Zypheria's Call (A Tanyth Fairport Adventure) by Nathan Lowell
Rebecca’s hand went to her own head pulling the heavy, brown braid forward over her shoulder and running it through her hands, a far-away look in her eyes.
Tanyth saw the look on the young woman’s face. “We need to figure out who you’ll be on the road.”
Rebecca’s eyes focused on Tanyth. “Who I’ll be? Can’t I be me?” Her voice held a faint quaver.
Tanyth stood the staff back in its corner and slipped out of hat and coat while she thought. “Per’aps, but think of what we’d look like on the road.”
“You mean after we get to North Haven?”
“Yeah. We’ll be fine as far as Kleesport. We won’t fool anybody aboard ship, but when we leave North Haven, we don’t wanna be lookin’ like an old man and his pretty granddaughter, miles from civilization.”
Rebecca smiled at the compliment but stopped stroking her braid. “I’ve seen lots of boys with long hair,” she said.
Tanyth nodded. “I was just thinkin’ that, but none of the quarrymen do.”
“The clay gets everywhere, mum. They shave regular, too. Same reason.”
Tanyth squinted her eyes, trying to envision how her young charge might disguise herself. After a few moments, she gave up with a shake of her head.
“We can put you in boy’s clothes, rightly enough. Bulky coat and a loose sweater would cover your chest.”
Rebecca looked down at herself. “Yeah. Little enough to cover there.”
Tanyth huffed out a low laugh. “You’d be surprised how little it takes for some men, my dear. Even saggy old biddies like me can get too much attention.”
Rebecca looked up, an expression of horror on her face. “You don’t mean...”
Tanyth shrugged. “Why d’ya think I walk the roads looking like an old man. A poor old man, at that.”
Rebecca cocked her head for a moment. “I never really thought of it.”
“Well, think of it.”
Rebecca cast another look down at her dress and then began bundling up the clothing on the table. “I got an idea, mum. We can take more to Kleesport, can’t we? I mean on the wagon?”
“Sure. With Frank, we don’t have a lot to fear. Not many would cross him without a few boyos at their back.”
Rebecca nodded, her brow furrowed in thought. “Of course, mum. It’s all about the look, i’n’t it?”
“The look? Yeah. I s’pose it is.”
“All right, then.” Rebecca nodded once. “Lemme go see what I can do.”
Rebecca headed for the door, the bundle of clothing wrapped in her arms. Tanyth opened the door with her good hand and held it for the young woman while she clambered up and out into the bright spring afternoon.
Tanyth watched as the young woman strode purposefully across the yard and up the stairs to the inn. She met Frank coming out and he held the door open for her as she bustled into the building.
He saw Tanyth watching from the door of her hut and gave her a big smile.
She waved and closed the door. “That fool man’ll be along lookin’ for his tea shortly,” she muttered. She crossed to the hearth and busied herself with the familiar routine of boiling water, and setting the pot—fumbling the water into the kettle one handed and measuring tea into the pot. She did her best not to think about how much she was going to miss that fool man.
While she waited for the water to boil, she slipped her arm out of its sling, lifting it experimentally, testing the muscles, flexing her hand. The pain was still there, but not as bad as it had been. She tried to stick a finger down the top to scratch the back of her arm, but it wouldn’t fit between her flesh and the cast. She cast around the hearth, looking for something—a piece of stick, anything—that she could use to scratch with.
Outside, somewhere off in the woods, the raven—her raven—cawed loudly three times. Her hoarse squawks carried easily in the still afternoon air.
Tanyth looked to the direction of the squawking. “Yeah. And a good afternoon to you, too,” she said.
The small kettle came to a boil, the burbling sound reminding Tanyth of something that she couldn’t quite recall. She straightened and let her eyes roam around the small hut that had been her home for the past few months. The woven reed mats on the floor looked nearly new. The shelves of medicinals in the back stood ready for most common ailments. Tanyth smiled when she remembered the large pot of honey she’d hidden back there for Amber and Sadie to find after she left. The foodstuffs in the larder and on the pantry shelves would go back to common stores and the herbs drying in the rafters wouldn’t go to waste now that she’d taught what she could to those she’d be leaving behind.
The sense of melancholy nearly overwhelmed her just as the kettle boiled over and started spitting on the hearth.
“Foolish old woman,” she scolded with a sniff. “You know better.”
Still, as she poured the boiling water over the dried leaves in the little china teapot that she’d have to leave behind, she couldn’t help but feel a bit of wonder at how much a clinker-built hut in the middle of nowhere meant to her.
She heard footsteps outside and the quick two-rap knock that was Frank’s nod to propriety. He slipped the latch, folded his lanky frame under the lintel, and stepped into the hut. He stood for a moment, the bright sunlight behind him, and she knew it wasn’t the hut that meant so much to her after all.
He pulled the door closed, blocking the dazzling light and turned to her, a brilliant smile shining against skin so tanned it looked like leather. “Tea ready?”
She nodded, and opened her good arm to him, not trusting her voice to speak. His strong arms wrapped around her and pressed the hard cast against her breastbone. She didn’t mind. At least while he held her, the blasted thing didn’t itch.
Chapter Five:
Equinox
Tanyth stood facing the tree line to the east. The black of star-studded night had faded to a predawn gray already. The villagers had gathered around her in the chill mist of morning A pair of travelers joined them—a tinker and a cloth merchant who’d stopped at the inn overnight.
She leaned on her staff, standing awkwardly with her left arm in the sling. The earth beneath her feet quickened with new life, awakened from a long winter sleep, ready for the flush of growth that longer days would bring. She emptied herself into the morning letting her mind relax and her body feel the faint breeze from the pine-scented forest to the east, waiting for the moment when the first rays of morning sun would creep through the trees and grace them all with its golden light.
She felt her heartbeat slow and heard her own breathing loud in her ears. The taste of new leaves, of fresh growth, washed across her tongue with each in-drawn breath. As the moment approached, stretching like a fiddle string with its own barely perceptible sound, she turned and faced the north. She waited for the flash of heat on her cheek and when it came, she spoke, her voice carrying readily on the sun-lit air. She didn’t raise her arms or her voice, but simply spoke, chin upraised, eyes on the cusp of the heavens where day and night blended.
“I call upon the Guardian of the North, Bones of the World, to protect this place and all who live here, to provide the foundation for a new season, new growth, new life.”
Pivoting around her staff, she faced the east and the golden light streaming between the trees to rake the yard before the inn with talons of glory.
“I call upon the Guardian of the East, Breath of the World, to protect this place and all who live here, to cool the land with your breezes and give your strength to the new growth, protecting it from harm and strengthening it by your presence.”
She pivoted again to face the south and the dark line of forest on the far side of the village.
“I call upon the Guardian of the South, Soul of the World, to protect this place and all who live here, to fill their hearts with passion, to burn away that which no longer serves, and to warm that which strives to grow with the fire of life.”
She pivoted again to face the west and the looming bulk of
“I call upon the Guardian of the West, Blood of the World, to protect this place and all who live here, to wash away the hurts, to heal the ills, and to lend your strength to all that grows here.”
She closed the loop by pivoting once more to the north.
“In the name of the Lady, Mother to all, I beg these boons that all who live within this place may be healthy, happy, and prosperous in the coming season. So mote it be.”
With that, she raised her staff from the ground and stamped it back down. The thump of iron-shod wood against graveled soil seemed to reverberate in the still air for a moment before the sun cleared the tree line and flooded the yard with light and heat.
Tanyth’s legs felt a bit weak and she found herself leaning on her staff for support. Frank was at her side in an instant.
He murmured, “You all right?”
She looked up into his concerned face. “Well, ’course. Just need to catch my breath a bit. This early mornin’ stuff is tough on a body before breakfast.”
He smiled, but the concern didn’t leave his eyes.
The villagers around them started rustling about and Tanyth turned to find them lined up facing her and, solemnly, each stepped up and bowed before heading off to the inn for the celebration breakfast. Tanyth returned each bow with a nod of her head as a stand-in for the Lady while the ceremony played out. When the final pair, the two travelers, approached, Tanyth felt self-conscious at the looks of awe on their faces. They bowed and she cradled her staff in the crook of her arm so she could raise a hand in benediction. “Safe travels, friends,” she said.
The shorter one, a tinker with a wiry frame and hair that sprouted from the sides of his bald pate, blushed and stammered, “Th-th-thank you, Lady.”
His companion, slightly taller and with arms that bulged from many seasons of heaving bolts of cloth around, offered a smile that seemed almost shy and oddly out of place in such a well-dressed merchant. “My thanks, mum,” he said.
Together the two strolled off toward the inn, their heads together and one or the other casting occasional glances in her direction.
Amused, Tanyth turned to look up at Frank. “What d’you s’pose got into them?”
Frank’s mouth curled into a sideways smile and his eyes widened in feigned innocence. “I can’t imagine.”
She scowled at him. “Are you makin’ fun o’ me?”
He chuckled. “Not while you’re carrying that staff.”
She grinned and turned to cross the short distance to her hut.
Frank matched her stride for stride, arm out as if to catch her if she fell.
“You’re treatin’ me like an invalid, Frank.” Her voice came out sharper than she intended. “I broke my arm, not my leg.”
He simply grinned at her. “And if you trip and fall? How you gonna catch yourself with only one arm and your hands full?”
She snorted a laugh but had to admit he had a point. “I’m not likely to fall as long as I got my stick to lean on.”
“I’m just a foolish old man,” he said, eyes dancing in the morning light.
She stood her staff against her hut and smiled up at him. “True, but now that I’ve got no stick, maybe I can lean on you?”
“As long as there’s breath in me,” he said and held out his arm for her to grab.
The words hammered in Tanyth’s heart and she didn’t trust herself to speak, simply wrapped her good arm around his and let him drag her across the yard, up the broad stairs, and into the maelstrom of breakfast in the common room.
Inside Tanyth sat at the place of honor, in front of the hearth, with the open doors of the inn allowing the golden morning to shine on her. The heat and hubbub nearly overwhelmed her, but Frank kept her mug filled with hot tea and after sampling a variety of pies, pasties, and stewed grains, she felt her strength returning.
“That prayer musta taken a lot out of me,” she murmured to Frank, biting into a second helping of venison pie.
He leaned down to her. “You put a lot into it, Tanyth. Gotta expect it to take a toll.”
“Just words,” she muttered. “Don’t see why that would be so taxin’.”
He leaned back to look at her from a distance. “Is that what you think? Just words?”
She frowned. “Well, isn’t it? Not like I’m doing anythin’ out there but yammering.”
Frank laughed gently at her. “You’re funny.”
“I don’t see the humor,” she said. The feeling that he was laughing at her stung and made her feel prickly. “I’m just tryin’ to help out and you got no call to laugh at me, Frank Crane.”
Sadie leaned across the table. “Uh, oh, Frank. She’s usin’ your full name. You best apologize now and try to save yourself.”
Tanyth shot Sadie a frown that set her back in her chair.
“Sorry, mum.” The younger woman looked contrite and Tanyth immediately felt sorry for taking her pique out on an innocent bystander.
Tanyth reached her free hand across to pat Sadie’s hand. “Nothin’ to be sorry about, my dear. I’m just feeling a bit...tired. And this galoot is laughin’ at me.” She elbowed Frank none to gently in the ribs.
“Sorry, Tanyth. I’m not mockin’ you. I mean it,” he said.
She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “See that you don’t,” she said. “Is there any more tea?”
She didn’t really want more tea, but the conversation made her uncomfortable. She made a mental note to find out what he found so funny later, when they weren’t surrounded by people.
“Excuse me, mum?”
The voice came from behind her. Tanyth turned to find the two travelers standing there.
The tinker spoke again. “Me’n’ Herm here, well, we wanted ta thank ya.”
At the mention of his name the burly cloth merchant ducked his head in a quick semi-bow. His eyes looked anywhere except at her.
“That was a proper ceremony, right enough.” He glanced up at his larger companion and then back at Tanyth. “Thank you for lettin’ us be part of it.”
“You’re certainly welcome.” Tanyth looked from one to the other of them, a bit confused by their obvious discomfort.
The tinker elbowed his friend who twitched like he’d been stabbed. “Yar,” he said, “I hain’t seen da like since I wuz a tad back ta Dermton.” Each word seemed to fight its way from the larger man’s chest and out his mouth.
She smiled again. “Dermton? One of my teachers lived in Dermton.”
The man looked startled. “Ya know it, then? Dermton?”
“On the banks of the Ryme Flow? Just where the foothills start up to the Whitehorn Mountains?”
The man nodded, wonder in his eyes.
“Indeed I do. Spent a whole winter there with Mother Abigail Hilton. Must be...” she had to think for a moment as her memories swirled back through the miles and the winters. “Ten winters ago now. Maybe fifteen.”
Herm shifted his feet and glanced at his friend before speaking. “Mother Hilton, aye, mum. You know’d her?”
She smiled and nodded. “Lovely woman. Do you know? Is she still there?”
A cloud passed across his face and the tinker answered for him.
“No, mum.” He glanced up at the larger man before continuing. “She passed over some time ago. Seven, maybe eight winters since.”
Tanyth sighed. “I can’t say as I’m surprised. Mother Hilton was on in years when I stayed with her. A good woman, wise in the way of the woods and waters.”
The tinker nodded. “Yes’m. She were.”
“Mother Hilton was like a gran to us all, growin’ up, mum,” Herm said, the slow plod of his words rumbling through the breakfast hubbub that continued around the table. He paused and looked at his boots before casting a glance at Tanyth again. “She knew how to say a prayer, mum. You learned good.”
The two stood there, shuffling their feet but making no move to leave.
?
Herm looked to his friend and shook his head, but the smaller man took a deep breath and looked to Tanyth. “We wuz hopin’—if it’s not too much to ask, mum...”
The room quieted down and Tanyth could feel more eyes turning in their direction as the tinker seemed to stumble over his tongue.
“That is, mum. Could we beg a boon? A small blessin’ for the road, mum?” He looked up at Herm who looked simultaneously abashed and hopeful.
The expression almost made her laugh but something about them made her hold her mirth in check. She glanced at Frank and was startled to see him watching her, not the travelers.
“I’m not much on blessin’ and all,” she said turning back to look at the two men, tugging self-consciously at the sling that held her cast. As she did, her eyes picked out a small, star-shaped spot on the hearthstone. A spot she knew was her own blood and the memory of it jolted her.
The two men bit back whatever it was they were about to say and merely nodded. “Well, thank ya, anyway, mum.”
Together they started to turn away, but Tanyth stood and faced them.
“Wait,” she said. “What are your names?”
They blinked in confusion for a moment but the big man recovered first.
“I’m Herm, mum. Herm Ridgewood.”
The name struck a chord in Tanyth’s memory. “Your people run the Ridgewood Mill? Just down stream on the Ryme Flow?”
He smiled. “Yes, mum. Best mill on the Ryme.”
Tanyth bit back a smile. If her memory was correct, it was the only mill on the Ryme.
The big man elbowed the tinker, jarring him out of his stupor.
“Oh, I’m Willum Grits, mum. You pro’ly never knew my people.”
She closed her eyes to picture the tiny village. Something tugged at her memory. She imagined what the town must have looked like to a raven flying overhead. As she turned away from the river, out into the thistle and scrublands she remembered the Grits.
“You had a small place west of the town? Was it your mother who raised flowers?”
His jaw dropped. “How can you remember that far back, mum?”