The Gathering Storm - Elsewhere, Book 1

It might be supposed that Aysh and Mikkol would have covered a much greater distance in the same time, since they were travelling on their own and without the encumbrance of wagons. In truth though, they had meandered north-east from the village at a rather leisurely pace, once they had put some initial distance behind them.

That first night they had covered a good many miles by daybreak, afraid of being discovered if they lingered too close. They slept all day behind those shady bushes, waking as afternoon drew into evening. They ate a cold meal from their packs and set out again at sunset, repeating their first night’s pattern.

On the third night they had only been walking for a few hours when they came to the southern tributary of the river Mist and they had to stop. It would not be sensible to try and ford it in the pitch blackness which was already causing them to stumble on the uneven ground. The moon and starts were obscured by a thick blanket of clouds that night, almost as if they had been tucked into bed and were encouraging the travellers to do the same. Mikkol laid the buffalo hides out on the grass to protect their blankets from dew.

“It’s still hours till dawn,” observed Aysh. “I’m really not tired yet.”

“Me neither,” agreed Mikkol, lying down. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, then realised Aysh couldn’t see that in the darkness and tried a different tack.

“It’s still our bridal week you know,” he said.

Aysh laughed and lay down beside him. “Oh, you want some more ‘practice’ do you?” she asked saucily. Turning towards him she leaned over and nipped his earlobe gently with her teeth. Mikkol was surprised how turned on this made him feel. Rolling onto his side he wrapped his arms around her, deciding that rather extensive ‘practice’ might be in order.

When they awoke it was a few hours past dawn. They ate and crossed the river, though it turned out to be barely more than a brisk, shallow stream ten feet across at that point. Twelve miles on they crossed the northern tributary a couple of hours before sunset and made camp for the night under a tree.

“I think we can risk a fire tonight,” decided Mikkol. “We’re miles away now. There’re plenty of fallen branches and twigs under these trees for a cook fire. You set that up and I’ll catch us a rabbit.”

“How about you teach me to catch a rabbit then we both make a fire and cook it,” retorted Aysh. “This is an equal partnership, remember. No ‘his jobs’ and ‘her jobs’. Teach me Mikkol, please!” she wheedled, echoing a phrase she had used – oh, it felt like a lifetime ago.

“Okay,” he laughed. “Let’s go hunting.”

And so they continued for the next eight days. They woke late and ambled through the countryside, not pushing their pace, frequently stopping to hunt or practice swordplay and other fighting skills. They had refilled their water skins in the river, but once those were empty they had to make do with the occasional pond, whose water they had to filter through a cloth then boil to remove the stagnant, brackish flavour. Mikkol also taught Aysh how to harvest dew into a cup and one day he caught a wild goat. The animal seemed to be sweet on him and tagged along behind them for a few days, allowing herself to be milked morning and night. Aysh wondered if her kid had died and she was lonely. Eventually they must have passed out of her territory and she turned back, bleating her farewell as she trotted off into the distance.

Each evening they stopped early and set up camp, sharing all the tasks of simple domesticity in a way which was totally new to both of them, having grown up with a very different example. They talked for hours and made love in the firelight, before falling into a deep and pleasant sleep, entwined together under their blankets. It was the happiest and freest Aysh had ever felt and she was suffused with an intense feeling of joy. Only occasionally was she troubled by a momentary thought of her parents and the home she had left behind.

Once everyone was across the river, they set up that night’s camp. The water barrels were refilled for the last leg of the journey and the smaller party who would be going east on the morrow separated themselves so they could get an early start. Until that point, the sleeping arrangements had been just what they were used to. The Myrial acrobat brothers and Jonor shared the largest tent, Soorah and Eliish shared another with Lyneera’s daughter Reem and so on. Kerise had stayed with the other Norns from Theyos Raal, being unused to the company of the Carnival folk and somewhat shy. Now she took her pack over to where the questers had pitched their camp. Soorah was sitting on the grass near her tent threading daisies together into a necklace. She smiled up at the Elf girl self deprecatingly, acknowledging the childishness of her activity.

“Have you recovered from your swim?” she asked.

Kerise blushed prettily. “I’m fine. I’d rather forget about it.”

“What I don’t understand is, why didn’t you just create an air bubble around yourself?” Soorah persisted. “I would have thought you’d have learned weather magic. Don’t you have to master all the Elven magics to be considered a Norn?”

Kerise stared at her, confounded by the question. “Oh. It honestly didn’t occur to me. Of course I could have done that but the cold water just seemed to drive every coherent thought out of my head.”

“Hmm. I guess that’s why you’re coming with us. To learn how to put all that theoretical learning to use in practical situations. You’ll need to learn to react quicker though. Not much use knowing all the magic if you freeze when we need it.”

Soorah’s voice was gentle and encouraging, her face open. Kerise studied her gaze for any hint of derision but found none and decided she wasn’t being scolded or mocked. She began to feel more at ease and sat down, smiling back at her. “I guess so,” she answered. “You have magic too, don’t you?”

“Yup. Fire. My sister and I trained in Lytos Bor but the university only took us for two Turns. They think that’s enough for one trick ponies like us. Our mother brought us to the Carnival nearly twelve years ago.”

“Only two Turns!” exclaimed Kerise. “I’ve been training my whole life – or at least it feels that way. I was eight when I started accidentally doing things, so I had to learn to control it. Now I’m so controlled it seems like I can’t do anything instinctively, even when it might save my life.”

“What did you do ’accidentally?” asked Soorah curiously.

“I was frustrated that the window box I had planted wouldn’t grow and I pointed at it in exasperation and shouted ’I wish you would just GROW!”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” commented Soorah.

“Some of the flowers grew to twenty feet tall and as wide as trees. The roots broke through the window sill and embedded into my bedroom floor. There was a creeper vine seedling in the box that crept right through our rooms, covering all the furniture. My mother was not pleased.”

“That’s still not so terrible. The first time I flared, I set my mother’s hair on fire.”

Kerise burst into shocked laughter. “That is soooo much worse than what I did! I bet she was livid.”

“Actually, once she’d stuck her head in the water butt, she was so proud she nearly burst. Magic isn’t that common among Myrials and having a mage in the family is an honour. My sister had developed the same ability two Turns before and with two magical daughters she physically glowed!”

Soorah smiled at the memory, her white teeth shining against her dark brown skin. The tight, glossy ringlets of her black hair cascaded down her back, making her a strikingly beautiful woman. She wore a sleeveless, dark crimson wrap dress and sandals, which seemed to Kerise far more practical than her own trailing blue gown with its pointed sleeves and laced bodice. Perhaps she should do something about her wardrobe, she thought. She could ask Soorah for some advice. Looking around she asked, “Where’s your sister now, then?”

“She’s going with the main force, along with Jaquor, Tisha and Beyon. You can have her place in our tent if you like.”

“Thanks,” smiled Kerise. “If you’re sure.”

“Hey, it’s me and Reem or you have to share with the boys or with Nula and Emerden. I wouldn’t fancy either of those options. Make yourself at home.” She indicated the open tent flap.

Kerise laughed and nodded, then hefted her pack through the open doorway.

Reem was the final member of the small group due to strike out on their quest the following morning. At that moment she was heading across camp with Nula on their way to see the quartermaster about provisions for the next stage of their journey. Reem was the same height as Nula, with the same pointed ears indicative of their race. Her hair, though, was a fiery orange colour with streaks of gold and bronze and it stuck out in all directions as if her head really was covered in flames. Her clothes looked as though they had grown on her rather than being worn. They consisted of deep green hose which came right up to her armpits and a grass-like skirt, some of whose blades extended upwards to form a sort of bodice. Around her waist was a band of cerise silk and beads of the same colour dangled playfully from her earlobes. Her feet were bare and streaked with mud. As they walked along through the sea of canvas the two Pixies discussed what sorts of food they would need and how much they and George could feasibly carry. The quartermaster had pitched his tent near the supply wagons and the kitchen tents on the far side of camp from their own small area.

As they drew near to the kitchen area Nula put out her hand to stop Reem from going closer and raised a finger to her lips. From the other side of the heavy wagon they were passing they could hear a muffled sobbing, the sound of someone who didn’t want to be overheard but who couldn’t stop crying. The girls crept round the side of the wagon, keen to help but not wanting to startle the distressed person. They saw a young Manguin girl, presumably one of the kitchen helpers, holding folds of her long, dun coloured skirt over her face as she sat on the sparse, dusty grass, weeping brokenly. Her white mob cap was askew and her brown hair tumbled across her shoulders. Just then Reem accidentally stood on a dry twig and the snap of it breaking startled them all. The girl looked up with frightened eyes, swollen and red from crying.

“Please don’t be afraid,” said Nula, quietly. “We only want to help.”

The girl looked her up and down. “You’re Nula Little, aren’t you?” she asked.

Reem was unable to stop a surprised smirk from escaping her lips but Nula’s warning glance stopped her as she was about to correct the girl.

“Yes, that’s right,” she answered. “Do you know me?”

“Your mother delivered three of my sisters,” she explained. “My mother had difficult labours and the Lobor midwife couldn’t manage alone. You’re a midwife too, aren’t you?” she sniffed.

“I am. We heard you crying and wondered if we could do anything to help.”

A curious look appeared on the girl’s face, as if the knowledge of Nula’s profession paired with the reminder of her distress had brought a solution to her mind. She seized Nula’s hand and pulled her down to kneel on the ground beside her. Not meeting Nula’s eyes, she spoke fast, as if she hated herself for uttering the words.

“If you’re a midwife you know all about herbs, don’t you? Herbs for pain and fever and blood loss and... well, all sorts of things. Give me a tonic, a medicine, to make it go away... to make it pass out of me, do you see?” She started crying again. “’Cause I can’t, you see, I just can’t be! My father would kill him, and my mother would be so upset. And he said it would be alright, you see, he said it wouldn’t happen, then he said he’d marry me, but then he just laughed and told me to go away and I don’t know what else to do!”

She held on tight to Nula’s hand as if it were a lifeline, rocking gently back and forth, her free arm wrapped round her knees. Reem, who had realised what the girls was driving at shortly after Nula did, turned away to prevent her seeing the look of revulsion she couldn’t keep from twisting her face. She felt very uncomfortable listening to the girl’s plea and wished she was anywhere else but there. Nula, however, stroked the girl’s hair and spoke gently to her.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Roween. Roween Miller.”

Now Nula knew exactly who she was. Her mother had used Plutine Miller’s deliveries as teaching cases when she was training.

“Roween, are you pregnant?”

The girl sobbed dejectedly, wishing it wasn’t true.

“And the father won’t marry you? Why did you let him get you pregnant Roween? Didn’t you know how that happens?” There was no judgement in Nula’s voice, only compassion.

“He said he loved me. He said I was pretty and that he’d marry me when he came back. He said he wanted to prove he loved me so I’d have something to remember while he was gone. He said if we were going to be wed there weren’t no point in waiting. He said you can’t get a baby the first time, and that he’d be gentle. But it hurt, it did, the first time.”

“Was there more than one time then?”

“Every day from conscription till we left. It was nicer. He said I should use a vinegar rag to make sure there wasn’t a baby, since there wouldn’t be time to arrange the wedding till he came home. I joined the kitchen helpers to surprise him. I thought he’d be happy, but he wasn’t. He laughed at me. Him and his mates all laughed and pushed me away. They said I was ‘easy’ and stupid and ugly. His mates asked if they could have a go too, now Harson don’t want me no more. And he just let them! Why didn’t he stop them making fun of me? Why doesn’t he love me?”

Roween looked up at Nula, self-loathing written on her face.

“They were right. I am ‘easy’ aren’t I? And stupid.”

“No Roween,” said Nula firmly. “You are neither of those things. You believed his lies; that just makes him a convincing liar and a bad person. You believed you would be married and he persuaded you to let him act like your husband before he made good on his promise. Hundreds of girls before you have fallen for that one. His is by far the greater fault.” Nula paused, then asked “How long had you been sweet on him for before conscription was announced?”

“Oh, months. And I didn’t think he’d even noticed me. I used to watch him when he came to the mill to deliver barrels to my father and buy flour. I thought he was so tall and handsome and his smile made his eyes twinkle. It just made me feel all gooey inside. Then one day he said he’d been watchin’ me from afar just the same way, waitin’ for the right moment to ask me to walk out with him. But then conscription came and our moment had been snatched away, on account’a how he’d been signed up to fight and prove his worth as a man, bravely puttin’ down the Raquin curse!”

The girl had become a little starry eyed and was clearly quoting the charming patter he had used to sweet talk her. Nula felt slightly sick, but did her best to hide it.

“Roween, how long have you known you were pregnant?” she asked.

“I should have bled eight days ago. At first I thought maybe it was just all the walking and the heat. Then yesterday I swooned choppin the carrots and this morning I was sick. I told him about the baby, so I did, but he said it couldn’t be his on account’a how I’d always used the vinegar rags, so who else’d I let take me? But I swear there weren’t no other boy Mistress Nula! On my mother’s life I swear it!”

“I believe you Roween,” said Nula, trying to calm the desperate girl. “It might surprise you to learn that washing with vinegar is not a reliable way to stop a baby. And even if he really thought it was, he still took advantage of you. How old are you Roween?”

“I just turned sixteen. Harson’s four years older than me but that’s not much. Same as my parents, ’s’matter of fact.”

Nula looked thoughtful and Reem wondered what she was planning. Roween touched Nula’s arm and asked again “Mistress Nula? Will you give it me? The tonic I mean. If he won’t marry me I’m ruined unless you do. I know it’s awful bad and it ain’t the baby’s fault, but I don’t see another way.”

The girl looked so forlorn that Nula’s heart was breaking for her, but hearing what people weren’t saying was as much part of her job as anything else and she could clearly hear Roween’s self-disgust battling with her desperation.

“No, Roween. I’m sorry but I won’t give you that tonic. I can see that you’re only asking out of fear and you’d hate yourself afterwards. I have two questions though. One – would you still marry him, if he agreed? And two, would your parents let you live with them, you and the baby, if they knew you were married?”

A look of sudden hope flickered across Roween’s face. “Really, Mistress Nula? Can you fix it all, just like that? Surely I’d marry Harson if he’d have me! If you tell him that vinegar doesn’t work and there weren’t no other boy and he’s really the father... well, he’d have to believe you; you bein’ a midwife. And my Ma and Pa, well I’m sure they’d be delighted to have me home for a while, even married and expectin’. After all, it’s only till Harson gets home and makes a house ready for us, so the baby wouldn’t even be born yet.”

The fact that the boy had taken advantage of her innocence and then laughed in her face seemed to have been wiped from Roween’s memory by the possibility of a future that didn’t contain unsavoury tonics or scandal. Nula thought that she didn’t seem like quite the brightest flower in the bunch and assumed that this fact had made it even easier for Harson to talk her round. There was clearly no hope of a true happy ever after here, but Nula was determined to do the best she could for Roween.

“Leave it with me then,” she said. “Go back to your tent, wash your face and have a lie down. I’ll come and find you in a while.”

“Oh, thank you Mistress Nula! Thank you so much!”

Roween wiped her face on her skirt, stood and smoothed down her clothes. She wandered off towards her tent, humming quietly to herself.”

Nula set off again towards the quartermaster’s tent, but Reem caught her wrist and spun her round. She gaped at Nula, unable to reconcile the kind friend she knew with the mercenary schemer before her.

“What are you doing?” she asked in dismay. “Even if you can persuade that evil little excuse for a man to marry her, how could you let her? Do you have any idea what her life will be like?”

Nula drew a deep breath and attempted to explain to Reem a reality which was totally foreign to her way of thinking.

“Do you have any idea what her life will be like if she doesn’t marry him?” she asked frankly. “The towns are not like the forest, Reem, and Roween is not a Pixie. A Manguin girl who lets a boy get her pregnant without marrying her first is shunned and despised, even by her parents. She’d be an object of derision and scorn, living in abject poverty, dependant on whatever crumbs of charity she could beg. It’s not right and it’s not fair but it’s how things are; she bares all the blame and he gets away with merely a bit of a reputation as a cad. They claim it’s how their God wants things to be but I’ve read their bible and I don’t think He’s really all that mean. I mean sure, He’s big on marriage, but He talks a lot about forgiving and not judging and I’ve never found the bit that says ‘disown your daughter if she makes a simple mistake.’ Still, there’s centuries of rock hard tradition there that I’m never going to make a chip in. But I can help Roween. She was desperate enough to ask me for a tonic to end the pregnancy and I refused her. That makes me responsible if her next move was to be throwing herself in the next river or hanging herself from a convenient tree. So I’ll fix it the best way I can. Roween may not have the happiest of marriages but she’ll be able to hold her head up in town and she’ll have her baby to love. Who knows, maybe Harson will grow up a bit on this expedition and fatherhood will improve him still further. It might not turn out as bad as you think.”

Reem was looking shocked, still caught on something Nula had said four sentences ago. “Would she really kill herself?”

“I don’t know. She sounded fairly desperate and it’s been known to happen. My mother knew a family once whose daughter hid an accidental pregnancy for as long as she could, then one day they found her hanging from a rope in the barn. She left a letter saying how sorry she was but she couldn’t face the shame of telling them. Her father stormed over to my home, demanding to know if she’d spoken to my mother about it - tried to get a tonic or told her who the boy was. She had, but my mother wasn’t about to tell him that, for fear of what he might do. He demanded that she keep the secret and they buried the girl without ever telling another soul about the baby. That’s village morality for you. So you can see that I need to help Roween. Do you trust me, Reem?”

“Yes, of course. But how will you talk this boy into it? I don’t think appealing to his better nature will work, ’cause I don’t really think he has one.”

Nula smiled. “Come with me Reem. We have a little impromptu wedding to arrange.”

Nula’s first stop was still to see Brannen Fisher, the quartermaster.

“I just found one of your kitchen helpers crying behind a wagon,” Nula told him.

“Oh, it wasn’t little Roween Miller was it?” asked the kindly older man. “She’s been a bit mopey these past two or three days, but her little friend Robyn said it weren’t nothing to worry about – women’s troubles, she said, so I didn’t say any more. I mean, decent men don’t go prying into that sort of thing, do they Mistress Nula?”

That statement told Nula just about everything she needed to know about Brannen Fisher. She was fairly confident he would go along with her plan. She began to lead him around to it as gently as she could.

“It’s more of a sort of absence of women’s troubles, if you get my meaning Mister Fisher,” said Nula pointedly. “And there’s a young man somewhere in the camp who needs a short, sharp lesson in honour and integrity. And most other virtues, I shouldn’t wonder.”

It took a few seconds for Brannen to grasp what she was driving at, then he cried out in a voice bordering on outrage, “No! He never forced himself on little Roween, did he? She’s barely more’n a child!”

“Calm yourself, Mister Fisher. No, he didn’t force her, but he used honeyed words and empty promises to convince her to let him. In short, he swore he would marry the girl and now he is reneging on that promise, claiming the baby is not his.”

“The blagard! To take advantage of that sweet, simple child. He should be hanged!”

“But what good would that do poor Roween, Mister Fisher? Her honour and her reputation are in tatters if this is made public.”

Nula was, Reem could see, gently leading the quartermaster around to the conclusion she wanted him to reach. She watched, admiring the skill in persuasion which she herself only used in beguiling. For a second an unnerving thought crossed her mind comparing that Pixie art of lightly magical seduction to the hideous and underhanded act of the Manguin boy. She pushed it aside though, reasoning that she had never promised to marry anyone, or been underhand in any way, and boys who hung around the forest of an evening probably weren’t going to need that much real persuasion anyway.

She also thought the Manguin had funny ideas about morals if boys were allowed to pursue that sort of thing for sport but girls were condemned for it. She didn’t agree with the Equiseen viewpoint either but at least they were more consistent; if you’re joined it’s alright, if you’re not don’t go there, boy or girl. She shook her head as if clearing it so that she could concentrate once again on what Brannen and Nula were saying.

“I do perceive your meaning Mistress Nula, and believe me I don’t want to be party to the ruination of such a sweet natured young lady, but I could not in good conscience let her marry a boy who clearly doesn’t deserve her and who might mistreat her. Do you perchance know the name of the lad in question?”

“She said he was called Harson.”

“Harson Cooper? Well, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised. I’ve seen her looking all moon eyed after him when he comes for meals, but I never thought it was more than girlish infatuation. He’s a bad lot though, Mistress Nula. Rough and uncouth and a bit of a bully, truth be told. I’m sure he can turn on the charm when he wants to though. Takes after his father, that one. Like I said, I wouldn’t see her tied to a boy like that.”

“I know how you feel, really I do. And I hadn’t fully comprehended the extent of the boy’s failings. Is he known to be violent?”

“Well, street brawls and the like; throwing his weight around, drinking too much ale and insulting the wrong man. But his father is known to be an evil-tempered one and quick to lift his hand to wife or child. I shouldn’t wonder that Harson will turn out the same.”

“Mister Fisher, you really shouldn’t hang a dog because of something the sire did. Maybe Harson will grow up while he’s away on this trip. Perhaps he’ll learn to accept his responsibilities. And if not, there are some herbs I can teach Roween to use which will quiet the temper so that he will be more docile. I’ll ask the boy’s sergeant to keep a particular eye on him, set him an example of how a real man should behave. Of course, it being quite a dangerous venture, he might not come home at all, but if he does this battle could be the making of him.”

A grimly enthusiastic look spread over the quartermaster’s face and he smiled in a way Nula found slightly disconcerting.

“Yes,” he said. “Terrible dangerous things, battles. Shocking really, how many of these young men might be injured or worse. Almost certainly much worse, in fact. Do you know, I think this might be a good idea after all.”

Nula’s eyes widened as she felt her grip on the situation loosen.

“Now, Mister Fisher, I do not want you arranging for something bad to happen to this young man on purpose. That would really be quite reprehensible.”

“Of course not, Mistress Nula, of course not,” he assured her, looking just a little too hurt for her to be convinced. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. You go and see the sergeant and organise the wedding, the rest can be left to me.”

“The rest?”

“The food I mean, for the wedding breakfast. That’s all.”

“Of course. Well, can I ask that you also give the bride away then? You’re the closest thing she has to a father out here.”

“It’d be my pleasure. I know her father very well and I’d be honoured to stand up in his stead.”

“Thank you. And would you also explain things to her parents when you take Roween home?”

“Consider it done, Mistress Nula.”

Nula was about to walk away, feeling a bit uneasy about the whole business, but she paused to turn back momentarily.

“Mister Fisher?”

“Yes Mistress Nula?”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side. I don’t think it’s a very healthy place to be.”

After a swift investigation Nula discovered the identity of Harson Cooper’s sergeant and went to see him. He considered the matter carefully.

“Delicate situation there. The girl needs to be married, naturally, but it’s a shame for her that she fell for such a trick. I’ll have a word with him. He’ll be at that altar if I have to frogmarch him there myself. Perhaps I can prevail upon his better nature, if he has one, and encourage him to use this expedition as a chance to redeem his honour. Maybe he can become a better man.”

“Yes, I hope so too, although Quartermaster Fisher seems to consider it unlikely. Do you know the boy?”

“Not that well, though he showed promise in training. Bit of an attitude at times and inclined to be lazy, but if I can knock that out of him he might make a good soldier one day. Of course I probably won’t have command of him for that long. Know of the father of course, his being the only barrel works in the area. His reputation is mighty unsavoury, now I come to think on it. Not a good example for a boy to grow up with. Poor Lonya Cooper has not been fortunate in her husband. Wife beating is possibly the lowest act a man can sink to. No decent fellow would raise his hand to a woman. Still, the boy may yet surprise us.”

“Do your best, Sergeant. If he can reform and make Roween happy, I’ll be as glad as anyone else.”

The sergeant nodded and went to find Harson, while Nula’s last job was to locate Mallory and ask him to officiate.

Harson was lounging outside his tent with some of the lads from his squad. They were laughing at a coarse joke one of them had just told, and throwing around some rather lewd comments. As they saw the sergeant approaching they tried to appear industrious, polishing their boots or sharpening swords.

“Harson Cooper!” barked Sergeant Smith.

“Yes, sarge?” asked Harson lazily, dropping the boot he had been half-heartedly pretending to polish.

“I’ve been hearing things about you. Very unsavoury things.”

“Wasn’t’ me, Sarge. Whoever said it was lying.”

“Oh really? Mistress Nula Little the midwife was lying was she? I find that very hard to believe. I have met few women of greater integrity.”

“Little? That’s that farm family over in Maybor what’s full of Pixies ain’t it? Pretty Pixie sisters what is good for a ‘walk in the woods’ if you know what I mean!” He smirked lasciviously around at the other lads, trying to raise a jeer or a laugh. The others didn’t want to anger the sergeant though, and they stayed quiet, hiding their smiles behind their hands.

Harson tried again. “I wouldn’t really believe nuffin a Pixie told you Sarge. She prob’ly used that sparkly eyed beguiling magic on you to make you believe her lies.”

The sergeant was upon him in two strides and hauled him bodily from the ground by his tunic front. He was a tall, broad shouldered man and his job as Lobor’s blacksmith gave him a lean muscularity that belied his greying hair and the wrinkles around his eyes. Harson was apprenticed to his father as a cooper, as his name might suggest, but he was an indolent boy, doing as little work as he could get away with. He was several inches shorter than his sergeant and not nearly as strong. Also, like most bullies, he was a coward at heart and his arrogant bravado disappeared in the face of such determined confrontation.

“How dare you insult a person I have just vouched for?!” Smith growled.

“Sorry, Sarge,” quailed Harson, fearing the black eye that would surely have been his fate if the aggressor had been his father. “I only meant, I really ain’t done nuffin. It must be a mistake.”

Smith let go of his shirt and he fell to the ground.

“No mistake, boy. At least, not on my part. You however made a serious mistake when you thought you could trick a guileless young girl into bed with empty promises then drop her like so much garbage.”

Harson paled as he realised the other man really did have something on him, but he continued to bluster, trying to talk his way out of the consequences.

“No trick sir; she was willin’. I ain’t one to force my way. All week she was happy to come and see me, and I don’t mind saying I gave her plenty to be happy about, eh lads?”

The other men fidgeted and looked at their boots to hide their smiles.

“Not my fault if she invented a happy ever after story for us. It’s all in her head Sarge.”

“Shut up!” roared the older man. “Stop this lying and conniving. You promised to marry her, you got her with child, and now marry her you will. You’re going to be a father, Harson. Don’t you have at least a scrap of decency in you that tells you what you ought to do? Have you no honour at all?”

“Marry her?” Harson was aghast at the idea. “I’m not marryin’ her Sarge! No way. Prob’ly isn’t even pregnant – just trying to trap me.”

“If a trained and experienced midwife says she’s pregnant, I expect we should accept that as fact. And if your sergeant says you’re getting married, I expect you should put on a clean jerkin and lace up your boots, son. And if I have to order two men to hold your arms and march you to the pastor, I expect there’s several who’d jump at the chance.”

He glanced round at the small group of onlookers who had been gathering from nearby tents as the discussions grew more heated. There were several men, including Nate, Dan and Peeter, who wore evil grins and an open desire to see Harson humiliated, though they felt more than a twinge of concern for the girl he was to marry. They had all grown up with him and at one point or another had all suffered from his bullying ways.

“Corporals Nate Joiner and Peeter Smith, I charge you with ensuring Private Cooper’s presence at his nuptials. You will stand up with him as groom’s men. And if you notice between now and then any tendency towards discourtesy for his bride, you have my full permission and encouragement to give him a short, sharp lesson in civil. Now, come here Private, I want a quiet word with you.”

Harson looked about him at the faces of his mates, who were keeping quiet, and the other men who were clearly relishing the chance to dole out a bit of retribution. He felt like a trapped animal faced with the hunters who want to shoot and stuff it. He tried desperately to find a way out of the trap, but nothing sprang to mind. Grudgingly he stood and went to the spot behind the tent that Sergeant Smith had indicated, where there would be fewer onlookers to encourage bluster and bravado.

Smith, for his part, was quietly seething. He was unused to being contradicted or argued with, his own boys having grown up with the quietly industrious work ethic he had demonstrated and the manners instilled in them by his dear Irene. He hoped that he could have some sort of a fatherly influence over the boy in the next few weeks, but it wouldn’t be easy. He squared off to Harson and spoke in a firm but quiet voice.

“Look, son, I know you have to show a certain face in front of your mates and I know you haven’t had the best example growing up of how a good husband and father should behave, but surely that makes you all the more determined to do better – to not repeat your father’s errors. You have a real chance here to make a better life for yourself. Take this expedition as a chance to grow up, to learn from other examples about the kind of man you want to be. Listen to the other men; the ones who are married, who are fathers. Roween’s a sweet natured girl and I believe she could make you a happy home, if you could come round to the idea. Think about raising a son, teaching him to be a man, or caring for a little girl, protecting her and being her hero. There’s nothing better than fatherhood, Harson. Don’t resist it, eh? Don’t be so surly. You’ve got about an hour; think on it, eh lad?”

The sergeant clapped the glowering young man on the shoulder and turned on his heel, hoping against hope that his words had made some sort of impression.

Harson Cooper watched him go with a face like thunder. His thoughts burned like hot embers over a mind as black as night. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he railed against what he saw as the injustice of his sergeant’s words. How dare that man speak so of the father he had always idolised? How dare he demand that he saddle himself with a brat and that simpering, clingy wench? If she couldn’t manage to have a bit of fun without getting pregnant it was hardly his fault. He’d warned her not to, hadn’t he? And not just warned her, but thoughtfully explained how, in case she didn’t know! But she had to go and mess it up; useless, stupid girl. And then go sobbing her worthless heart out to that interfering Pixie midwife, who’d told all and sundry, it seemed. Conspiring, that’s what it was, all of them conspiring to make him look stupid. He remembered the smug, self satisfied looks of the other men. They’d love to see him brought down. All ganging up they were, ’cause none of them was strong enough on his own. They all wanted to humiliate him, especially that stupid girl. Thought she had it all tied up nice with a pretty bow, didn’t she – make him work so she and the brat could eat, give her a house? As if!

His father always said women only had two uses – keeping house and spreading their legs. Harson had managed to enjoy plenty of the latter so far without feeling a burning need to encumber himself with the former. His mother waited on him hand and foot and he doubted any wife would do as good a job without training. Harson had loved his mother once, when he was very small, but over the course of his childhood he had grown to despise her for what he saw as her weakness and cowardice.

Eventually he had come to see all women in the same way his father did; pretty enough some of them and good for a roll in the hay, then wave goodbye unless you’re willing to put in the teaching necessary to make them quiet and obedient. Harson didn’t doubt he could make a wife as compliant as his mother, get the message home about how he wanted things done, and it would be convenient to have a warm supple body in his bed whenever he wanted it, but not this girl. She wasn’t pretty enough, hardly had a brain at all. He wondered if she’d even be able to remember what he tried to teach her. No, this girl wasn’t good enough to make him want to get a house of his own.

He pictured Roween’s face in his mind, the anger building inside him. In the picture the face took blow after blow, bruising and bleeding, great red welts rising up around the eyes and jaw. He was subconsciously pounding his fist into the other palm, staring fixedly into the middle distance, his jaw working with tense rage. So preoccupied was he with the fantasy of what he would like to do to poor Roween, he didn’t hear the lads of his squad gathering behind him. The three who were his cronies had prudently been given latrine duty on the other side of the camp by Brin Smith, leaving six including Nate, Dan and Peeter. They saw him thumping his hand, heard his loud snarling breaths. Dan, from his position on the end of the line saw Harson’s jaw clenching, lips drawn back tight against his teeth. There was so much anger in that face; years of accumulated rage and violence.

It was a short scuffle, Harson having been rather unfairly taken by surprise and from behind, and it resulted in the comatose groom being carried bodily to where the sergeant had said the wedding would take place, to await consciousness and the coming of his bride.

Nula found Mallory sitting in front of his tent, mending a tear in his jerkin. He was pleased to see her and eager to update her on his progress developing friendships with the men and organising services for them. When Nula gave him the chance to perform a wedding as one of his first offices as chaplain, he jumped at the chance. Her instruction to ignore anything that struck him as odd during the ceremony and plough ahead regardless was, he felt, rather peculiar though. He decided that this was probably a reference to the hurried nature of the organisation of the event, since people wouldn’t have special clothes and there would doubtless be no rings, flowers or music. He smiled affably and assured her that he was fully prepared to deal with whatever occurred. Nula’s answering smile was not particularly confidence inspiring however, coupled as it was with a raised eyebrow and what could only be described as a smirk. The memories of various childhood antics resurfaced over the following hour, and Mallory began to wonder what he should expect. Nula visited Roween in her tent after her conversation with Mallory and found that she had some friends with her to help her get ready and act as bridesmaids. Two of the other kitchen helpers were braiding flowers into her hair and chattering excitedly with her. Clearly, Roween had given them only a sugar coated version of events and as neither was from Lobor, they had no idea of Harson’s true nature. All they had to go on were Roween’s blindly forgiving assurances that her earlier tears had been due to a misunderstanding which Mistress Nula had now sorted out. Robyn Weaver and Hannelore Mason were both a little older and a little less naive than Roween and suspected that there might be more to it, but they reasoned that Nula’s reputation justified more than a little trust. Nula and Reem left them to their preparations and returned to Quartermaster Fisher’s tent, both to update him on proceedings and to discuss the supplies for their quest, the original point of their walk across the camp before they had been sidetracked. The result of this discussion was that another horse was allotted to their group as a second packhorse besides George.

“Millie’s a good, steady mare. She’ll carry a fair load and she can walk a good distance each day. Between her and George you should be able to carry enough provisions. How many tents do you have?”

“Three; one quite small and two slightly bigger. We each have our own packs for our blankets, clothes and so on. The horses will mainly have the tents, cookware and most of the food and water. We’ll follow the rivers as much as possible, so we shouldn’t need to carry much water most of the time. And we can hunt and fish, so we only need dry goods and vegetables; you’ll know the sort of thing.”

“That I do, Mistress Nula and don’t you worry, I’ll see you have everything you need. Bring George over after the wedding and I’ll get him and Millie sorted out.

The wedding itself was a rather appalling sort of affair really. The groom came round ten minutes before the bride arrived and was given a tonic ‘for his nerves’ by Nula, on the advice of Sergeant Smith. It would indeed calm any nerves he was feeling, but was in fact a mild sedative, intended to maintain a docile, compliant temperament for several hours. Mallory Pastorson didn’t seem to think it odd that the groom had a black eye, a bruised jaw, a noticeable limp and the tendency to wince if anyone nudged his left side.

It was a custom among the Manguin for the groom to be taken to the local saloon for their last evening of batchelorhood, where their friends would help them imbibe more strong ale than was really good for any of them. Fights were not unusual before the night was over and Mallory had conducted the wedding ceremony of more than one young man who was clearly going to begin married life in his intended’s bad books.

Mallory stood now in front of a hastily assembled congregation of soldiers and camp followers. He had been kept more or less in the dark about the specifics of the union, but he was not naive enough to believe that marriages were arranged at no notice whatsoever, immediately before a couple were to endure a forced separation of several weeks, for no good reason. He smiled encouragingly at Harson, who’s answering grin, slightly stupefied and bloody as it was, was positively hideous. Nate and Peeter stood to either side of him, holding his arms less to make sure he wouldn’t try to run and more to ensure he didn’t fall over. Nula stood to one side with Reem, Brannen Fisher and Brin Smith.

The bride arrived on time, in a dress which if not spectacular was at least clean and a becoming shade of pink. Wild flowers crowned her abundant brown ringlets and someone had found a square of muslin to use as a veil. It was rather thicker than conventional veils, but not so much that she couldn’t see where she was going, and at least it made her groom’s injuries less distinct and disguised the forced smiles of the onlookers. The bridesmaids, on the other hand, looked slightly disturbed by Harson’s appearance, the grim faces of his groom’s men and the clearly fake jubilation of everyone else except Mallory. Brannen went to take Roween’s arm and walk her to the altar, where she handed her posy to Robyn and placed her small hand into Harson’s unresisting paw. Nate stepped out of the way, leaving Peeter to hold Harson up from the other side.

Mallory guided them gently through the formalities, asking them to repeat their vows after him, and finally pronounced them husband and wife. Roween turned to face her new husband, who lifted her veil and kissed her perfunctorily. Her eyes were closed and her smile beatific, so she didn’t seem to notice his semi-stupor. As she opened her eyes though her face became a picture of concern and she appealed to Nula for an explanation.

“He had a bit of a disagreement with some of the other men, dear,” Nula said, placing an arm comfortingly around Roween’s shoulders. He’ll be alright. I gave him a tonic, so that’ll help him sleep and he’ll feel better in the morning. Now, Mister Fisher tells me that there’s a lovely big pot of rabbit stew for dinner tonight and some fried trout and potatoes. What say we go and eat before the rest of the camp finishes it off? You have many miles ahead of you tomorrow, and you’ll need a good night’s sleep.”

“Sleep? Oh, yes,” Roween looked at Harson with undisguised longing. Nula followed her gaze and countered her argument before she could make it.

“It wouldn’t be a good idea, dear. The medicine I gave him was quite strong. He’ll fall into a deep sleep soon. His friends will take him to his tent now and see he gets safely to bed, won’t you boys?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” replied Nate and Peeter, who had both been raised by strong women and responded to the diminutive midwife’s stern voice with automatic obedience. They half carried Harson away in the direction of his tent and once there dumped him unceremoniously onto his bed roll, face first and fully clothed. They left, smirking, to regale their friends with their tale.

Nula continued to speak to Roween during dinner, telling her that unfortunately they wouldn’t be entitled to married quarters during the next leg of the journey. “There aren’t enough tents, dear, and besides, it wouldn’t be fair on the other men who had to leave their wives at home. Best for morale if they’re all the same, don’t you think?”

“Oh, absolutely. I wouldn’t want Harson’s friends to feel jealous of him,” agreed Roween, doing her best to be selfless and think of the cause. I’ll be happy enough seeing him at mealtimes.”

“That’s another thing, Roween. I want you to prepare Harson’s meals personally and I need you to add two drops of this to every one.” She handed a small glass vial to the surprised Roween.

“Medicine? But surely his bruises will heal on their own?”

“It’s not for his bruises, dear. It’s for his.... nerves.”

“But Harson’s not nervous. He’s very brave.” Roween looked confused and a little anxious; clearly perceiving that there was something Nula wasn’t telling her.

Nula took a deep breath and plunged in. “Harson has trouble with his temper sometimes. It’s to do with his father and how he was raised, and this tonic will help him to stay calm and in control. It’s made from herbs and it doesn’t taste very nice, which is why it should go in his food where he won’t have to taste it. I’m putting you in charge of it because people who have this... problem... don’t really know they have it, so they aren’t very good at taking their medicine. They feel fine, you see, until an attack of temper comes over them, so they don’t think they need it. That’s probably why Harson never had... medicine... before; he never felt ill so he never went to see the apothecary.”

“I see,” said Roween, a look of relief and understanding unclouding her features. “And his father has this same condition, so he never noticed it either. You could give some of this tonic to Harson’s mother, then he’ll get better too. I expect that’s why Harson was mean to me the other day, and why he fought with his friends before the wedding. It was an attack of the condition coming on. Thank you Mistress Nula, this explains everything!”

She beamed at Nula and embraced her with gratitude and affection, before placing the vial in her pocket and going to talk to her friends. Nula thanked Brannen, Brin and Mallory for their help and assured Brannen that someone would be along with George before too long, then began walking back towards the other end of the camp.

Reem walked beside her in silence for a few minutes, then turned to her with a perplexed expression.

“How did you know so quickly that she was pregnant? And how did you know exactly what to do? And how do you know all about town society? And how did you know what to say to those men to get them to do exactly what you wanted, ’cause I know you didn’t use beguiling? And why do they call you ‘Mistress’ and ‘Ma’am’? And how come you’re Nula Little?”

Nula laughed at the torrent of confusion. She sat on the grass, which was already beginning to feel a little dewy in the encroaching twilight. Gesturing for Reem to join her, she looked out at the flickering lights of camp fires which were being lit all over the plain as people prepared to ward off the evening chill under the cloudless, wide open sky.

“It’s my job, Reem. I recognised Roween’s symptoms, but first I saw her in distress and I listened to her. Intuition told me what the matter was. And I understand town society because I grew up there. My father is Tom Little, so my mother took his name when they were married and my sisters and I were given it when we were born. It’s what the Manguin call a family name. They started giving them out when they grew so numerous that many people had each first name and it got confusing. They decided to use people’s jobs or physical characteristics as an extra name to tell each other apart. My father’s family have always been short of stature, so they were called ‘Little’.”

“But you’re a Pixie. So are your mother and sisters. Why did she stay with him in the town?”

“She loves him! Just like I love Emerden. You were right when you said I didn’t use any beguiling today. The truth is, I wouldn’t know how. I never learned.”

“Never? Oh but Nula, it’s so much fun! Why not?”

“I was busy training to be a midwife when my sisters were going back to the forest, choosing to embrace their Pixie heritage. Mother didn’t resent them for it. She wanted them to choose the life that suited them best. It’s not for most Pixies to love just one man.”

“There’s a reason for that, Nula. Men die. They get sick or old and they die. How can you make just one of them the centre of your life?”

An ocean of pain was reflected in Nula’s eyes as Reem bluntly asked the question she spent most of her time pointedly ignoring.

“I can’t help it, Reem. I love him. I just do. I would rather have however many Turns I can with him than endure a single day knowing he is a part of the world and I’m not near him. My mother’s lucky, in a way. She was already two hundred and forty three when she met my father. She might not have to live that long without him. I’m only twenty-five.”

Two fat, oily tears oozed from under Nula’s eyelids as she contemplated both her parents’ mortality and that of her beloved Emerden. She tried to make Reem understand.

“I’m drawn to him so strongly, it’s as if he has stronger beguiling magic than any Pixie ever had! I just can’t think very far into the future; it hurts too much to consider and I can’t do anything about it.”

Reem was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry Nula. I didn’t mean to make you sad. One day maybe I’ll have a daughter, but I’ll never stay with a Manguin. I’m not brave like you.”

“Brave? I don’t think I’m brave. It’s simply how things are – how I am. So, does that answer all your questions?”

Nula sniffed and dried her tears, trying to smile at her friend. “Oh, no – Mistress and ma’am. Manguin terms of respect, although the Elves and Equiseen also often call me ‘Mistress’, because they like formality.”

“There was one other thing, Nula.” Reem looked uncomfortable and Nula knew, without quite knowing how, what it was that was troubling her.

“The tonic,” she said in a weary tone.

“Yes. There isn’t one is there? You wouldn’t do that, would you? Kill a baby?”

Reem looked as if her whole comprehension of reality hinged on Nula’s answer, and possibly her respect and admiration for Nula herself. Nula sighed and rubbed her face, unwilling to destroy Reem’s innocence but realising that she needed an answer.

“I never have and I’d rather not, but such herbs do exist and I do know how to make that tonic.”

Reem looked pale and her eyes were full of disappointment, although whether it was with her personally or the world in general, Nula wasn’t sure. She tried to explain further.

“My mother has used it on occasion, although it pains her to do so. Once a girl was raped and when she found out she was pregnant she couldn’t live with the idea of birthing her attacker’s child – while the town condemned her as a harlot because the man who did it was the Sherriff’s deputy and no one would have believed her word over his. Once a woman who already had twelve children begged my mother for the tonic because her husband had kept her pregnant every year since she was eighteen.”

“Can’t they just not get pregnant?” asked Reem, revealing a total lack of understanding of biology outwith her own race.

“Manguin aren’t like Pixies, Reem. We decide to be open to pregnancy. Manguin women are fertile every month of their adult lives till they’re too old. They can count the days of the moon and avoid sex at the propitious time, but that’s not fool proof and some men won’t take no for an answer.”

“Men force their wives? That’s monstrous! Another good reason for beguiling. Entranced men present no danger.”

“Few men are like that,” Nula tried to reassure her. “Most are decent and would never want to hurt their wives. Thankfully there aren’t many Harson Coopers in the world.”

“Most are like your Em, then?” Reem seemed to be reassured by this idea.

Nula blushed prettily, although it couldn’t be seen in the failing light.

“No. No one’s quite like my Em,” she said quietly.

Reem nudged her and giggled. “Come on, you love sick lump! We have horses to fetch.”