by Jacky Gray
Senna’s apparent disinterest in Domenyk’s slanderous accusations hid her covert purpose. Lyrelie suspected she had sought Lyran’s help to disable Jarl’s assault on the man. Although quite what an insubstantial spirit could do against such a solid soldier was beyond her ken.
“You would be surprised, daughter mine.” Instead of the clear voice she had heard earlier, this was less than a whisper – more of a murmured thought, as though he did not want anyone to be aware he spoke to her. Showing no reaction, she watched her mother glide across the floor to stand between the two men.
“You are mistaken, Magister. My daughter laughed in an attempt to lessen the pain of her moon-flux. Lyran studied with an Eastern physician who had many unusual cures involving massage, exercise and even laughter.”
“That is preposterous. You are inventing ridiculous remedies to excuse your daughter’s behaviour.”
“The research is available at the university. Laughter releases a substance with many healing properties.”
Domenyk would not be beaten. “If she had nothing to hide you would not prevent my search.”
“I have no desire to succumb to your intimidation. However, in the interests of proving my daughter’s innocence, we shall accompany you in your search.” Picking up a lantern, she gestured for him to ascend, wisely keeping herself between him and Jarl.
Lyrelie sought to control her emotions. How dare the snake accuse her of such base behaviour? And shame on her mother for yielding to his duress. She ought to have more faith.
“Senna has every faith in you, Lyrelie; you know that. I think you are treating her unfairly.” Her father’s tone suggested mild annoyance.
“I am treating her unfairly? How can that be? She discussed my moon-flux with that man.” She shuddered. “I will remember that every time I look at him. I have not said one word which could be construed harsh or disrespectful.”
“Not aloud, maybe. But thoughts are words you say in your head. These become truths with the power to affect your behaviour toward the person you think ill of. And some people, such as your mother, are so receptive to thought energy it is as though they read your mind.”
Recognising the truth of his words, she sent a prayer of apology to her mother. Even before the words were out, she heard a crash from upstairs and sent her attention to determine what had happened. She had discovered that, by closing her eyes and visualising the scene, if she focussed hard on the direction of the noises, she could create an image of events.
She knew they had already been in her room because she’d heard their footsteps overhead. But the crash had happened in her mother’s room, where more thumps and bangs told their tale. The two men were fighting, doubtless because the magister had said or done something which angered Jarl.
Heavy footsteps preceded Domenyk’s flight across the room. He stopped at the door, just as Jarl appeared at the foot of the stairs.
“The apple does not fall far from the tree. The girl is a harlot, like her mother.”
Jarl’s leap across the table did not gain him the necessary time to reach the triumphant man before he slammed the door closed.
Lyrelie heard Lyran’s command to stop at the same time her mother yelled, “Leave him be.”
Her parents turned their attention to her, imploring that she forget his unjust words. Senna reached her an instant ahead of Jarl, who wrapped his arms around both of them.
“Take no notice, sweetheart. That man is nothing but brag and bluster. He would not dare defame either of you; he knows you are too well thought of in the village.”
As Jarl tried to reassure them, Senna shook her head.
“Lyran told me what happened, how you and he had been laughing. It was his suggestion to bring up the moon-flux, knowing how most men are horrified by the idea. But Domenyk seems immune to any finer feelings.”
“The monster deserves far worse than that. However, I shall do as you request, and Lyran commands, and ignore his empty threats.” Lyrelie sought the strength to carry out her brave words.
Tightening his hug, Jarl’s words encouraged her. “I’m sure Cal’s parents know enough to disregard any such nonsense coming from that snake.”
Unfortunately, several seemingly unrelated events conspired to cause a growing rift between the two families. In fact, many of them were centred on a much larger fissure which had started to pull the village apart. One involving the old and new religions.
It began with Cal’s tepid reaction upon hearing of the awful incident. Although he listened with expressions of concern for Lyrelie and outrage at the magister’s behaviour, she sensed his attention was elsewhere.
Sure enough, she’d barely finished the tale when he asked her to join him for Sunday Mass at the local church. After what happened at Easter, she hesitated, and he adopted a coaxing tone.
“Please, my sweet. Father wants to make a good impression, and mother said it would help if we went along in force. She has invited you for lunch afterward.”
“But why would Farmon want to go to a mass? He has always been such a strong follower of the old ways.”
“Which is why he has been picked for this special team of people delving into the similarities between the two religions. This committee could lead to bigger things.”
“But he already has the largest farm in the area.”
Cal’s laughter was not entirely kind, tinged with a hint of scorn. Although far from the level of disdain Eanje used, it headed that way. “I’m talking about real power – a seat on the council.” He frowned. “If you don’t want to come, just tell me.”
She may have imagined it, but there seemed to be an unspoken warning that if she did not go, someone else would happily take her place. And she knew which someone. “I would love to support your family. What time should I meet you?”
Lyrelie had mixed feelings about this new religion, exacerbated by last Sunday’s dreadful experience. Apart from the reliance on rules, one of the main differences was the sheer quantity of masses they celebrated. Used to eight sabbats and thirteen esbats, the leap from twenty-one to fifty-two ceremonies every year seemed immense.
This time, she took more care with her appearance, dressing her hair and wearing a robe which made a fetching combination with her kirtle. As before, many of the pews were filled with families she did not know, and her gaze skittered past the trio of lads from last week. Two of them appeared to be sending approving gestures to Cal.
“Do you know those youths?” She lowered her voice out of respect for the sacred building, despite having the impression not many of the congregation cared.
Cal followed her gaze, his expression suggesting embarrassment at the attention. Before he could answer, a woman in front shushed them and the congregation rose as the priest and his supporters made their way down the aisle. This time, she had a little more familiarity with the many responses and the sitting and kneeling. She tried to engage but, despite her best efforts, she did not feel anything like as connected to spirit as she did when standing in the henge with the sun or moon energy.
When it ended, Domenyk headed directly for Farmon, his eyes glittering, and Cal led her away as he’d promised. They reached the aisle when the three lads surrounded them, calling him “champ” and “mate” as they clapped him on the back. The tallest of the three bowed deeply to her, clutching his hat to his chest as he gazed into her eyes, even as he spoke to Cal. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your lovely lady friend?”
“Oh, yes.” His manner left no doubt he would rather not. “Lyrelie, this is Zane. Zane, meet Lyrelie, my …” As he paused, obviously struggling to find a suitable word, Zane reached to take her hand.
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lyrelie.” He raised it toward him, brushing his lips over her fingers. Holding onto them, he continued to gaze. “I have heard a lot about you, but Cal never mentioned the extent of your beauty.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Enchanting.”
Normally, her loyalty to Cal was s
uch that this display of charm would have no effect on Lyrelie. But recent events had rendered her uncertain of his affection for her, and vulnerable to the allure of this dark stranger. Again, a wave of cold made her shiver, and she recognised he may have been her mysterious saviour from the snowstorm.
Although she did not respond with any overt encouragement, she did not pull her hand away as she would normally have done. “I cannot say the same of you. This is the first time I’ve heard your name.”
“But not the last, I hope.” Although his wink was shielded from Cal, she nonetheless began to anger at the length of time her suitor was prepared to allow another man to hold her hand without check.
She had left it far too long for any show of outrage, and sent up a silent prayer to her father to advise her on the best course of action. Her relief came from the most unexpected of places as one of the other youths shouldered his friend out of the way, thrusting his hand at her. “I’m Dain, and this ’ere knave is known as Womble. You’d be better off not askin’ why.”
Lyrelie’s lips twitched as she briefly shook hands with them both. “Zane, Dain and Womble. A likely trio of rascals, I’ll warrant.”
“Oh, no, Mistress Lyrelie. We ’ave very important jobs in the village. We are …”
“Very late for an important meeting.” Zane pushed the other two away, tapping the side of his nose. “At the Waggoners. Take no notice of this pair. They would say anything to impress a lady as beautiful as you. I do not suppose you would join us for a brief toast to this fine day?” He glanced hopefully at Cal.
A semblance of honour finally kicked in and Cal took her arm. “Sorry, but we are invited to a luncheon. Come, Lyrelie, we would not want to be late.”
Zane bowed low. “Of course. I look forward to our next meeting, milady.”
Tugging on her arm, Cal gave no opportunity for her to reply. Not that she wanted to – the entire meeting had unsettled her as she attempted to comprehend the underlying nuances of the energies involved. She had no hope unless Cal would tell her his relationship with the gang. As they passed through the gate, she wrenched her arm out of his grip. “What on earth is driving you, Cal? You have not been yourself since …” She tried to remember the last time he had seemed like the boy she knew and loved. Not at Imbolc; maybe even Yule.
“Not here. There are too many people around.”
“Where then?”
Instead of replying, he took her hand, leading her much more gently toward the henge, circling the outer ring of stones to enter by the southern portal. Stretching out their arms, he followed the Michael line to the centre of the sun circle, stopping at the solar-stone to offer a prayer. Then he chose the Mary line for the journey to the moon circle and she shivered at the growing energy on the Michael line, much stronger from the lengthening days.
He glanced over in concern. “Sorry, I should have given you the choice. Are you all right?”
She nodded, unable to prevent the smile stretching her lips. “I have not felt truly connected for several weeks.”
“Since Imbolc.”
“Yes.”
They had reached the centre of the moon circle, and they both stretched to connect to the two cove stones, letting the gentle moon energy wash over them.
“She is nearing full. The esbat is in a few eves.”
He would not meet her gaze. “I – I may not come.”
“Of course. That is your choice. It is unusual for many men to attend as many as you do.”
“Not because I don’t want to. I love the connection to the moon; it is almost as important to the farmer as the sun cycle. In fact, this is probably the most important one of the year for us.” He glanced up, his expression clearly torn, then murmured a curse word she had never before heard from his lips.
“What is it? Has someone told you not to attend? Why would they do that?”
Shaking his head, he tightened his lips. “Oh, my love, so much is going on in the village right now and I have been sworn to secrecy about it. But the pressure of having to act against my nature is tearing me apart.”
Glancing around, as though checking they were not overlooked, he drew her to him, wrapping his arms around her as he breathed in the scent of her hair. “Remember at Yule you spoke of a secret that was not yours to tell?”
“About Mama and Jarl’s handfasting? Of course.” She cringed. “Not being able to discuss it with you … Oh. I see what you are saying. I was about to say it tore me apart. Your exact words.”
“I’m glad you saw the connection. This is not mine to tell. Indeed, the little I do know makes me want to bring back my lunch every time I think of it. If I were to tell you, it may endanger your life, your parents, friends – everyone you hold dear.”
Lyrelie gasped. “Then I do not want to know. But I do understand the way these things work. I am guessing it has to do with your father’s committee, all the new families in the village, my father and Bryce’s deaths and, most of all, a certain magister.”
“Eanje said you were much too smart. She wanted to tell you from the beginning, but …” He clapped his hand over his mouth. “I should not have said that. Just that knowledge alone will affect the way you react to certain things which could endanger her. As will your reaction to the part I have to play. And there are other people involved you should not know about so you can be convincing when the time comes.”
She hugged him tightly, leaning up to kiss him. He groaned, pushing her away. “We should not …”
“Shouldn’t we? If MD’s plan is to make me out the strumpet, isn’t this exactly what I should be doing?”
“MD?” His frown lightened. “I see it; some kind of code for the magister. That’s very good.”
“Oh, Cal. You really will have to be careful what you say if you want this to succeed. You have inadvertently told me everything I need to know.”
“How? I’ve told you nothing.”
“But you have. Firstly, if my suggestion were not true, you would have reacted with total outrage at the idea of anyone trying to cast me as a strumpet. But you didn’t, so it is obvious you were aware of the scheme.”
“And secondly?”
“That MD is behind all this. Otherwise you would not have made the connection to any magister from the code.” She didn’t point out that it also gave her a huge clue as to who was leading this grand scheme to upset Domenyk’s plans. No point destroying his confidence completely.
“I cannot believe how you would reason out this plan so easily. We thought we had been subtle in the realisation of it. What gave it away?”
“Apart from MD storming into my house and calling me a harlot and you standing by while that Zane put his filthy hands all over me? I cannot imagine.” She released herself from him, leaning back against the female moon-stone for support.
“He did what? I’ll kill him.”
“You stood back and watched him without making any move to defend my honour.”
“What? No, I did not. I never … oh. You are talking about Zane. I am mortified, but those were my instructions. To let him think we are almost done, and that I have chosen Eanje.” He glanced at the floor, and she noticed his hands clenching into fists.
“Believe me. I would like nothing better than to smash him to a pulp, but I cannot. I must play my part to discredit Senna and Jarl through you.”
As he spoke, Lyrelie’s shoulder twinged, and she clasped it, rolling her elbow to ease a sudden stiffness. As he copied her movement, she realised it was the kind of sympathy pain her mother said healers often experienced when treating a patient.
Setting his hand aside, she pulled up the healing energy and clasped his arm and shoulder, directing it to the site of the damage. “This is not a recent injury. What happened?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“More secrets?”
“Not mine to tell. Would you discuss what happens in the meeting room at Imbolc?”
“I see.” She rotated his upper arm. “Unfortun
ately, I had cause to be privy to some of the activity. You called on me, did you not?”
He frowned. “Yes, but I never imagined you would be directly involved. The mere thought of you, instructing me how to use the fight energy …”
Shaking her head, she placed her hands either side of his shoulder. “You’ve done it again. Whoever is directing you needs to train you better to think before you speak.”
“Are you saying you had no idea we were fighting? Surely the number of bruises gave it away.”
“I will confess to having wondered in years past. Verat, in particular, often sported a blackened eye after Imbolc, but we are cautioned not to ask questions. It would seem the secrecy adds to the sport for both men and women.”
Cal grinned. “You have no idea how much we speculate about what you are all up to. The guesses get quite ribald.”
“I can imagine. Because you had so few visible bruises, I always imagined you were either very good, or very poor. I used to fret that you would not confide, but you know how much I hate fighting, so your reticence makes sense.” She smoothed her hands down from shoulder to elbow.
He caught her hands. “I am so sorry for all the secrets. Hopefully, once we are wed, we will look back fondly on this time.”
She gasped. “You think I will still want you after Eanje has had her wicked way with you?”
“I promise, ’twill be nothing but a sham. As I hope the courtship between you and Zane will be. Please do not allow him to …”
“What kind of girl do you think I am? I intend to lead him a merry dance and hope to provide you with ample opportunity to dish out some well-deserved punishment for what he has done to you.”
“You know? How?”
“Oh, Cal. One day you will learn not to underestimate me. As soon as I laid eyes on that little band in the church, I knew they were responsible for what happened to you at Yule.” She shrugged. “They can disguise their voices and manner, but not their energy.”
He flinched. “You have your mother’s mind-reading skill. They don’t stand a chance.” A wicked grin widened his lips and lit his eyes. “I don’t stand a chance. Am I strong enough to resist your wiles?”