The Journal of Brother Solomon

Part 5

In which we reach Hillsgreen Crossing…

Freezeday, Mobilityweek, Fireseason, 613

For my last mission I was given expenses so I respectfully knock on Father Saul’s door. He listens quietly to my request, gazing at me in wrapt attention… which continues long after I’ve finished. His expression is serious but there’s a twinkle in his eye. Is he laughing me, deep inside?

But then he shakes his head, “The last time I sent you on a mission on behalf of the Order. But now you are following your own research. On this occasion you must make your own way.”

Of course I am of gentle birth and some might suppose I could call on my family for support. But Father Saul must be well aware that the reason why my family sent me to a monastery is to save the cost of finding me a career – and I wasn’t given the option of the civil service, unlike Lord Grimpen’s second daughter, Nebula. I suppose you could ask for a loan against my stipend – even if my brother, Aaron, said no, mother wouldn’t refuse – but it would take at least two weeks to get a letter to Grimpen and back.

Oh well, I’ll just have to husband the 11 shillings in my purse.

Waterday, Mobilityweek, Fireseason, 613

We set off, heading west along the Loonz road, making good time in excellent weather. Ariella and I are on horseback, the others are riding a cart.

That evening we stop at a distinctly mediocre wayside inn but it has the virtue of being cheap – dinner and breakfast either side of a bed in the common dorm costs a mere shilling each – and I’m delighted to hear that George has established a ‘communal tab’ for us as a group, so my purse remains untouched, for the moment.

The food is plain but filling and better than the slop we get in the priory. After vittles the others do a little mingling and join in a brief sing-song but, as ever, I’m too self-conscious to put my heart in it, but George in particular is in fine voice and they net a few shillings, almost enough to offset the cost of accommodation.

Ariella and the Beavers ask for news of Malotov, the chap the Beavers are looking for. The Beavers get nowhere. Ariella does find one possible contact but it turns out he was just trying to chat her up – well she is very personable but, like me, she’s in orders, albeit of a different kind.

However, this erstwhile Lothario does mention a famous Typhonian Stormlord came through a year or so ago with a band of Vikings. Lothario has to delve deep to recall the name, then blurts out, ‘Ezra Lizkeard’! It seems Ariella has heard of Ezra but she’s surprised to hear he’s still living (as of a year or so ago). He spends his entire life looking for his next battle. Lothario says they came through twice and recalls Ezra as being very chipper on the return, having slaughtered a chaot at a village to the west.

Aside from this the night passes uneventfully – as the best nights should.

Clayday, Mobilityweek, Fireseason, 613

It’s still warm, being summer, but at least the blistering blaze of the last few weeks has broken. We continue down the Loonz road for a couple of hours before turning off onto a dirt track but we pass several farmsteads and a couple of hamlets so it’s definitely not wilderness.

The Sun is just touching the western horizon as we pass a small lake. There’s a lone hut on the shore and (I presume) the hut-owner fishing with rod and line outside. Then we turn a corner and see a sign saying, ‘Welcome to Hillsgreen Crossing, pop. 101¾’. The number has been amended several times and the ‘¾’ has been scrawled in charcoal, probably by some lad who fancies himself a wit. I can hear mixed bleatings, mooings or whatever but don’t ask me what noise belongs to what beast. George is sure he hears a scream but it sounds like an animal to me.

Of course, we’re looking for an inn and almost the first thing we see is The Crossing, to our right, just as we enter the village square. In the middle of the square is a covered well and local yeomen (and women) in ones and twos, heading for the inn for an evening pint.

We tether our horses to hitching posts and enter to find a dozen locals already inside. There’s the usual moments silence at the sight of strangers and then they all start talking again – I get a sense of déjà vu, as they say in Sunbury.

The innkeeper cheerfully asks our business and someone mentions beer, but I find myself searching the bar for whisky. But then Rufus mentions Chaos and Ezra and the inn goes deathly quiet again…

Oh dear!

Then the innkeeper asks, in a voice laden with doom, “What do you want to know about him?” Rufus tells him that we’d heard he’d killed some Chaos in a village west of Moonguard and the innkeeper come back, “Ezra attacked us!”

The deathly quiet is broken as one man shouts, “Tommy!” at the innkeeper. Tommy drops his voice and shrugs, “Anyway, they’ve gone now, and she got burned.” “Tommy!” comes the same voice and this time Tommy changes the subject, asking what we want to drink. The speaker glares at him and trudges up the stairs.

Amidst further cries of ‘beer’ from my companions, a loan voice asks if he has any whisky? Actually this is my voice, because I’ve taken quite a liking to the products of Ochre Grove and I’m eager to sample other varieties. George explains to me that if I want to drink anything other than beer I’m buying it myself but Tommy cheerfully pulls a bottle from a shelf and tells us it’s only a penny more than a pint.

I hold it to the light; it’s a paler dram than any vintage of Glenochre; I gently savour the vapours and it’s heady, then I take a lingering sip…

…and find myself coughing as the shot burns away the dust of the day’s ride. My palate is uneducated but this isn’t remotely like the Hammond or Gresham product – I’m surprised it doesn’t etch the glass. I think I’ll stick to beer for the rest of my stay.

George effortlessly haggles us board and lodging for just five shillings for us all, including stabling for the horses. The food is better than last night’s and, once fed, we again mingle with the locals…

George is definitely a people person and asks generally about the village and the villagers. Hillsgreen Crossing is one of half-a-dozen villages and hamlets owned by Sir Mather Fotheringay, who seems to be something of an absentee landlord. George is told the Matari barn is the other side of the square and the blacksmith’s is just south of it. The village elder is Bailiff Hawthorn but he’s away on business at present. There’s also a Selene temple a couple of hours to the west – in the middle of nowhere, apparently, with the presiding minister being Father Percy. That rings a bell – Percy was mentioned in the entry in the ledger Dowix showed me.

Bitey asks Tommy about the gentleman who slouched upstairs. He’s told that’s Jake the huntsman, though more of a trapper, really. He’s probably upset because he was ‘involved’ with the Vikings – but then Tommy clams up, saying, “I’ve said too much!”

Rufus asks what the burned person was accused of – “Oh, she were a witch!” But right then several locals drain their pints and leave – actually one doesn’t even stop to finish his drink! It seems her name was Ginniver and she lived in a hut in the woods. Ginniver is another name mentioned in Dowix’s ledger…

Ariella mingles with the locals (I don’t think anyone hits on her this time), just asking about anything ‘strange’ that might have happened a year ago. “You need to speak to Avner” she’s told and Tommy joins in, “Some said he deserved it… but I’ve said too much.”

Avner is yet another name from that ledger so I set myself to chasing the one name from that entry not mentioned so far. With a bit of asking round I find someone who knows the family. (Of course, in a village this size almost everyone must know the family, so actually what I’ve found is one who will admit to it.)

What I learn is that Gaillard is the son of Avner. They were walking through a field this time last year when the boy was suddenly struck down! Now all he says is, “I cannot tell!” He gives me directions to Avner’s on the southwest side of the village – Avner’s there most of the time because Gaillard needs constant care.

I tell him my Order is devoted to the cure of souls so I will call on Avner to see if there’s any way we can relieve his son’s suffering.

We have another peaceful night.

Windsday, Mobilityweek, Fireseason, 613

Our breakfast waitress is Mary – last night she was the barmaid, hired staff, so we thought, but by the light of day her resemblance to Tommy is clear, she is his daughter, but unlike last night she is a little distracted this morning.

Bitey tries to take her out of herself and it turns out she’s been thinking of Ginniver, the witch burned two years ago, almost to the day. “Her screams will haunt me – she was a witch but she didn’t deserve that.”

As I have observed before, George is a people person and it’s marvellous to watch him use this opportunity to get Tommy to open up…

Tommy admits that Ginniver did confess, “…but we all had our suspicions – she were always a fay one, a bit strange, but she was a good midwife and healer of cattle.”

Mary had heard rumours of coloured smokes coming from her chimney and strange smells – she lived in a cottage deep in the woods. Ezra’s Vikings came looking for her specifically – Tommy thinks someone tipped them off. Once she’d confessed as a witch (as might anyone to anything under enough pain), Ginniver was burned, tied to a tree just north of the village.

Bitey asks who started the accusations and Tommy replies that she was a ‘furriner’ who chose to live alone in the woods, so everyone was naturally suspicious of her.

With that the conversation turns to Tommy’s wood shed, with the Beavers promising to take a look.

First thing on our agenda this morning is Avner and his son, Gaillard. With a very decent breakfast inside us we make our way across the village to his hovel – and it is a hovel, not looking as well cared for as most in Hillsgreen Crossing.

As I’m about to knock one of the others thinks he can hear something. We all stop for a moment – I can hear voices inside; I can’t make out any words but the others think it’s someone saying the same thing over and over again.

My knock is answered by a very burly middle-aged man. He looks a trifle unkempt but then he probably wasn’t expecting visitors this morning. I introduce myself and explain that I’d heard a member of his family was afflicted, and since my order has a duty of the cure of souls, we wished to see if we might help. The man, whom I assume is Avner, seems conflicted, and I realise I must look overly martial with my mail hauberk over my white robes, a sword at my side and a shield at my back, but my words must touch something within him for he stands aside and lets us in.

Inside, a much younger man, still in his teens if I’m any judge, is sitting on a pallet, rocking back and forth, saying the same words, “I cannot tell! I cannot tell!” over and over again.

Avner says, “Your lot went over all this a year ago”. George asks who he means – Selenites, of course, bureaucrats from Moonguard. Avner was afraid they’d take Gaillard away. But George assures him we are not associated with the civil service or the Selenites in any way.

Gaillard looks up, aware of our presence, and I think communication should be possible with a little careful handling. I don’t want to intimidate the boy so I sit myself on the floor a short distance away and try to coax him out of himself.

I find he responds by interjecting ‘Mary’ several times, the first time with tears, then again more wistfully. I wonder if Mary is the person he cannot tell? “Tell me about Mary?” I ask, though I have to lean close to hear his reply… “Why doesn’t Mary like me anymore?”

Avner explains the two of them were making their way home through the fields one evening a year ago when Gaillard suddenly clutched his head and fell down screaming. Avner saw no one else about, no one who could have cast a spell. All the boy has said since was, “I cannot tell!” just as we’ve heard. George asks if they were in the vicinity of the tree – it seems it was out that way but not particularly close.

It’s clear I’ll get no more from Gaillard today but I feel this is remarkable progress for a first interview. I think the boy’s spirit is healthy but he’s been driven mad, possibly by Selenite runemagic, but there are other ways to go mad, of course. Whatever did this, it afflicted him acutely and then passed on, leaving him permanently mad. The others believe he will never recover but I wouldn’t rule it out – stranger things have happened. I assure Avner that I will do what I can for the boy.

After a brief discussion we decide it’s time to view the tree that was the site of the burning. We find it on the north side of the village, just out of sight of the square but you’d not have to drag the victim too far.

At first glance you’d think it had been struck by lightning but a closer look suggests it was a deliberately set fire. The Beavers think it was already dead before and Ariella is sure it wasn’t caused by lightning.

I’m put in mind of other burned trees – that in Ochre Grove, most forcefully, but I also remember another tree from my youth in Grimpen (which was the victim of lightning) but I recall that lightning-tree was covered in fungus and moss, its wood perforated by bugs and worms as nature reclaimed the dead wood, while nature is struggling to reclaim this tree.

Ariella sees little more with Spirit Sight – except she senses a spiritual ‘echo’ (odd term). As she tries to explain I’m again reminded of Ochre Grove, this time the feeling around the burned Gresham farm. Something bad has happened here, something beyond a few Vikings burning a witch!

I shiver inwardly and I’m not at all sorry when George suggests viewing the witch’s hovel. We know it’s in the woods, of course, but we need directions or we’ll be wandering through leaf mould all day. So we go back to the inn.

Tommy, despite his professed reticence, gives us clear and simple directions but as we turn to go he whispers, “They do say it be haunted – you couldn’t pay me to go there!” With eleven shillings to my name, I couldn’t agree more.

Rufus takes the opportunity to ask if Mary is his only child – she is, and her mother is busy cooking lunch in the kitchen. Rufus asks if Mary and Gaillard were ever in a relationship and Tommy reacts surprisingly forcefully, “Certainly not! You wouldn’t catch my Mary going out with that simpleton!” We all exchange glances – he doth protest too much. But Mary is not about and this is not the time to chase this.

Tommy’s directions are simple and we find what looks like an animal track through the woods but the hut turns out to be an hour’s walk away. I’m glad we didn’t try to do this without instructions as we’d have been lost possibly all day and a night. As it is Rufus thinks we’re lost but Ariella and I are definitely sure this is the right track.

So, we emerge into a clearing round an old cottage in some state of decay. The vegetable garden is overgrown and the thatch is looking damp and rotten. It’s of wattle and daub construction around a stone chimney. The two windows at the front are covered with tanned hides.

It does not look in good condition – far worse than Avner’s hovel. But there’s a stash of firewood to the left of the door and a serviceable spade with a bronze blade the other side. Is someone still living here? The door is ajar.

I detect no spirits and Rufus no enemies but George detects a faint magical emanation from one side of the cottage, from underneath the ground! George describes it as a ‘magical echo’.

I confess my heart is beating faster as we open the door…