inbetweensample by Writelink

Table Of Contents The Inbetween ……………………………………………………………………………. The Coming Of The Yule ………………………………………………………………... Feast And Fire ……………………………………………………………………………. Signs And Omens ………………………………………………………………………… The Lay Of Lynbury Hall ………………………………………………………………..

The Coming Of The Yule It was the time they call the inbetween. When trees raise bare and withered arms to keening skies. When wild fowl move like grey shades over leaded waters. The time when the lord of the green has long gone to the summer land and he who they call the winter king rides out from the land of shadows with death on his helm and a sword of ice in his hand. This time, that they call the inbetween and sometimes the long night, is a time when the veil between the worlds grows thin. It is a time for ghosts, for stories of what were, of what is and what shall be. It is a time, as the half darken days shorten towards Yule for old women in draughty hovels to draw closer to the hearth side and make pictures in the glowing embers with eyes that scry all that was and all that shall be â&#x20AC;Ś The woman called Arwyn, who huddled over the cooling hearth of Lynbury Hall was no cottage crone but a lady of high degree and well she knew the power of the inbetween. Many, who looked into her eyes and gazed upon the bland hue of watered milk, could not help but shudder when they saw she looked out only at a land of shadows. They knew her time in this world was fast waning and did not wonder that she sought the inbetween. But Arwyn had been too long in this world to care much for the thoughts of others and now that she sensed the ending of her time she had a great need to know that all would be well when she passed out of the testing circles of Abred. She stirred quietly in her seat, turning an ear for the sound of serving folk, but it was not yet time for the lighting of the rushes, though the light had all but gone from the day. Outside, though she could not see it, she knew that snow floated softly as swans down over the bare and barren earth. She knew that at the forest edge men struggled with ropes and sledges and made their way slowly and painfully back to the hall with the oaken log that would burn all the days of Yule. She knew because this was how it had always been, all the days of her life and this time, that they called the inbetween was the time she had been waiting for all the long year past. She, like many who had the art and who had survived so far past her span knew that the winter king had cast his eye upon her and though she did not fear his nod, for she knew that the journey he traveled was not one of death, but the long sleep which heals

and makes new, she held a sadness in her heart for those who would remain behind and, for those that would come after. If there were to be any such ones, for it was a great sorrow of hers that heirs of Lynbury Hall there was but one. She shivered and felt her heart quicken under her robe. She pulled the thick woollen folds tighter across her body and felt inside for the tiny pouch that there lay concealed. The last of the embers had died and she could smell the dead ash in the hearth place as it eddied in the draughts. Another tremor shook her body, but not now of cold, but through the sweet thrill of anticipation. Soon would come the Yule log with its garlands of ivy and holly, mistletoe and sweet juniper that would bring light and life to the land and light the way for the journey of the green king who would, after this long night, begin his return from the land of summer. Suddenly her heart leapt. From the courtyard without, her straining ears caught the sound of a horse whinnying and the raised voices of men. The great doors of the hall drew apart, letting in a draught of icy air and the fresh, wet smell of snow. Arwyn rose stiffly to her feet, her sightless eyes turning eagerly towards the visitor, but almost at once a wave of disappointment swept through her as a serving boy took her arm and whispered into her ear. “It is not the Yule my lady,” he said softly, “but the white brother from the Abbey.” The child’s words struck a chill horror in Arwyn’s heart. She had no need to ask the name of the visitor for there was only one that would make such a journey on this night of the inbetween. “Dormath,” she said coldly when the priest was shown into her presence, “the Abbot’s business must indeed be great to bring you so far in such weather.” The priest smiled softly. It was the sly smile of a plotting cat and though Arwyn could not see it she felt its malice in the same way that she could smell the rotting stink of evil that clung to him. “My lady,” he said smoothly, “I need not the excuse of business to bring me to your hall as well you know. We have many years between us and much to remember …” he stared pointedly at the hearth of soft ashes, “… around the Christmas fires.” Arwyn felt the heat of anger rise to her cheeks and her nostrils flared with rage.

“I can think of no memory that I should care to share with you,” she hissed, “and this is Yule that is celebrated here this night, not the birth of the Christ child which is yet some days hence.” Dormath shrugged. “It is of no matter my lady,” he said without rancor, “you have told me often that all gods are but one that go by different names according to the tongues of men. I come only to share your festival of Yule in the hope that you will see the holy light of Christ our Savior at the coming Christmas tide.” They each knew he lied. Arwyn shuddered in the growing cold and wondered how his presence would affect the inbetween. She knew he came to work some mischief, but wished that he had chosen some other time to do it. In her heart, though, she realised that it was the time itself that had brought the sly priest to her hall. The inbetween was a time of terror and dark horror to the uninitiated, but to those that had walked the sacred paths of the old mysteries, it was a gateway to power and unimaginable knowledge. Like many there about, she kept the Christian mass each Sabbath, but it was in the old gods she gave her trust. “You yourself baptised me Dormath,” she retorted, “it seems to me that you have already shown me the light of the Christ God.” The muscles in Dormath’s jaw tightened and his eyes slid sideways with undisguised anger. The memory of that time raced into his mind with the force of a spring snow melt. He no longer saw her withered form but a naked, vibrant beauty of tumbled auburn hair and skin as white as butter milk. Waist deep within an icy pool, he had found her with hands raised in supplication to the gods of earth, sky and water. His rage had been all consuming and through it had come the voice of God commanding him to beat the devil from her body which he had done with a vengeance and then, dragging her by the hair, and as an insult to the gods she worshipped, had marked her with cross in the heathen spring. There had been more, but he dared not let the other memories come, even now, all these years on he only had to think about the softness of her hair and the smoothness of her skin for his body to burn with a heat he had no right to feel.

Suddenly there came a tumultuous shout from without and he was saved from making any reply. Arwyn’s heart leaped with joy, this time she knew the Yule had arrived. The great doors of the Hall were flung apart for the second time that day and soon a great bustle of milling figures came bursting through carrying the hewn remains of a year seasoned oak Their leader was a giant of a man with hair like the tawny mane of a lion and for those that cared to notice, he had the goose grey eyes so like those of Arwyn’s when in the spring of her years. “Eadric, son of my hearth! It is you!” she cried. He had been away so long that she had despaired of his ever returning, that he should come now with the Yule she took as a fortuitous omen. He came and made his greeting like the good son he was. Taking Arwyn’s crooked fingers in both his own he raised them to his lips and kissed them lovingly, though they were cold and without feeling. “My lady …. Mother,” he said reproachfully, “why dwell you here beside the empty hearth?” “That thought was also in my mind,” said Dormath, smoothly. Eadric turned and frowned, noticing the priest for the first time. Though he knew nothing of his mother’s reasons for her great dislike of Dormath, he himself had no love for the weaselly priest. Of no physical size, the man’s presence, nonetheless, always made him uneasy. “Brother,” he said politely, “you are welcome here this night, but I sense it is not just the pleasure of our hall that brings you hence?” Dormath shook his head and assumed a pained expression. “My lord, you do me an injustice,” he said reproachfully, I am but a benighted traveler that seeks shelter from the bitter weather beside a friendly hearth side.” “Then stay and be comforted,” said Eadric, ever the courteous host. “Tonight you will dine at my right hand as befits the Abbot’s favourite.” Turning to Arwyn he put a strong arm around her and drew her towards him. “Now, my lady Mother, let us see what we can do about these shivers.” He called for spiced wine and thicker robes, but he did not call for wood or kindling, for he knew well the reason for her vigil and the inbetween of the long night. He

watched as she donned the robes as she was bidden and noted she was careful to leave the wine untouched. He looked at Dormath and hoped that the priest had not realised the significance of this. The Abbot was a powerful man and Lynbury held much land from him that it could ill afford to lose.

The Inbetween is published on Amazon Kindle. http://www.suekendrick.co.uk/inbetween

More Stories By Sue Kendrick

The Digfield Conjuror

The Black Kitten When I were young and growing folk didn’t have nowt but what they made themselves so’s when’s you got sick you got better in your own good time else not at all. Doctors in them times didn’t know sight more’n what we did and weren’t much use most times. Our Georgie were a puny thing right from the day he were born so’s parson christened him quick for fear o’ loosing him unblessed, but he were made of sterner stuff than what folk thought ‘cause he kept tacking on till the time when he were ‘bout four or five I

should think. He had a real bad goo wi’ ‘is chest then and Mother were out of her mind wi’ worry, him being her last and the only son, she’d be right sorry to lose him. Word got round like it do in these close by places and pretty soon Aunt Maud arrives. She took one look at Georgie and says to Mother, “You git the conjuror Bessie else it’s all up wi’ the lad!” Mother was horrified. “That I can’t do”, she says, “you know we be good church folk and don’t hold with such devilry!” “Then say goodbye to your boy,” replies Aunt Maud, “for sure he’ll be gone by morning!” Poor Mother were right done by them words so the conjurer was sent for though Mother liked it not a bit. He were a bit sweet on her and since father went he’d got a bit pressin’, though she’d none on it, being a God fearin’ woman. You ain’t never heard of the conjurer I suspect, but they were common enough them times. They had powers no ordinary folk had. Mostly they used ‘em fer good, but they were not a part from doing ill wi’ ‘em if you upset ‘em like. They weren’t to be trifled wi’. you had to treat ‘em respectful and you didn’t have to give ‘em any money neither. That were bad luck and an insult. You could gi’ ‘em a present, maybe a bit of ham or some eggs, but no money! I recall I were scared stiff of Joe Dancer. He were conjuror round here then and lived over Digfield way. Well I remember when he came to our Georgie. He had what the hoss chaps call a wall eye, that is to say there were no colour round one of his pupils and it gev him a wild look. He wore a silk topper I know, that were a bit squashed one side and on t’other he stuck a swan’s feather. He was scary right enough and everyone treated him respectful. He bent over the little truckle where Georgie lay and just looked. Then he put his hand in his pocket and took out a kitten. A tiny thing as black as soot it were. He got a hold on it’s paw and made some scratches on Georgie’s arm and then he tucked the little thing under the blanket next my brother. “What you doin’?” says Mother. “Do you want to kill my baby? ‘tis the fur that brings on his attacks, take that creature away this minute!” She goes to snatch up the kitten, but Joe stays her hand.

“Missus,” he growls, “leave be. ‘ev you not heard tell on cats having nine lives? Did I not save this kit from a watery end just an hour ago and is this creature not now forfeit to me?” “But what is that to poor Georgie?” demands Mother. “Eight lives hast left the little cat,” said Joe. “By my art I‘ev given four to your boy. This time fo’ward, as to one then to t’other!” Next day our Georgie were mending well and the conjuror were talk of the village, though Mother would have none on it. She’d prayed all night fer Georgie and she said it were the Lord’s will he got well. Anyway, time passes how it do and soon all the fuss dies away and our Georgie grew a strong lad and never coughed agin. That kitten grew strong too. Mother al’us referred to it as “His Nibs” ‘cause it used to strut about as if it owned the place and wouldn’t ‘ev owt to do wi’ anyone but Georgie. They were never far one from t’other which was why we knew summat was badly wrong when Nibs went missing fer a week on end. Georgie were nigh on daft wi’ grief and I dread to think what would have happened had Herbert Long not found the little malkin. Caught in an old gin, he were, lucky there were no bones broken and he recovered well enough. ‘bout a month later Georgie fell down an old bell shaft no one guessed existed. Took three days t’ find him and it were Nibs that took us theer in the end. Georgie weren’t hurt much, just weak from lack of food, but the conjuror came all the same. “Now Joe,” says Mother, “you was not sent for. Why come you here?” That old conjuror just grins, sly like. That’s the fust on ‘em gone then, missus, fer both on ‘em!” Mother shivered, she didn’t like reminding on Joe’s fust visit.

The Digfield Conjuror is published on Amazon Kindle. http://www.suekendrick.co.uk/digfieldconjuror

About The Author I live on a small farm in rural Leicestershire surrounded by a close family consisting of four children and their respective partners, dogs, horses, hens and a small herd of British White cattle. Their various demands have to be fitted in with running the family engineering business and my writing career which I have been doing for over thirty year in a variety of styles and genres. I have a keen interest in British folklore and a passion for long distance walkering. I came across the strange tale of “Wild Eadric and his faery bride” whilst backpacking along Offa’s Dyke, now a long distance footpath running along the borders between England and Wales, but once an ancient defence system even during the time of Eadric. As well as self publishing The Inbetween, The Digfield Conjuror and other stories I’ve also written two books on sheep keeping. Showing Sheep published by the Goodlife Press and Lambs For The Freezer published by Crowood Press. All these are availabe on Amazon UK or can be found on my website: http://www.suekendrick.co.uk