Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  “Right. I’m glad you brought that up.” He sought an appropriate opening to the sensitive topic, his ability to think severely impaired by the liquor fogging his brain, let alone his cousin’s hawk-eyed stare.

  All trace of the former teasing banter shrivelled as Jarl’s impassive stance suggested he understood the gravity of the request.

  “It’s about Senna. Well, about you and Senna, really.”

  Jarl’s eyes hooded at the first mention of her name, but Lyran did not recognise the flare of something in his cousin’s expression before he turned away to see who had called his name.

  A glance at the porch revealed Shayla coming toward them, taking long strides. Reaching Jarl, she took his arm and leaned closer. “How are you, dear? Not too drunk to dance, I hope?”

  “What device is this?” Jarl frowned.

  “Shhh. Please play along. Cora thinks I’m after her man and I want to reassure her I’ve no interest in him.”

  With a grin, he assumed the character of a doting admirer, gallantly offering an arm with a bow, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as they promenaded toward the building, almost as though in a courtly dance.

  Lyran shook his head, chuckling at the fact their drama had all been for nothing as Cora had not witnessed it. Then he stilled at the look on his wife’s face as she watched the pair. The breath caught in his throat. Why would she be angry? His ale and wine-soaked brain failed to fathom Senna’s strange reaction to Shayla as images of other disapproving glances throughout the feast plucked at his memory. Then she caught sight of him and her face lit up with its normal sunshine as she ran to embrace him.

  As they danced, he watched closely every time her gaze strayed to Jarl, or his to her. He couldn’t decide whether he merely imagined something different about them; some kind of connection. Then it became clear. Something had happened today at the stone circle, some kind of bond between the three of them which had opened up a channel for Senna and Jarl similar to the one he shared with her, and Jarl. They were all part of a tribe – stronger than friendship, even stronger than family.

  It all made sense; her disapproving glares at Shayla were merely Senna’s loyalty to Cora, who thought the woman was after her man. That was easily mended, all he had to do was explain Shayla was Jarl’s cousin, too. He obviously wouldn’t be having that kind of relationship with a cousin.

  Before he could say anything, the dance demanded they swapped partners and his wife was whisked away to be replaced by Shayla. As they went through the sequence of steps to complete the section, he could not keep his eyes off them, hoping all his distressing speculations would be proved wrong.

  “They make a handsome couple, don’t they?” Shayla’s uninvited comment tore into the very meat of his disquiet.

  Everything about them looked right, as though he were the interloper, not Jarl. Deeply buried memories returned, of the day he’d first met her. How his cousin had shyly spoken of her as the most remarkable person he’d ever known. He’d lauded her spirit and courage; two things Lyran knew were very dear to his cousin. As they scampered home that day, Jarl had eagerly sought Lyran’s opinion of his female friend.

  “No? If I didn’t know better, I’d think maybe they were the newlyweds.”

  His attention returned to the present as Shayla voiced his worst fears: Senna loved Jarl.

  “Look at the way they’re gazing into each other’s eyes. It’s obvious he’s loved her for a while, but I think before today, she wasn’t sure how she felt.”

  “Really? You think so?”

  “Absolutely. It’s obvious by the way they are so equally matched in temperament and almost everything.”

  Lyran couldn’t bear to look, but when he did, they did seem to fit together quite perfectly and they moved as though they’d been partnering all their lives. Which, of course, they had. She’d taught both cousins to dance, everything from the simple Carol to the Jig. She’d even attempted the Morris Dance, but they’d joked it was a step too far.

  “Of course, I claim all credit for getting them together.”

  Lyran could not believe Shayla would take such a pride in destroying his marriage before it had even properly begun. He barely managed to stutter his reply. “Y-you d-do?”

  The dance threw them apart and he had to wait, before continuing the conversation.

  She smiled. “Oh, yes. If I had not trifled with him so openly, she would never have realised how much she loves him.”

  As he reeled at the impact of her words, combined with his earlier concerns, Senna tumbled into his arms, giggling. “Oops. I seem to be a little unsteady on my feet. That cousin of yours has fairly worn me out.”

  He almost dropped her, so strong was his reaction. How could he be so blind, not to see what was going on right in front of him? His wife and his best friend. Lyran felt ill.

  Being Senna, she picked up on it at once. “Oh dear, are you not well? Maybe you need some of Jarl’s ‘hair of the dog’ remedy. He told me how it revived Alfun from death’s door.”

  Lyran’s heart seized at the fateful words. Maybe this was the meaning of last night’s dream showing his burial. After not even a day of marriage to the only woman he could love, and before he’d even been allowed to realise the physical consummation of his love for Senna, his life would end. He had hoped for a much longer life, at least reaching his fifth decade, as was the norm. Unable to communicate any of this aloud, he mentally cursed his dreams as consciousness slipped away.

  5 – Promises

  “How are you feeling, my love?”

  Blinking, Lyran’s first thought was gratitude to still be alive. Maybe his dream of an early death hadn’t been right after all. His second thought involved the fact the cot he lay on was not his own, but the owner of the voice was.

  “Senna?” The word came out as a croak.

  “I’m here.”

  Her touch upon his arm felt warm and familiar. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure. My intuition suggests you were bested by a combination of too much ale and the heat and exertion of dancing.”

  “Oh dear. Not a fitting indictment for a healer who cannot regulate his own level of energy and sobriety.”

  “Psh and tosh. If a man cannot drink and dance too much on his own wedding day, I don’t know when he can. Here, I have a tonic for you.”

  “Of course you do.” He took a sip, savouring the warm, scented brew. “If not, I’d be looking for the woman imitating my wife.” He gulped down some more, appreciating how the lemongrass quenched his thirst.

  “Oh, Lyran. You say the most peculiar things.” She shook her head, smiling at his jest.

  “Do you love me, Sennalina?”

  His use of the pet name stopped the playful retort before it reached her lips. “With all my heart.”

  “And no other person but me?”

  “I cannot say that. I love my father and mother, and Cora and …”

  “You know I mean no other man but me.”

  She frowned. “Why would you ask that of me?”

  He wanted answers, not questions. “Please answer honestly.”

  “No, Lyran, I love no other man than you.”

  He sighed his relief.

  “As a husband.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You must know I love Jarl, too. But only as a brother. And Alfun, as a friend. But I promise, I love no other man as I love you. As the other part of my soul.”

  “Oh.” He could not think of any other response. The connection between them was so pure he knew she did not lie and, for the first time since the doubts set in, he felt safe and secure in her love. Their love.

  “Why do you ask? Is there some other woman I should know about that you love?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Not even Shayla?”

  He saw where this was heading and grinned. “I love her like the cousin she is. I’m sorry if you don’t like her …”

  “Why would you think that?�
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  “I saw the way you looked at her every time she danced with Jarl …”

  “What does Jarl have to do with anything? She’s his cousin and why wouldn’t she dance with him?”

  “But …”

  “She danced with you, too. And Alfun. Although she spotted how much he loved Cora and asked for my help to make her envious over him being familiar with another woman. Unfortunately my skills as a mummer are few, but she achieved her aim with scant help from me.”

  Lyran could not take in the subtleties of everything she told him. She was actually colluding with Shayla? Against Cora? That made no sense to his debilitated brain. He would examine it later when he didn’t feel so sluggish.

  Glancing around him, he did not recognise the surroundings, only that the dim candlelight suggested it was already dark outside. “Have I missed the bonfire?”

  Her expression suggested confusion. “Of course not. Why would you think …? Aha. It’s dark in here because there are no windows. This is a storage room next to the kitchen in the village hall. It was the closest place we could find to bring you when you collapsed.”

  “How long have I been insensible?”

  “Not long enough for it to be of concern. Less than a quarter hour.”

  “Oh, dear. What will our guests be thinking with both of us missing for so long?” He drained the beaker.

  Senna’s blush gave away her immediate thought, leading him to wonder lazily if the guests were already thinking the worst, maybe they should …

  “Stop that right now.”

  He’d forgotten how easily she could tune into his mind.

  “I have no doubt the guests are too busy dancing and drinking and chatting to even notice our absence. We’ve fulfilled all our duties until the leaping which will not be for several hours until the bonfire has died down.”

  He lay back for a moment, his eyes heavy, then a new thought had them springing wide open. “Did we miss the lighting? I should have been there.”

  “Not at all. Jarl and our fathers have everything under control. I suggest you take the opportunity to rest for a while. Whatever robbed you of your senses may strike you again at any time if you continue to exert yourself with dancing and the like.” She pushed him back down where the softness of the sheepskin beckoned.

  When he opened his eyes the next time and tried to move, his body ached with stiffness under the linen sheet covering him. His mind felt groggy, and he suspected his wife’s tonic had contained herbs meant to sedate rather than revive him. However, she’d learnt well from him that sleep was the most potent healer as the body’s defences set to work repairing what had been broken during wakefulness. In his case, this was the tormenting suspicions surrounding people he cared deeply about.

  Lying in the dark, he recognised that his earlier concerns about talking to Jarl had manifested in an imagined affair between his cousin and his wife. Utterly ridiculous. He trusted them both, and their strong bond could only make his request easier.

  With a small groan, he commanded sluggish muscles to raise his sleep-heavy body from the sheepskins which had been thrown over sacks of what he could only suppose were rocks. As he managed to get himself into a sitting position, the door opened, admitting Senna.

  “My love. Are you feeling refreshed from your nap?”

  “Yes, thank you. Apart from a parched throat. I would appreciate a little ale, or a real tonic – not a sleeping draught.”

  She wriggled at his stern tone. “I’m sorry. You seemed so out of sorts I thought a short nap would do you good.”

  Taking the beaker she offered, he sniffed first; it smelt of grain and tasted like small beer, exactly what he would have prescribed. He drank greedily. “You were right, as usual. Did I miss anything interesting?”

  “Not really. Many people took the opportunity to go home and tend to their animals, although I suspect many had a nap.”

  “What did you do?”

  “After the dancing ended, Cora and I spent a pleasant hour getting to know your cousin.”

  “Jarl? You could hardly know him better.” Still a tell-tale flare of doubt.

  “No, silly. Shayla. Such a wonderful woman. So worldly-wise and witty and talented. She became the exact image of lots of people in the room – you, Jarl, Alfun, even Arnaud. But the very best was your father; you would think it was him speaking.”

  “Where were these men when she amused you so? I cannot imagine any of them, except maybe Alfun, being happy to be the subject of such sport.”

  Senna chuckled. “Alfun napped on the floor close to where we sat – his snores were in danger of waking the dead. Ranly had joined his friends on a table at the other side of the room and they were making so much noise they would not have heard anything.”

  “I’m glad you were kept so well entertained. Is the room still empty?”

  “No. People are returning in time for the leaping. Which is why I came to wake you. Are you able to stand?”

  “Better than that. I have a bonfire to leap. Come on, my wife. Let us show these good people how it is done.” He stood slowly, testing his head for dizziness. When none came, he moved a little faster, and by the time they reached the hall, he felt almost normal.

  He did not expect to be greeted with a round of applause, nor to have so many people try to pat his arm or back as he passed through the room. Then he remembered the superstition about a bridal couple supposed to be blessed with abundance and realised people wanted to get their share.

  Jarl entered from the other side of the room and their eyes met easily – no sign of any of the earlier awkwardness on his part, for which he was grateful. At a nod from his cousin, the village crier rang his bell. “Oyez, oyez, oyez. ’Tis time for the leaping, so will the bride and groom please ready themselves for their next ordeal – I mean – task.” He winked ostentatiously and the villagers chuckled as they ran outside to form an alley through which the pair would have to run on their way to the bonfire.

  This was the part Lyran had feared most. Maybe not feared exactly, but certainly regarded with some apprehension. Taking Senna’s hand, he pulled her across the porch, and within a few steps, they were showered with a variety of objects representing abundance. Most people had taken the time and trouble to detach petals from the flowers of their choice, and a handful of this did no damage as it scattered harmlessly across their path.

  Very occasionally, they would be sprinkled with grain, or uncooked rice. Only once was he struck by a small branch from a tree, which thankfully glanced off his shoulder before tumbling to the ground.

  “What was that?”

  Senna’s concern warmed his heart but, even as he assured her it had done no harm, he scanned both sides of the crowd. He recognised a group of his father’s friends but could not pick out any obvious assailant.

  The gauntlet stretched almost all the way to the henge, where their fathers stood between the sun and moon circles. They guarded a small bonfire smouldering on the same spot where the previous eve’s huge bonfire had burned at sunset. A little way off, a pile of ashes sat, waiting to be divided up between the farmers to add the solstice magic to their fields.

  As the sun streaked the sky pink and red, Lyran regarded the bonfire, concerned it was still too high and much too long for Senna to leap in her gown. As he watched, her mother and bridemaidens surrounded her, and a moment later she emerged wearing a much shorter shift which only reached her knees. Her mother had cleverly made the skirt detachable for this part of the evening, although it looked like a normal gown. She had swapped her soft leather slippers for sturdy boots which would give her more protection if she should stumble or land on the burning branches.

  Once again, Jarl had done his duty as best man, finding a part of the bonfire suitable for her to jump over. It happened to coincide directly with the Mary line as it ran between the sun and moon circles.

  Lyran pulled Senna to him with a kiss for luck, and they positioned themselves several paces in front of the fire
as the blazing red ball touched the distant horizon. They needed no more signal, running toward the setting sun, their steps automatically synchronising with each other. Jarl had chosen to leap the highest, longest part, which aligned with the Michael line, and he set off just after them. As though orchestrated by a higher power, the three of them all leapt at the exact time, when the horizon cut through the centre of the sun. They landed on the other side simultaneously, where Senna’s mother waited.

  As Rielle restored the skirt, she hugged her daughter. “Well done, my darling. You have made us very proud today.”

  Jarl approached Lyran, clapping him on his back. “That’s you hitched, cleaved and spliced for good.”

  “Ouch. Sounds like some kind of torture.” He hugged his cousin. “You’ll be next.”

  “I very much doubt that.” He nudged his arm, pointing to where Cora and Alfun were locked in a passionate embrace after clearing the bonfire.

  Two wardens took over, ensuring the crowd split into the young and able – mostly men – to follow Jarl’s path over the Michael line, with the rest of them choosing the easier option following the Mary line.

  As the women fussed over Cora and Alfun, Lyran stood apart with his cousin, watching the young bucks attempting to outdo each other with their increasingly dangerous feats of daring as they raced round to jump again.

  One of them landed badly, setting his breeches on fire so the warden had to roll him on the ground to douse the flames. Jarl shook his head. “I knew it would be him – he seems to have a curious wish for an early death.”

  Lyran smiled, knowing this was his own fate. If the portents were to be believed, less than two decades from now he would be taken from this world; a fact he’d resigned himself to many years ago when the dreams began.

  He’d had plenty of time to adjust to the idea of an early death; going a decade before the average life expectancy for men did not prove much of a hardship. If anything, it gave him a certain recklessness to know he would last that long. But today had shown him anything was possible and now seemed to be the most apt time to make his request.