“Be a dear and sweep up in here for me, would you?” She waved an arm vaguely at the kitchen.
Laughing quietly to himself, Devin took up the soft broom and began sweeping the floor. He was only just finishing the first corner when Hannah bustled back into the room. She had changed into a bright flowery dress and twisted her hair up into a complex arrangement. “Now then, dear, would you please run and fetch Khorin out of the fields and tell him to wash up, while I go and invite the pastor over for some tea?” She climbed up the three stone steps and was out of the door before Devin had a chance to answer. For a short woman, she could move deceptively swiftly.
By the time Devin had found Khorin and they had made their way back to the cottage, Hannah was already outside with the dark-robed priest. As they approached, Devin could see that the man wasn't as old as he'd first thought. His hair was fully grey, but his face was young. He was barely out of his twenties, by the looks of things.
“It's not much,” she demurred, “but we like to call it home.”
“It's lovely,” the robed man said, with that condescending smile again.
“Oh and here they are!” Hannah said, as she noticed them both approaching. “Khorin, Devin, this is Father Trallen.” She gestured as she spoke. “Father, this is Khorin, my husband, and our son, Devin. Father Trallen is going to be building a church here in Widdengate, Khorin,” Hannah gushed.
“A church?” Khorin gave the robed man a frank and appraising look.
“Well, a chapel,” Trallen clarified. “And it will be workmen building it, not me.” He laughed a small little laugh. “For now, at Mistress Maryanne's insistence, I'll be lodging at the inn and holding regular services on the green beside it.”
“Well, you must come over for tea whenever you need to escape,” Hannah said, smiling. “She's an awful gossip, you know,” she confided, as Devin and Khorin exchanged a glance and fought to keep their faces straight.
The priest coughed and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I am sure that would be lovely.”
“And, of course, you'll be attending the harvest festival? It's only a week away,” she enthused.
“Ah well, I'm not sure,” the robed man said hurriedly, with a halting gesture. “Sometimes these things don't go very well with the teachings of our Lord of the New Days, you know? Old pagan ways, and dances and the like.”
“Oh,” she said, in a small voice, and her face fell. “It would have been such a nice way to introduce you to our little community, as well.”
“Well, we will see,” Trallen said, in a mollifying tone. “It's just as I will be speaking about tomorrow in my sermon. People sometimes find it too hard to let go of the old ways. Things like that horseshoe over your barn door,” he continued, somehow not noticing Hannah's stricken expression. “Some people put them up for luck. Really though, it's a symbol, meant to keep away those things that we fear in the night. These are the things that shackle us to the past, you see? How can we grow as people, when we hide in fear of the ghosts and goblins from children's tales?”
Hannah nodded, smiling. “It's a silly old thing. Been up there for years, I'll have Khorin take it down this afternoon.”
“My grandfather and I put that up!” Khorin protested, in a hoarse whisper, as Hannah made frantic flapping motions at him behind the priest's back. Devin coughed into his hand and turned his face away.
“Anyway, let's go inside for some tea, shall we? Listen to me, gossiping on the doorstep!” She laughed a silly little laugh and led the robed man down the steps into the cottage, leaving Khorin and Devin on the doorstep.
“The woman's as giddy as a young girl at the Midwinter's dance!” Khorin muttered in a low voice to Devin. “She's not been this bad since we had that messenger here, who'd had a tumble and had to spend the night. Cooing and gushing all evening, she was. To think, she dragged me back here for this. I've half the field left to do.” He gave Devin a pointed look. “Tomorrow,” he said, firmly.
***
The following day, Devin was woken by Hannah at dawn. She forced him into a shockingly cold bath to scrub himself until she was satisfied with his pink and slightly sore skin. He and Khorin sat out of the way, at the kitchen table, in freshly laundered shirts whilst Hannah busied herself with getting ready. They waited in silence. The woman had disturbingly good hearing. Devin could tell that Khorin was not happy. There was a definite atmosphere in the kitchen, as if the harsh words that hadn't been spoken were still fighting to be heard.
Eventually, she descended the stairs and marched them off to the green beside the inn. Neither Khorin nor Hannah had shown the slightest interest in religion in the years Devin had lived with them. They made a bow to the Lord of Midwinter when the snows first fell and at the Midwinter's dance, but that was really as far as it went.
Trallen had arranged things simply beside the inn, with a semicircle of benches and chairs, and then an empty patch of grass next to an old stump for himself. Devin sat with Khorin and Hannah, curious as to what the mysterious new figure would have to say.
The villagers filed in quietly, driven by curiosity more than anything else. Less than ten families attended, though Devin noticed that many of the womenfolk were wearing dresses which were definitely not for everyday use. His was also not the only pink, well-scrubbed face in attendance. He hadn't been to a religious service before and wasn't quite sure what to expect. He jumped as Hannah poked him in the ribs, without seeming to have moved, to draw his attention back to the priest, who had moved to the centre of the patch of grass, ready to begin.
“Welcome all,” began Trallen, “and thank you for such a wonderful welcome to your village. The Lord bless you and keep you safe always.” He looked up from his folded hands with a broad smile, “I wanted to start by asking what you have heard of the Lord of New Days, and see if there are any questions I can answer?” He looked over the small crowd expectantly, but was faced only with silence.
“Come now, someone must have heard something. It doesn't matter if it's wrong or even insulting. I promise not to be offended.” He said the last with a smile.
“I heard how he don't like holidays, and you're forbidden from dancing and the like,” Kainen said from the back row, while his mother, scarlet-faced, tried to hush him.
Trallen laughed and replied, “That's a new one, I must confess. I hear all sorts of stories and it's nice to be able to set the record straight. I quite like holidays. Some festivals can be a great deal of fun. I'll confess, I'm not much of a dancer, but the only thing stopping me is my two left feet.” He chuckled at his own bad joke, as a nervous ripple of laughter went through the small crowd.
“The Book of New Days,” he said, pointing to a large, leather-bound book he'd set on the stump beside him, “tells us that the Lord loves us and protects us. He created everything around us and He wants us to prosper. Some things hold us back, but dancing isn't one of them.”
“I heard you New Dayers don't hold with old beliefs and traditions, and you work to stamp 'em all out.” The crowd turned as one, to see Samen leaning on his stick behind them. The old man was still hale and hearty, despite his advancing years, but age had done nothing to tame his cantankerous nature or to blunt his tongue.
“I think that 'stamp out' might be a little harsh,” Trallen replied, mildly. “We simply want our Lord's children to progress as He intended.” He turned to Erinn's father. “You, sir, unless I am mistaken, are the blacksmith in this lovely village, aren't you?” The large man nodded. “Now, let me ask you something. If you were making a new plough, would you use iron or steel?”
“Given the choice, I suppose I'd use steel. It's stronger,” the bear-like man said, slowly.
“But years ago, we used iron or even wood, didn't we?” Trallen said, smiling indulgently at the man's nod. “Now, should we continue to use iron or wood, just because tradition tells us so? Of course not, that would be foolish. This is the heart of the Lord's message. He wants us to progress and to be the best we can be. To achieve the future
He has planned for us.”
“So why not just give us steel to begin with?” Samen called out, earning himself a glare from both Hannah and Maryanne, who had arrived late and now stood beside him.
“Well, let's ask one of the mothers here something. If you have a child who wants something, is it better to just give it to them or to make then earn it in some way?”
“Earn it,” said Hannah firmly. “That way, they value it more.”
“Exactly,” the priest said with a warm smile.
“Don't see what that has to do with stamping out the old ways,” Samen muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. He clamped his lips shut, as Maryanne whispered furiously into his ear.
The rest of the service passed quickly with a short sermon and, finally, a brief prayer. The new pastor was clearly no fool and realised that a short, successful sermon would be much better than a long-winded failure. His choice of location was obviously not just by chance either. As the service finished, the men drifted into the inn while most of the women stopped to chat to the new priest.
Devin wandered towards the inn, hoping to catch Kainen for a short time. It felt like months since they had really spent any time together. It seemed the older they got, the more chores they were given.
He walked through the door of the inn and made for the bar, spotting Kainen polishing glasses. A large hand came down on his shoulder and he turned to find Harlen, the blacksmith, looking down at him over his thick red beard. “I heard what you did for Erinn,” the big man said simply.
“What? How?” Devin replied, caught flat-footed.
“Parents do speak to each other sometimes, Devin,” Harlen rumbled with a smile. The expression looked odd on his usually dour face. “Artor, his father and I, we will be having a conversation.” He managed to make the word 'conversation' sound like a dire threat and Devin nodded quickly, not wanting to aggravate the man.
“Anyway, I wanted to say thank you. I owe a debt to you.” He squeezed Devin's shoulder, in what was supposed to be a comradely fashion but was one which very nearly sent the boy to his knees. He walked back to his table before Devin could protest.
Devin made his way quickly to the bar, leaning over it and grinning at his old friend. “Did you get an earful for asking questions then, Kainen?” he said.
“Too right!” the pale lad replied. “You've never seen such a simpering and carrying on. Between her and your Ma, there's enough calf eyes and scraping to please any priest.”
“You'd not say that within earshot, though,” Devin laughed.
“I'm no more fool than you,” Kainen grinned back, before casting a guilty glance along the bar. The once sickly-faced lad had sprouted like a new tree once he hit thirteen. Now, at fifteen, he was already almost taller than his father. He'd grown tall but not broad and so had the gangly, over-stretched look of some young men his age. An overly prominent Adam's apple did little to improve his appearance.
“So what did you think of it all?” Devin asked, in a conspiratorial whisper.
“I don't know, really,” Kainen replied, seriously. “It's things I've never really thought about. I mean, some of it made sense. Like the thing with the plough and there being no point in holding onto things just for the sake of tradition.”
“Not all tradition is bad though, is it?” Devin argued. “I mean what about Midwinter? We have the feast, and the dance and presents. Everyone has a good time. Where's the harm?”
“Would he have a problem with that, then?” Kainen wondered.
“Of course he would,” Devin snorted. “There's the bow to the Lord of Midwinter, isn't there? I can't see him putting up with that.”
“It's only a bow,” Kainen protested.
“True, but then it was only a horseshoe on our barn, and he made it clear that it ought to come down too,” Devin pointed out.
“You'd better get a drink,” Kainen advised, as he watched his father pulling drinks. “You know how Father hates to see sleeves polishing his bar with empty hands.”
“I'll have a cider then.” Devin looked over at the innkeeper. The man could be welcoming and jovial to his customers, but he'd brook no nonsense from Kainen and his friends. It was more than once that he'd been chased from the inn with harsh words.
“He's in a foul mood, anyway,” Kainen said, just softly enough for Devin to hear. “Mother's made him cancel the morris, both for the harvest and Midwinter.”
“Why?”
“It's this priest again,” the gangly man admitted. “He said it was a relic of a pagan past, honouring false and forgotten gods. Or something like that.”
“I bet your father didn't like it, though,” Devin said.
Kainen shook his head vigorously. “Bloody droos, no! You've never heard such a row. I mean, they argue a lot anyway, but this was nothing like that. Father was calling Trallen every name under the sun. He must have heard it all too. He's only one floor down from them. She gave as good as Father did though.” His voice took on a high-pitched, nagging tone, “Owen Taplock, I'll not have you offending Father Trallen with your silly dance! He's only just arrived!”
“He's never really had enough men for it anyway though, has he?” Devin said, laughing at the image of the tiny Maryanne berating her husband.
“I don't think that's the way he feels about it, though.” Kainen shook his head slowly. His eyes brightened suddenly. “Hey, I hear you're best friends with Artor now though?”
“What are you talking about?” Devin asked, with a suspicious look, as he set his cider back onto the bar.
“Your little conversation yesterday. Got a little pointed, did it?” Kainen grinned.
“Is there anyone who hasn't heard about this?” Devin muttered despairingly, as his head sank into his hands.
“I doubt it. You know what this place is.” Kainen grinned, enjoying his friend's misery. “So, did you really threaten to shoot him?”
“I wouldn't have done it really. Well, probably not,” Devin whispered.
“You really did it?” Kainen giggled madly. “I thought she was making it up or exaggerating.”
“Wait a minute,” Devin said, as he fixed his friend with a suspicious look. “Just who are we talking about here?”
“Karren.” He grinned at Devin's blank expression. “You know, the cooper's daughter?”
“Karren!” Devin exclaimed, his voice breaking and coming out as a girlish squeal. He cursed and cleared his throat. “Karren?” he repeated, in a normal voice. “How does she know?”
“I expect she was there when your mother was telling her father and Samen,” Kainen gave a wicked chuckle, having saved this bit until last.
“Samen?” Devin moaned. “I might as well scream it from the rooftops then.”
“I shouldn't bother,” Kainen advised, smiling. “Telling Samen is much faster.”
***
The harvest was always a busy time in the village. Devin found himself torn in two directions, as Khorin demanded more of his time to help bringing in the crops and Hannah made him help with preparations for the festival. Secretly, Devin was pleased to be busy, as it gave him fewer opportunities to run into Artor. He'd been reasonably certain that the incident in the woods would quietly blow over, until he'd discovered that half the village knew about it. He'd avoided Artor as much as he could during his childhood in Widdengate. The boy was a prime example of an only child, pampered, indulged and someone who gave little thought to others. Devin had secretly despised him for years but had usually managed to stay out of his way. After the incident in the forest, this would probably be impossible.
The days trundled by. Harvest was an awful time of year and Devin hated it openly. It meant hours of backbreaking labour in the fields, working from sun up until almost dark, reaping and threshing. To make matters worse, Hannah had offered his assistance to Father Trallen too.
Devin made his way reluctantly into the village. Although the cottage he lived in with Khorin and Hannah was technically inside Widdengate, the
re was a goodly distance between them and the nearest structure. He found the priest beside the inn, speaking to a number of burly-looking men. Five large wagons stood next to them, weighted down with building materials and large stone blocks. He stood quietly, not wishing to interrupt, and watched three of the youngest village children skipping, and singing a song as old as time.
“I'm to keep a fairer way,
With horses' shoes and miller's weigh,
From wax to waning moon, we pray
Keep us warm 'til light of day.”
He watched the children disinterestedly, his mind working over the issue with Artor and how best to avoid another confrontation. He worried at it like a dog with a piece of meat, but couldn't see a way through it and his mood grew darker as he waited.
“Deep thoughts this close to a festival, young man?” Trallen's deep voice startled Devin. He spun in shock and then flushed at the grey man's smile. He truly was a grey man. It extended from his hair, of course, but his eyes were a pale grey and his skin held no trace of tan. It was as if the colour had been leached out of him.
“Not really, Father,” the young man said, politely. “Just wool gathering, really.”
“Artor?” the priest asked pointedly. Devin felt his mouth fall open and closed it with a snap. Even the priest?
“I just don't want any more trouble with him,” he said, in a low voice, looking down at his shoes.
“You don't know what trouble is!” Trallen laughed. “But I know what you mean.” Devin cocked an eyebrow at that.
“What? You think I was born a priest?” The grey man laughed again, a deep infectious laugh and Devin smiled a true smile for the first time in days.
“Your mother generously offered your assistance,” Trallen smiled. “It's not much really. I need to travel away for a day or two and I have these men here to work. I wonder if you could show them to the site I have picked out for the church and school.”
“School?” Devin asked quickly.
“Yes, for the little ones.” Trallen replied in an offhand manner. “There are so many here who don't even have their letters.” Devin flushed slightly, remembering the years it had taken Hannah to drill the skill into him.
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