The Trefoil Muse

Vultures

Vultures – Chapter 2

Vultures – Chapter 3

Vultures – Chapter 4

Vultures – Chapter 5

Whispering Leaves

Vesta sat cross-legged near a grove of red willow and weaved a basket from their flexible stripped branches.  In this basket, she would carry any collected red bark back to the settlement.  The medicinal properties of the bark were much needed to subdue fevers, aches and pains during the outbreak of the springtime influenza which the colonies residents were now suffering.

She loved the sweet woodsy fragrance of willow and wove the flexible young branches with deft quick hands accustomed to basket weaving.  Vesta needed to work quickly; Xheng would be waiting for her. She noticed glancing up from her work that the sun was beginning to set on the horizon; her mentor would be worrying at her absence soon.

Vesta heard a slight crack among the willow. The distraction caused her to avert her eyes. She examined the bushes curiously.  It was just her new friend, the porcupine, re-positioning its self among the branches.  She couldn’t help but smile at the porcupine which nibbled contentedly at the tasty wooded morsel before it.  It was impervious to the spitting words of vengeance it had inspired her to utter upon the Preacher.  The Preacher and his followers would call what she’d done a curse.

Vesta placed a hand over her mouth to hide a full-on grin.  Her eyes twinkled with glee.

“I wonder if those quills have found there mark yet.  What do you think porcupine? Has our magic worked?”

The stoic porcupine ignored Vesta and continued about its business settling on a new branch as it sniffed out the next delectable treat provided by the sweet barked willow.   

“Message received,” Vesta sighed as she began gathering stripped bark and placing it inside the newly woven basket.  Xheng was a good natured man but he could unleash a ship load of undecipherable language if his patience was tested! Best she got on with her business and back to her mentor before his patience was stretched by worry.

Vesta grabbed up the last handful of willow bark and stood.  She stretched kinks from her body by arching her back as she simultaneously shook long tendrils of hair into a semblance of control.  Grabbing it like a mop, she wrung it behind her sweeping thick unruly furls away from her face.  She knew she would need to bundle her locks into a bun before entering back into the colony but for now she left it free.  Vesta took a deep satisfied breath and started toward the brambled path that she’d sent Amarelle on earlier in the afternoon. A fleeting frown skipped across her brow as she considered her sister-friend’s plight.  A gust of wind like an epiphany swept across the willow grove.

“Psithurism,” she mused.

Elements of wind and air to “cunning folk” or healers like herself were messages from nature – no different than a thought in one’s own head.  It was important to pay attention to nature. Vesta had been well schooled in this lesson.  The sound of the wind in the trees and the rustling of leaves caused Vesta to freeze mid-step.  But the ominous warning whispered by the leaves came too late.

The surprise in her face was evident as she turned to face the unknown stranger.

He was over six feet tall dressed in leather britches tied at the waist with snakeskin.  The moccasins he wore covered his ankles but otherwise he was bare from the waist up.  His black hair was long and straight.  He had no facial hair. His skin was somewhat light, tawny from the sun. He had broad shoulders with strong arms and long slender hands.

When Vesta gazed into his black eyes her breath caught.  He was possibly the most majestic being she had ever come into contact with.  She would have described him to her mentor as beautiful – not handsome, for handsome didn’t come close to describing the features of this wild-man.

Vesta was too intrigued to be frightened as she gazed at the red dyed markings on the ‘wild-man,’ but her heart began to race when she realized he was also observing her with great intensity.

He spoke first.

“You come me.”     

“Whaaa…? No!”

“You come!” the wild-man’s voice was insistent.

“No,” Vesta repeated.  “You speak English?”

The man made a few motions with his hands. “You come.  No safe…” then gestured in a circular manner which swooped the surrounding area.

“I…, I can’t… No!”

He moved swiftly. Taking her by the arm, the wild-man began propelling her through the willows away from the brambled path before she could comprehend what was happening. Vesta tried to resist but he was so strong it was of little use.  The wild-man was dragging her through the willows on a path she’d never noticed.  She tripped. She lunged. She twisted, turned and half ran after the wild-man who held her arm in a death-like grip. She started to complain but his furrowed darkened brows and black eyes warned her to be silent.  Vesta gulped as she was man-handled along a narrow hidden path. Wild-man’s long fingers held her right arm firmly while she herself white knuckled her bark filled willow basket with the other.  The basket lunked, gnarled, tangled and wrenched her free hand as it smashed along behind them.  The sun had nearly set when the wild-man pulled Vesta into a clearing away from the trees.  He pointed toward two horses at the far end of the clearing, smiled, nodded at her and grunted.  “You come.  Good.”

Vesta narrowed her eyes to see the horses better.  The first, a long legged bay, had feathers tied in its black mane and tail.  It was obviously the horse being ridden by wild-man.  The second was almost white with speckled brown markings up its legs as high as its withers in the front and behind the flank dappling the rump of the horse.  It almost looked to be a red roan.  It had been packed with furs and other goods.  The pack horse appeared to be extremely tired – depressed, like its spirit had been broken.

The wild-man motioned Vesta forward. She took a shaky breath and followed. She was lost.  The sun was almost set.  Even though she’d been forced into an exhaustive trek through thick bush and low hanging tree branches, Vesta knew it was best to save an escape attempt for more light.  Maybe a better opportunity would present its self at dawn.  At this juncture, the wild-man was watching her too closely. Escape was futile.

Vesta gasped as they moved closer to the horses.  This wild-man had done a good job of disguising the second horse which she now recognized.  No one would ever believe it was Nell’s white mare! Aside from being packed with provisions and furs, the horse had been painted with a lightning bolt on her face, a sun on her shoulder, a circle around her eye and a handprint on her flank. An intricately carved rose lay embedded within the feathers of her mane.  The carved rose was from a hair piece once worn by Nell. A tear rolled down Vesta’s cheek.  This wild-man had bestowed honor upon this horse.   The markings meant the mare had powerful medicine.

Head down, the mare nickered softy at Vesta.

“Kausekoikeh nahnioges,…”  Vesta smiled.  The natives of the area considered this mare to be holy; a sacred horse.  She’d been to their village on occasion with Nell to visit or share healing remedies.  Hushed, whispered words such as, ‘kausekoikeh nahnioges,’  or ‘kchichchuhyhauk,’ were always uttered when Nell entered that village with her white mare, “Spirit.”  Spirit was a horse with strong medicine.

“Me make free.  You come. Good?”

Vesta giggled. “Yes! This is good.  I’ll come!”

Recognizing the horse as she now did, Vesta realized the reason for the depressed state of the animal.  Nell and the mare had a deep connection.  The connection had been severed with Nell’s death. The horse was mourning.  But, no other would ever ride this horse.

Other’s had tried.

And, failed.

Spirit would never let anyone on her back but Nell.  She should be allowed to go free.  Her work with humans was complete.

A gust of cold wind swirled through the clearing.

The sound of the wind in the trees and the rustling of the leaves whispered an omen to Vesta.  Yet, to her overly busy mind, they went unheeded. Whispering leaves with words warning of unfolding karma fell short of Vesta’s deaf ears. A life she could never envision even with the gift of clairvoyance was upon her. Unaware of the mystery and intrigue that was about to envelope her new life, Vesta only thought of a new adventure which would heal a horse’s broken spirit. Her heightened adrenaline and concern for the animal before her at the present moment had all thoughts of Amarelle vanish; as did Vesta’s promise to her.  Neither, did she give a second thought to Xheng, her mentor or to the worry her absence would cause him.

Psithurism. The sound of the wind in the trees and the rustling of leaves held a sense of foreboding as it told of a change in destiny for Vesta.

“When the timing is right, karma is swift,” rustled the whispering leaves.

Vesta had a debt to pay.  For even her well meant spell for the ‘good of the whole,’ had caused pain upon the Preacher; this had caused an unbalance in nature which needed to be corrected. Though Vesta would not be harmed because of it, she would need to grow strong to right the natural balance in nature; for the whispering leaves told of hard times to come along a trail seldom travelled.  A path that headed north and far to the west, toward a dry barren land called the prairie.