by Jacky Gray
How many times had she asked herself why? “As did my father. Not surprisingly, he rarely came home.”
Lyran allowed her a few moments before asking gently, “He travelled a lot?”
“His business took him all over the continent, searching for unusual artefacts to offer his royal and noble patrons with a taste for the exotic and far more money than sense.”
“And he was abroad while all this went on?”
She nodded. “He left a wife and three healthy children and came back to me. It broke him apart.” Sniffing back the fresh tears threatening to overwhelm her, she continued. “He lost interest in his business, and upset an important patron who called him out in a duel, claiming a defrauding. It was an honest mistake caused by grief.”
“It sounds bad. What happened?”
“We had to leave the house and move in with his father. The tyrant spoke of mama with contempt, and had no time for girls, considering us the ‘weaker sex.’ Father spent many hours teaching me to read and write, but Grandfather often admonished about the waste of time.”
“Men like him unanimously believed girls should only be taught how to run a home and prepare for marriage.”
She snorted. “He put it more crudely, insisting girls had only one purpose, to please men.” The mere thought of his eyes on her as he said it made her shudder. “When Father went on his travels, my grandmother insisted I be sent to the convent.”
“Oh, dear. I’ve heard they can be quite austere and sombre places.”
“Not at all. After his grey house, full of dark walls and sour faces, I loved training with the nuns, many of whom were young and jolly, singing as they worked in the garden or milked the cow.” She yawned.
“How old were you?”
Eanje frowned, trying to remember. “Around ten, I think. Yes. Sister Marianna baked a special batch of oatencakes for us to share on my eleventh birthday.”
“Another happy memory. I can tell you are tired and now sufficiently relaxed to sleep. If you should wake again full of fright, try to hark back to some of the happier times you described. Especially the ones involving gardens or nature, they seem to work best for you.” He pulled up to leave, but she clung onto his arm.
“Stay with me. Please. At least until I fall asleep.”
He paused. “If you are sure.”
“It’s not as though my reputation can harm. Or yours.” She grinned. “This room will cool as the night wears on.”
“Good arguments, all three.” He stayed all night.
2 – Crescent Moon
Crescent moon: between new and half, with the powerful energy of momentum and manifestation. Good for bringing things into your life.
Eanje
The first day saw the three recent arrivals breakfasting on more nuts and berries with the remaining congealed meat from the squirrels Bryce had caught. Senna’s nose wrinkled, but Eanje had eaten far worse when circumstances dictated. The three men had apparently left for the quarry shortly after sunrise and, although Jarl wanted to join them, Senna persuaded him to stay and help.
“You would have me build a fire, or forage for berries?” He glanced eastward, toward the quarry. “These are all things you can do well.”
She slapped his arm. “This is not a matter for teasing. I hoped you would share your knowledge of fending for yourself in the wild so we have a way of cooking food.”
“That’s easy. You roast the meat on a spit. Exactly like the one Tasker built. Or you bake the bread on the surrounding stones. If that’s all you want, I can join the others in some man’s work.”
“You beast, you are being deliberately obtuse. Gaia help me, I should let you go and wreck your body trying to prove how strong you are compared to the others.”
Eanje suppressed a smile, feigning boredom. “Jarl, stop teasing your poor wife. You know full well what Senna means. We need a way of heating water and making broth.”
He looked around the makeshift kitchen. “There are no kettles or pots?”
“Would I be asking if there were?” Senna tutted her exasperation. “I hoped you might know of a handy trick from your time in the militia.”
“You mean like using our helmets to fetch water from the stream and boil it?”
“Exactly. But no weapons are allowed through the portal, including armour. We shall have to design something using the materials we have.”
Poking around, Eanje spotted the ale brewing in a makeshift barrel made from a ring of stout twigs pushed into the ground and lined with a scraped animal hide. “They obviously have the same priorities as you, Jarl. Could we not make something similar for the broth?”
He rubbed his chin. “I’m sure you realise we could not place wood or hide on the fire, but if we used hot stones we could get the water hot enough to cook vegetables – do we have some?”
Senna looked askance. “You are not serious about expecting an answer? I assume the woods will have the same plants as our world with plenty of edible mushrooms, herbs and roots.” She shook her head. “I can see I’m to get little sense out of you today. Maybe you should join the men, but do not blame me if your body tires easily – even the walk will be challenging for a day or two.”
He grimaced. “Perhaps you are right. I may be able to make some manner of clay pot which we could suspend over the fire. Do they have any implements? A knife, even?” He rooted around the various haphazard piles of materials the men had collected, muttering about needing a woman’s touch to make order from the chaos.
Eanje wondered what had changed his mind, glad of his help to assess what they needed to equip the kitchen. He rooted through the piles of wood, separating them into strong, new branches which could be used to make things, and old crumbling stuff which could be burnt.
He exclaimed with joy on discovering a yew staff which he said would make a fine bow if only they could find suitable twine for the bowstring. Whatever tension had driven him at the start of the day lessened as the three of them worked together in harmony, with plenty of humour to lighten the task.
She sorted through a heap containing several attempts at designing dishes and platters. They had tried unvarnished wood, slate and even a hollowed out stone, none of which did the job as well as the baked clay.
Every small thing required some form of compromise, and he fashioned makeshift slings to help them transport the treasures from their foraging expedition. Senna’s priority was finding wild oats or barley, anything they could use to make their normal staple of bread and oatencakes to sustain them through the day.
“Here, this looks like pigweed – can we eat it?” Jarl beckoned her over to a large crop of leafy green plants with dramatic red flowers which had gone to seed.
She clasped her hands, giving thanks. “I know it as ‘Love-Lies-Bleeding,’ and most farmers see it as naught but a weed. It has great nutritional value and can be used in many ways. We’ll just take enough for today, and I’ll save some seeds for planting on.”
Jarl made a note of where they were so they could return to the location. As he pointed out the distinctive group of silver birch trees, Eanje spotted a large cluster of her father’s favourite brown mushroom. “Penny Buns. How marvellous. I have never seen such a collection.”
“And there are more over here.” Senna called out from a group of pines. “It is like a market place with the sweet chestnut and hazel trees filled with nuts ready to drop.”
“Fill your boots, ladies.” Jarl spread his arms in a grand gesture as though personally responsible for providing it.
“And a crab apple bush.” Senna clapped her hands. “Gaia is indeed bountiful. These are perfect for making jams.” She scanned the clearing. “All we need are …”
“Brambles?” Eanje joined in her innocent pleasure. “Ask and she will provide. They are so tasty. Oh.”
“What is it?” They both turned at her exclamation, Jarl tensing as though for danger.
Eanje apologised. “Sorry, but this is wonderful.” She stretched in to try and detach
her treasure, getting scratched for her troubles. “You know how we were trying to think of something we could use to make twine and ropes? I have found the perfect thing.” She displayed her handful.
“Animal hair? From a horse by the looks of it.” Jarl examined her find.
Senna peeked over his shoulder. “A great idea, but this is nothing like enough. I have been thinking about this. I know we said grasses are too brittle, but how about vines? They have such strength when I try to clear them from my herb garden.”
“A good idea. I thought of branches from a willow tree, but we’d have to pick them soon, before they harden.”
“Never mind that. Do you know what this means?” Jarl shook the fist of horsehairs at them.
Eanje swapped a bewildered glance with Senna. She wanted to say horses, but the response seemed so obvious, she searched for a deeper meaning.
“I have no idea. Some kind of portent?”
“No, silly. It means there are horses here. Or more specifically one horse. A beautiful, black-maned creature.”
Eanje shrugged. “Am I missing something significant? Why wouldn’t there be horses here?”
Jarl pouted like a boy whose mean older brother had stolen his toy. “I don’t know. It all seems a little different to the place I know. These woods are not exactly as I remember them; they have many more trees.”
Senna hugged him. “I think this is probably what it looked like centuries ago before we came along and chopped all the trees down.”
“We? I had no idea you numbered woodsman among your many talents.” He had regressed into a silliness Eanje found endearing.
Senna, apparently, did not. “If you are going to make sport of everything I say …”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I did not mean to. I am just so excited about the idea of having a horse to ride instead of lengthening each day walking to and from the quarry. And we could build a cart to help bring the stones back …”
Senna could not stay vexed at him for long, and Eanje turned away from their embrace, concentrating on picking the most succulent blackberries so she would not have to witness their deep affection for each other. The last thing she wanted was to speculate why their connexion should leave her with such an empty sensation in her stomach.
He grudgingly acknowledged the importance of returning to the church to finish the projects they had started, agreeing to look for the horse on the following day. Relieving Senna of her burden, he serenaded them on the journey home with ditties he claimed were from his army days. He wrung every last drop of humour out of the outrageous tales for hapless miller’s sons and a lovesick blacksmith. Eanje’s sides ached with laughter as he swapped to his favourite sea shanties.
When they had unloaded their spoils, she left them arguing about the best stones for grinding the seeds, making her way down to the river. She carried a sharpened stone she had found amongst various tools. She wanted to prove the efficacy of her idea in using willow branches as twine, and thrilled at the discovery of several trees lazing on the banks, dipping their leaves into the water. Placing her hand on the trunk of the nearest one, she closed her eyes and sent a message of peace and love to the tree, receiving it back with such force her skin tingled.
“Mother willow, please may I have some of your branches to use for the benefit of our tribe. I promise naught will be wasted; the leaves will provide excellent nourishment and medicine, and the stems will have many practical uses.” Just saying the words her mother had taught brought a tear to her eyes, and she wished her mother could have known such powerful healers as Lyran and Senna. She felt sure they would have eased her suffering and even cured her ailments.
A gust of wind ruffled the branches, several of which dropped to the ground as though answering her question.
“Thank you so much.” She crouched, picking them up, a little disappointed to find many of them were old and withered with no leaves. They lacked the flexibility for what she had in mind; however, they would have many other uses, not the least as an alternative to straw in the thatching.
She returned to the trunk, embracing and kissing the ancient bark. “You are very kind. These will be wonderful, adding a glorious aroma to our houses. I would, however, appreciate some newer growth if you can spare it.”
One of the limbs overhanging the river shook like a dog returning from a dunking in water, and she realised the densely packed branches were weighing it down. Speaking to the tree as she worked, she tested each stem until she received a tingle which felt like permission. Most of them snapped off easily when she tugged, but where they didn’t, she did not take them.
Absorbed in her task, she did not hear any approach, so the question came as a surprise.
“Do you talk to all the trees, or does this one have special meaning for you?”
“Lyran. Don’t just stand there asking inane questions, you can help.”
“Of course. What can I do?”
Being taller than her, and stronger, he easily bent the boughs down, allowing her to break them off much higher, resulting in longer stems.
“Thank you, but I have sufficient for now. I need to deal with these before they dry out too much.” She placed the last one with the others and returned to the sturdy trunk, hugging it as she whispered her thanks to the tree, ending by pressing her lips to the rough, striped bark.
“Should I do that, too?” His glance hoped not.
“It wouldn’t hurt. You will be benefitting from the many things she will provide.”
When he returned, he held out his arms for her to load them with the branches. “Obviously I know about the many healing properties of the leaves and bark, but what else?”
“Apart from reducing pain and swelling, mother said it helps with many women’s problems. She made an infusion every moon to help with the flux.”
“I have heard of this. And a poultice for cooling burns.”
“She also says if you water plants with a willow infusion it helps them to grow, and helps new offshoots to create roots.”
He smiled. “You obviously have her love of nature.”
She shrugged. “I have had little chance to indulge in the past few years. I thought I would have forgotten, but I remember some of the important things.”
He grew serious as they approached the church. “I know you are fully able to take care of yourself, but for the sake of the rest of us, will you let someone know before you wander off alone?”
“Really? I am to be treated like a child?”
“Not at all. I would say the same to everyone because we have little idea how this place may differ from the world we know.”
“Even Jarl or Bryce?”
“Especially Jarl; the man is as reckless as when he was a boy.” He shook his head. “But there could be fierce wild animals, and it is easy to trip and fall into a ditch. No one would have known if you had fallen into the river.”
She frowned. “It is shallow, and anyway, I am a strong swimmer.”
He sighed. “Senna was extremely concerned; that kind of worry is not good for the babe.”
As they entered the church, Senna jumped up from the bench, hurrying over to hug Eanje. “Thank goodness. I had a vision of you falling into the river and being swept away.”
“I’m fine.” She returned the hug a little awkwardly with her arms full of branches. “It explains how Lyran knew where to find me.”
“Oh, these are wonderful. We can strip the leaves off after dinner and lay them out to dry. In fact, I can add some to the broth.” She selected a few leaves, all the while chattering about how they could weave some baskets to carry things. “These are perfect, how clever you are to think of them.”
Eanje felt a little overwhelmed by the woman’s enthusiasm and somewhat trapped as Lyran had followed, stopping abruptly behind her.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I did not mean to take over. You probably already have a use in mind for these.”
“There are plenty and they have many uses.” She spread her load
on the floor and, as Lyran placed his on top, she approached the stone benches they were using as a table. “Can I do anything to help with dinner?”
“We have it all under control. Jarl has made a similar barrel as you suggested, and the broth is well on its way. We were just trying to devise a way of cooking the dough without it burning.”
Bryce picked up one of the thicker willow stems. “D’ya mind if I use this tae try something?”
She gestured for him to go ahead, watching with interest as he stripped off the leaves and bent the stem in half.
“We did this back home before ma got hersel’ a kiln.” Taking one of Senna’s circles of dough, he stretched it into a long, thin cylinder, and wrapped it around the branch like a garter. He crossed it over in front and behind three times, and pinched the ends together to seal them.
“How clever. It’s like a tiny roasting spit.”
“Exactly. Ya turn it above the flames till it’s cooked on the outside, and leave it on the hot stones for a few moments before breaking it open.”
“That’s smart, that is.” Jarl clapped his friend on the back. “As long as you’ve fastened it tight so it doesnae fall intae the fire.” He tried to mimic the man’s Scottish accent with little success.
The ingenious inventions meant the men were treated to a very different meal. Almost every day for the previous moon, they’d eaten little but meat, nuts and berries.
Jarl even tried a beaker of the ale, declaring it, “a bit green, but palatable.” No one else dared to join him.
They continued to bond over Senna’s tasty wild-grain bread twists and the surprisingly palatable broth made from whatever ingredients she thought might mingle in harmony.
Eanje had never had much to do with Bryce, but she laughed many times at the Scot’s dry wit and humorous observations. Tasker, on the other hand, seemed firmly out of his depth, giving the impression of a man in awe of what he called, “his betters.”
The first time he used the phrase reminded her of the gardener at her parent’s house – his speech had similar quality, lacking in the confidence and colour of the others around the table who had all experienced some level of education. No one else seemed aware of his discomfort, and she remembered his reticence on the previous eve when he only contributed to the conversation if pressed.