blocks keeping the wood from the ground, but no door hung inside the door frame.

  “That the cider mill?” Tanyth asked.

  “Yeah. Apples go in, and sweet cider comes out. The orchard provides plenty.”

  “You don’t keep any apples?”

  “Oh, yeah. A bushel or two. Prob’ly should keep more.” Gertie grinned. “They taste so good, they’re always gone by the winter solstice.”

  Tanyth stepped up into the building and eyed the grinder and press inside. “Seems like a lotta work for one person.”

  “Would be, but I usually have a trapper or two ta help in the fall.”

  “They lookin’ to get an early lead on the new crop of cider?” Tanyth asked.

  “I s’pect so. They always leave with a couple of jugs. Some take it sweet but others are happy to get a jug of barrel-aged hard cider when they go.”

  Tanyth rolled her tongue around in her mouth, recalling the crisp flavor of the cider. “Yeah. I can see that happening.”

  Gertie picked her way around the mill and into the meadow beyond. Hidden behind the building, Tanyth found a field of regular stones laid out in a rectangular pattern. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Count the stones and you’ll find out how many hermits have been here. Some of ’em go back hundreds of winters.”

  Tanyth counted over twenty stones. “Doesn’t seem possible.”

  “What? So few stones? Or so many?”

  “Looks like a lot spread out like that, but it’s only—what? Twenty-five? Thirty?”

  “Twenty-eight. Mine’ll be number twenty-nine. I got a nice block picked out already.” Gertie crossed the grass to the far edge of the field. A fresh square of stone about ten inches tall and nearly a foot long waited in the grass. Streaks of milky white quartz wrapped around the dark granite. “Nick and Sarah helped me drag it over a couple summers ago.”

  “It’s...pretty.” Tanyth looked at Gertie. “Did all the hermits pick out their own stones?”