by Jacky Gray
Cal raised his goblet first. “A toast to Dennon’s dogged determination to clear the names of my wife and her family when so many in the village were swayed by MD’s madness.”
Even the use of the code for the evil magister made Lyrelie shudder. They all agreed never to speak his name again after he caused so much upset and endangered so many lives in his quest for power. Banishing him from her mind, she filled the space with love. “Bless Marena for her healing skills. We would never have made it through the past few moons if she hadn’t stepped in to take care of the people who had not succumbed to the pestilence.”
They clashed beakers in honour and swigged the ale.
Verat saluted the couple’s oldest lad. “And here’s to young Derran, current holder of the junior medal, while Cal has the senior title.”
“Verat.” Cal hissed his friend’s name, his eyes widening before settling into a frown. “The girls aren’t supposed to know about the Imbolc challenge.”
“Really?” He cuddled Freya to him, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Did you not promise to tell your wife the truth about everything when you wed her?”
Lyrelie could not sanction her poor husband’s dilemma a moment longer as he stared from her to his best friend and back, torn apart by conflicting loyalties. “It’s all right, husband mine. Freya told me all about it.”
Cal’s pained expression should have melted her heart as he protested. “You mean I’ve been feeling guilty about holding my oath to the brotherhood all this time and you knew?”
Verat snorted. “What oath to the brotherhood?”
“The one they made us swear on that first Imbolc when we were allowed to watch the challenge. Surely you haven’t forgotten?”
“Oh, that. It doesn’t hold once you reach your majority. It’s something they put in place because they don’t want the women thinking we encourage fighting as a sport.”
“We don’t. Apart from the Imbolc challenge.” Cal’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me your parents discuss it openly in front of you?”
Seeking the support of his wife, Verat narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Not when I was younger, but when we became seniors … who else do you think suggested the strategy you and I followed of feigning the fights?”
Lyrelie widened her eyes. “Am I only just discovering my husband is a cheat and a liar as well as a fighter?”
Whirling to face her, Cal took both her hands in his. “It is not what you think, honestly. I merely thought it unfair to use my strength and speed against smaller lads who had not had the benefit of the military training I did with Jarl.”
Snatching her hands out of his grasp, she recoiled from him. “A lie is a lie no matter what your motive. And if you don’t know me well enough by now to know how I feel about fighting …”
Verat’s expression reflected her husband’s absolute mortification. “Please don’t blame him, Lyrelie, he’s done nothing wrong. Every boy is made to fight as part of the initiation so they can learn how to defend themselves. And his keeping to the oath is testament to a loyalty far stronger than mine.”
She refused to be swayed. “But you chose loyalty to your wife, which is as it should be.”
Freya set down her beaker, her hands flying to her cheeks. “Oh, sweetheart. Please do not berate Cal, so. Verat would not have told me at all – in fact, he did not tell me, merely confirmed the questions I bombarded him with. One of the other girls …”
“Let me guess. It wasn’t Eanje by any chance?”
“Yes it was. How did you …? Never mind. Anyway, she told me all about what went on in the village hall but I didn’t believe her. So I forced him to … what?”
Cal and Lyrelie could keep the pretence up no longer and they both dissolved into giggles.
Verat and his wife swapped matching frowns and their bewilderment made the other couple laugh even harder.
Finally, Cal wiped his eyes. “Sorry, mate. When you disregarded that oath so lightly, I could not resist.”
“And when you were so smug about your loyalty to Freya, I felt it time for a little levity at your expense. I did not realise Cal would build it up so convincingly. He has obviously learnt his Mummering skills at the hand of a master.” Lyrelie held her friend’s hand. “Please do not take offence, either of you. It was a lesson to us all how easily we can be manipulated by people with evil intentions.”
Freya shook her head. “I don’t know whether to hug or scold you.” She chose the hug,
The coordinators on both sides had thought long and hard about how to arrange the death of the four friends. They reasoned the most plausible explanation would be that they had finally succumbed to the disease and would be doing the honourable thing and walking into the fire together.
As Lyrelie wrote a note stating their intention, Cal painted the black cross on the door of Senna’s house to warn people to stay away.
Lyrelie gave a last glance around the dear, familiar room before slipping away to the longbarrow at midnight.
Once again, Gaia arranged for a large portal to be opened and the families of the three new-borns walked through, followed by the four friends.
As the portal closed behind them, Cal sent a blessing for those in the old world, hoping they would learn something good from the devastation and all be strengthened by the experience.
6 – Seed Moon – April
Seed moon: a time for planning ahead and interacting with others. Strong, short-term goals and spiritual decisions.
Senna
Finally, Senna felt like she could breathe again. All the time her daughter had been on the other side of the portal, she felt as though a part of her was missing, like an arm or a foot. Lyran said he felt the same and, when Councillor Osman came through, his wife, Bernadine, confirmed she had felt exactly the same when her oldest lad went to study at Oxford.
With a smile, Senna remembered the night the four friends had walked through the portal, hand in hand. The instant it closed, every man, woman and child broke into spontaneous applause, which went on for at least one small eternity.
Starting in January, for each successful transfer, everyone met in the henge to give thanks and welcome the newcomers. It had become a custom but, being the last, this one felt extra special.
Just like his father before him, Cal brought through several bottles of brandy wine so, after the blessing, everyone raised a toast to new beginnings.
After talking to many people, Lyran had discovered the favourite name for the new place was Aveburgh, returning to the old spelling when burgh meant a township. Many liked it because it sounded close to the old name, but somehow represented the fellowship of the people.
With everyone through, it was time to take stock of what they had, in terms of skills and resources, and how they were going to manage things.
From the strategies they’d used to prepare for the pestilence, they already had a good idea of what needed to be done in terms of laying good foundations for the new village. Having huddled together in their tithings for so long, people embraced the idea of sharing houses.
The key players gathered with a representative of each of the old tithings, and it soon became clear these would have to be reorganised because some had only two or three people. With less than fifty families and several single men and women, it no longer made sense to have the original thirteen tithings, so they had to figure out how to divide them up.
Senna happily left the organisation to those who cared about such things. Her past and present husbands had diametrically opposing views about how the families should be split. Lyran advocated each of the new tithings should include two farmers, two craftsmen, a quarryman, and an administrator. Jarl felt strongly that occupations forged strong bonds and people would not want to live apart from their friends. They were both, however, adamant the decision should be put to the vote, and every man and woman should have an equal say.
The church held the only room large enough to hold all the adults comfortably, sitting on benches whi
ch were no more than a plank of wood with stone supports.
Lyran reluctantly stood to greet everyone, promising to keep the meeting short. “There are many decisions to be made, and we want all of you to be included in every one. However, I suspect most of you would rather not spend a moment more on these hard benches than you have to.”
“Hear, hear.” Brom shouted out. “Although I would like you all to acknowledge the fine cooperation between the woodsmen, carpenters and masons to get them built so quickly. Otherwise you would all be standing.”
As the applause died down, Ranly stood, summarising what had gone on in terms of determining the most pressing tasks. “Before we go any further, we would like to ensure we are acting on behalf of everyone by returning to the tithing system used in the old world. All those in favour raise your hand, please.”
It appeared as though every person in the room raised their hand, but to verify, he asked for a show of hands for anyone against. Not one hand rose, but he wanted to be sure. “In case anyone with an objection is too shy to speak against such an overwhelming majority, please approach any member of our temporary council with your concerns and they will be addressed.”
He went on to explain they had calculated the optimum number of tithings as seven, each with seven families. Jarl and Lyran outlined the two different schemes and invited a brief discussion. This raised good points about familiarity of working methods and deep bonds of friendship and trust. As expected, the majority voted for the groups being based on existing associations.
Five of the original tithings already had five or six families. By the end of the meeting, the remaining families had allied to produce an even spread of adults throughout.
Before they split off to elect their representatives, Lyran begged for a moment more. “Can I remind you, each tithing should have a male and female leader and a deputy of both sexes, too?” He shrugged. “I apologise if you have heard me speak of this often, but it is crucial to our existence here. In the past, there has been a huge imbalance with a few men having immense riches and power while others struggle to feed their families.”
“You can say that again.” Brom’s heartfelt remark caused chuckles.
“We are determined that will never happen again, so I hope you will agree the results of all our efforts will be shared equally for the good of all. Each tithing will have one of Barthel’s communal ovens to serve all the families, and the original one will be mainly used for the craftsmen and on feast days.”
“Roll on Ostara. Will the ale be ready by then?” Again Brom’s comment brought laughter with his comedic concern.
“Only eleven days to go. Worry not; I’m sure everyone will bring something tasty to eat or drink.”
As the crowd drifted out, chattering about the upcoming event, Senna instinctively went to congratulate Lyran, forgetting for a moment they were no longer wed. But he had eyes for naught but Eanje, enquiring after her health, and placing his hands on her swollen belly, delighting as her babe obviously kicked.
Senna felt a jolt of something she refused to call jealousy. Even envy was too strong a word for the slight unease, but whatever the label, it inevitably resulted in Alex doing something to gain her attention.
Jarl appeared in an instant, enquiring after her health.
She smiled at him, dismissing the grey emotion back whence it came. “Alex does not like me to sit in one place for such a long time.”
“That’s ma boy. I bet he’s already planning campaigns. Looks like I was right about the tithings. Lyran will need a rather large slice of humble pie tonight.”
Not wanting to spoil his small victory, Senna sought a new topic. “It feels good to have Ranly back in charge.”
“Aye. Although …”
“What?”
“I’m not sure. I sense something … it’s hard to explain. All I can liken it to is the unsettled feeling I used to get when I’d been away from the militia too long. Like a part of me was missing.”
She pondered on it. “Maybe he misses his wife. It must be difficult to take on a new world without her by his side.”
Jarl frowned. “She has been gone many years.”
“I know, but for the past few he has had all the ‘Uncle’ business occupying his mind. I think he enjoyed the challenge and he spoke of many friends in Oxford.”
“I think he misses them; he has already spent several days over there re-establishing contact with anyone who made it over to the new world. If I didn’t know better, I might think he has a lady friend.”
“Really?” Senna arched a brow, remembering his reaction when she’d mentioned something similar last year. She quelled her questions as he hissed.
“Shhh! Say nothing.” Turning to Lyran, he gestured at Eanje’s belly. “It looks as though you two are cooking a sheep in there. When is it due?”
“We can’t tell exactly because the transfer has upset the moon flux for all the women. I would have said July, maybe end of June.”
“Another four months? Make that a horse!”
Even Jarl’s crude humour could not spoil Lyran’s victory. “Neither a sheep, nor horse. My wonderful woman has blessed me with two little Lyrans. Or even better an Eanje and a Lyran.”
Senna barely recognised the dear face beneath her former husband’s smug smile.
Jarl put aside his rivalry in genuine pleasure. “Two babes? That’s wonderful.” His face darkened. “How will they both fit? She is almost as big as Senna now.”
Eanje looked dismayed. “Don’t say that. I won’t burst, will I?”
Senna chuckled. For two of the smartest people she knew, Jarl and Eanje knew very little about pregnancy. She squeezed her arm. “No, silly. They have moved into an unusual position where they are lying apart from each other instead of side-by-side so it looks as though you are a lot bigger than you actually are.”
Lyran nodded. “That’s how I realised we have two instead of one. And to put you both out of your misery, it is almost unknown for twins to go full term. They normally birth anywhere from eight moons.”
“So it could be a midsummer birth? That would be auspicious.” Excitement tinged Eanje’s relief.
“May I?” Senna gestured at the younger woman’s belly.
“Of course. But please do not reveal what they are. I want to continue believing I have a girl and a boy.”
Senna placed her hands at the widest parts and the prominent bumps confirmed they were indeed lying with their heads as far away from each other as they could. “Now, now, little ones.” She spoke to them directly, trying to coax them into a better position. “This is not very comfortable for your mother. Please live in harmony and return to rest alongside each other.”
When nothing happened for a moment, she moved her hands to approximately where their hearts would be, and repeated the request inside her mind. Instantly, the one on the left moved. “That’ll be …” She was about to say, “… the girl,” when she remembered she’d promised not to tell.
Lyran’s smile said he already knew. “Thank you. I tried to do that earlier, but already they won’t listen to their father. Just like someone else I know.” He had obviously sensed Lyrelie approaching, even with his back to her.
“You couldn’t possibly mean me. I always did whatever you told me.” She gestured to Eanje. “May I have a little feel?”
Eanje raised her eyes heavenward. “I cannot move for healers in this family. My babes will be so healthy …”
As everyone chuckled, Lyrelie whipped her hand away as though she’d put it in a fire. “Wait. That cannot be.” She placed her hands at the top and bottom of the mound and smiled. “It can and it is. You are having two? I’ve never known twins. A boy and …”
“Stop. Eanje doesn’t want to know.” Lyran’s warning came too late.
Lyrelie’s hands shot up to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry. I never thought.”
Eanje grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ve known for a while now. I just wanted to have a little fun with y
our parents.”
As they ambled across to the communal dining hall, Senna remembered back to how secretive Eanje had been about her pregnancy for so many moons. Although all the clues were there from quite early on, circumstances had conspired to hide them. Both times when the girl fainted could be explained by traumatic events, making the subsequent inability to hold food down perfectly reasonable.
The loose clothes she wore hid the swelling belly and, when Jarl remarked on how it was good to see her finally gaining some curves, she put it down to over indulgence and inactivity during the Yule season. She’d managed to hide it for at least another moon after that, because her duties with the Sylvans in blessing trees kept her mostly out of Senna’s sight.
Shortly after the Archdruid arrived at Imbolc, Eanje gave into Senna’s third enquiry about pregnancy, and the man immediately asked if they would like him to perform a handfasting. Senna’s eyes narrowed as she remembered how vehemently they’d both refused.
Eanje’s small deception was the least of Senna’s worries. She watched Zane place his dish of broth opposite Lyrelie, while the ever-present Wilona sat across from Cal, engaging him in a question. Although not close enough to hear it, Senna reasoned the girl had chosen a topic Cal felt passionately about. He launched into an explanation, leaving Lyrelie at the lad’s mercy.
Something about him had raised Senna’s hackles from almost the first time she met him but, in her efforts not to judge, she had given him the benefit of the doubt. On a couple of occasions, she’d seen Eanje regarding him suspiciously, but Lyran seemed to have accepted him without reservation.
“Whatever gives you that frown, please stop thinking of it.” Jarl’s hug turned into an attempt to steal her half-eaten bread twist.
She slapped his hand away. “Get your own.”
“They’ve all gone. Yours is the last in the room.”
A glance at the central platter, diverted her attention long enough for him to steal it and down it in a single gulp. “Liar. Why do you always have to steal my food?”