by Jacky Gray
“This is nonsense, Tol. Where is it coming from?”
He shrugged. “I have always felt an outsider to those two. It was different when Ran was here; he would always support me if they ganged up on me.”
“Now I know you are not yourself. They would never do that.”
“Really? When was the last time Lyrelie or Freya invited you to a share bake?”
“They always invite me. It’s simply that the last few have been when I’m busy on council work.”
“Do you not think they planned it that way?”
“I cannot believe you would think like this.” She frowned. “It’s Zane, isn’t it? He’s made you suspicious and doubting. But it is no different when we share dinner with them. George and Fabia are there, and they have far more in common.”
He shrugged. “But they are brother and sister. It’s not the same.”
She could not for the life of her see why and, the next time he asked her along, she went.
It felt very different to dinner with her friends, and on several occasions she became extremely uncomfortable with the depth of detail they wanted to know about some rather private topics.
From the way he answered, it appeared Tol had become used to discussing these things. He had the grace to look embarrassed when Willow declined to answer a salacious enquiry into things better left in the privacy of the bedchamber. Standing, she declared a long day tomorrow and almost ran out of the cave, thankful he followed her.
She waited until they were out of hearing. “I cannot believe you talk about things like that with people we barely know.”
Tol shook his head. “I’m so sorry. Men talk about these topics all the time, but never in mixed company. I think I’ve become immune to it because Wilona seems every bit as keen to join in.”
“And I really cannot see how you can possibly enjoy being interrogated …oh!”
“What?”
“I see it now. They have been using you to spy on what is going on in the council meetings, which is why they are always one step ahead; creating schemes to undermine my efforts to represent the youth fairly. Everything they do is ultimately an attempt to influence the youngsters, although quite what they want to do with them, I’m not sure.”
Tol groaned. “How could I have been so dull? I cannot apologise enough.”
“Accepted.”
“Although one good thing has come out of it. The junior council is really giving the youngsters a voice.” He grinned. “And you can keep a close eye on any strange ideas the peculiar pair are pedalling.”
“In a way I have them to thank. I doubt I would have thought of the idea.”
“I’m certain you would. And because of it, you have Cal with you to help with the junior council.”
“And to organise the Yule celebrations. I just wish I hadn’t agreed to lead the Oak moon Esbat as well.”
“Nonsense. Believe in yourself and you will succeed. Who better to talk about nature spirits than you?”
~*~
Jarl
Yuletide no longer had the same enchantment for Jarl. The past few had been weird mixtures of dark and light. Three years ago, although a delightful experience, the season came in between the deaths of his mother and his best friend. The following one blended the uncertain joy of wooing the woman he loved with the grave possibility of losing her to her husband’s murderer. And last Yule saw the three of them striving to prepare a virgin land for the influx of over a hundred more people, armed with little more than half a dozen shovels and a couple of picks.
A year on from then saw massive inroads into getting the village back to something resembling normality, however the last thing he felt like doing was celebrating. For several moons, he had felt his wife slipping away from him. Despite the efforts of both of them to maintain a loving, caring relationship, he knew she struggled with some of his wilder ideas. Similarly, he occasionally wished she would not take things, and especially herself, so seriously. Gone was the bold, carefree girl he fell in love with, replaced by a very grown-up, responsible woman.
Even if their differences hadn’t put them at opposite ends of most arguments, he understood that, now her true soul mate was no longer dead, she had a much closer connexion to Lyran. Who was he to think he could stand in the way of a love that powerful? He wished them both well on it.
A small inconvenience stood in the way of their happy reunion. Eanje. No, make that three: she and her twins. Shaking his head, he wondered what his wife and cousin thought about the situation, and if either had recognised the inevitability of their ultimate destiny.
The first night of the full moon saw a rare dreamless sleep, unsurprising after the amount of ale he’d consumed celebrating the very first “King and Queen of Winter,” an honour reluctantly shared by Osman and Bernadine whose shy protests were lost as people wanted to show their appreciation for the couple’s sterling work in leading the council.
The second night, after Willow’s impassioned speech for the Oak moon about endings and renewals, he lay next to a wife pretending to sleep, deepening his breathing with the occasional snore and grunt. As he waited for dreams, he remembered his last one, emphasising how many times the beguiling girl had deceived him: stowing away on the ship dressed as a boy, pretending to be Coline, a French girl, then, when he revealed her deception, pretending to be an English governess. He wondered if he would continue to dream of her, or move onto some new adventure.
The first dream did indeed return to Coline, but only the one night where they had made passionate love. Ignoring everything which preceded it, the memory ran from the point as which she asked him to show her what it was like to be properly loved by a man.
Afterward, with a grin, he thought it probably just as well he had not woken up at the end of that routine. Instead, he jumped to a scene in another tavern where he watched a feisty serving wench threaten to pour a beaker of ale over the head of a rowdy customer. He could not remember ever seeing it happen, but he imagined it went on in taverns all over the country – make that the world.
Then the scene turned into one he recognised; Eanje rebelling against the innkeeper who wanted her to “dress like a strumpet and allow his ale-soaked customers to fondle what they will.” Those damning words had driven themselves deep into his memory three years ago and were the reason he had offered the girl the position as housekeeper while he went off adventuring.
If he dreamed after that, he did not remember, waking with the idea of three different wenches in three different taverns, possibly in three different countries. What could his dreams be trying to tell him? That he was destined to spend the rest of his life with a serving wench? With a wry smile he thought there could be worse fates. Especially with ones as beautiful as Coline and Eanje.
The eleventh day of Yule traditionally featured the sword dance, and Cal had excelled himself. Not only did his team of young men repeat the excellent performance from Ranly’s handfasting, but he had trained a youth team: four lads and four girls who were every bit as adept as the boys.
Dressed in identical uniforms, it was impossible to tell each dancer’s gender until the final move. This saw the four lads spinning in a circle while the lasses lifted off the ground, their bodies supported by the interlinked batons.
The sheer daring and spectacle as they spun faster brought a great cheer from the audience. With a bow, Cal suggested that the brave youngsters should lead the way to the dining hall which held refreshments.
Jarl did not drink too much ale, wanting to keep a clear head for his perplexing dreams, wondering if this night might bring three seamstresses or three milkmaids.
It started with an exact re-run of the previous night. Then, at the end, it returned to the start, only this time he merely got a still picture of Coline in 1340, followed by Eanje in 1346 when he met her in the Waggoners, then an image of the two of them as Wassail King and Queen that Yule. Then came an image of her tonight, a babe in each arm. Finally, the four images lined up in his mind,
the similarity clear to see.
His eyes sprang open. Coline was Eanje. How was that possible? Breathing deeply to still his heart from the unexpected vehemence of his reaction, he closed his eyes and tried to think back.
When he first met Coline, she said she had worked as a governess in Oxford. He knew Ranly had met Eanje in Oxford, so that made sense. He searched his brain for other clues, wondering how much of this Lyran knew. Perhaps the pair of them discussed it, no doubt having a good old laugh about his naivety.
In addition to the nasty taste in his mouth about being so easily duped, it left him with dozens of questions. The most pressing: Why did she not admit she knew him when they first met? A small quiet voice wondered if she had even recognised him, after all, he hadn’t recognised her.
But she was a consummate actress, a master of disguises used to manipulating people, which was why Uncle had recruited her. Of course she recognised him, but why would she not let on? His mind whirled with questions, but as sleep overcame his mind, all he could focus on was how she lied to him. Three times. At least.
~*~
Wilona
Wilona observed Zane watching Cal’s team performing the sword dance, wishing she understood the complex rivalry between the two lads. The sour look marring her partner’s handsome features worried her about what he might try next.
Despite her loyalty, even she had to admit the dance looked a lot better with Goran back in his normal place. The younger lad had obviously trained with his brother for many weeks, so he knew the moves. And if she were perfectly honest, he was a lot lighter on his feet. Zane was many things, but a good dancer was not one of them.
She struggled not to compare him with his chosen enemy, he and Cal had so much in common. Both extremely intelligent and courageous, they had little to choose between them for physical fitness and strength. What Zane lacked in dance ability, he made up for in many other ways, particularly in his passion for natural things. She smirked. In fact, she shared many of his passions.
He hissed at her. “What are you grinning at? Fancy the big oaf, do you?”
“I cannot think of anything less attractive. Someone as big as him throwing himself around – it’s unseemly. I’d much rather watch you dancing.”
“Of course you would.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and patted it. “Come on, let’s find the food before he gets there and gobbles the lot.” He turned, tugging her with him.
“But you promised Bren and Elise you would watch them. They will be disappointed if you leave. You know how much the lad dotes on you. They both do.” It was an exaggeration, Elise only suffered him for her brother’s sake, but his arrogance would never realise that.
“No, you are right. I have a duty to keep my promises. Especially to children.” He swung back and even managed to join in the applause at the end of Cal’s dance.
However, she spotted the way his eyes glittered as they rested on Lyrelie, whose devoted expression accompanied an awkward hug as her belly got in the way. Even now, big with another man’s child, Zane wanted her; the surreptitious lick of his lips gave away his secret desire. Wilona knew as long as they stayed here, she would always be second best for him, but it did not matter. If her plan worked, they would not be here much longer.
When he first came over, Zane had become really ill because he never drank Lyrelie’s blood with its special properties. Despite having several doses of Lyran’s and Senna’s blood, Zane never fully recovered, and even when he got some of Lyrelie’s, it never counteracted the damage done by so many moons without it. Since then, he had been steadily deteriorating, and they had come up with several schemes in an attempt to find some sort of cure.
The wildest of these involved kidnapping Alysen, because Zane figured she would carry the essential element. When the babe they snatched from under the willow turned out to be Tryslan, they put him back almost immediately. Wilona was glad. She’d never understood exactly what he intended to do with the babe once he’d got her, but she felt a little anxious for the little innocent who had done nothing.
When she overheard Lyran speculating about the identity of Tryslan’s father, her eyes widened at the name. Reasoning he could be their way back to the other side, she told Zane, who needed little persuasion that this was his last, best hope for survival. Unfortunately, she had no idea he had been scheming with the Archdruid’s wife, nor how ruthless the woman’s fear of the illness had made her.
16 – Wolf Moon – January
Wolf moon: Creativity and fertility, healing and protection. Structure and discipline. Emotional ties between people.
Shayla
Shayla sat in one of the three rocking chairs Taron had created for the nursing mothers, thankful to have the room to herself. Quilla was almost fully on solid food now, but she loved the peace of the one night time feed – a chance for her to be alone with her daughter. And with her thoughts, which were scrambled beyond measure with so much going on.
The past year had been ridiculously busy trying to juggle a babe with her commitments to the various council projects. She could not have done it without Quinn’s support, and the wonderful group of mothers who did more than their fair share of looking after her daughter while she toured around the local area.
This year would see even more trips to Oxford, helping Nadeena with the first all-women college, but thankfully not until spring made the long journey less onerous. Quinn had accompanied her on the first visit, and Quilla had slept through most of the travelling.
Her husband had hidden depths, and she grinned, remembering the conversation on the way home.
“I had second thoughts about coming all this way, but I’m glad I did, now.”
“Oh, Quinn. I cannot thank you enough for taking so much time away from lehren at such a busy time.”
He shrugged. “Nothing to do with how jealous I am of watching Farmon ride off with you every day, a gleam in his eye.”
She slapped his arm. “You know it is nothing like that. He adores Chalette and the idea of straying would never enter his head. If you heard his conversation, you would not worry ever again. When he is not talking about farming or testing out his innovative ideas on me, he raves about her many virtues. I can only hope you are still that much in love with me after so many years of wedlock.”
He grinned. “If you keep on being you, that is guaranteed.”
Squeezing his arm, she leaned up to kiss him, only stopping when the carriage swayed alarmingly as a wheel skimmed a ditch. When he had settled the horse back on track, he continued the conversation. “And anyway, many of the children are helping with the harvest, so they can spare me for a few days.”
“It’s so good they could, otherwise I would have committed to far more of these journeys.”
“I could tell you struggled to stand up to Ranly’s enthusiasm; he would have had you promising to live over there for a couple of weeks – moons, even.”
“I think you are right. A couple of days every other moon, however, will help me to establish strong trade links as well as helping with the college.”
He shook his head. “The trouble is, your passion makes you vulnerable to people who would exploit your good nature; you are far too eager to help others.”
Shayla recognised the truth. “I think my fortunate upbringing gave many advantages. I am keen to encourage other women to believe in their abilities after so many centuries of being downtrodden.”
Quinn grinned. “And you have run out of victims in the village to practise your craft. I cannot think of one woman who has not been inspired by the likes of you and Eanje and Senna – the list defies end. It is no wonder we poor menfolk do not stand a chance.”
“Oh, yes. Lyran, Jarl and Bryce are completely subjugated by their wives. And Brom and Sawyer live in fear of saying a wrong word.”
He laughed. “Actually, I’m not sure about those last two. Elspeth can be quite fearsome in the classroom, and as for Dagda … she would make many a grown man quail.
”
This happy scene triggered a not-so-jolly memory of their subsequent conversation about Lyran. They compared notes about the many little signs which they both put down to the stress of being in charge, not a natural state of affairs. When Quinn mentioned how easy he was to bait, particularly over handfastings and Tasker, she’d asked him to get his fun elsewhere. Maybe to pick on Jarl, who seemed comparatively content.
That had been a few moons ago and, now she thought about it, even Jarl seemed less than his normal, jovial self. Despite the absorption of the many pulls on her attention, Shayla noticed a growing rift between both her cousins and their partners.
In her mind, they had all ended up with the wrong person. She felt sure a simple swap would restore harmony. Senna and Lyran were soulmates and Eanje and Jarl both had very different approaches to life, no doubt due to the time spent adventuring in the wider world. Because of the babes, a direct swap was anything but simple.
Her recent conversation with Lyran added another layer of complication. She had not observed the desperate scene when Lyran accused Tasker of being Tryslan’s father, but she had heard about it when Tasker asked Quinn to keep a discreet eye on Eanje for him.
As Lyran helped her to hang out the linens in the bake house, she was not entirely surprised by his questions.
“When Eanje lived with you in Devizes, did she have any gentlemen callers?”
“Not one.”
“Domenyk never visited her?”
“Never. She would have told me. And anyway, he was banned from the county on pain of death, remember?”
He glared. “That didn’t stop him from turning up though, did it?”
She shook out the crumpled linen with all the energy of her frustration. “I assure you, she did not meet him until that day.”
“How can you be so adamant? You were not with her every minute of every day.” His fury made the linen snap as he shook it, and she flinched.