Leaf and Branch (New Druids Series Vol 1 & 2)

by Donald D. Allan

  "They'll come after me, won't they?" I asked.

  The Reeve laughed. "No, Will. It's me they'll come after. I was the one who took the thief down. Everyone in town saw me drag his body to the graveyard. But I suspect it's the coin they want. They'll think it in the house still."

  I nodded at this. That seemed to make sense ,and I relaxed somewhat.

  We continued to talk quietly until the sun touched the horizon. The light started to dim in the room and the Reeve said he had to be going.

  "Tomorrow we'll talk about that glass sickle," he said as he started toward the door. He placed his hat on his head and looked at me for a moment. "There's more to you than either you or I understand, Will. There's a mystery here I mean to get to the bottom of. I need to talk to Captain Gendred. You understand that?" When I nodded he continued. "He already knows about the chest of gold coins and I'll let him know that there may be another attempt to recover it. He'll understand that. He told me that he's already sent word to the capital by pigeon asking for them to arrange transportation of the chest along with a contingent of armed capital guards.

  H"e already has a reply and the chest is going directly to the Lord Protector, but it will be many weeks before we see the contingent arrive. Gendred isn't happy. Word of that gold will get out and all hell will break loose around here. This business with the coin changes things and he needs to increase his watch – but without knowing about the coin. Don't worry about that. I'm not convinced he needs to hear about that just yet. I can't explain it, Will. That coin belongs to you. I can feel it and I've long trusted my gut. Helps that Daukyns agreed to it before...well, before."

  The Reeve paused at the door. "You should know that the captain has already placed a guard outside the inn at all times at my request. You're safe here, son." And with that, he disappeared out the door and down the stairs. I heard him greet the innkeeper and then all was silent except for the quiet murmuring and the clinking of drink glasses that rose from the guests in the common room as they enjoyed their meals. Soon the crowd would build and laughter and music would fill the night air. They were sounds I was not used to hearing but over the past few days I had grown to like them. Perhaps I could one day be at ease with this many people at once, but for now I was happy to remain hidden in my room, listening in with obscurity.

  I went over everything the Reeve and I had discussed and could find no fault in it. It gave me comfort knowing I had a guard outside. Then I worried it might draw attention to me but managed to push those fears aside.

  I sighed to myself and tuned the sounds from downstairs out of my thoughts. I knew what I had to do now about Daukyns. Sorrow threatened to overwhelm me and I waited until I could control my emotions again. I owed my friend this last mercy and so I blinked back my tears and pulled the coin from my purse, rubbed it, and shifted.

  I watched Daukyns struggling to breathe and sorrowed at how little remained of the man I knew. Nonetheless, I took the time to confirm what I knew to be true: Daukyns would never recover from this. The damage was severe and now so little of who he was remained. I knew what I wanted to do but was unable. I wanted to ease his suffering completely. Complete his death and release him. I could do it so very easily and with barely any thought but it would be murder through and through and I felt a sharp pain tweak my head to confirm it. I could not take his life, even when I knew that there was nothing I could do to fix him and even when I knew he had no future left. So I did what I could. I found a way to block the pain in his body and watched his breathing ease somewhat. I soothed his body and calmed his heart. His face relaxed ,and I felt his relief. I stayed with him and watched over him, remembering how he had helped me and gave me friendship when no one else even noticed me.

  I watched as he stopped breathing and I held my breath with him.

  I watched as his heart stopped and felt mine break with it.

  I watched as his body relaxed and sank into his pallet and a sigh escaped both of us.

  I watched patiently for his spirit to rise up and seek the heavens.

  The Church says our souls rise and travel to heaven when we die. When I had asked Daukyns about this ,he laughed and said that it was a fairy tale for children and used to hold people to the teachings of the Church. He then spoke lovingly of the stars and patiently explained to me how we all came from them. He often said that he wanted to return to them and when he died he would. And so I waited and watched to see if he would rise out of his body to the stars. But nothing happened and his body just lay there as if abandoned or forgotten.

  I'm not sure how long I watched, but after a time I realised that nothing more would happen here. All that was my friend Daukyns was gone from this world and no spirit would rise to an afterlife in heaven or fly to the stars. I was deeply saddened. I lay in my bed and held off the tears that threatened to overwhelm me and debated with myself on whether or not Daukyns' disbelief in an afterlife had excluded him from finding one in the end, but, after a time, I came to the decision that this was unlikely. The simple truth was evident before my eyes: there wasn't a spirit or an afterlife. You have this life and that is it. You have to make the most of it.

  My grief overwhelmed me and I pulled back my vision. I covered my head with the blankets and quietly cried for my friend until sleep thankfully took me in its embrace.

  Seven

  Jaipers, 900 A.C.

  FIVE DAYS LATER, I was more or less recovered. I had eaten better over the last few days than I ever had during my life and I felt positively fat. My strength returned to my limbs, and I took walks around my room until I felt sure that I wouldn't fall down. I had been in great shape before I fell ill and it appeared it hastened my recovery.

  Two days ago the garrison captain and the Reeve had stopped by my room to discuss the events I witnessed regarding the death of the assassin. The captain was only focused on what had happened to me and nodded when I described the arrow shot that ended the thief's life. He gave the Reeve an appraising look and then stood up and warmly patted my shoulder.

  "Thank you, Will," he said. "That's what the Reeve told me. Glad to see you're doing better and recovering from that illness. Bad luck having that thief grab you and then coming down sick."

  He looked around my room. I was certain he didn't know how to excuse himself politely and I had to stop myself from smiling. The Reeve had an eyebrow raised, staring at the captain.

  "Well," he said after a moment, "I'm satisfied." And he turned to leave and then turned back. "Um, sorry to hear about Daukyns. He was a good man. Those creams you made with him were potent. I don't suppose you'll be...?" he drifted off looking meaningfully to me.

  At first I had no idea what he was hinting at then I realised he wanted to know if I would still be making the unguents. I struggled to find a response. His question caught me off guard and I wasn't sure what I wanted to do now. I hadn't given it any thought. The Reeve noticed my discomfort and jumped in to answer for me.

  "Captain, young Will here will need a little more time to mourn his friend. The funeral's today. Ask him again in a few days, hmm?"

  The captain looked embarrassed, mumbled an apology and lurched out the door. The Reeve and I listened to him descend the stairs, call out a greeting to the innkeeper and disappear out onto the street. I looked at the Reeve and he shook his head.

  "Thank you for keeping the coin secret, Reeve Comlin."

  He grunted, sat down on the stool and looked me over. "You're looking much better. How's the strength?"

  "Much better, thanks. I made it down to the kitchen this morning and startled Dempster. Did you know he talks to his food?"

  The Reeve chuckled. "I'm not surprised." He stood suddenly, said he had to go and left.

  Yesterday the Reeve stopped by before the funeral and found me eating a meal in the common room. He joined me and had a beer and we talked about small things in the town. He updated me on Martha and her son: they were both doing well. Martha was still in bed but recovering her strength remarkably fas
t. I was glad for the news and was ashamed that I hadn't thought of them at all. The innkeeper stopped by the table and sat with us.

  "Young Will," he said and nodded politely at me. "Reeve. How's the beer?"

  "Fine, John," replied the Reeve as he took a sip. "As always, up to your high standard."

  The innkeeper nodded, pleased with the compliment. He looked around, silent and then glanced over at me. "So," he said. "You're looking better."

  "Yes, sir," I replied, feeling a strange tension in the air.

  "That room comfortable enough?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good. Good."

  The Reeve coughed, and the innkeeper looked over at him.

  "I'm sure he'll be well enough to leave by tomorrow, John."

  "Of course!" said the innkeeper. "No rush. No rush. You just get better, lad."

  With that, the innkeeper rose, hurried over to another table, grabbing empty mugs and promising more beer to the couple seated there. He signaled the waitress then disappeared into the kitchen. The waitress hurried over, dropped two frothy mugs in front of the couple and with a swirl of her skirts, hustled over to another table. The man stared at her bottom and his wife, I assumed, smacked him on the arm and scowled at him.

  I turned to look at the Reeve and found him staring at me in thought. "Any idea what you're going to do, Will?"

  "I haven't given it much thought, actually. I have to leave soon. Get back to the woods. I can feel it pulling at me."

  The Reeve frowned at me and grew quiet in thought. "Well, you can't stay here any longer. Dempster arranged that room for you but the innkeeper wants it back, I think."

  "Right," I replied and looked around the inn. It was bustling with activity. The inn was popular with the barges and travelling merchants, and the rooms cost a premium. I was staying in one of the nicer rooms and likely the innkeeper wanted to earn his coin. I had to leave the inn and was startled to find that I was torn about that. One part of me wanted nothing more than to run out into the woods and never come back and the other part of me wanted the comfort and companionship.

  "You'll stay with me tomorrow. Okay?"

  I nodded and watched the innkeeper speaking with Dempster in the doorway to the kitchen. Dempster glanced over and his face reddened. I had overstayed my welcome.

  The Reeve and I talked every evening. Almost always about the coin and what it could mean. His interest in me had raised my caution at first but after a time I warmed to his presence and looked forward to our talks; even when they uncomfortably seemed to focus almost solely on me and my past. We talked about the sickle and I surprised myself by telling him where it had come from and how my mother had given it to me shortly before she died. I found myself explaining how I used it to gather herbs and how it made my potions and unguents so much more powerful. The Reeve just shook his head and didn't press me for more information. It was all beyond his ability to understand, I think, and rather than press the issue he simply took note and let it go. I admired that in Reeve Comlin. He was a good man, and I trusted him. And he trusted me as well, it seemed. Before we knew it we had formed a friendship, and it came at a time when I needed it most.

  The funeral ceremony for Daukyns that afternoon was a large event. I was pleased when most of the town came out to pay respects. Seeing their numbers reminded me of how many lives Daukyns had touched and how many families he had provided for when no other would or could. I noted with sadness that only a few of the more well off people in town came to say goodbye and I am sorry to say I was not too surprised.

  Daukyns had been the only Wordsmith in Jaipers and so Captain Gendred presided over the funeral and spoke a few kind words. We buried him outside of town in the graveyard and when my time came, I said words that I cannot recall with any clarity. I didn't cry though, and I was pleased with that. I was weary of crying and done with it. Tears were not helping me and they wouldn't help Daukyns, and truth be told, the tears only drained me in the end. I was finding it hard to relate this shrouded body to the man I had so admired. To me, we were burying a remnant, a tossed aside piece of clothing – not a man. Certainly not my friend Daukyns, I thought. Daukyns was that smiling, peaceful man who looked out for me and cared for me when I had no one else. That was the man I knew – not this canvass wrapped remnant.

  The ceremony concluded. I watched in silence as he was placed in the grave and a couple of the garrison men shovelled dirt over him. I stayed and watched until the dirt was packed over his grave. A few people stopped by with a word or two for me before they wandered away, many not sure what they now should do. I thanked them and waited.

  Once I was alone, I drew some seeds from my pocket and planted them on Daukyns' grave. The flowers that would grow here were those that he and Bill Burstone had sent me after – the poppies. I took out the coin and using it, I urged the seeds to grow quick and strong and I felt their acceptance and desire to obey. I knew within a few days they would sprout and reach for the sun. I felt some measure of joy in that before noticing the large number of fresh graves dug in the graveyard. There were at least a dozen. Killed by the sickness before I could cure them. One grave, I knew, contained the assassin and one contained Bill Burstone. I felt it wrong he be allowed to share the same ground as Bill Burstone and the kind people of Jaipers.

  I crouched down by Daukyns' grave and reached out to the tree that grew beside it. Please watch over my friend, I whispered. I was sure I imagined it but it felt like the tree lent me some of its strength. I felt a little more solid and the cobwebs that had clouded my thoughts seemed to vanish. An urge to lie on the ground rose within me, but I resisted it and looked instead over to Jaipers. I had to complete my business there and then I would need to go. I needed to get back to the woods and soon. I could no longer resist the pull. I would have to tell the Reeve that I wouldn't be staying with him tomorrow. The decision made, I almost felt relief and the pull from the woods reduced. I stood and looked down at the grave.

  "Goodbye, my friend," I said to Daukyns. "I'll look to the stars for you."

  My feet almost took me straight out of town and down the road away from Jaipers but I needed to get my backpack and say my farewells and so I trudged back to the inn. I spent a moment emptying and repacking my backpack. By the time I finished I was completely drained and collapsed on my bed, sleeping straight through until morning. When I woke I felt more like my old self than I had in days.

  I stopped to speak to Dempster and have a quick breakfast, then I moved out to the street. The Reeve picked me up as soon as I appeared outside the inn. I felt better with my backpack settled on my shoulders. Its weight was a comfort, and I was grateful to bear it once more. The Reeve scrutinised me.

  "You're looking hale," he said.

  "Mmm. Yes, much better, thanks."

  "Are you up to going through Daukyns' belongings?" he asked. "I think you should take what you can. He would want that, I think."

  I nodded, and we crossed over to the common hall and went into the back room to go through Daukyns' belongings. We gathered the items and laid them out on the table. They didn't amount to much. All that he owned were his small, leather–bound book of the Word, his wooden wine cup and what remained of the materials we used to make our potions and salves. So I packed away what remained of the candles, beeswax, two clay jars and a small burner plate the blacksmith had made for us. We buried Daukyns in his wine stained robe and not surprisingly, it was the only clothing he possessed. I glanced around the tiny empty room and was saddened to see that nothing else remained of him. He had kept nothing for himself throughout his life. He was a frugal man and gave all that he had to anyone he felt more deserving – which was pretty much everyone.

  I secured my backpack and hefted it onto my shoulders. It weighed more than it ever had before and I was glad that my weakness was mostly gone. I worried that my stitching wouldn't be able to handle the added strain. I stared at the wine–stained, wooden cup where we found it on the small worktable.

 
My thoughts returned to my decision I had made yesterday to leave town and return to the solitude of the woods. I could no more fight the urge to leave than to force myself to stop breathing. I needed time to myself to sort out the jumble of my thoughts. I also had to think more about this healing process and try to come to terms with what it was and what it meant to me and my future. It was simply too much to take in and with all the distractions of the inn, I found I couldn't keep my mind straight on the problem.

  My first thoughts about my healing ability had come to me when I still lay convalescing in the bed in the inn. My first excited reaction was that I should heal everyone I could. And then, unbidden, I remembered a conversation with Daukyns about equality we had one day not too long ago, maybe three months back in the early Spring.

  Daukyns had often taught me from the Word. I remembered that he spoke to me about the word 'equality' and with it the concept that everyone was equal. As we spoke we strolled through town and I happened to observe two young and malnourished children being shooed away by an overweight, rich couple in the open market. It was a clear, bright and cloudless day: the husband, red–faced, and huffing and puffing to catch his breath, the wife with one fat finger buried in her mouth tasting the merchant's sample, were buying a rather large bag of beet sugar – a rare luxury – from an equally overweight merchant. Children stopped to stare at the enormous bag of sugar and even from my distance the hunger and longing on their faces was there for everyone to see. The sight of the children so close to them and looking into their business drew the ire of this fat couple and they had turned on the children and chased them off, shouting after them. The woman had struck one child with her open hand. Equality: there was none. Just the haves and have–nots. The scene angered me and Daukyns picked up on it right away as he was wont to do with me.