Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  After assuring himself Cal would prevent any other wild impulses, Lyran left them, his purpose clear.

  Lyrelie tentatively asked if Cal would mind stopping the night in her mother’s house. He acquiesced immediately. The poor girl had just waved goodbye to her mother and second father; the least he could do was to remain with her in a house still resonating with their energies.

  Having eaten well at lunch, they wanted little more than a dish of the pottage Senna had set to stew before she left. He watched his wife ladle out the smallest portion imaginable, then barely taste it as she nibbled on some bread. No sooner had they cleared away the dishes when the door knocked.

  Cal opened it and Freya flew in to hug her friend, tears dampening her cheeks. She sniffed and Cora shrugged.

  “I’m sorry, I had to let her come. She is adamant Senna is in trouble. Jarl, too.”

  “And Eanje. I saw … all three of them. Dead.” As she spoke, the door blew open with a crash. Wisps of straw and other leavings from the recent threshing blew around the room as though chased by a malevolent spirit. They all heard the whinny of a horse and the crashing of hooves against the floor. Then it was gone as soon as it began.

  Alfun closed the door, shaking his head at his wife’s unspoken question. “Probably just a gust of wind.”

  “With the greatest respect, Alfun, there is no wind. You know as well as I it was a spirit. A nasty one I would say. Lyran will tell us.” Cal cocked his head.

  “Da is likely needed in Devizes.”

  “It was Domenyk.” Freya shuddered. “But he’s gone now. He will never bother anyone again.”

  No one thought to question her words; they’d all had their share of communing with spirit, but Cal had not been aware of Verat or his wife showing any such talent. Glancing at the varying expressions, he tried to inject a different atmosphere. “What would Senna say if she could see all these glum faces?”

  Cora picked up his intention and carried it on. “She’d say, ‘Do not fret my loves. Although it may appear as though I am no longer here, in reality, I am in the heart of every one of you.’ I can certainly feel her in my heart.”

  “So can I.” Cal smiled his gratitude.

  “Then she’d suggest we all swapped hugs, saying it was, ‘from Senna.’ I like this game.” Freya hugged her husband first, and it took a while as they all exchanged hugs with every other person in the room.

  Another knock at the door caused a flurry of concerned glances. This time, Alfun was closest.

  “Alfun. I think I know why you are here.” Magister Ranly stepped into the room to be assailed by his worst nightmare – a room full of people all wishing to hug him.

  Cal remembered Senna saying how much Lyran’s father disliked physical contact, but he seemed happy to exchange a hug with Lyrelie. When she said, “From Senna,” he smiled, and when Cora beckoned, he got in first, saying, “From Senna and Jarl.”

  Cora smacked the heel of her hand onto her forehead. “Of course. How could we forget him?”

  Lyrelie shook her head. “And Eanje too.”

  When everyone had finished swapping hugs with the modified tribute, the momentary pause grew into a dirty great silence as people struggled for something to say. Again, Cal felt it his place to divert them from their sorrow.

  “At the risk of repeating myself, what would Jarl say? I think he would want us all to share a memory of him.”

  “Particularly if it fizzled with humour or playfulness.” Alfun grinned. “Like the time he put a frog in the linen basket.” He grinned at Cora who thumped his arm.

  “You would not have laughed so much if it were your nether garments jumping around as though alive. What about the time he put salt on your strawberries? I’ve never seen such a face.”

  Alfun grinned. “He tried to catch me out with honey on my greens instead of oil, but I really enjoyed that.” He rubbed his belly and everyone laughed.

  They were still laughing when the door knocked for the third time, then they sobered quickly.

  Shayla rushed in and hugged Lyrelie to her, sobbing. “I’m so sorry. They are both gone. And Eanje.”

  Quinn followed, closing the door. “There is still enough daylight that people will see. Lyran told us a little of the plan as we brought them here, but you must all react with normal grief.”

  “I hope you all know your parts, but I will be around ensuring no one does or says anything which may raise suspicions. Mostly I will be with Verat.”

  Lyran took on his glowing form for a moment. “Thank you for agreeing to do this. It is essential we avert all possibility of them being held responsible for bringing the plague.” He faded. “Lyrelie. You should be running out screaming about now. Only Cal and Quinn go with her, the rest can go with Alfun.”

  Lyran, Senna and Jarl had worked out a script for the rest to follow and, despite their fears, there was no need for concern. The grief of everyone in the house was very real as Lyrelie ran out, shouting and sobbing.

  Quinn had left Jarl’s cart at the foot of Silbury Hill and, as the two men followed her down the path, Alfun dashed to get his cart. Several of the neighbours ran out, asking what had happened, and Cora explained that Domenyk had murdered Senna and Jarl.

  Several of the neighbours raised the hue and cry, and Cal heard Verat’s bellow from the path. “STOP! Domenyk is already dead.”

  So far, everything went to plan as they heard the cry echoing. The preparations meant people would understand the necessity for dealing with the bodies immediately to reduce the possibility of attracting the pestilence.

  Lyrelie had dealt with enough dead bodies in her time for the sight of three more not to be a problem. But she had never done it on her own kin, nor on anyone with such horrific injuries, and Cal admired her courage in even looking at them when they reached the cart.

  As Quinn drove the short distance to the longbarrow, Cal gave thanks for the cloudless night allowing them the last glimmer of light to see their way. Once there, he and Quinn lit the two huge lanterns marking the entrance.

  Lyrelie prepared the barrow, lighting the small torches inside, along with some incense to purify the space. As they waited for the others, she glanced at the bodies, wrapped in the cow hides Jarl had thoughtfully provided for the journey back. “I cannot reconcile to the idea of not washing them, it feels wrong.”

  Cal hugged her. “Your father was adamant about that point. It is their blood which allows the transfer to this new place, which is why we must all drink the special potion before we can cross over.”

  Quinn spoke up. “Shayla dislikes the metal smell, so it was doubly hard. But we did as Lyran said and saved what we could.” He shuddered. “I cannot believe I have drunk Senna and Jarl’s blood in that potion.”

  Cal nodded. “I know how you feel, but I watched them do it. Trust me it is only a small beaker for every cauldron, so you will not be getting more than a thimbleful.”

  “’Tis naught but a few drops. I’m sorry, Quinn. Please know it will give the best protection against the plague and the important part you have to play.”

  “Lyran.” Quinn flinched. “Did they believe Verat?”

  “They were wary at first, but when Dennon got there, he soon had them seeing the sense of it. But we don’t have much time; we need to light the pyre.”

  “Of course. I had forgotten.” Cal leapt up, annoyed.

  “Do not be so hard on yourself; what you are doing is monumentous.” A snigger. “I mean monumental. Or momentous. Anyway, it is hugely significant.”

  The pyre had already been created and the oil-soaked faggots blazed up quickly, feeding off the abundant earth energy in the area.

  As the men worked, Lyrelie said her goodbyes to her mother and stepfather, and Cal glanced over to see Lyran’s white light surrounding her in a hug.

  “You can see me even though I’m not manifesting? That’s an awesome talent.”

  Chuckling, Cal wished he’d known the man better when he was alive.


  “Do not worry. You will have plenty of opportunity soon. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Cal sobered. “It will work, won’t it?”

  “In a few days’ time, you will have evidence. It will become a little crowded with Senna, Jarl and I speaking in your head, but you may be able to see them, too.”

  “Really. Just a few days?”

  “Hmm. Maybe a little longer. I forget how much faster time goes here. But soon. I will guide them.”

  “And me.”

  “Bryce!” Cal grinned. “I mean, Constable.”

  “Bryce is fine. I want to thank you for the part you played in all this. You are the bravest lad I’ve ever met.”

  Before he could answer, Alfun’s cart pulled up and Cora, Ranly and Shayla got out.

  Ever mindful that some of the more curious – or bloodthirsty – people might sneak up to watch, they had to work quickly. The four men lifted each body into the longbarrow, wrapped in the blood-soaked hides. Cora and Shayla kept watch while Lyrelie and Freya lit candles and sprinkled the special herb mix.

  They all entered the barrow and, after the shortest of prayers, each person said their goodbyes to Senna, Jarl and Eanje. A disturbance outside alerted them and Ranly shot out, returning with a smile. “’Tis only Verat and Freya.”

  “We got here as fast as we could. The Archdruid and his lady have led the villagers to the henge for a simple prayer. He suggested a proper celebration tomorrow.”

  Freya took her husband’s hand. “Even the Christian folk have turned out in support of Senna, and the priest will say a mass for her and Jarl tomorrow.”

  Verat nodded. “Constable Dennon has commissioned several deputies to guard the perimeter of the village, so we should be free to continue without disturbance.”

  This was good news. While the newcomers said their goodbyes, the men carried a carcass wrapped in linen to the pyre. Splitting open a bladder of lamb’s blood, Cal poured it over the dead pig. Verat joined them and the five men hauled the bundle into the fire.

  “Only one?” Verat nudged Cal.

  “No point in wasting good meat. The ashes will be buried and no one will be any the wiser.”

  “By the weight of it, I would suggest you had a meal or two from it first.”

  “Same answer. There is sufficient rind and fat so it will smell as it should, to anyone nearby.” He shrugged. “Jarl’s precaution should anyone wish to pay their respects.”

  “I’m back. We have guides watching and, if anyone strays close, we will alert you. ’Tis time, Cal.”

  Lyran manifested much more easily inside the barrow, and Cal made out Bryce’s tall figure in one of the side chambers, each of which had several distinct glowing forms. The ritual to send the three bodies through the portal was similar to a normal burial ceremony, with people calling on the elements to lend their energy. Lyran led the prayers and people echoed the incantations, but it seemed to Cal that many more than nine joined in.

  The three bodies rested side by side in the main burial chamber, and Cal did not notice the point at which they disappeared. The hides remained as though full until Lyran alerted them that all three had successfully moved over. When Lyrelie touched the hide nearest to her, it collapsed.

  “They’re gone.” Tears filled her eyes.

  Cal reached over, taking her into his arms. “To a better place, Lyran said.”

  “No, a different place.” Lyrelie pulled away to face him, keen to make him understand. “Like a different home.”

  He smiled and pulled her close. “That’s it. They’ve gone home.”

  The tension in the barrow relaxed as everyone exchanged hugs and soft words of comfort. Reluctant to go back and face people, they sat awhile longer, surrounded by the residual energies of the three dear friends. A companionable silence drew them together, each person content to bask in their own private thoughts, occasionally sharing an anecdote.

  Before leaving, they folded the hides, storing them in a crevice behind the entrance. The extraordinary blood on them would open the portal for everyone who followed.

  On the following day, they attended the Archdruid’s moving ceremony, along with the entire village. People wanted to express their sorrow, but were understandably reluctant to get too close.

  When sufficient time had passed, and they were sure there had been no infection, people felt a lot better about Shayla and Quinn’s presence. Then it was business as usual as the villagers continued to harvest, process and prepare for winter.

  When the pestilence eventually hit, thanks to the accumulated knowledge gathered from many sources, the villagers all understood what to do. Families kept to their tithing, sharing whatever food they had between those of their “clan.” In order not to attract vermin into the village, unwanted animal carcasses and other rubbish were burnt. The villagers were happy for Cal and Verat to dispose of these, taking them to a site near the longbarrow.

  People appreciated the way the four youngsters dealt with the dead; recognising their resilience came from Lyran and Senna’s magic. The meeting room became a hospital, isolating the afflicted families. Each victim had the same routine: as soon as they were struck down, Lyrelie gave them a potion which minimised suffering and gave them the best possible chance of combatting the disease.

  Of the few who survived, most wanted nothing more to do with the hospital, preferring to be out in the fields, preparing for the next crops. Some took on the fields of deceased farmers, but remained living in their own houses. No one was ever put under pressure; every person chose their path through this ordeal, and the entire village did their best to ensure every tithing had the support they needed from the others.

  For the many who succumbed, Verat and Cal, draped in vinegar-soaked linens, collected the bodies, and the four friends gave them a good send off, according to their wishes. None of the villagers went near the longbarrow, preferring to say their goodbyes at home.

  Each tithing secured the houses of their deceased, marking the doors with a black cross. Cal and Verat burnt the clothes and bedding, and the clan washed anything remaining, including the walls, with vinegar. Then they burnt purifying incense inside the house.

  The names of the dead were posted outside the town hall every Saturday, and brief prayers were said in both henge and church every Sunday, commemorating those who had passed. The Archdruid cancelled the normal ceremonies because it made no sense for people to gather and risk spreading the disease.

  Cal watched the bond between the four friends grow as they shouldered a world of responsibility. Each time the strain of dealing with so much grief and misery took its toll, they shared a meal in Senna’s house. They lit candles and incense and spoke with Lyran, Senna and Jarl, who seemed particularly adept at manifesting just one or other of his limbs, causing great hilarity to raise their spirits.

  Little by little, the transfers became easier as more villagers went through, strengthening the connection between the two sides. Lyran spoke of pockets of people in other areas of the country doing the same transfer. He did not divulge much except each portal was situated near an extremely spiritual place such as a stone circle or longbarrow. Dennon’s patrols were effective in keeping outsiders away from the village, and they managed to keep the entire operation secret from the country at large.

  Although every new outbreak caused sorrow initially, after a while, those remaining were contacted by friends who had passed over. When the villagers understood this was not truly the end, merely a passage through to a new place, they willingly volunteered to help in the hospital. The end could not come soon enough so they could all be reunited with their loved ones in this new world.

  Epilogue: A Red Herring

  Stop right there. People wanted to die? Who’s writing this stuff?

  Oops. Sorry, Ms Gray. I’ll behave, I promise.

  That’s me told.

  Sorry. Let me introduce myself. I’m Cal. You know, the “Bravest lad Bryce has ever met.” No? Have you actually read this sto
ry?

  Because if you had, you’d know I’m married to Lyrelie, daughter of Senna and Lyran and stepdaughter of Jarl.

  Two fathers-by-marriage – how lucky could one guy be? Sorry, that’s fathers-in-law to you. Or possibly father-in-laws if you’re not a stickler for the old ways.

  And apologies to Mr Cahn for the misquoted lyrics. That’s right – off you go to your google (other search engines are available) to spot the wrong word.

  Lyran told me all about this 4th wall breaking thing – he was very nervous about handing it over to me – hope I’m doing him justice.

  “Just get on with it! Bigging up your part like that. Young whipper-snapper. Why in my day …”

  *wrestles the mic off Lyran*

  How cool is that? Stage directions. I should have been an actor. I think that’s what you would say for a mummer.

  “CAL!!!”

  Oops. Strike two.

  Just like Lyran has done in the last couple, I’m gonna whizz through a few things because Ms Gray sneakily included some mysteries for people who like a puzzle.

  Here’s the skinny so you can confirm your suspicions.

  1. Senna and Jarl. Yes, they are dead in this world. But Gaia (who you may know better as Mother Earth) had the same eternal plan for them as she did Lyran. Knowing about what was to come (Black Death, destruction of the planet), she souped-up their blood and connected the three of them – but not in a reverse harem kind of way – so their powers would affect/infect everyone around them.

  So, dead in this world, but everything to live for in the next one. Which, of course, will all be covered in the next book: 13 Esbats of the Moon.

  2. Domenyk. Yep he’s really dead. Not going to the other place. There will be more than enough trials and tribulations without him. But no vampires, despite the blood drinking.