The Journal of Brother Solomon

Part 17

In which our heroes return to Hillsgreen Crossing for a wedding…

Freezeday, Deathweek, Earthseason, 613 to Freezeday, Stasisweek, Earthseason, 614 TA

Having spent the last year in really intensive study to become a shaman, Mother Hepzibah has declared me a master of Spiritspeech. Furthermore, I now know things about our history that might surprise, or even shock, Mother, my brother, Aaron, and the rest of my family (some of our ancestors were truly heroic, others very much not).

Since I need to know about all my ancestors, I’ve had to study the various distaffs as well. Of course, a lot of them were Selenites, whose spirits (with appropriate rituals) go to the Moon, so I will never be able to summon them, but most of the others could be called, including a few Selenites who didn’t get the appropriate rituals.

But that’s in the future. For now I remain a Shamanling, and Mother Hepzibah says I need to hone my own spirit before I can ally a fetch to become a full Shaman.

My studies have included an upgrade to my Spiritscreen spell and, after consultation with Father Saul, I have invested in the Strength spell, as he seems to think I shouldn’t ignore the physical in pursuit of the spiritual.

So I return to more general spiritual studies and pastoral duties.

Windsday, Illusionweek, Earthseason, 614

A couple of weeks later, Brother Jacob hands me a letter during breakfast. I thank him, thinking it one of my mother’s regular missals, or even a rare letter from my brother, Aaron, but a single glance tells me it’s from someone who is not a natural to the pen; ‘Brovver Solomin’ is hardly how my mother, whose penmanship is most elegant and articulate, would address me.

Back in my cell, I open the envelope to find a sheet of high quality paper, intricately decorated with a hand-painted border of interlinked flowers. There is a drawing of a man and woman holding hands – rather well done, and I think I recognise the faces (I cast an eye to where I keep the chain of flowers given by Mary – I really must get it preserved in crystal when I have the time and money), that are confirmed by the text, which, while in lunatic, is very rustic, with many crossings out and almost every word misspelt…

Togever wiv thair familylies, wee ar delited to invyte

Brovver Solomin & is travelin compninon companinonins, frends

To the Weddin of

Mary Lucy, dor’er of Tomme the inkeep to

Gaillard Tony, sun of Avner the widdohwer

As part ov the Samain selberashishens, seleboshinonins, party on

Clay day, Trufe week, Earth season 614

Pleez arrive a day erlee to ‘elp with the festivi’ees.

Wez ar all lookin forward to welcoming you bak. Youz are all welcum to staye at the X’in

I confess to voicing a squeal of delight – Oh bless! May the Lord be praised! I’m invited to a wedding! How wonderful! I love weddings! I’m so pleased for Gaillard and Mary.

First things first, I ask Father Saul for permission to attend the wedding – for a moment he seems to think I’m asking permission to get married, but when I explain the circumstances he says, “Of course you should go”. It’s only later, when I recall his peculiar sense of humour, that I wonder if he wasn’t pulling my leg about it being my wedding.

The letter refers to my ‘frends’ so I contact Ariella, Fatima, George and Rufus and we all meet in the Brown Cow, a local tavern with excellent beer.

I find I’m not the only one who’s been advancing himself: Ariella is now a priestess of Valkyrie (her official title is ‘Völura’) and George is a runelord of Mercer. She has a fine Storm crow and he a lovely dog to house their ally spirits. Excellent! I feel, with Mary and Gaillard’s wedding, we’re all moving on in the World!

I show them the letter – I’m not sure they’re quite as effervescent as me but they’re all coming. I can’t wait!

Fireday to Godsday, Illusionweek, Earthseason, 614

I think hard about a wedding present – I consider a dinner service, but that’s probably not appropriate for Mary and Gaillard’s situation. Eventually I decide on some cloth, from which they can clothe themselves (and possibly any future children) or possibly sell the extra to their neighbours for a small profit.

I spend the afternoon at a haberdashers, choosing a good-quality, but durable, blue cloth. I buy half a bolt – eighteen yards – it all but cleans me out but I’ve got my stipend due next week and the proceeds from the Glenochre distillery by the end of the season. I’m sure I can make my last few shillings last until then. But the haberdasher throws in a couple of dress patterns for free.

I spend the next couple of days in the priory, attending to my duties within the Order.

Freezeday, Truthweek, Earthseason, 614

I’m at the west gate two hours after dawn where I meet Ariella, Fatima, George and Rufus. Ariella is on her own horse, of course, the others are riding Fatima’s hearse or George’s cart.

Fatima has crafted a small dining table for the couple’s new house. It’s nothing fancy, suitable for a yeoman’s home, but it’s strong and sturdy and she’s varnished the surface beautifully. She must have spent all the intervening time doing absolutely nothing else. I can tell she’s taken some pride in her efforts.

George has purchased matching pans for their kitchen; Ariella has sheets and blankets for the couple’s marriage bed; but possibly the oddest present is from Rufus, who will give them a smoking pipe, along with a quantity of buzzbark – I’ve a funny feeling this is an example of culture-clash, no doubt it’s a typical wedding present in Beaver communities.

So we set out – the weather is dry but chilly, you can tell Dark Season is a week away, but we make good time. That evening we stop at the Drover’s Rest – it’s the same as last year, cheap and cheerful, but at least it’s free of fleas.

Waterday, Truthweek, Earthseason, 614

We make Hillsgreen Crossing mid-afternoon to find the village a hive of activity. There are a number of tents set up outside the village and stalls all round the village green. This is not just for the wedding, tomorrow is also Last Harvest Day, which is the first day of Samhain, which lasts through to Godsday. Some regard it as the most important festival of the Matari calendar.

George, ever the people-person, takes a saunter round the stalls and falls talking to a candle-merchant whom he knows from Moonguard. I’m not as outgoing as him so I content myself with merely turning on my heel to survey everything.

On the north side of the green is what looks like a stage being set up and decorated with corn dollies and harvest produce – pumpkins are prominent. The work is being overseen by half-a-dozen people who are clearly not locals and, from their dress, I must guess they’re Gowries. (Knowing Matari festivals from home, I suspect the Erato performers will be very popular with everyone.)

Then I give a start as I recognise one of the Gowries – it’s Gaillard! He’s dressed like a Gowrie, and very nicely, too – I’m glad to see he’s doing rather well for himself. How wonderful!

The inn is The Crossing, and is another centre of activity, the outside festooned in corn dollies, strings of onions and more of those pumpkins, as well as other harvest produce.

George finishes talking to his friend and we all go in to find the bar being decorated too – there’s no sign of Mary but her father, Tommy, is directing everything. I notice that he’s looking very smart – for a second I wonder why he’s wearing his best clothes when the wedding isn’t until tomorrow, but then I take a second look and realise that these are normal ‘work-clothes’, only of a better quality and cut than those he wore last year. I also notice the bar is better stocked – there’s even a bottle of Glenochre!

I call for service but Tommy is very offhand, “Can’t you see I’m busy?” I reply, with emphasis, but not forcefully, “We’re guests!” At that point he looks round and his entire attitude changes. “Brother Solomon”, he exclaims, and suddenly he’s all over us. He goes to hug me, thinks better of it at the last moment, but then I return his hug warmly. He moves on to George, Ariella, Fatima and even Rufus. He’s delighted to see us – “I’ve got in a bottle of the Glenochre whisky, just for you”. I’m genuinely touched – I don’t even recall asking for it at the time.

Tommy tells us he has three rooms upstairs and two of them are ours, with meals, for free! Fatima asks where we can leave the wedding presents, mentioning she’s made a dining table, “But not from coffins”, she says with a grin. He urges us to bring them through but I catch him whispering to George, “I didn’t know ‘they’ told jokes”.

He sketches out what’s happening in the next few days. As well as the wedding, there will be games tomorrow, including Street Football, which we’re welcome to join in. I recall games of that from home and they tend to be violently hectic – I can’t see myself partaking, somehow.

And in the evening there’s entertainment – Gaillard has been accepted into Grappho, thanks to his drawing (he’s even learning to read and write, albeit slowly), and his Gowrie friends will present a depiction of our exploits from last year. For some reason this seems to upset George.

Tommy also reveals that some gentlefolk from Fotheringay Hall are here for his ‘tour’. He says he offers tours of the locales that featured action last year and he hopes we will join him when he takes the Fotheringay party round. One of the party is Henry Masterson, a friend of the Fotheringays, who is sponsoring Gaillard’s Gowrie apprenticeship. Evidently, Tommy feels our presence on the tour will help his son-in-law’s prospects.

George asks after Mary, whom we’ve seen no sight of so far. She’s in her room, getting ready – apparently she’s been ‘getting ready’ for ‘a day or two’ but Tommy calls her down.

I’m a little taken aback when I see her – she’s done something to her hair, but I’m not sure the effect is what is intended. She’s also applied make-up but it’s obvious she has no experience. She could never be described as a beauty but I’m sure she shouldn’t look like this.

I think she’s aware of the problem and tentatively asks for a private audience with ‘the ladies’, almost certainly regarding cosmetics, is my guess, but she also asks for a separate audience with me later. “My dear, I’m at your disposal.” She flashes a smile before vanishing up the stairs with Fatima.

While we’re waiting, Tommy offers me a tot of the Glenochre – it’s the 609 vintage. One sip tells me it’s not the original Hammond distillery but a Gresham product, but it’s still a very pleasant tipple.

Tommy observes that the village’s reputation has risen remarkably. Last year, it was known as ‘the village that burned the witch’ but, since our exploits of Fireseason before last, Hillsgreen Crossing has grown a tourist industry and Tommy’s tours have become a significant second income – hence his improved fortunes, another reason why he’d like us to accompany the Fotheringays on their tour.

After an hour or so, Fatima brings Mary back down. Fatima is used to applying cosmetics (admittedly, to make her clients look less dead or hide missing facial parts) but she’s been able to show Mary what specifically goes where and give a few hints on application, which is more than I could do. I suspect Mary just needs a little confidence so I tell her she looks lovely – actually, she is.

She responds by taking my arm as I did hers over a year ago and asks that I walk with her outside. She leads me across the green, away from the stage, until we’re past the houses to the south. Our conversation has been inconsequential so far but now she lets go my arm and faces me, blushing furiously. I can’t imagine what’s on her mind so I ask just that…

She tells me that she and Gaillard have together sacrificed for a certain Matari runespell with which they intend to conceive a child on their wedding night. Obviously, I’m no Matari but The Mother is associate to Our Lord and I’m pretty sure she means the Fertility Rite, which many regard as the soul of Matar’s cult.

So far so good – I expect a lot of newly-weds do the same but I can’t see what this has to do with me. Evidently there must be something because she gets even more jittery, hopping from one foot to the other. Surely she doesn’t need advice about procreation – even assuming she might be more innocent than any Matari girl I’ve ever met, I’m sure a monk is the least useful person to ask for such advice. Finally, wringing her hands, she comes out with it…

“Would you… um… be the godfather?”

I am astonished, but also very flattered, to be asked to be godfather to their firstborn. I take a moment to let it sink in but then I confess that I’d be delighted. She immediately calms down, clearly relieved, but begs me to keep it to myself for the moment. I ask if she’s afraid someone might object but it’s merely because she finds the whole ‘what happens on our wedding night’ a little embarrassing. (Perhaps she is more innocent than a typical Matari – I’m sure it will wear off soon enough.)

We return to the tavern and we weary travellers repair to our rooms. Fatima and Ariella will take one room, George, Rufus and I the other. Once we’ve unpacked and settled in, George calls the ladies in to discuss things…

Rufus has been getting to know the Gowrie troup, since he follows the Muse of Jesting himself. He names them as a singer called Miss Oakie; Colin and John Greenwood play the guitar and lyre; and Ed O’Brien is a flautist. Rufus thinks there’s something very shifty about the Greenwood brothers and we all know that Gowrie troups are often rife with criminals, but he thinks the troup leader, Harvey Portstein, is a real piece of work – he was bullying the troup very nastily, including young Gaillard, but then put on a ‘hail-fellow-well-met’ act as soon as he realised who Rufus was, trying to make it seem he and Gaillard were best friends.

George agrees – he sent Ronnie, his ally sheepdog, to sniff around the Gowries and he overheard Harvey bullying Gaillard dreadfully. But George’s real fear is that we’re being set up to be pilloried by a satire. Rufus observes that Harvey flickered to his Detect Enemies spell.

George seems very concerned by this possibility. I advise that most of the village seems to hold us in high regard and it seems unlikely they would accept anything that puts us in a bad light – that might impact their recent good fortune.

However, if it is a satire, our best counter might be to just stand up and applaud the performance.

Don’t get me wrong, I very much understand and share George’s concern – Gowrie satires have been known to trash reputations, and a merchant lives by his reputation. For that matter, Charisma is crucial to shamans. My current title of shamanling highlights that I have yet to ally a fetch. I’m supposed to be improving both my spiritual prowess and my personal presence, both of which are crucial to allying a fetch and forging relationships with spirits. To lose any Charisma at all could be catastrophic for both of us. But I just don’t see what we can do about it. If we turn away and react as if the satire is hurtful – even if it is – we may just make things worse.

George wants to read their script, if necessary obtaining a copy by theft. Rufus says he’s serving Harvey as an ‘advisor’, particularly on how to portray a Beaver – apparently Harvey himself will be wearing a beaver suit! Rufus offers to try and get a copy of the script for perusal.

It’s time for dinner and we go down to wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. To my surprise, George volunteers to help out with the cooking, it seem cuisine is a hobby of his. The dinner is a very tasty mutton stew.

Dusk falls as we eat and the inn starts to fill up. In come the Gowrie troup – Rufus points out the individuals (I agree – the Greenwood brothers do look shifty). Harvey enters with his arm round Gaillard, who looks a little uncertain. If what Rufus and George say about Harvey is true, I can understand Gaillard’s concern.

But in front of an audience Harvey is pure Charisma, introducing the various acts with aplomb. At one point Ariella leans over to whisper that we should keep an eye on his right wrist for a tattoo and I soon see what she means – it looks like a black rose. Fatima says it feels familiar but she can’t recall from where and none of us can make a connection. Rufus again tries his Detect Enemies and again Harvey flickers with respect to all of us, including Tommy.

Then Miss Oakie invites members of the audience up on stage. I see Ariella and George both grin and nod to each other but, before either can volunteer, Miss Oakie says she has a specific request for one person in particular…

I can feel my heart sinking even before she mentions the name – I just know it’s going to be me, and I’m not wrong. This isn’t really my thing. I mean, I can carry a tune but belting out a song in front of an audience isn’t for me – I’m more used to being one voice among many in our priory’s choir. Nor am I well versed in popular ditties. I wrack my brains for something that isn’t hymnal and eventually fall back on an old nursery rhyme, ‘The Lost Lamb’.

To be fair, the minstrels do a fair job of livening it up and at least I don’t disgrace myself, a few of the locals even join in, but I’m very glad to return to the audience at the end. Then George and Ariella’s take their turns and I must admit her ‘Riders on the Storm’ is very stirring.

Eventually, things break up and we retire to our rooms. Someone suggests keeping watches – we never did last time we were here, with much more cause. Someone else thinks the two ally familiars could keep watch but George points out, quite rightly, that they need their sleep, too. In the end we just lock the doors and turn in.

During my shamanling training, Mother Hepzibah several times emphasized that a shaman should pay attention to his dreams, since that’s one way for the spirits to make contact. But in this case I suspect my subconscious is merely putting in a complaint about my angst over public performance. I dream that I’m in an opera, of all things, when the audience start jeering me on stage in the middle of an aria…

Next thing I know, Rufus is shaking me awake; I start up, fearing the worst – should we have set watches? “What is it, Rufus?”

He replies, “Do all you people always sleep this deeply?”

Suddenly, I’m awake! This does not sound like Rufus at all – it’s definitely the Beaver speaking, but the accent is rustic Lunatic, and naggingly familiar. It doesn’t take a master of Spirit Lore (which I am, of course) to realise Rufus has been possessed by some ghost or spirit.

I ask who it is… they ignore me, telling me to get everyone else in because they have something to say. I ask again, and they repeat themselves. I ask a third time and this time, either because I’m quite forceful or perhaps because three times is a charm, they answer the question – she’s Ginniver, the Zadoki ‘witch’ burned by Vikings several years ago.

By now George is awake too – I go wake the ladies and tell them Ginniver’s ghost wants to talk to all of us.

Once we’re all in, Ginniver asks if she should dispossess Rufus but George laughingly assures her he prefers it this way. To be honest, this is easier. If she released Rufus, she’d be forced to converse by Spiritspeech, so probably only Ariella and I would understand. This way we can all hear what she has to say, and I expect Rufus will too – he’s still in there, somewhere.

She wants to warn us – we all recall what happened a year ago – her son, Finlay, was ‘lost’ and subsequently paid with his life. (Actually, I recall it was me who delivered the killing blow). However, she believes he still harbours ill-will. Fatima observes he was taken by his spirit of reprisal. Ginniver agrees but she thinks an ‘external agency’ has summoned him from the dead. She does not know who.

Ginniver admits she is a ghost and cannot stay here long. She’s been given leave to warn us but must return to her new existence as a nature spirit. We all thank her. She asks only that, when we encounter Finlay, we send his spirit to where it belongs. Before she leaves she asks if we have any questions…

Fatima asks if Finlay might possess someone – Ginniver replies, “He has no body, so very likely”. She believes he will detect as an active enemy to all the villagers here.

So, none of this ‘flickering’ for him!

A possible connection occurs to me: I ask if Ginniver knows anything about a symbol of a black rose tattoo? She relates that, as an obvious Chaot, she was forced to move repeatedly from village to village before she settled in Hillsgreen Crossing (and look what happened to her here). During her travels she saw the tattoo on several people – always slightly hidden, on men of all walks of life but never on a woman.

I don’t know if the black rose is at all connected to whoever has summoned back Finlay but it’s a variable we know little about. I ask how I can contact her again – she replies she’s only been allowed this one warning but she can be contacted again by suitable runemagic. She doesn’t name the runespell. I could try Summon Ancestor but I’m supposed to be building my Power, not squandering it on non-reusable spells and in any case I seriously doubt she’s one of my ancestors.

Were I a shaman, I would offer her a pact… She might even make a fine fetch, but I’m just not quite ready yet. Ginniver departs and Rufus is himself again – he confirms that he heard every word.

I consider consulting Eleanor via her teddy…