by Jacky Gray
Whether Uncle detected the intrusion or not, he sat back, effectively closing off the leak. He cleared his throat, obviously a signal to Eanje.
She approached, thanking him for his time and assuring him his information was most useful. “If you would not mind, we would very much like your help in the future. How much you wish to become involved is entirely up to you, but as you have surmised, several people in the village are in grave danger from certain powers and we need to band together to protect them.”
“I already stated I would willingly die for Lyrelie. She is my love and the owner of my heart.”
Eanje’s breath caught in her throat. “You have my unreserved apologies for what I had to do at Yule, but we had to be certain of your feelings for her. She is lucky to have you.”
“And I her. Is she really in danger?”
“Unfortunately, yes. More than anyone else in the village. We believe the reputations of Senna and Jarl will be compromised primarily through her. Others of your friends will be targeted to discredit their parents, but we decided that you were best placed to help us fight this.”
“I will do anything, anytime.”
“Sorry about this; it is a necessary part of the secrecy.” As she replaced the sack, giving Uncle the opportunity to disappear unseen, she whispered, “Do not be too hasty to agree. Some of Uncle’s plans are most unsavoury.”
Unsavoury did not begin to describe the things they expected of him. Returning his attention to the room, he gave thanks he had managed to talk to Lyrelie before this latest atrocity commenced. But all her sharp intelligence and acute observations were of no use to her as the man made up vicious lie after lie. As the people round the table gave suitably encouraging reactions to Domenyk’s drama, he wondered how many of them Uncle had recruited.
Lyrelie’s face crumpled under the attack, and he had to do something to stop himself dropping Eanje and beating the man to a pulp – something he now knew he could do. He focussed on something which had perplexed him from the start: Uncle’s identity. His initial guess had been Bryce, because of his authoritative manner and the slight accent in the few words he’d said at that initial meeting. Along with the secretive shuffling in the interrogation room, he suspected it was a deliberate attempt to mislead. Then, when the constable died, Cal had reasoned Jarl, who was, after all Lyrelie’s uncle.
But it made little sense; no way would the man devise such awful punishment for the stepdaughter he loved so dearly. Cal flinched as he sensed her desperation, verging on hysteria. Definitely not Jarl. And yet, few apart from him would understand her resilience, and ’twould seem easier for a family member to …
The atmosphere in the room charged with an energy he recognised, although he had no idea how or why. Next thing he knew, Lyrelie had calmed down as she apologised to his parents and their guests. As the owner of his heart stalked past, avoiding his gaze, Eanje slipped in his arms, and he lowered his gaze, thankful not to have to watch the exit of his poor, wronged love.
Domenyk deflated, obviously unable to comprehend that she had not reacted according to his plan to enrage her into a frenzy, or some such loss of control he could attribute to lunacy.
As those at the table assumed varying degrees of shock and horror at the scene they’d just witnessed, Cal tried to remember Uncle’s scheme for limiting the potential damage should any of them be present at such an incident.
The important thing was to introduce sufficient doubt so any observers could not be sure exactly what they had witnessed. Uncle had not expected things to escalate to this point so rapidly, so the strategy had not been properly expounded. All members agreed that the main import was to maintain the impression that Cal and, more importantly, Eanje, were still fervent supporters of the magister. He knew any hint of dissent should come from him.
In this particular scene, he had had one advantage: his mother looked on Lyrelie as a daughter, and would support him to the death. He could rely on Chalette to pick up any suggestion he made and engage with it, eliciting support from whoever she could. As he tried to think of something which would throw Lyrelie in a good light, Eanje stirred, hissing at him to lead her to the table.
He realised this was her way of prompting him to speak, so after seeing her to a seat, he shook his head. “I cannot believe my Lyrelie capable of such behaviour. She is so kind and generous.”
Domenyk whirled around. “Are you calling me a liar?” Spittle flew from his lips.
“He did not do anything of the kind. I am proud of my son for standing up for the girl he loves.”
Even as his mother spoke, inspiration struck Cal. “I would not dream of being so disrespectful, sir. My parents brought me up to respect authority.”
“We certainly did.” Farmon straightened in his seat. “Hear the lad out, he knows her better than any of us.”
The magister shot a look of pure hatred his way, but in the present company, the man had no choice but to appear reasonable.
Cal assumed an innocent air. “I merely meant that Lyrelie has done nothing wrong. She is an exceptional healer, and I know her father studied many unorthodox methods at Oxford.”
“He certainly did. We owe the health of our entire family to Lyran and Senna’s exceptional skills.” As Bernadine picked up the argument, her husband took her hand, supporting her.
“This matter is easily settled. We have all heard the maxim that laughter is the best medicine, and if there is scientific evidence to support this, I think that would be sufficient to prove her innocence. All it would need is for someone to go to Oxford.”
Domenyk glanced around, realising he had been beaten on this point. “It doesn’t explain the fact of two shadows on the wall, or the way her demon lover dissolved into smoke. The girl quite obviously uses witchcraft. How else do you explain the way she composed herself when she was obviously so angry that she had been caught out?”
“Maybe the knowledge of her innocence gave her courage?” Osman kept his tone level in the face of his fellow magister’s anger. “I have been present at many trials, and the innocence always shines through.”
“What other evidence did you have against her?” Bernadine was a formidable adversary. “I remember you mentioned something to do with the ceremonies farmers have performed in this village for many centuries. Will you be charging all of them with witchcraft?”
The concerned glances around the room suggested the magister did not have sufficient support for this kind of accusation. Realising he had lost his audience, Domenyk retreated. “Of course not. When she spoke of a ritual, I did not make the connection with a revered ceremony.”
“I should think not.” Farmon spoke up. “From what I can see there is little difference between the two faiths; they both invoke the power of almighty forces to bless things and promote harmony.”
“Of course. With so many people vouching for her good name, I concede it possible a misunderstanding may have taken place. I shall visit her and assure myself that is the case.” He looked directly at Cal, his challenge clear. “Now I will bid you adieu. Are you coming, my dear?”
Eanje sprang up to accompany him, her expression suggesting nothing more had occurred than a pleasant discussion among friends.
Cal had no concept how she appeared so unaffected by the machinations; his stomach had twisted and knotted such that he could not imagine eating again that week. The greater part of Cal wished Uncle’s agents had never approached him, but it was too late now; he was as involved as it were possible to be.
Two concerns tugged at him: first was that he may have endangered his parents in some way. Their untutored reactions suggested they had no concept of the magister’s purpose. Second was the possibility he had inadvertently worsened the situation for Lyrelie by having so many people oppose Domenyk to defend her.
Bernadine leaned toward him. “I neither know nor care what you have landed yourself into, but be assured we are aware of the magister’s intent, and will do everything we can to foil his ambition
s, while appearing to support him.”
Osman joined in. “Aye, lad. There is an old saying to keep your friends close but your enemies closer. We have discerned that he will need support from people such as us to fuel his scheme.”
“Better he swells his ranks with folks like us than swamps the council with the kind of mercenaries he has employed at the quarry.” Farmon reached across to grip his hand, as Chalette took the other one.
“And is filling the church with. The man will stop at nothing to increase his standing in the village.”
“Aye. Today has shown us he is not far away from outlawing some of the old ways; he was gauging the level of support to see how far he can push his supposed allies.”
As Osman spoke, Cal understood the man’s motives. Could he be Uncle? He was definitely well placed to oppose Domenyk and the leader definitely had someone at the council table.
His mother squeezed Cal’s fingers. “We have a small role to play, but nowhere near as important as yours. You did well today in repelling his slanderous attack, but I suspect he is not yet finished with the matter.”
A dreadful realisation struck Cal. If the magister arrived at her house and she had fled in fear of the repercussions, he would use that flight as evidence of her guilt and she would be worse off than ever. He stared at his mother.
She understood immediately. “Go. Do what must be done. You must have a plausible reason for visiting.” She rushed to the dresser, then pressed a pair of gloves into his hand. “They are not hers, but no-one will know. Be careful. Do not run, and believe in your innocence as she does.”
Taking a short-cut through the woods, he stumbled onto a different path to his normal one. Realising a higher force had directed his feet, he paused, tuning into the energies. Lyrelie had been there. Recently. And terrified. But not alone. Although the ground showed only one set of footprints, Cal recognised the energy; he’d felt it earlier in his father’s house. Immediately before she left.
Lyran?
“Cal? You can sense me?”
“Apparently I can. Are you with Lyrelie?” He felt a little foolish, speaking aloud to himself, but the studies he’d made about his strange experiences suggested voicing a thought increased the energy.
“Yes. You are nearby.”
“I’m by the old harvest cottages.”
“Go to the last one. Take care.”
He tracked the length of both sets of cottages from within the cover of the woods, only dashing across when he reached the last one.
“Cal.” Lyrelie threw herself into his arms, sobbing.
He clung tightly, trying to share his strength with her trembling body. Cal wanted to kiss away her troubles, but his strong sense of her father’s presence inhibited him.
“Just as well. This is neither the time nor the place.”
She stiffened in his arms. “You can hear Da?”
Cal heard the chuckle. “It seems my power is so strong almost everyone can. Unless …” He disappeared for a moment, returning almost instantly. “It appears you have a remarkable talent, my boy. I always knew there was a reason my daughter chose you. Good. We shall need it.”
“Domenyk sent men to find me. I only made it out in time because Jarl …”
“It may be more complicated than that. He will take your absence as guilt, and has likely sent them to ensure your parents do not get word to you.”
“They are knocking on Senna’s door right now. What shall I tell her?”
Cal felt the gloves in his pocket. “That Lyrelie realised she had forgotten her gloves and returned to fetch them.”
“It does not sound plausible that Jarl would allow her to return alone or that Senna would allow her to return in such a state.”
“Unless I covered my distress. If they did not see me upset they would know nothing. I often take a walk on warm eves.”
“Got it.”
As his ghostly energy left, Cal took the opportunity to reassure her with a loving peck on the lips, but she clung on, deepening the kiss and clutching at the sides of his head when he would have pulled away.
“Ahem. I seem to remember saying this is neither the time nor place.”
“Da. You were young once. There will never be a better time in my entire life. And I may not get to do it again for a very long time.”
“Now that, I agree on. You need to go and accept the consequences. ’Twill be better if Cal is there – he realised your loss and ran after to apologise or some such. I’m sure you can invent a suitable explanation. Just remember you will need to contrive a public break up very soon.”
“Of course, Da. We shall speak again tomorrow.”
~*~
Lyrelie sat in the rocking chair, fanning herself with the small bundle of letters, trying to work up the courage to open the latest three. Her mother hadn’t written because she had visited last week, stopping overnight, and they’d caught up with the news from the village. Such as it was. Paulina’s babe had begun to show and Lareeta was not far behind, although Lyrelie felt there would be at least two moons between them.
Marlborough was only six miles away, a distance which, in an emergency, could easily be covered in an hour. But she might as well have been in a different country, far from her family and friends. In her absence, Lyrelie worried about the additional burden on her mother.
But during her visit, Senna assured her Marena had stepped in to take over the manufacture of the lotions and potions Lyrelie normally made. Smiling, she described how Marena’s little one was a joy, and her other children willingly shared the burden of care.
Jarl now had regular employment as gamekeeper at the local manor, and he had been taken on to train a cohort of men in Marlborough, so he would be around more often in the next moon.
The story they had devised to explain Lyrelie’s absence from Avebury was a recurrence of her grandmother’s illness. Rielle was happy to agree to the subterfuge and delighted by the opportunity to spend time with her granddaughter. It had been dreadful to uproot from her family and friends, but they all understood the danger if she remained in Avebury.
The strongest urging came from an unexpected quarter. Her grandfather, Ranly, was a magister with an important job on the council, and he was well known to oppose Domenyk’s views on many matters.
With a sigh, she thought how little they had seen of him since Yule ended, which was a shame, because he had transformed from a grouchy old man into a doting grandparent. He’d given his full support to his son’s widow marrying his nephew, Jarl.
Dismissing Ranly’s absence as nothing more than pressure of work, she opened the first letter. She had not expected Lareeta to write, but the girl had become a good friend recently. Lyrelie had noticed a growing bond as Senna often treated her as a favoured niece. Or maybe another daughter. Was there a hint of jealousy there?
Ignoring it, she read through the good wishes, gratitude toward Senna, and Lareeta’s heartfelt request to visit her mother, who lived nearby. Her initial reaction was resistance, but a few moments’ thought could not supply a suitable reason why she would not want to help her friend.
Setting the letter aside, she picked up Freya’s. As she slit the envelope, sprigs of lavender and lemon balm dropped out, and she sniffed the resulting Freya-scent with a bittersweet joy. Of everyone, she missed Freya the most – the girl could always be relied upon to make her smile with a witty observation or light-hearted jest.
Her letter began with a supposedly angry rant, blaming Lyrelie’s absence for every ill in Freya’s life. Beneath the irony, she sensed the truth in her friend’s words and swiped at the rogue tear, admonishing it to stop its pretence. She knew the difference between sorrow and joy.
Pressing the letter to her chest, she closed her eyes and imagined Freya’s smiling face, surrounding her with a pink heart, yellow daffodils and a rainbow, knowing this colourful display would bring her the most cheer.
Right at the end, as though purposely not trying to upset her; Freya had wr
itten a brief statement saying she and Verat had jumped the Beltane bonfire and were now betrothed.
Putting the letters aside, she crossed to the table, starting her reply with a simple command. Tell me about Beltane. I need all the details. But she could not think of anything else to write, she had done nothing in the week since her friend’s last letter. Maybe, if she visited Dimia as Lareeta suggested, she would have something to tell.
Picking up the thin parchment her grandmother called paper, she wafted it in the air to dry the ink. She returned to the rocking chair, deciding she had put off opening the third letter long enough.
Cal wrote as he spoke, every word carefully chosen to convey his message accurately and succinctly. The first page mentioned his daily activities, pruning, weeding and muck-spreading. Charming!
Then he gave a brief account of funny stories involving sheep, shears and scarecrows, followed by a longer description of driving the cattle through the Beltane bonfires. He underlined the part saying this was not allowed in the henge, each farmer had to do a separate ceremony.
Most of the second page was taken up with the Beltane celebration. It sounded like almost every couple in the village had jumped the bonfire three times to renew their vows. Three couples had betrothed, including Verat and Freya. He gave a little more detail about the maypole dance and the feast, ending with the secret symbol they’d devised to mean “I love you.”
She placed her lips on the symbol, knowing he would have done the same, then quickly moved the page away before the splash of her tears melted his words.
5 – Litha
Lareeta reread the letter for the third time, hugging it to her and thanking all the deities involved. What wonderful fortune had led her to the delightful shop all those years ago? Thanks to that quirk of fate, her life had changed beyond measure. As though meeting the fabulous Rielle and learning skills she could be proud of weren’t enough joy, she had ended up far away from her tormented childhood home. In a place full of warm, loving people who nurtured and cared for her. A place where she’d met and married her marvellous husband, Taron, whose second child she now carried.