Village of Elethon by GJ Woodrum

A one author fantasy anthology.

Contains the stories, Lissie's Foal, Little Childen, Lost andThe Shepherd's Dog

Heat Rating: Zero Fire

Content Warning: None

Three tales of magic in a small medieval village.

Lissie's Foal The villagers hide an unusual mare from the Lord to protect her while she gives birth to a very special foal.

Rain lashed the village, ran in an unchecked torrent down the unpaved roads and footpaths, churned in the narrow drainage ditch and had the newly plowed fields awash.

Marta watched the deluge from the overhang of her cottage's porch, a small grey cat winding anxiously around her ankles. "Sorry, Mist, but I don't think this is going to stop any-time soon." She sighed, bent down to pick up the purring feline and turned to go inside.

"Hey, Marta," a young man called from amid the downpour, "Lissie's gonna have her foal, are you comin' ta watch?"

She turned to see Joelan slogging through the calf deep river that had recently been a street, sighed and put the cat inside the house. "Well, I guess I want to watch, but I'm not too certain that I want to go out in this though."

"I kinda thought you wouldn't want to. Not after bein' so sick and all this winter-past. Still, it isn't every day we get to see such a thing." He stepped up onto her porch to get out of the rain for a minute and for the first time she noticed that he was bare-footed.

"True," she agreed. "But where are your boots, Joelan?"

"I left them at home, no sense gettin' them wet too."

"True enough, I guess. And yes, I'm coming to see Lissie. Thanks for letting me know, Joelan."

"No trouble at all, I was already soaked anyway. My pox-rotted cart is still stuck in that ditch over by Miller's. Can't say that this rain'll help get it loose either." He smiled and strode back out into the rain. "I'll be seein' you there then, I've got to go tell Sharla and Miller and then my wife."

"All right, I'll see you at the Smith's. With a sigh Marta went inside to get her oilskin cloak and a jug of her best cider. Once the foal was born there'd be a party, never-mind about the dismal weather, and she wanted to add her own special touch to the celebration.

Little Children, Lost Two village children are missing. Can Daughter Lythia and the rest of the villagers find them before it's too late?

"How could they have gotten lost? I just don't understand it," the younger woman remarked as she poured another cup of tea for her guest.

"Neither does anyone in town. Those two have gone into that area of the woods together since they were knee-high to a pony. They've been to that berry patch dozens of times without trouble, and now this." Marta sighed and took the offered cup, added a tiny spot of honey, and sat stirring the pale gold liquid. Her eyes wandered around the priestess's sparsely furnished room, taking in the overwhelming number of books on the shelves, the fragile delicacy of the porcelain dishes in the glass fronted cupboard. Lythia didn't have many things, but the ones she did have were beautiful and--from all appearances--costly. Her gaze fell on a tiny gilt-worked birdcage that contained the almost ethereal tendrils of a fernvine, its leaves and stems a soft, misty green. Even though the room was not very large, somehow it felt spacious, and homey too. So different than when the priest had been here. Not that she'd seen the room more than once or twice in the thirty years he'd been their spiritual guide. The old curmudgeon had been too stiff and formal to ever truly become a part of the life in the village, having limited his contact with them to the required duties; services once a week, marriages and funerals as needed.

Marta shook her head with the memory of a time gone-by, smiled at Lythia and sipped from her cup.

Lythia sat back in her chair, marveling at the bright spark of life that burned so clearly in the elderly woman's autumn-sky colored eyes. Marta was the oldest person in the village, and, like everyone else, she'd not enjoyed a life of ease and luxury but one of hard work and struggle. Lythia felt the greatest admiration for her and all the villagers as well. Theirs was a life so different from the one she had known in her parents' manor house, and at the seminary, that she felt like an outsider when she'd first come to Elethon Town. Though now she'd begun to realize that she was possibly among the best friends she'd ever had, or ever would. With the children missing, she had an almost driving desire to try and help find them. But as long experience had taught her, she was no great hand in the forest.

"Perhaps I should help one of the others look for the children," she offered, quietly and looked at Marta to see what she would think of the idea. Lythia still wasn't quite certain when her help was wanted among these people and she didn't want to do anything to offend them. Her instructors at the seminary had been very specific about such offers. They had summed it up simply: Don't offer to help those people in anything but matters of the spirit.

Lythia had tried to adhere to those words of advice, and had found herself wanting for the discipline needed. So far, nothing untoward had occurred because of it. In fact there were more people coming to hear her sermons than had been coming--according to church records--for the last five years running. They were all so kind, thoughtful and attentive to her daily needs. And since coming here she'd not wanted for pottage-grain, firewood, meat or anything she could think of.

Marta hesitated to remind the younger woman how easily she could get lost in the woods herself, and decided to try and steer the priestess toward doing something else. "I suppose I should be helping too," Marta admitted, taking another cautious sip of the still steaming tea. "But I'm afraid that it's been so long since I've done any scrying that I may have forgotten how. Ah, Lythia, dear, do you remember how it's done?"

"Well," Lythia considered for a moment. She did know how to find a straying lamb or calf that way. Although she'd never tried looking for people before, she doubted the method would be too radically different. How much harder could it be to search for a couple of lost children instead of an animal? she mused. "All right, I'll try."

Marta's smile grew even more sprightly, "Splendid," she exclaimed. "And it just so happens," she reached into the basket she always carried with her, "that I brought my scrying dish along. I remember you saying that yours got lost on the journey here."

Ah, Marta, ever the cunning one. I don't doubt that you'll be head of the village for many years to come. "Well, I was wondering why you came out to visit me, Marta." Lythia took the shallow stone dish that the elderly woman was proffering to her with a wry grin. "Ah, tis a most canny lady ye are, Elder Marta. An' I'll wager ye'll be servin' the Town o' Elethon for many a year to come."

Marta listened to the younger woman's imitation of the town's reeve, a man who'd come to the village from a place far away from their little town. "I'm beginning to think Morgam was right, you should have become an actress, not a priestess. You do have the gift for dialects and such."

"My parents wouldn't hear of it. Especially not after my sister ran off with that troubadour," Lythia explained as she poured a dab milk into the stone dish from a little pitcher on the table. Focusing most of her attention on the tiny pool of milk, Lythia picked up the pot of tea and added a splash of it to the milk, watching the resultant swirling of the two liquids intently.

Marta rose to her feet and went around the table to gaze into the cloudy mixture over Lythia's shoulder.

"Oh, my!" the younger woman gasped at the picture that was forming in the eddies of tea and whirls of milk. Two little girls, their homespun tunics spattered with the red-black of berry juice and smears of mud, were huddled together beside the bole of an ancient lightning-scarred tree. Large blue-green eyes, reddened from crying, stared fearfully from dirt streaked faces. A milk-cloud obscured them for an instant and cleared to reveal more of the scene. The embers of a campfire flickered dimly, beside it were two rag-clad starvelings, their poor health, unkempt appearance and never still, flitting gazes marking them for outlaws. She could see that the two men were talking, but could not tell what was being said.

Blurb The Shepard's Dog The Shepherd has been brutally murdered and the only witness is his dog.

"And you say the lord's men have imprisoned most of the parishioners for drunken behavior? Why, how could that be when there's scarcely enough ale in the whole of the village to get a half-grown child tipsy?"

Calandra hiked the small child she was carrying back onto her hip and shook her head, "T'was th' lor's own ale they was at drinkin' las' eve', Daughter. An' once the'd drunk it down, the lor' man, he says, ëLock the lot o' them up me lads! I'll be havin' no drunkards aroun' ëere.' An' thot was wa' they did, locked the lot of them up then an' there. An' that's where they remain. Locked in th' lor's barn, ev'n as we be speakin' o' it, I'll warrant."

"Why didn't anyone come fetch me last eve then?"

"Cause t'wasn't ëtil dawn light that Ada brought th' tale ta us, Daughter Lythia. Th' lor' man let her go, on account she's got a new babe ta suckle, an' there's nary another wet breast in th' whole village. They as what had family up to th' lor's for his harvestin' still be home all watchin' little uns. An mos' of them be th' oldsters, Daughter. Cold as t'was this mornin' Ö" she shrugged, and bounced the child back up onto her hip. "Well, once I knowed th' story I come with my little'un here. Ev'n if I got no kin at th' lor's estate, t'was easier for me ta make th' walk than one o' the old folks. I come right away ta be tellin' ya. Everyone else has a brood ta look out for, I jus' got Florrie and she ain't no great bother."

"And you've done well," I agreed, taking the younger woman by her right arm and gently guiding her into the even cooler interior of the temple. "Now, Calandra. I have a favor to ask of you. If I am to go and ransom the villagers from the lord's jail, I need you to go around the temple and put out all of the candles that I lit for services this morning."

"But, Daughter, I hurried out here ta tell ya wha' was goin' on an' I forgot myself ta feed Florrie here." Calandra replied. I knew what the woman's problem was. Everyone in the village feared to stay in the church because of the graveyard outside. Rumors claimed it to be a haunted place.

"You needn't fear ghosts, Calandra," I reassured her, knowing why she was so hesitant. "There is some bread and plum preserves in my room at the back that you can give little Florrie here. Cheese is in the pantry if she'd rather have that."

"We shouldn't...."

"Nonsense, my child. Now you do as I ask and I'll be on my way."

"Yes, Daughter Lythia. But soon as th' candles is out, I'll be goin'. I've got work today, now that th' folks're all in the lor's holdin' there be no one ta milk the cows an' such."

"Very well, then. Do as you must, just as I shall." And, having said this I hurried down the steps of the temple and out to the small ramshackle building that served as my stable. It was but the matter of a brief moment's work to saddle and bridle my shaggy riding pony and, still wearing my holy vestments, I urged the sturdy but none to swift beast to its best distance eating pace; a bone rattling trot.

With some dismay I noted that there were sheep grazing in the cemetery, the notches on their ears proclaiming them to be none other than the Lord's own herd. No sign of the shepherd or his dog could I find, other than the carefully made breach in the piled stones that were used to wall the beasts out of the graveyard. The stones had been reset, lower than before, but high enough to keep the sheep from straying. I sighed in exasperation. This was desecration of a holy place, pure and simple. Not that the Lord considered our religion to be of any importance or concern. Just another point for me to discuss with him, along with this inexplicable incarceration of his tenants.

I rode down the rutted dirt path that served as road between the village proper and the Mother's temple and was soon on the wider track that ran betwixt all of the outlying farmsteads. Deep ruts, from the harvest laden carts, transformed the poor road into a track that was pure misery for the short-legged pony. Mercifully, the eastern edge was still smooth, that side being on a steeper angle that could overturn a heavily laden cart.

As I rode through the town itself I was struck by the unusual quiet. Although I could hear the clucking of chickens, the lowing of the cattle in a distant field, the crying of a single babe, the normal sounds of laughter, mothers admonishing their children, men talking about the tasks at hand, were all missing. Like my usual early morning worshippers. I continued on, past the village green and the communal well, taking the right-hand path that led to the Lord's manor.

Golden wheat stubble showed the progress of the harvest as I neared the Lord's estate. Farther in the distance I could see the fields belonging to the villagers. Long stalks of unshorn grain swayed gently in the morning sunlight, rye, barley, wheat and oats in shades of rich yellows and golds. From my vantage point atop the pony I could even see the orangeberry hedges that bordered the fields closest to Whitewater Creek.