The Hermit of Lammas Wood

  “Z’at why you live here?”

  “Nope. Live here because nobody else does.” Gertie turned and faced Tanyth. “Been a hermit here for hundreds of years. Sixty generations or so.”

  Tanyth looked around, the notion disconcerting. “Here?”

  “Well, I ’spect most of the first ones lived in the cave. If you look around back there you’ll see where there was fire pits and the like.” She turned her face to the carved rafters and her face smoothed in a smile. “This cottage was built on the front about a hundred years ago. Furniture gets replaced pretty often–I built that table myself, as it happens. The chairs need replacin’ but I haven’t the will to do it anymore.”

  Tanyth sliced off a piece of bread and smeared some of the soft cheese on it, topping that with a thin slice of sausage. She offered it to Gertie.

  “You remember the cider?” the older woman asked, taking a good bite from the bread.

  “Oh, no. I forgot it. Got so wrapped up in the ice, it slipped my mind.”

  Gertie nodded and continued eating, standing on the hearth with her back to the fire. “No matter. We’ll go back and I’ll show ya the library, anyway. That might answer some of yer questions.”

  “Library?” Tanyth asked, folding her own bread and cheese around a slice of the spicy, dried sausage.

  “Yeah. That’s what I call it.” Gertie licked a stray bit of cheese from her finger and dusted her hands together over the hearth. “That was good, but now I’m thirsty.”

  Tanyth grabbed a couple of quick bites and followed Gertie back into the caverns. The ancient oil lamp flickered and flashed as Gertie clattered along the boards.

  “There’s a lot to see back here,” she said. “Hope there’s time to show you. If not, just remember: boards mean home. There’s lotsa places where there’s no boards. Don’t go wanderin’ down there unless you’ve got a string or a piece of chalk or somethin’ to find your way back.”

  “Boards mean home,” Tanyth said.

  “Yeah, look at the boards.”

  Tanyth looked at the rough-hewn planks under her boots as she walked. “What about ’em? They look like boards to me. Old boards, some of them, but boards.”

  “About every fifth or sixth board? Right end’s got a notch in it.”

  “All right.” Tanyth spotted the notch in question. “How’s that help?”

  “Well, say you come to a branch in the tunnels,” Gertie said holding up the lamp and turning back to face Tanyth. “How d’ya know which way is out?”

  The meaning seemed obvious. “Put the notch on my left and keep walkin’.”

  “Yep. And if you got no light?”

  Tanyth blinked. “No light?”

  “Yeah. What if you dropped the lantern or it ran out of oil or somethin’. You gonna stand down here and yell and holler in the dark?”

  “Crawl?” Tanyth asked. Just the image of crawling in the dark on her hands and knees made her back ache.

  Gertie cackled a bit. “Well, that’s one way, but if you just fumble around until you find the notch, you can put your hand against the wall and walk until the wall runs out. Like when it gets to a branch. Reach down and find the notches. Keep goin’. You’ll be back at the cottage in no time.”

  Tanyth shook her head. “I can’t imagine ever needin’ to do that, but good to know just the same.”

  Gertie snorted. “Yeah, I couldn’t imagine it either. Well, come on. Library’s just around this bend.”

  The library proved to be a small cavern with a sand floor but without the cooling ice of the pantry or the warm rocks in the bottle room. What it had was shelves. Lots and lots of shelves. On two of the walls, the shelves were filled with books and parchments. Wooden spindles with parchment wound on them protruded here and there. There were even shelves around the door frame.

  “What is this place?”

  Gertie waved her hands at the loaded shelves. “That’s all the old knowledge you came lookin’ for. Journals and diaries of all the hermits that came before me.”

  “That’s how you know how many generations?”

  “Yeah. Not much to do most days but read. Not much to read but this stuff. Haven’t been able to read much since my eyes went. Squeek here is good for basic stuff, but he balks at staring at spidery hand writin’ for any length of time.”

  “How many books are there?”

  “Dunno exactly. Every hermit left some writin’ behind. Some left a single book or parchment. Most left a dozen or more. Journals, diaries. Even some pretty interestin’ histories and such. I think some of them ain’t exactly moored in the sea of sanity, but I never got bored readin’ them. Or writin’ them.”

  “You have books here?”

  “Well, course.” She pointed to a shelf that appeared only about half full. “I got one more book over in the cottage to finish, but there’s my books, there. Nothin’ much. What I learned about this place, mostly. Hot springs, rocks, geysers. I been up and down and across this valley a hundred times, I bet.”

  Tanyth gazed at all the works stacked neatly on the rough shelves. “When they called you the last keeper of the old knowledge, they weren’t kiddin’, were they?”

  Gertie gave a shrug. “Well, I s’pose that’s true. Not like one person could remember all that, but I know where the library is.”

  “Any herb lore in there?”

  “Oh, yeah. One of the early ones. Should be a collection of scrolls bound together up on the shelf there.” She pointed to the left side of the room. “Also, seems to me I remember one from about a century ago. That’d be about here.” She placed her hand on one of the shelves at waist height.

  “What else is there?” Tanyth asked, raking the shelves with her gaze, unwilling to disturb the works with her hands.

  “Anything you can think of. One studied the stars and the sky. One worked on trees, another on birds. One studied the insides of animals and even people. Not sure where or how she managed that.” Gertie shrugged. “If you can think of it, somebody in that pile already thought of it at least once.”

  “Geography?” Tanyth asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Geography, politics, history. There’s one who was a painter, but I don’t know where her paintin’s went. Another studied rocks. That’s where I got the idea to study this valley. There’s fire down there, you know. Sometimes it comes up to the surface.”

  “I felt it the other day comin’ in.”

  “Yeah, saved your life by getting’ warm and dry, but nearly killed you. Again.”

  Tanyth’s heart beat a bit faster at that news. “Killed me? How?”

  “Takes a lot of power to move the earth like that. Might be too much unless you’re careful. You got lucky.”

  “I didn’t know what I was doin’,” Tanyth said.

  “That’s the first lesson,” Gertie said, her gap-toothed grin gleaming in the light of the lamp. “Recognizin’ that, you’re gonna be better prepared to deal with whatever comes next.”

  “What does come next?” Tanyth asked.

  “Next? We go get that cider and go back up to the hearth. I feel a gab comin’ on and talkin’ is thirsty work.”

  Chapter Twenty-three:

  Beginning Lessons

  The questions swirled in Tanyth’s head all the way back to the cottage. She didn’t know where to start when they got settled with cold mugs and a warm hearth. A sip of the cider exploded in her mouth—rich with fall apple and peppery with alcohol. “You make a stiff cider,” she said, rolling her tongue around in her mouth. “That’s delicious.”

  “Thanks. Been doin’ it awhile, but mostly I just follow the recipe and let the Lady do the rest.”

  “Recipe?”

  “From one of the books,” Gertie said, and tilted her own mug up, taking a good swallow.

  “Of course,” Tanyth tried another cautious sip and reached for some of the bread and cheese from their late lunch.

  “Now’s the time to ask, Tanyth. We’re runnin’ out of time and you’ll wan
na get as many answers as you can think of questions for.”

  “Who built this place?”

  “The cottage? One of the hermits a century ago. Took nigh on fifteen years if I’m readin’ it right. Most of us carved on it since.”

  “To build this?”

  “Old woman and hard stone.” Gertie shrugged. “Woulda taken longer but some trappers helped her a couple of summers. Not sure what they got in return. I s’pect they had some miners with ’em, too. Takes a lot to carve rock out of the ground and pile it up.”

  “The caves?”

  “Well, the Lord and Lady did most of it. The planking has to be replaced once in a while. Shelving units, too. Generally best to use a solid wood. Pine smells good but rots fast.”

  “Who chipped out the corners in the cold room?”

  “Dunno,” Gertie said and reached for some bread for herself. “Never read it in any of the books. Mighta been any one of them back along. Mighta been somethin’ they hired done. Unless it’s written down—or you done it yourself—kinda tough to say.”

  They sat in silence while the ideas swirled in Tanyth’s head, too many to make a question out of even though the need to ask felt almost overwhelming.

  “You knew I was comin’?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Been lookin’ for you these last five winters. Just as glad you took your time, when it gets right down to it.”

  Tanyth blinked at her and took another bite of the goat cheese. “You knew I was comin’ before I knew I was comin’.”

  Gertie’s mouth shifted sideways in a grin. She shook her head. “I was pretty sure when Agnes Dogwood lemme know about you way back when. Then when I got the word from Alice Willowton, I knew it was only a matter of time. You impressed her, you did.” Gertie nodded as if to herself and tossed back some more cool cider.

  “Got the word?”

  “Oh, aye. She sent word that you’d be along as soon as you got your other business squared away.”

  “How did she send word?” Tanyth asked. “You’re not exactly gettin’ mail and supplies delivered on a reg’lar basis, are ya?”

  Gertie cackled. “You’ll get it soon enough now, I’m bettin’.”

  “Get what?”

  “What’s happening,” Gertie said. “You can already reach out and touch the hawk. You been messin’ with the land, the sea, and the air. Hasn’t killed ya, quite. At least not yet. Won’t be long before the trees start talkin’ to ya.”

  Tanyth laughed. “That’s all I need. I already feel like I’ve gone about halfway round the bend.”

  Gertie just shrugged one shoulder and took another slug of cider.

  “Wait,” Tanyth said, looking across the table at the old woman. “That’s not a figure of speech? The trees’ll start talkin’ to me?”

  “Yeah. They ain’t real chatty but you can hear the news on whisperin’ winds if you’ve the knack.”

  “And you do?”

  “Well, course. And so does—well, did—Mother Willowton.”

  “Did? Is she...?”

  “Oh, aye. Been gone a couple winters now. Spoke about you often, when she was alive, though. The trees pass that kinda gossip along.”

  “That why you protect ’em?”

  “What? Trees?”

  “Yeah.

  “I don’t protect trees.” Gertie’s dark eyes stared at Tanyth from under her brows. “That’s a couple times now you’ve mentioned it. Where’s it comin’ from?”

  “Some of the stories down in Kleesport.”

  “Same stories like with the traps?”

  “Seemed like. Lotta people who never met ya advised me to turn back.”

  Gertie snorted and slapped the table. “Like you could, huh?”

  “Well, by the time I got to Kleesport with Rebecca, the dice were rolling and I knew they’d only stop spinning if I got here.”

  “What stories exactly?” Gertie asked, leaning in on the table with her elbows.

  “Most of ’em talk about you running through the forest chasing trappers and lumberjacks. Lots of stories about lumberjacks and you tellin’ them to git outa your woods.”

  Gertie twisted her head to the side. “That don’t sound like me. Leastwise, not that I remember.”

  “Most of ’em think you’re a man, too.”

  “Huh. I know a lot of ’em wanderin’ around out there are just as blind as I am, but you’d think they’d be able to tell.”

  “I chalked it up to wearin’ pants. Whole lotta menfolk out there think anything in a pair of pants is of the male persuasion.”

  Gertie looked down at her heavy trousers. “Only thing makes sense back here in the hinterlands.”

  “I agree with ya, but there’s no accountin’ for some folks’ biases.”

  Gertie grinned. “And some just won’t listen to reason.”

  “Met a few of them, too,” Tanyth said. In her mind’s eye she saw a single, shimmering drop of blood drip from the tip of a knife and fall slowly, slowly. She lifted her cup and took another sip of cider.

  “Questions, woman. You was askin’ ’em,” Gertie said, lifting her own mug.

  “I’m still tryin’ to wrap my head around how you live out here.”

  Gertie smacked her lips a couple of times and turned her head to and fro. “Right comfy most of the time.”

  “Don’t he crap on your head?” Tanyth blinked at the sound of her voice and leaned on the table. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Not sure where that came from.”

  Gertie’s laugh started as a chuckle in her chest and worked up to shake her shoulders. She put her hand up to her head and the mouse scampered onto it. Still laughing, she put the mouse on the table and he sat up, cleaning himself and not seeming at all distressed by people. Gertie rolled her head back and laughed and laughed. She’d almost get it under control and then start giggling.

  “Good cider, huh?” Gertie said and was off again.

  Tanyth couldn’t resist and found herself chuckling and then laughing along.

  Tears soon rolled down both sets of wrinkled cheeks. They leaned on the table with their elbows and laughed at the mouse. The mouse just groomed his ears as if nothing at all unusual was happening. After several long moments, the two women got the paroxysms under control.

  Tanyth opened her mouth to speak but Gertie held up a hand in warning. “Wait,” she said. “Lemme get my breath, woman.” She closed her eyes tight and tilted her head down as if facing the floor. She sucked in a couple of huge breaths, blowing them out with great gusto each time. “All right. I think I’m good now.”

  “Sorry,” Tanyth said, still fighting the odd chuckle. “Don’t know why I asked that or why it was all so funny.”

  Gertie waved her hand in the air as if batting at a fly. “No, no. It’s all right. I figure everybody ever come here...all the trappers, hunters, old ladies...I s’pect every single one of ’em prob’ly wondered the same thing and was too proper to ask.”

  Tanyth snorted. “I never been accused of bein’ too proper, but I usually mind my own business better’n that.” She scrubbed her watery eyes with her fingers and shook her head.

  “No, he doesn’t,” Gertie said. “Never has. They trade off a few times durin’ the day.” She reached out one gnarled finger and the mouse rubbed itself under the pad of it.

  “How many are there?” Tanyth asked, looking around.

  “Five or six. It varies by day and season. There’s a nest of ’em under the stoop. Plenty warm in the winter. Plenty of food. Nothin’ to bother them.” Gertie combed her fingers through the white hairs on her scalp, and tilted her head back as if stretching her neck. “Oh, my. I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

  Tanyth tried to remember the last time she’d laughed at all. She took another sip of the cider and then looked at the cup, a suspicion growing in her mind. “There’s nothin’ in this but cider, is there?”

  Gertie shook her head. “Nope. It’s just cider. Good cider and a bit of a kick. But nothing else.” r />
  Tanyth put fingers to her lips and nose. “Not tingly. I’m not drunk.”

  Gertie snorted. “I should hope not. You’ve had half a mug’s worth and that jug’s barely got a dent in it.”

  Tanyth reached for another piece of the tangy goat cheese and chased it with some of the bread, before taking another cautious sip. “Too much on an empty stomach, maybe.”

  Gertie shook her head again and leaned closer over the table. “No, there’s nothin’ wrong with you, my girl. Nothin’ at all. You’ve finally gotten here and your body is smarter than your brain. It’s relaxin’ among friends. You been headin’ somewhere for twenty-somethin’ winters, and now you’re here.” She reached one wrinkled hand across the table to pat Tanyth’s forearm. “Relax and enjoy it for a bit.”

  Tanyth sat very still in her chair and let the woman’s words sink into her. The fire snapped once in the hearth but other than that, the cottage was so still she could hear Gertie’s breathing as well as her own. The warm feeling of rightness started at her feet and worked up her legs as muscles tensed for travel unknotted. She took several deep, slow breaths and let the clamoring in her head and heart still. She was home.

  “Why do you live alone?” Tanyth asked, her voice low, nearly a whisper in the silence.

  Gertie sighed. “That’s the price we pay for our gifts,” she said, her voice almost as low as Tanyth’s. “When the Lady takes our gift of fertility, she gives some of us new gifts. Those that want to take full advantage live apart from others—from the demands of individuals—in order to pay attention to the demands of all.”

  “That’s why you sent Rebecca and Penny away?”

  Gertie nodded. “Aye. People too close—they get in the way. It’s harder to hear the wind. Harder to see the world around us. They shine so bright, it’s like trying to see a match flame at noon on the summer solstice. You can’t see anything but the brightest light.”

  “So you live in darkness?”

  “No,” Gertie said, her voice gentle as a kiss. “Twilight maybe, surrounded by the fireflies that jump and spin and swirl around us. You see so much more when you’re not blinded by the light.”