Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  Senna blinked. Of course.

  Whoever had ordered the ambush would be better off thinking they had not survived.

  “You are right. We must ensure no one else knows. Not even Cal.” She glanced from Lyrelie to Freya. “Nor Verat. It’s not that we don’t trust them, but the fewer people who know, the better.”

  “So far it’s just our three families, so we should be all right.” Alfun looked sternly at his other two children as he spoke.

  Both nodded as their father explained the importance of keeping the secret, and Cora added her glare.

  She pressed Senna’s hand. “You should get back. I’ll pop by when we’re ready to leave and pick up the salve for Dennon.”

  “That would be helpful. I’m sure Marena is more than capable of tending to her husband, she has many healing skills.” Hugging her friend, Senna hurried home, thankful for the misty rain which would keep people in their homes and less likely to be knocking on her door.

  Instead of hanging the blood broth over the fire, she put it on the warming ledge, judging it would take half an hour to reach blood heat. She was loath to wake him, but the obvious drying out needed remedying; he must drink some broth, even though she knew it would make him nauseous. Perchance if she tried with water first, it might get his body used to the idea. As she set the beaker down on the ledge, he awoke, his eyes rolling around wildly until they fixed on her.

  “Senna.” His voice cracked.

  “Shhh. Don’t speak, it costs too much effort. You need to drink.”

  He nodded forcefully, and she wet his lips with the cloth so the beaker would not stick to them. Supporting his head, she tilted the beaker and trickled a little water into his mouth. It was so much harder than yesterday because the powerful combination of herbs and strong liquor, along with the shock of the treatment had affected his body’s ability to deal with food and drink.

  She knew the knack was to take it slowly with plenty of pauses, and sat with him until the beaker was empty. By this time, the broth was at a perfect heat, and he managed to gulp down five spoonfuls before the nausea set in. He instinctively wanted to curl on his side, and she helped him to get comfortable when the door tapped: a code she’d worked out with Cora and Alfun.

  By the time she’d sent Cora on her way with the salve and another battle-bundle, Jarl had fallen asleep, and she decided to take a nap, rebuilding her rocking-chair nest with sheepskins which now gave off a faint aroma of the potent herbs in his poultice. This gave her a couple of hours’ deep, dreamless sleep.

  The rest of the morn and afternoon revolved around getting him to take increasing doses of the broth and, after the fourth time, he even managed a couple of bites of an oaten cake before needing to lie back.

  The level of care was intense, but each time he slept for an hour or so, she managed to use the time profitably, checking her stocks of herbs and spices and listing what she would need. Many of the herbs merely needed harvesting from her garden and the indoor pots she nurtured to maintain a year-round supply of the most efficacious ones. Some of the spices, however, would need to come from the market in a nearby town, which would not be open for several weeks.

  Lyrelie spent most of the day out with Freya, only returning at supper time with the news that Lareeta’s parents were stopping over for a few days. All was harmonious and they had nothing to report. Marena was well and passed on her thanks for the gifts, saying she would send Derran if either husband or babe needed attention. They ate a brief meal of broth and freshly baked bread, then it was time to get ready.

  Shortly before sunset, everyone gathered in the hall for a goblet of hot, spiced wine and a dish of frumenty pudding. As he escorted them, Alfun told Senna about what had been happening in the village.

  “You probably know this already, but apparently today is known as Childermas in the Christian calendar.” He grinned as she shook her head. “Apparently, many of the village husbands have discovered a leaning toward religion today.”

  She frowned. “I don’t see the connection. Is it some ceremony which means they cannot be around to treat their wives like queens?”

  “You have it, straight away. It seems Tabern at the Waggon and Horses has filled his tavern with candles, claiming it’s a religious observance.”

  Cora joined in. “Of course the canny women have let their husbands go; it made for a much more pleasant day without their menfolk finding ways to shirk their duties.”

  “Or grumbling about why there was no day set aside to choose the King of Winter. You might think they could manage it for one day, but apparently not.” Alfun was one of the rare breed who recognised the inequality in the way many women were treated.

  At the village hall, several ballot boxes had been set up for people to vote for their choice for Queen of Winter. As everyone enjoyed sampling the various puddings, the votes were counted, but there was a delay before the small committee took to the dais.

  Domenyk raised his hand for silence, his expression revealing a mixture of annoyance and perplexity. “I’m afraid to say, there seems to be some manner of irregularity in the voting this year.” Unaccountably, his glare, which had been roving around the audience, settled on her.

  “It appears that all the votes apart from three, have been cast for a single name. I’m quite concerned something underhanded has occurred.”

  “Save your speech. There’s only one queen this year.”

  The buxom owner of the voice was a woman Senna knew well. She glanced around to see every face in the room turned toward her as Dagda continued.

  “We all voted for Senna because she has helped every family in this village in this most awkward year for her.”

  “Aye, she’s our Winter Queen. Raise your hand if she has your vote.”

  For as far as she could see, hands were raised, and Senna sought the faces of her friends in confusion.

  Cora squeezed her arm. “The whole village appreciates the effort you put in for them.”

  Dagda spoke again. “Aye, and the way you tend to people who have no coin to give in return. My Garth would be in the ground if he had to rely on that fancy fizzishun fellah in town.”

  Several people nodded or grunted their agreement, and Senna felt herself being pushed toward the dais and up the steps.

  Ever the politician, Domenyk composed his features into something resembling a smile as he reached for the crown and robe. Clearing his throat, he muttered something banal about how much she deserved the honour as he plonked the beautifully crafted headdress on her head.

  It wobbled, and she reached up with steadying hands, getting a burst of healing power from the intricately woven willow branches.

  He sizzled with anger as he draped the cloak around her shoulders, fixing the clasp at her neck. Every muscle in her body tensed as she recognised his touch from her dreams. The masked man was not Jarl, it was Domenyk.

  A hint of something nasty flared behind his eyes, as though he had somehow heard her thought.

  The crowd showed their appreciation with wild applause, and cries of, “Speech, speech.”

  Taking the opportunity to move beyond his grasp, she gazed at the crowd, who rapidly hushed. “Thank you so much for this. I know there are many equally deserving women in this village, and I am proud to take my turn. It has been an honour and a privilege to tend to everyone, and I appreciate your patience as I learn my craft.”

  “Everyone loves a patient patient.” One of the few men in the audience repeated Lyran’s quip, raising a giggle which rippled throughout the crowd.

  Blowing a kiss to them all, Senna dipped in a curtsy which dislodged the crown. She steadied it as she descended from the dais. Making her way to her daughter, she had to stop many times to receive kisses and congratulations from many genial people.

  As she reached Lyrelie, Domenyk announced that the next event would be the sword dance on eleventh night. He and the other members of the council, all men, left the room, no doubt returning to the tavern.

 
Dagda, leapt up on the dais. “How typical that they do not consider this night worthy of a feast. Just like last night, also dedicated to women.”

  She waited while many in the crowd agreed, then gave cheeky grin. “But I, for one, I’m not at all upset. All this rich food means I can barely fit into my dresses. I could do with a day off. Or two.”

  She paused again until the laughter died down. “But for all of you, male or female, who are interested; the next event is tomorrow eve at sunset: The Spell-Casting. Many of us shall be gathering at the moon circle to honour Mother Moon and Mother Nature. If you prefer to cast your spells in private, you can do so, but if you come along to our ceremony, you will get the benefit of the energy-raising to help them along. Thank you.”

  She clumped down the steps and made her way to Senna. “It’s not compulsory, but the tradition is for the Winter Queen to invite the deities to the circle.”

  “Of course. I would be honoured. Shall I bring some altar cakes?”

  “You most certainly will not. Paulina told me what happened with the birthings. You must be exhausted. However, if you could send Lyrelie round with your special herb mix, we would gladly attempt our version of them.”

  Senna smiled at the woman’s direct approach, as her sister, also Marena’s neighbour, chose that moment to appear, making a similar request.

  Senna laughed at their identical, almost-stern expressions, and held her hands up. “All right. I consider myself told. I will not be baking, but we shall drop the herbs around on our way to visit Marena.”

  She searched for Lyrelie, finding her surrounded by friends who seemed intent on finishing the remaining frumenty puddings.

  Hurrying back to the house, Senna was pleased to find her patient still fast asleep, his colour beginning to return.

  21 – Day 10: Spell-Casting

  On the tenth day, it seemed her workload increased five-fold as many wives put in tentative requests for a brew for “my husband’s pounding head and queasy stomach.”

  After the third request before breakfast, she got Lyrelie to write a list of ingredients and pin it on the door in the hope of reducing the interruptions. She added a small sachet containing the correct amount of each ingredient for those who could not read.

  Jarl had spent a better night and, after feeding him with more broth and a whole oaten cake, she persuaded him to go upstairs into her bed, for his own comfort more than any sense of propriety. It took both of them to support him up the stairs and when he got to the top he was exhausted by the effort, climbing into her bed gratefully.

  When they reached Marena’s house, the woman was up and about as though she hadn’t given birth less than a week ago.

  Senna admonished her, knowing full well her words would fall on deaf ears. After all, the woman now had a wounded husband to care for as well. Luckily, she had extremely supportive neighbours. As Senna finished dressing Dennon’s injury, a knock at the door had him shooting upstairs out of sight.

  Marena opened the door to admit Paulina and her sister, both bristling with a purposeful energy as they greeted the women.

  Dagda held onto Senna’s hand. “I think you would benefit from some assistance today, dear healer. From what I’ve seen, Tabern must’ve been serving tainted ale at the Waggoners, because every man in the village seems to have come down with the same sickness.”

  Paulina’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “The poor, dear, lambs. I’m sure you’ve already given out pots of your drunkard cure.”

  The four women shared a chuckle as Dagda explained her brilliant idea. “We reasoned you might be low on stocks, even before you prepared the altar cake bundles, so I shall organise a band of youngsters to harvest whatever you are short of.”

  Paulina was not to be outdone. “Meanwhile I will instruct a team of women to brew some pots of your drunkard remedy for the men.”

  “And Cora will organise the baking of the altar cakes.”

  Senna could not believe her good fortune, thanking the ladies profusely for their kindness.

  “Not at all. No one person should be expected to provide healing and remedies for everyone in a village of this size. We think it’s time you took on some apprentices to share your workload.”

  “Besides which, you are the Winter Queen and should not be working at all until the end of Yule.” Paulina winked at her sister who blushed unaccountably and shifted her ample bosom.

  Despite the amount of help, Senna still found the day exhausting, trying to ensure each of the three teams had the knowledge needed to do their jobs properly. Cal, Lyrelie’s young man, knew a lot about herbs, and the pair of them happily leant their expertise to Dagda’s team, foraging in the woods for exotic barks and mushrooms.

  Cora knew the recipe well and, with a couple of willing helpers, soon had more than enough cakes for the ceremony. Alfun had not indulged, and quickly saw what needed to be done in terms of distributing the life-saving brew to the ailing men.

  ~*~

  Jarl awoke at a small sound, peering into the gloomy room he recognised as not being his own bedchamber. This time, Senna’s unmistakable smell, filling every available nook and cranny, hinted at the fact he occupied her bed. He worked out that the noise was the door being closed and reasoned she had come up to check on him on her return from …? What had she said? The futile trip to the northern border had addled his brain.

  An urgent request from his bladder alerted him to his next actions. He struggled against the pain in his shoulder to sit up in the bed. It took a while for his head to stop spinning and, when the nausea reduced to a tolerable level, he slowly swung his legs round until they reached the side of the bed, then lowered them to the woven mat on the floor. Again, he paused, gathering all his strength against the next endeavour.

  Using the solid chest of drawers as a base, he lifted his body and inched his way to the corner of the room where the chamber pot sat on a hollowed-out stone. The victory of this small task exhausted him so that, on the return journey, he stumbled, falling on the bed with a thump.

  As he covered himself, he heard her hurried progress up the stairs, and she knocked on the door. “Are you all right, Jarl?”

  His attempt to answer in the affirmative failed as his mouth proved incapable of coordinating the actions required to form the necessary shapes resulting in the words, “Yes, thank you.”

  The latch raised and the door swung inward.

  “Come in.” This time he managed to articulate.

  She peered round the door as though in fear of what state she might find him in. “Sorry to disturb you; I heard a thud.”

  He gestured at the corner of the room and her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air. “Oh, dear. I think you are not drinking enough water, but it seems the blood broth is working.”

  He’d heard Lyran make similar statements often enough not to be surprised by the idea, but he cringed at the idea of her sniffing his piss, let alone drinking it.

  Senna grinned as though reading his thoughts. “Worry not. I can tell enough from the way it looks and smells. I have no need to taste it.”

  Relaxing back, he submitted to her professional examination, but her cool hands on his skin awoke the feeling which had lain dormant for a while. He grimaced at the inadequacy of that measure of time. Try his whole life. Apart from the years she’d been wed to his cousin, when he’d given up all hope of their union.

  He wanted nothing more than for her to tarry and converse with him. “Forgive me, I have lost track of where we are in the festivities. Have I missed the crowning of the Winter Queen?”

  “That was yesterday.”

  She did not seem keen to share her version of the day, but in his experience, it was something the women tended to keep to themselves. He tried again. “So today you had a rest day.”

  “Hardly. So many men over-indulged in yesterday’s Childermas celebration, I was kept busy all day providing remedies. That’s when I wasn’t supervising the herb harvest and the baking of altar cakes for tonig
ht’s ceremony.”

  “You must be exhausted. Maybe you should have a rest.”

  “After the Spell-Casting, perchance. I have to call a corner.”

  As she spoke, he realised the inconvenience it must be for her to have a guest in her house on such a significant night. “I’m sorry. You must have more important things to do than fuss after me. I should go home so you can make your preparations in private.”

  The faint reddening of her cheeks said he’d remembered correctly: Most women would take a cleansing bath before a ceremony. Something she dare not risk with an unrelated man in the house.

  He tried to sit, intending to leave, but his war-ravaged body had other ideas. All he achieved was a searing pain in his shoulder.

  She was by his side in an instant, remonstrating about the damage he would do in breaking the seal on the wound.

  “I don’t want to be a bother to you, when you have so much else to contend with.”

  “In that case, you must do as you’re told. If this starts to bleed again, it will take even longer to reseal, and you will be here for yet another week. What your body needs is rest and nourishment. I will bring you another dish of broth.”

  As she helped him to sit up properly, arranging pillows behind his back, he could not help but be aware of her nearness; the subtle smell drove his senses wild. But she did everything she could to avert her eyes, remaining detached and professional.

  ~*~

  As she fed him the broth, Senna’s thoughts strayed to her real motive for not allowing him home. She had recently learnt that the upstairs bedroom in his house was no longer occupied by her mother’s seamstresses. Rielle invited them to move back to house when Lareeta and Taron finally moved to their new house. Which left Jarl alone in the house with Eanje. Of course, he could be sleeping in the hut at the bottom of the garden, but why would he? Although she wanted to ask him about it, part of her worried that she would not like the answer.