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  LUNAMAE: A TALE OF ORINDA

  A novel by April Sadowski

  Published by April Sadowski

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2010 April Sadowski

  http://www.aprilsadowski.com

  Discover other titles by April Sadowski at Smashwords.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN-10: 0989358402

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9893584-0-8

  The girl on the cover is a representation of Lunamae.

  Under a full Luna in the month of Mae

  There would be a child, fair as day

  Peace will reign in all the lands

  When she rules with her loving hands.

  This is the story of Lunamae

  as told by her foster sister and cousin, Muirenn.

  Chapter 1

  Child of Night

  I was twelve in the year 375 of the New Orindan Calendar when the village of Feyris was in uproar over a wonderful new arrival. It was the fifth day on the fifth month under the light of a full luna when my aunt, Chief Dame Angharad had finally carried her first child into the world. I only remembered the fevered screams and shouts coming from her chamber in the keep while she was in labor. I ran outside to try to find the warm and comforting arms of my mother. She was nowhere to be found and I realized she must have been with the chief dame as well as most of the other maidens of clan.

  Angharad was of the clan Frys as was I. My father was her brother and my mother in due service paid her allegiance by being one of her attendants. My mother was from the clan of Yale in the North’s village of Feyln but my father married her by arrangement to keep the peace between the villages of Feyln and Feyris. She came here to live before the arrangement had been made (his parents liked her) and then they were allowed to have a family which is rare. There were the maidens of the clan who would assist the chieftain’s wife and they weren’t allowed to marry. Those who had gained favor and were allowed to marry local clansmen were called matrons. So my mother became a matron. The chieftain had his menfolk of course. They helped advise him in matters of trade and keeping the area secure from invaders. For the most part we keep to ourselves here. We didn’t typically get along with the other villages. We only had Moir Awin as a true ally because the chief dame’s husband was from there.

  The chieftain had died six months prior at the Battle of Wortha Hill near Harper Wood. He was buried with the rest of his clansmen, the Vorkulsen, in a small crypt near Moir Awin’s chapel. I was told by Taros the Bard of the battle. I liked to follow him around and ask him questions on his travels whenever he frequented Feyris. It was a gory one with the people of Kyrie with death all around, and the waterfalls ran red with blood. Luckily I was a girl and not able to fight. I had two brothers who had gone. One had come back but he lives at home now in solitude. He lost his sword arm and couldn’t do much. He didn’t talk much either. It was all right though; I did the talking for most of the family anyway. Oftentimes my mother would tell me to keep my trap shut as I accompanied her in the keep. Not only was I blunt, but I had a tendency to let out secrets or be very rude to someone of a higher station.

  The village of Feyris was built around the keep and had a moat surrounding it. There was a magical bridge on the end leading to the keep which had been mystified a few hundred years earlier. That side had a bit of a drop-off. They called it the Humble Bridge because if you think about yourself it will disappear. I was terrified of it. It didn’t seem to cause much trouble even with the traveling merchants coming through the King’s Pass from Aelisonia or those from the eastern region of Chalos or Southern Fanarion.

  I ran through the village and finally found my father, the farrier. I figured my brother Logan wouldn’t be of much help as he had been in a rough sleep when I left the house. My father was washing one of the stabled horses to prep it for shoeing when I approached him. While cleaning the horse was not a requirement, he liked to add a personal touch to his business.

  “What are you doing child, running around at this hour?” he asked strongly as he worked on untangling the mane of a mare. My father was not one to cross. He was not so tall, but what he lacked in height he made up in brawn. He was wide-shouldered with a strong frame, brown hair, and a solid beard. The lunalight had cast shadows upon his face which made him look especially grumpy.

  I just bit my lip and looked into his face, trying to put on a slight pout. “I can’t sleep with everything going on out there and in the house,” I said confidently. “Logan is moaning again. Between that and Angharad in the keep …”

  “It’s fine Muirenn,” he said. He had finished his work on the horse’s mane and began on the dirt and grime with a comb which had little teeth on the side. “Why do you think I’m out here? Your mother carried three and it was no less than the chief dame.”

  “Doesn’t the midwife have anything to ease the pain?” I inquired. I was curious of things of nature and the lore of herbs was of exceptional interest. I believed the Creator puts healing things in the living plants for us to discover. I don’t think there is anything wrong with using what the Creator gave us in order to use for the good of others. Any decent woman would have a small chest on hand when traveling or at home which would be full of medicinal herbs. There were also some used for the culinary arts such as dianthus which was used in the summer to flavor dishes with a clove-like taste. Some people would rather grow it for the pretty flowering buds instead. Of course, that’s the reason why our village had an apothecary.

  “She might have been unable to administer for fear of causing injury to the babe,” he answered me. “Your mother had told me there had been issues with the chief dame. If the chief dame isn’t able to procure an heir she would be forced to marry again. She does not want her title up for voting. I know it wasn’t something she would want to do. She loved Chieftain Leofric and didn’t want another man in her life, but she would rather marry again than give up being a chief dame. She wants peace and doesn’t think most of the men here care much for that. It is the way it is here; the rules of the village. You must have a child or a spouse to carry on ruling or a vote will be made for a new chieftain. If only a relation were necessary, then I would be able to rule.”

  “Oh,” I said softly.

  “It’s not something you should worry yourself with. You are too young to understand,” Father said, soothing the mare which was getting anxious from all the commotion in the village.

  “I should probably go back to my needlework,” I said. “Mother has been getting upset with me for dawdling about with it.”

  “It would be a better idea than being out here all night. I would worry for you being alone in the dark,” Father said. He took my hand and patted it. “Let me walk you home. This horse won’t be going anywhere for a while. I can finish her before morning.”

  We walked back to the house where we lived. It was a two-room building which was a lot more than most people had. There were some who only lived in tents here but we had more because of our status. The house had a thatched roof and a dirt floor and only two windows that were open-air, but it was home. We passed a couple with people still tending them. You would think it was day by the amount of people out-of-doors but it would seem they had been in the same predicament as I. As we neared the house, I could hear my brother in the main room still moaning. I had the loft above and my parents had the second room for themselves. My father opened the
door and went to his room to get a few more things for the horse he was cleaning and then left. I looked at my brother; his sword arm was making movements as much as could be done from where the stub remained. I was certain he was reliving the Battle of Wortha in his sleep. I slept in the loft above the eating and preparation area. There was a table and some chairs—we had five there for when my other brother was still alive—and then the stairs behind it that led to the loft.

  I didn’t mind sleeping up there, away from everyone else. Mother often kept herbs drying off the side of the loft where it was darker and we had plenty of wind coming through via the windows. Their scents weren’t overpowering and helped me get to sleep. It was like breathing in a tea every night.

  I went up to the loft and grabbed the cloth and the needle and thread I had nearby. I sat down on the pallet I had for a bed and started working. I had started on a depiction of the house we lived in and my family as we would have been if the war didn’t claim life. The outer of the cloth had each of the neighboring clan villages on it. There were the larger villages: Pinor, Alta, Moir Awin, Bexweth, Feyln, and Feyris, and then some smaller ones. I had carefully sewn in the names of Gwnydd, Caerbrok, Hannefyrd, and Bran.

  I was lucky to still live with my parents. I had grown up in another house, that of the Rees, a very notable family in the village. Fosterage was typical here as it kept the village close. Usually a child is given to their oide and miume—or foster-father and mother—after a year of birth. They would stay with them until they were twelve and then be assigned another family until they were seventeen. After the battle, the chief dame said the fosterage would stop for a generation in order to facilitate new growth between the families who had lost the first-born heirs (such as mine with my older brother Bran). Her child would be part of the new generation.

  I had been stitching one last part on the roof of the house when all the chaos outside stopped abruptly and I heard cheers instead of cries. I got down from the loft and ran out of the house as quickly as I could to see what was the matter. Before I knew it, my mother was running out of the keep some distance away, her light brown hair unfurling from her formerly plaited head. Her dress looked like it was bloody but it didn’t seem as though she cared. She ran straight for the cook house. I assumed she went in there to get some food for the chief dame.

  I decided to run after her to see what was going on. By the time I arrived to the cook house she was just leaving and quickly shooed me off, but allowed me three simple words:

  “Lunamae has arrived.”

  Chapter 2

  The Age of the Altram

  I was thirteen and my mother hurriedly dressed me up in the best clothes she could find of mine, even though I was fully capable of dressing myself. I had a chemise with a bodice and skirt over top. Since it was a little chilly as would be expected nearing the autumn equinox in the month of Sedyfr, Mother insisted I also wear a scarf. I was rushed out of the house and taken along with her to the keep. It was barely a few hours after dawn and the air was especially cold with a northern breeze coming through the village.

  “What are we doing, where are we going?” I asked curiously, scratching my legs. The skirt was made of wool and was itching. I just wanted the itching to stop. Even though I did have a chemise under it, I could still feel spikes every now and then from the coarse fabric.

  My mother stopped for a second and gazed up at the sky. “There is still some time so I can tell you,” she said. She knelt down so she could look at me eye-to-eye. “Remember what the chief dame said about the next generation starting the new fosterage?” I nodded in recollection. “Her daughter Lunamae is the beginning of her new generation. She will be a dalta to me. You will be her foster-sister as well as her cousin by blood.”

  The thought of my parents having another child through birth never crossed my mind. Even though my mother was not old, she seemed fine with the amount of children she had. Lunamae would be a foster-child, otherwise known as a dalta. My parents would care for her as their own until she was twelve. Then I would assume she’d live with another set and then go back to her mother. In our village we were never far from our parents even in altram. My parents always checked up on me so I didn’t think my foster-parents were my real ones. I expected my aunt, the chief dame, to do the same.

  I was led up to the keep, a little unsure of the whole situation. As much as a sister would be nice for conversation, this was a baby we were getting. In our village we didn’t consider any offspring to be children until they could talk. In my opinion, babies were only good for crying, whining, and dirtying themselves. I hoped I didn’t get the duty of changing and cleaning the undergarments. I had never been taught how to do that of course as Mother hadn’t another child younger than I. Of course, she would have to teach me sooner or later as I needed to know to be a proper housewife for when the time came, but I wasn’t keen on learning.

  The keep was very basic. It had four towers on each side, with staircases in those towers leading to the second level. The first level contained a living area, a dining area, and another room which was used for occasions such as this and aptly named the hall of duty. Like most rooms in the keep, there was a fireplace. Due to the temperature this time of year, I could already tell by the smell they were all lit. The air contained the scents of wood, pinecones, and cinnamon. Chief Dame Angharad always liked to add cinnamon, imported from Fanarion, as a special touch and make the atmosphere cozier. I would rather drink it in a cider than smell it mixed with smoke. The amount she put in made my lungs burn and my eyes water a bit.

  We had walked through the doorway of the keep when I turned around to take a look behind me, the Humble Bridge was stretched out eerily in front although I could see some travelers going across and they didn’t seem to fall. There would be a time when I would need to use the bridge but I was hoping it would be later rather than sooner.

  The door was closed by two guards and I turned forward to take in the familiar surroundings. My father would have been entitled to live here had he not married a woman from another clan, but it was perfectly fine with him. Since it smelled so much it was fine with me too. We were able to move about freely enough, and as my mother was a matron, we did have a small area in the keep where we could have a bit of quiet to ourselves. Most of the women there did needlework quietly or read the illuminated manuscripts delivered by the clergy at Bexweth. I of course had the gift of gab rather than sewing so my mother rarely let me go with her.

  The entrance to the keep was quite wide since the staircases to the next level were spiral and contained within the towers. The entryway was a large room with a fireplace perpendicular from the entrance doorway. To either side of the fireplace was a door. One door led to the room for feasting and the other to the room for ceremony and other duties of the leader. The walls were of stone which might have explained why the cliff under the bridge is so deep. There were a few tapestries on either side that my mother along with the women had made over the course of five years. It was nice to see them actually completed and hung as I hadn’t been in the keep recently, mostly because Aunt Angharad and my mother were cranky. Most of the people in the keep were familiar to me as were also most in the village—save a few friars who had come from Bexweth to prepare a blessing. We were all related in some form. The clan made sure to marry outside the clan every once in awhile, like my father did, to keep the bloodlines strong. Intermarriage can cause issues with children. I heard that’s why the Rees who fostered me lost their first son. There were some issues with the lungs and he died a babe.

  We entered through the door on the left into the hall of duty. Most of the room was full of my relatives. My father was standing beside Chief Dame Angharad and she had a small crib with the babe Lunamae nestled quietly inside, although she was standing up in it and using the rails as support. At her age she would almost be able to walk. I was happy they decided to wait slightly later in the year as I had my parents to myself rather than sharing them over the summer with thi
s new little one who would most likely need plenty more attention than I. The month of Nachfyr was reaching ever so quickly and soon the winter snow would keep us all huddled together in our quaint house. We were prepared for the winter. My father shod enough horses to be able to provide for us, and given the fosterage of Lunamae, the heir, we had been granted a small allowance for extra care for her.

  “Hello Muirenn, my sweet little niece.” My aunt waved me forward and gave me a light embrace. She was tall and slender and her solis-kissed hair swept over me when she put her arms around me. The air was thick from the amount of bodies in it but I overcame the atmosphere to reply.

  “Not so little,” I said with a smile. “I have grown a bit this year, Father says.” My father beamed proudly at me from Angharad’s side. We had a branch with notches in it to track my progress and these past few years there were many new notches.

  The chief dame let me go and then looked around the room. “Your brother Logan is not here I see.” She sighed in disappointment. “The battle has not been easy on any of us.” She looked at the ring on her hand. The one she had been given as she pledged a life with Chieftain Leofric years prior. The ring seemed lonely without its mate, buried underneath Moir Awin.

  “But there are reasons to rejoice.” Angharad smiled widely, looking down on her daughter with loving eyes. “New life will always prevail through destruction. Let it be said.”

  “May it be so,” all in the room answered. The friars moved forward, unveiling some precious holy water, a sign of the Creator, and the Text of Illumination that would be given to the new child in preparation of a life in dedication to the Creator. This was not only a ceremony of fosterage, but humility. Angharad would show her allegiance to the Creator by gifting the life of Lunamae to him. One of the friars—they called him Barri—took out a few drops of the water and sprinkled it on Lunamae. The drops touched her crystalline face but she didn’t care. She cooed with happiness and lifted her arms up.