Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  “You did not deserve to be turned off that ship because of the stupid jealousy of that woman.”

  “Things like that happen to women all the time.”

  “I tried to come after you, but the captain was too concerned about offending nobility.”

  “The merchant was of noble birth? You surprise me.”

  “You know very well I am talking of the Flemish family. Had you worked for them long?”

  “When you are in employment which disagrees with you, even an hour is too long.”

  “I can imagine. I would not do your job for any amount of money. In fact, I suspect no man could. After you left, the children became wild, until the bosun threatened them with swabbing the decks.”

  “I would like to have seen that.”

  “He was terrifying. But give him his due, the oldest one – what was his name?”

  “I have already forgotten.”

  “Understandably. Anyway his token protest soon dissolved as the man ordered him to walk the plank.”

  He replayed it, this time noting her evasive answers which neither confirmed nor denied.

  On Jarl’s final night, the innkeeper’s unreasonable demands had left her in such a bad mood and so exhausted she fell asleep instantly. His contact had whisked him to Paris on the following day without allowing him the time to say goodbye. At the end of the mission, he returned to the inn to find she had been sacked the day he left.

  Before he awoke, Jarl’s dreams chopped and changed through a number of scenes, alternating between what she told him about her life as a governess and what he’d observed. Several differences he had not spotted at the time, now stuck in his mind as anomalies.

  This led to a series of repeated images which tumbled around his brain until they finally forced him awake.

  He had a strong memory of when she originally spoke of the family she’d worked for; she told him the oldest was a girl, and that they lived in Oxford, not London. Other inconsistencies come out; she had spoken of four children, not three, and her knowledge of the capital was sketchy for someone who had lived there for the number of years she had supposedly worked for the family.

  Coline had lied to him. But why? His return to sleep brought with it a different set of memories as he connected his shaven-headed bed mate with one of the rigging monkeys. Two had helped the Italian envoy with his bags, but only one returned. No wonder he’d had such a hard time recognising Coline as the governess. He’d put it down to a memory flawed by too much ale.

  Yet again, he fell back to sleep with a question running round his brain. What reason could she have to lie to him?

  He awoke with a different question. Two in fact. Why would he repeatedly dream of Coline, and what relevance had this to his current circumstances? Certain it was something to do with his situation with Senna, his mind suggested all manner of possibilities pertaining to his appetites not currently being sated. But if that were true, would he not be replaying any number of satisfying encounters with women over the years. It had to be something more. Was Senna lying to him about something?

  As she met his gaze across the table, he averted his eyes, hoping against hope this was not the case.

  ~*~

  Senna

  Senna closed her eyes, calling on an extra layer of protection against the thoughts running through her mind. The kind of protection which made them invisible to others. The kind of protection she’d had to use ever since her husband started having full moon dreams he would not want her to share. Because that particular kind of protection worked both ways. Thankfully.

  If only she could talk to someone about the impossible mess her life had become, but she could not risk any person finding out in case they accidentally replayed the memory. She had never before understood the damage a stray thought could do. If only she had known then what she knew now.

  But, as her mother was fond of saying, if onlys are the worst form of regret. Accept the consequences of your bad choices, and ensure you never repeat them. She had no chance of that. Although this choice had seemed anything but bad at the time …

  She sensed her husband’s thoughts had focussed elsewhere and opened her eyes, hoping no one else had spotted the exchange. His dream last night had been the most disturbing yet, and she had woken each time he did, aware only of the fact questions played on his mind, but not the essence of them.

  This morning’s question, however, needed no mind-reading skills to determine. Clear as anything, he had cast doubt on her integrity, then glanced away in order not to see the confirmation her unshielded eyes could not hide.

  “I said, can you pass the bread?” As ever, Quinn seemed oblivious to what went on around him, although she regularly gave thanks to whoever had suggested handfastings was not the best of topics in this particular company.

  She passed the basket with a smile, wishing something magical might happen to right the wrongs causing so much tension in the house. No, not wrongs. Everyone had acted with honour and integrity, according to a destiny not of their making. But it had gone on long enough. As the talk round the table inevitably turned to Yule, she tried to remember the one three years earlier, before any of this had begun.

  Instead, her mind returned to two weeks ago when she and Lyran had brought Dimia back from Marlborough. Her parents had returned in a separate carriage, but had travelled more quickly so they could get there first and help Lareeta settle all her mother’s things in the spare room in their house.

  The journey there had done all the damage. It was the first time since Lyran’s death they had spent more than a few moments in each other’s company without at least one other person around them.

  Even as their carriage reached the end of the stone avenue, the connexion, which she now recognised had never really left, flared up between them. At first it manifested as a slight tingle down the side closest to him, which gave welcome warmth.

  They chatted about how well Lyrelie and Cal were doing at the lehren and what a great couple they made. The effortless ease of discussing their daughter made her relax and, without realising her actions, she snuggled up to him. When he put his arm around her, she breathed in the customary smell of him with a sigh of recognition.

  When his lips touched hers, the beloved taste of him set all her senses on fire, and deepening the kiss felt like the most natural thing in the world. Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to the expertise of his hands which knew exactly how to pleasure her body. Every sensation was dear and familiar, right up to the point when he whispered her name.

  ~*~

  Eanje

  Something had definitely happened to Lyran in the past few moons. Something dark and completely out of character – from the little Eanje knew of him. So many people in the village held him in such affection, she desperately wanted to believe him the reasonable, generous man they spoke of.

  She knew their relationship was mostly based on a mutual need for consolation rather than dramatic, all-consuming love. But she had never expected anything quite so unfair as his treatment of her had become.

  What had started as loving support and turned into passionate desire was in danger of becoming unjust recrimination. At least on his part. She examined her feelings toward the man he’d turned into. Ever since Senna pointed out Lyran’s struggle to act reasonably concerning Tasker, she had ensured any dealings with the mason had no element which could be construed as affectionate or encouraging.

  For many moons it worked and harmony was restored, but the anger over Tasker’s brew had shown how easily the jealousy rose to the surface. However much Lyran tried to deny it, the man’s ability to calm Tryslan with such ease, rankled.

  She never imagined the depth of emotion which had Lyran in its grip until he returned home from Marlborough to find his son in another man’s arms.

  “What in Satan’s name are you doing with my son?” He snatched the babe, who had only just calmed, out of the mason’s arms.

  Tasker’s deceptive calm spoke of a strug
gle to mask his anger at the unjust implications. “Naught but calming the wee man. He was screaming fit to wake the dead.”

  The babe backed him up, demonstrating his displeasure with every ounce of power his little lungs could muster.

  Lyran’s face showed a glimpse of his inner turmoil as the assault on his eardrums robbed him of the ability to string a coherent sentence together. “That not your privilege. Mine … son … Tryslan is none of your concern. Get out. GO.” He shouted the last word in the man’s face.

  Senna appeared at the door and Lyran flung the screaming babe into her arms and grabbed Tasker’s shoulders, shaking them. “You have been after my wif … Is that it? You have … with Eanje?”

  He turned his anger on her. “Is that why the babe prefers him? Is he the father?”

  As Eanje recoiled at Lyran’s hate-filled face, Tasker shrugged out of the healer’s grip, speaking with dignity.

  “You should treat this woman with more respect.”

  Lyran crumpled to the floor and Tasker moved past him to catch Eanje’s arm. “I will be in the dining room. Please find me later to show he has not harmed you.”

  He nodded to Senna on his way out. “Perhaps you can talk some sense to that man of yourn.”

  After Tasker left, Tryslan refused to be consoled until the third measure of the man’s fortifying brew – his visit had been to deliver a fresh bottle.

  Lyran wanted no part of the havoc he’d wreaked, stalking out with a thunderous face and Eanje expressed concern he might assault Tasker.

  Senna agreed to go after him and ensure he calmed. On her return, she seemed unusually quiet and unable to meet Eanje’s eyes.

  Standing in the moon circle that night, Eanje replayed the ugly scene, only half-listening to Paulina’s wise words about living a half-life in the shadow of stronger people. She tuned back in as Paulina summed up.

  “Be true to yourself and do not allow other people to determine who you are and what you do. Humility is empowering, but there are times when each of us has to stand up and be counted.”

  As Paulina led a meditation connecting to spirit guides, Eanje knew what she had to do.

  15 – Oak Moon – December

  Oak moon: a time for Creativity, divination, renewal, endings. Nature spirits. Protect against demons/negativity.

  Willow

  Listening to Paulina’s inspiring words about standing up for oneself, Willow realised this was exactly what she needed to do. Ever since her name had been announced as the council representative for the village youth, she had been beset by doubts. It hadn’t helped that her mind was somewhat distracted during the first few moons due to the plans for her handfasting. Instead of the small, intimate affair she and Tol had envisioned, it seemed every member of the village wanted to play a part in “the first handfasting in the new world.”

  Wilona took every opportunity to question her about council matters, choosing the most public of forums to expose Willow’s limited grasp of certain issues. Stumbling over the sly questions, Willow felt sure the youths had no interest in topics such as the complex sewer system or the expansion plans for workshops and municipal buildings.

  When Shayla caught her being subjected to a public interrogation, she answered the questions in such technical detail Wilona’s supporters in the sport rapidly lost interest and drifted off.

  Afterwards, the woman took Willow aside, teaching her a few tricks to dissuade that sort of behaviour. And advised her not to expose herself to such situations by ensuring she always walked with purpose, as though on the way to some official business.

  Ever after, Shayla made a point of accompanying her from the meetings, giving a simplified explanation of any of the business where the level of detail had obscured the purpose of the project.

  Denied her sport, Wilona soon found new ones to satisfy her thirst for disruption. She and Zane invited all the older children and many of the younger men and women in the village to a meeting in the empty caves, no longer in use since the extra houses had been built.

  Still smarting over losing his best friend, Tol had befriended Zane, embracing the ideals of connecting to nature, and he went to the meeting without Willow.

  Cal snorted when he heard. “Connecting to the large vat of ale he’s been brewing more likely. I heard Zane telling a couple of the lads to entice them in.”

  Verat punched him. “You are just angry because you weren’t invited.”

  “None of us were.” Freya folded her arms.

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “What?” She glared. “Zane asked you?”

  “Not him. Barthel. And it wasn’t so much an invitation as an enquiry.” Verat sipped his ale, knowing every person in the room wanted to know more.

  “If you do not explain, I will tip that over the garden.”

  Pretending to quake at his wife’s fierce glare, he hugged the beaker close. “He wanted to know if I were going because he thought he was the only one excluded.”

  “I wish you had said. He could have joined us here.”

  “Do you think me such a dullard?” Verat ploughed on before she could answer. “Of course I did, but he said he had other plans.”

  “Just a moment.” Lyrelie’s eyes narrowed. “How did he seem about not being invited?”

  Verat shrugged and she continued her reasoning.

  “I remember he took a fancy to Wilona until Zane arrived. You don’t think he might go along to cause trouble, do you?”

  Willow frowned. “Oh dear. He does seem intense; the sort who might harbour a deep anger against someone.”

  “I get that sense, too.” Freya glanced at her husband. “Have you ever seen him drunk? Does he get angry like Cal or just silly and sentimental like you do?”

  “Mmm, you may want to consider your inflammatory thoughts before asking aloud.” Lyrelie grinned. “I think you have offended both our husbands in one sentence.”

  Willow’s concerns prompted her to ignore the banter and act. She stood. “I think I should get over there now.”

  “Were you invited?” Verat raised his beaker.

  “Not exactly, but Fabia suggested they would be discussing some of the things going on in the village. She mentioned a junior council, but it was very offhand, as though she wanted me to make my own decision whether to come or not.”

  “I’ve always thought her a decent sort. And her brother.” Cal shook his head. “I cannot understand why smart people like them would be taken in by the likes of Zane.”

  “If they are discussing things pertaining to the council, doesn’t it make sense that they would want their own special representative there?” Lyrelie smiled as she stood to get her cloak.

  “After all, you know so much more than any of them about what is going on in the village.” Cal winked.

  Willow stared in alarm as the others rose. “You are not going to cause trouble.”

  He pretended affront. “Me? I’m just going for a pleasant eve stroll with my wife and a couple of friends. I know a good path up to the caves.”

  “Take no notice.” Freya hugged her. “We couldn’t let you walk alone, but we won’t go in unless it sounds like an affray.”

  In the event, it was nothing more than a few of the younger boys sitting in a corner, giggling as they drank watered ale. Zane and George questioned Tol about aspects of married life, while Wilona and Fabia chatted nearby.

  As she shivered in the cold, dark cave, Willow quickly realised this might have something to do with the poor attendance. Along with the timing; many of the youngsters would not be allowed out that late. Taking pity on Wilona, she suggested they might have more luck if they tried something in the warm, bright dining room, earlier in the eve. And laid on food.

  At the next council meeting, she asked if some of the counsellors could come along and give short speeches about their plans for the village. It would give the youngsters an opportunity to share their thoughts and ask questions. The eve was a huge success, and she came away wi
th a much better idea of the village youngsters’ true opinions.

  Two days later, Farmon shocked everyone at the next meeting by announcing his resignation. He claimed the meeting had made him aware they needed younger blood to give better representation. He nominated Cal in his stead with no opposition.

  Willow could not be more delighted. Cal had the ear of many of the children in the village he taught, so he made an ideal person to help with the setting up and running of the junior council. This fed ideas into the main council, and gave the youngsters the kind of voice which meant they felt valued and were less likely to cause trouble.

  Unfortunately, Cal’s success had Zane trying even harder to establish himself as essential to the smooth running of the village. He’d tried to inveigle himself with Jarl in the furniture making but, when this did not come off, he corralled Eanje and Lyrelie, using Lyran’s faith in him as a lever to persuade them to agree to his proposal.

  They said they would only agree if Dagda would. He and Wilona won her over with the idea of how much pressure it would take off Sawyer and Taron.

  Once again, Zane and Wilona had manipulated some very smart people in order to continue with their insidious indoctrination. Willow could not understand how he managed to get included in so many ventures, and how he got hold of the information to plot his schemes. She noticed a number of occasions the creepy pair would hang around Tol, and he would pass on their invitations to share dinner or go on an outing.

  She tackled her husband about it. “Have you forgotten we were supposed to be sharing a meal with our real friends?”

  “You mean Cal and Verat? They don’t want me there anymore than Lyrelie and Freya want you.”

  “What? How can you say that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? They only invite us out of charity. They are the great and glorious saviours of the village. Why would they want a couple of nobodies like us along? And now both couples are expecting. What can we add to those discussions? What do we ever add?”