Traveller

Story


  Twins of equal alike, the town resembled that of similar appearance as the town before, and in front. It bore no deviation, for they were apparent of the same size, buildings and, even people of their kind. Among the innocent brown bricked dwellings a variety of specimens of the plant kingdom nestled, as though groping for elbow-room. It lasted throughout the entirety of the village and though none changed, the air of popularity was altered in this town from that in all others. Cobbled streets lined the avenues, but none were occupied in the oppressive bleakness. Who, of any nature would venture the ice bound ways, I wondered, except me? The forest of buildings loomed accusingly at me, as if to question my being, my reason. With my cloak pulled tight to my perishing body, I turned and continued.
  Morning brought no further joy. As a traveller I knew where I belonged and where the heart had no place. The little English town of Lyeryty held no such liberty. ‘Gyp,’ they would shout, ‘be gone’. And with that, I would disappear, as I did with every other village that bore the same hostility.
  You don’t know me. None know me. I bear no recognition on any part, to anyone. I like it this way. The open road is the only one that holds my secrets. Those that ask may call me Sahita, and those that don’t, may not. I am cursed with dark eyes and many assume my pale complexion is witch like. My silver shawl masks my dark hair as I tread the dirt alone.
  I always have travelled. With my mother, as I was young, and alone, when my mother departed. And still I venture on. I roam now to the Scottish boarder. Where green owns the land and pretty villages may welcome a new face.
  I trudged now a long trail. A horse drawn cart passed and a cordial smile touched my frozen heart. The wagon continued to take a hard earned prize to those who can afford the sweet luxuries of life. I have that but 5 shillings in my pouch. My hard feet ate the ground as the sun rose above the mountains. Rays gave warmth and affection to me above the cold of the winter cloud. A new setting reached me as I journeyed well into the mountain terrain. Folk danced and played at the roadside and often gave a brief word in my direction. I gave them my undivided attention. Here I had never ventured.
  The wisps of mountain fog passed from the snow carpeted peaks as though it were snowing itself. Flowers held delicately in the draught alongside the flourishing grass and tall open woodlands that rose among the steep, rocky outcrops, staring down upon the innocent valley. I passed often through a secluded community stacked with resilient barns and farmyard cottages. Small streams fluttered gently through, giving a lifeline to all. They harvested in these areas. Fields were replenished with the flaxen sway of barley, wheat and flowers of all kinds and along the paths and trails I saw many a horse-drawn cart burdened by such a crop. The trees bore the art of dappling the ground. As radiant sunbeams pierced the emerald foliage a soft pattern emerged across sweeps of spring grass.
  As I passed through, what I was told, the last community, the expanse of woodland ahead held wonder in my eyes. Vast trees repressed the land as that of a game-keeper would of a wild animal. The country itself appeared as wild and untamed as a beast. Dense black obscured the realities of what was kept within. The coldness here may be harsher than that of human heart. But as dread locked my heart I descended into the oncoming slaughter with no looking back and no thought ahead.

  My first night in the forest was bleak. A choir of animal screeches barraged me relentlessly till dawn and foraging creatures neared my choice place of rest. I woke early and set about gathering my belongings into the sack I carry. I had not eaten the previous day so some bread I had purchased from the settlement beforehand provided nourishment for the day ahead. I trod slowly along the track, my calloused feet grinding on the fine stones. Up ahead I identified a shack of somewhat old features. It opened out into a clearing, which exposed a farm community of small aggregate although an active one. Passing through revealed an odour of sweet cooking to my tired senses. A lady of large proportions called to me through the hustle and bustle of the village workers. I replied and accepted a query to step inside her home. If she had not called I would not have stopped for women of my kind are not welcome in taverns.
‘Your travelling…?’ she questioned, although her tone suggested she already knew that fact.
I confirmed her suspicions. ‘ Aye, miss, I am.’ She nodded and poured me a mug of fresh ale, homemade, she bragged and I laughed inside at the open proudness of these simple people.                                    ‘Where you be headed then, not many folk make journey through these woodlands?’ I paused. I had no way to answer. Where I was going was a mystery even to myself.
‘Ha, no idea I see. A woman of the wilderness huh.’ I had paused long enough it had seemed.
‘You don’t wana be hanging around here lassie. There’s all sorts o trouble.’ She leaned in close to my face and I could smell her strong farmy breath. ‘If you aint one of them, you aint here long.’ She drew a line with her finger across her neck. I knew her intentioned meaning almost immediately. This was a community of puritans I’d landed myself with. Witch trials began and ended here and so could my life.
‘I’ll take good note of that, miss. I aint planning to stay awhile anyhow. T’is in my nature to roll free, miss.’ She laughed loudly.
‘Just mind yourself. A girl of your age and features sure to attract that of young men. What you be…15, 16?’
‘Aye, miss. 16 years I be, although my birth date is for no ones diary.’ Nodding in amusement she probed again.
‘And who may I call you, may I ask?’ I knew this was coming. I did not want to answer her but I knew I must, after all I would be gone by tomorrow.
‘Sahita, miss and I travel alone.’ She stood, as a man of similar appearance entered her domain. Verse of a well-known ballad caught my ears.

Call for the wind, spit on the land
Rain on the years, cough through the sand,
I own what I’ve taken and sell what I prize
Land of the fertile brings on my highs.

  The drunken tune wavered in his ale-ridden tone, but the women he called wife beckoned him on, dancing round his bulky physique. He stood tall, tall as thoroughbred although his body indicated use of farming or building. Hair of dark tone came down to his broad shoulders, but he seemed friendly. Friendly enough for me.
‘Look husband, dear. I have brought a young lass from the road to dinner. Do you admire not her.’ He scrutinized me; the pressure to fulfil his briefing was tremendous. Finally he rose.
‘You aint one of us, is ya? You don’t visit church on the Sabbath and you don’t keep to God’s rules.’ He took a sad breath. ‘You don’t belong here missy, after night be gone, for rumours spread like wild fire and you’d sooner be accused than left to. You are a pretty gal. Be a shame to loose such a face as yours.’ I looked to my first companions face for reassurance.
‘He speaks words of wisdom, missy. You don’t belong here.’

  I slept in their home that night, in the spare room above the animal’s barns. They gave me food at the table and told me tales of old times and rumours of present affairs. They asked of my past but I gave them little in what to work with. My own customs would not bear well with their own. Morning light streamed into my bedroom through the small window in the eaves. It pattered silently on the wooded floor whispering words of comfort and warmth in my ears to awake me from sweet slumber. Morning cockerels crowed in morning arousal to be joined by animals of all kind, some from beneath me sung gracious harmonies. I packed my sack lightly and descended to the kitchen at the heart of my hosts’ home.
‘You wake early young ‘un. I did not expect to see you before near noon.’ Catherine, as she had named herself the night before, addressed my early rise.
‘I am an early riser miss. I like to be up with the dawn cry.’
‘And you can hear it well in these parts, I give you. Do you eat in the mornings?’ The stench of cooking suddenly infiltrated my mind. I could see eggs, fresh bacon, sausages and toasted bread lying aplenty within my grasp.
‘I do. Thank you. Though not always in this abundance.’ My eyes must have been wide with awe.
‘I’ll fetch you a plate. Sit down and pour yourself ale from the table.’ Her drab puritan attire swathed around her ankles as she set to, ladling hot delicacies onto her treasured ceramic plates. She laid a steaming portion before me and I tucked into the delight I was unaccustomed to. We spoke as we ate.
‘There’s an old man in the village, Matthew of name; old I must say though ill. Come down with a spotty disease. No doctors here so he suffers alone. I shall visit him today so I be gone after you have eaten. Poor soul. No one left now in the world. I dare say you’re the same.’
My guilt blushed my cheeks as I replied. ‘I have none I call family left, though I can do well for the old man. I have remedies of all kinds in my sack. I shall go with you if you are willing.’
‘I trust your methods as some others would not, so yes, come with me and bring your remedies with you.’ I snatched my sack up before we left to help old Matthew of who I would come very close to in the next few weeks. It proved worthy.
 
  We arrived at Matthews run down cottage in the early hours before noon. He was resting though not asleep and sat up when he saw us come to the door. Catherine urged the door open to reveal a one-roomed building containing only a bed and belongings of the inhabitant. The wily although warm-hearted man welcomed us with open arms and called for us to sit at his bedside by the open fire.
‘Catherine, you are most welcome in my home. It is good to see you and your companion, who I inquire as to the nature of…?’
  Catherine smiled openly. ‘This is Sahita. She passes through the village and boasts remedies to relieve you of your illness.’ She turned to me in expectancy so I delved into my sack to bring out the leaves and flowers I would need. I boiled them in his kitchen pots as they talked about the normal things that normal people talk about. I could not consider myself one of them. My mother was a conjurer of dark arts and I still possess her tarot cards and beliefs in such spirits and sight of the future. I do not tell that to the people I meet, to do so would ensure my neck be taught by a hangers post. When I had readied the medicine I stepped to the old mans side. I sat on the stool at his bed and offered him the sweet scented juice I had produced.
‘It will heal your sores and rid your body of the sickness in time.’ I pronounced, ‘you will need to take this once a day until there is none left.’ He nodded his approval and sipped down the liquid slowly.
‘Sahita,’ he called as I turned my back, ‘I would like to talk to you again, maybe tomorrow. There are things we need to discuss. And here take this commission.’ He pressed a gold coin into my palm.
‘Thank you,’ I pleaded, ‘most kind. I will surely visit if I can find home for the night.’ Catherine bid me stay and we left Matthew with his remedy to journey home through the woodland. It was approaching noon and soon the farmers would be home, expecting a broth or soup to warm their stomachs. Catherine turned to me in the tepid heat, and contemplated me superstitiously.
‘If you stay Sahita, you’ll have to mind your own. We get caught with a witch in out midst and it’ll be all of us up for the hangman’s noose,’ I concurred and kept the pace at a level stride, ‘and if you’re out the house you’ll need a change of garb. A fresh pinafore and something that’ll make you look like you belong here. Mine wont fit a thin ‘un like you so we’ll stop at Charlotte’s on the way.’
‘Thank you miss, but I aint no witch, I aint. You can take my word for that, miss.’
‘In the eyes of others things may be clouded. They’d sooner condemn you than let you be so keep to the rules, Sahita.’ At that she kept a fair distance, not too close but not to far away, until we got to Charlotte’s.
  It was one of the well-built houses we entered as I was informed we were at Charlotte’s. It appeared to be made of stone, one of the scarce ones that were and resembled that of a wealthy family. The furnishings were aligned to perfection and all I met were polite and spoke to a bear minimal. I was told that this family were highly respected in the community; not to be messed with for they were very puritan. We first met the head of the family, Daniel Johnson, I was introduced, much to my chagrin and we were shown through to where Charlotte Johnson was with her daughters, sewing, a much loved past time of this house.
‘Catherine, I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you fairing? Good or ill? It’s been so busy recently hasn’t it? With the farm and the children. How is your husband…’ I noticed a certain disregard to myself although I was not resentful. It was Catherine who, in the end, brought the discussion back to its original purpose.
‘I have a girl here,’ she offered, ‘she’s knew to the village and needs some clothes…do you think you could find something her size?’ Charlotte did not look best pleased by the turn around of the conversation.
‘Well, ummm, yes. I suppose I could take a look in my wardrobe. Wait there.’ Her impatient strut gave way to the desires she might have. I never did feel the need to say it to Catherine but at present she appeared an arrogant wench. If she ever took a notice to me that was not deprecating, she had no intention of showing it. We saw her tasselled blond hair first as she rounded the corner to present her verdicts. Her sharp lips split open.
‘This was all I could find.’ Tasteless was the first thing that came to mind. A purely puritan brown and white pinafore and accessories. I stood waiting to hear Catherine’s conviction. ‘Well take it then.’ Charlotte thrust the garments in my face.
‘Aye, lass, take them.’ Catherine pointed and so I did. I thanked her and paid the gold coin I had been given by Matthew. She snatched the money and gave it to her youngest daughter for safekeeping. Then she gave up her gaze on me and returned to Catherine.
‘T’is the Sabbath tomorrow, Catherine. I expect you’ll be attending church so I shall see you there.’
‘You shall Charlotte,’ was her reply.
We arrived home later than hoped for, as the men had already returned. They had news form the village not far from here; a ten minute walk so I was informed. They had accused an old woman of witchcraft, a midwife she was and an apothecary of sorts. Catherine knew of her but showed no relation, although the tired moroseness in her eyes proved these times were taking their toll.
‘We shall walk there abouts to watch the sore hanging, or not? She floated they say.’ Catherine declined her husband’s acquisition.
‘I’ve seen too many, dear, too many. Another would not do me; I need to be at Arielle anyway. There are things need buying.’ So I was left alone that afternoon. I went out, to explore the village and find new places. I searched the surrounding woods for plants and flowers I could make use of and found great places to hide from people I did not like.
  In one clearing I crouched in my puritan attire to study a plant I did not recognize. It had a beautiful flower of crimson red hue prancing around an array of jade leaves. It was alone, I recognised, like myself. I wanted to pick it and take it back but such a crime would be uncalled for, it belongs here, where I don’t. A rustle caught my attention. I glanced up and surveyed the vicinity. There was nothing about. I gave my attention to the plant once more when a boy of tall body walked into the clearing where I was sitting. He remarked me with a jolt of surprise, as I him. His blond hair hung limply over his tanned face; he was handsome, as ever I’d seen. In one hand he held a deer of small proportions, dead and freshly killed, in the other a knife, dripping with blood of the deer. Silence blanketed us. The sun caught his gaze, lifting his eyes he noticed the change. He strode over and gave me a hand. I shook it gladly.
‘Tom.’ He offered.
‘Sahita.’ I replied. The awkwardness didn’t deliver.
‘Come with me. Let me take you places.’ I went with all the willingness I could have offered


To Be Continued...xX

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