The Osiris Stone: Shield Skin Book 2 Page 6

  The lower left area boasted a red crown shaped exactly like the selkie bones braided into Emery’s hair. It was trimmed out in gold thread and had rays of light in yellow radiating from its sides out to the edges of the gaps interior.

  It was magnificent and everyone ooh and ahhed over it. Rowan received many orders that evening for items in the kilt plaid and for the embroidered coat of arms...sans crown of course. Instead the central upper area always denoted the Thorneridge coven with an embroidered shell. The lower right area would hold the emblem of each islander’s gift. Rowan made her own first with a golden needle and thimble in the lower right. Instead of a crown in the lower left side field, she put her father’s trade, a fishing net for a fisherman on the left.

  The twins would receive golden waves in the lower left. Their father, a fisherman, would be depicted by a net on the left; and Eilidh’s trade was included by a coronet of braided hair atop the net.

  Each of the crones received a raven’s head - the mark of a crone, or wise woman, in the lower left. Then their own greatest gift in the lower right. For Dorothea, who was a strong fire adept, flames flickered in orange, red and gold thread in that area.

  Bertha’s shield held the same shell upper, raven lower left, but as an Earth and water adept, a beautifully embroidered world in blue, green and brown adorned the lower right. Letty’s was similar, though her lower right boasted the leaves of plants as her herbalism was her greatest skill. Millicent’s parents had been islanders and leaders of the coven so her coat of arms bore a raven on the lower left and two wands on the right side...each emitting a lightning bolt.

  Kern got a blue plastic recycling barrel on the lower left and a sewing needle on the right as his mother was the seamstress. The knitter received a pair of crossed, golden knitting needles on the left and, as her husband was a fisherman, a fishing net on the right. Her husband’s was the exact reverse. The blacksmith got a golden hammer and forge. The fishermen got nets; the seaweed harvesters got flowing foliage; the goat herder got a goat; the donkey keeper got a donkey. The ferryman had a ferry shape; the scuba divers all got tanks of air and flippers; the free divers got air bubbles and flippers; the herbalist got a lavender blossom; the solar turbine and wind turbine engineers got energy atoms embroidered in the center on their shields. To each, their own special magic was shown in their coat of arms, along with that of their lineage.

  That night there was a big party - well, as big as a population of under a hundred can manage. Most parties on Eigg consisted of clam bakes and a lot of booze made from Millicent’s bees honey. In ancient times she supposed that would have been called mead. Emery had dabbed a little of the booze on the golden, turtle ear-cuff piercing and then some of the honey. It stopped hurting after that. Honey always seemed to make everything better.

  The next day the island was quiet. Very quiet. Most of the village had terrible hangovers. Emery, who really didn’t like the taste of booze, took a cruise around the isle on her sea turtle’s back. He didn’t have a name, so she thought about it for a while and eventually asked him if he liked the name Skiff. He was like a little boat in a way, so he happily agreed and off they went again, Queenie riding like a goddess of old on his round, blackened shell. People from the village who saw her, stared and waved and couldn’t stop smiling. It was good to have a Queen.

  Chapter Ten

  Amazonian

  Even without Dorothea mentioning it, Emery knew it was about time for her to move on and study somewhere else. That was if the pandemic restrictions would allow for any movement. It was not something she looked forward to.

  It turned out that the movement was going to be something that the virus made little or no difference to. There was going to be a conclave of covens in Wales. Emery didn’t know what that meant, but figured it should be interesting.

  A few mornings after the conclave of clans had been discussed, Emery was surprised to find all the crones still sitting around the fire when she returned mid-morning from one of her weapons lessons. She enjoyed the fencing, martial arts and other weapons training that she was being instructed in. The past year had honed her skills and strength. At first, she’d been all fumble feet with many of the physical skills, especially the fencing and martial arts. Shooting had been one of her strong suits and she’d been good with a gun right from the beginning. Probably owing to the fact that she’d often practiced with an old BB gun she’d had as a child.

  The twins had often provided her with her opposition for self-defense training and fencing partners as well, but occasionally she had visiting tutors whose styles would be complete surprises to her. Those visits were very fun and she enjoyed the opportunities to be taken by surprise and try to adapt her style to a new person. It had been almost a year and she had become quite proficient according to her grizzled instructor. He reminded her of Groot from ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’ - all knotty, wood-like limbs of muscle and few words.

  As the crones poured her tea, Emery could tell something was up. “What!?” she exclaimed. “Tell me now! I hate suspense, good or bad!”

  “You will go to the conclave as our coven’s representative,” Millicent stated calmly. “The meet is near water, so the twins can sail you there. Be polite, courteous and close-mouthed. See what they want. Greet everyone and assess their strengths, weaknesses and observe for information. We’ll be here awaiting your report. The meeting is in four days. The twins are preparing supplies and preparing to sail with the evening tide. It will also be a good opportunity for you to night sail.”

  Emery just gaped at the withered old women with her mouth open. “Shut yer jaw, girlie,” Bertha giggled, almost sloshing her tea onto her bib overalls at the sudden movement.

  “Is anyone going to try and kill me?” Emery asked, her countenance completely serious. It had happened before - more than once actually - so her concern was genuine.

  Dorothea reared up in her sagging armchair and said, “This is the old country, I’m sure these covens are all too civilized to do that.” Emery wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. When Bertha snickered, she realized that the wizened old crone was poking fun at Millicent and they all burst out laughing. After all, people had tried to wipe the isle’s population out before - several times.

  After a few minutes of snickering, Millicent grinned at Dorothea and turned to Emery saying, “Trust no one. These conclaves are rare and when they are called, it is usually about something important. Fights over power. Disputes within covens or between covens. Things like that. So be careful, use your skills to stay safe and get as much information as you can,” the older woman smiled. “It should be quite a learning experience for you. There are a lot of covens. Some powerful, some not. Only about six of the most powerful will be at this conclave. They will also be checking out your power. Be careful. Expose only what is absolutely necessary.”

  “The twins will accompany you. The Hunter,” Dorothea stated, referring to the sailboat, “will stay in a shallow bay just off the meeting point. The place is an old ruin called Castell Aberlleiniog on the coast of Wales. It’s an easy walk from the bay to the ruins. The ruins are basically just an elevated stone platform that once held a tower.”

  “One of the twins will stay with the Hunter, the other will go with you. I don’t believe you’ll need any back-up, but better safe than sorry,” she added, rolling her watery blue eyes, behind her dust-mote speckled, cat-eye glasses. Referring, no doubt, to the number of times they’d been surprised at the dangers Emery had faced on her training journeys. Bertha, Millicent and Letty all sagely nodded in agreement.

  Since they were going to be representing the coven, the crones, twins and Emery all trekked into town to see Rowan, the seamstress. She’d been working on orders for other garments, mostly sewn from the new black, red and green plaid Emery had designed.

  It was a fun day, sitting outside in the watery northern sunshine eating lunch and watching what each of them had ordered. Emery waited till last and spent much of the time having h
er hair rebraided by the twin’s mother, Eilidh. They also took turns having their bleached out braids tamed and rewoven.

  The first crone to model their new garments was Bertha. Having been adamant in not abandoning her signature bib-overalls, she appeared in the door of the hut, stepped out onto the cobbled street and did a surprisingly dexterous twirl. The movement showed off the new plaid shirt that she’d had tailored to her ample form. It fit snugly beneath the bibs and the red and green brought out the warm tones in her skin. Bertha beamed widely and sat, somewhat shyly, as the round of applause died down.

  Next came Millicent, who stepped elegantly out in view of the gathering crowd wearing a new Ranald plaid kilt that reached her ankles. The knitter had arrived with a bulky bag and her creation topped the kilt. It was a long, swing-style, red cardigan sweater that came to the tall woman’s knees. An intricate band of silver thorns had been knitted into the collar of the cardigan, clearly defining Millicent as a person of importance in Coven Thornridge. The twisting cable-pattern was richly textured and swirled along with the bottom of the kilt as Millicent executed a full spin. Bright silver buttons fastened the cardigan down the front to the waist and let the full-bottomed kilt bell out. The red and silver of the cardigan made her long white hair seem to gleam in the afternoon light. A large smile snuck across her face as she took a bow and seated herself next to Bertha.

  Dorothea emerged hesitantly to swelling applause. She’d had a long-sleeved, snug-fitting sheath dress made from the red, black and green plaid. The bottom flared out into a full, swinging skirt ending just above her ankles. The nipped-in waist, fitted bodice and slightly-puffed shoulders made the crone look like a Scottish legend straight from a fairy tale. The long sleeves came to a point over the backs of her wrinkled hands and a black, rosette tassel embellished each sleeve-tip on the backs of her hands. Topping the simple, round-necked dress was a black, hand-knit cape with a band of white thorns knitted into the hem. It had a cowl-knit hood that could be drawn up over the old woman’s bun-topped head, or lowered around her shoulders. It was elegant, warm and practical. Dorothea looked wonderful.

  Letty came next. Stepping out into the sunlight wearing a dress similar to Dorothea’s, but lacking the puffed shoulders that would have been unflattering on Letty’s stouter frame. The skirt of the outfit was shorter than the one modeled by Dorothea and divided into a split-skirt on the bottom with wide legs that ended just below her knees. She was wearing a pair of zip-up neoprene boots that had clearly been custom-made for her thick calves and sturdy ankles. A waist-length, black cardigan with bright red buttons allowed the clever, divided-skirt and sassy boots to show. A cuff of knitted white thorns adorned each sleeve at the wrist. Letty stopped so everyone could see, turned awkwardly around and then scuttled onto a log seat, blushing as red as her buttons.

  The twins both quickly modeled black, closely-knitted mock neck sweaters similar to Emery’s high-necked one - all sporting a band of white thorns knitted into the upper sleeves that marked them as Coven Thornridge - and jaunty plaid kilts that ended at the knee and rode low on the twin’s hips above zip-up boots similar to Emery’s. They could have stepped out of the pages of GQ magazine. Emery sighed loudly. The crones and Eilidh stifled laughter as they took in Emery’s open-mouthed admiration. Too bad the twins had no interest in her except as an aside. They were so beautiful. Darn men even looked hunky in skirts. She sighed again. The crones giggled louder.

  It dawned on Emery that if people saw her and the twins together in a group from the back they’d think they were triplets. Except for the fact that her hair was whiter, there would be absolutely no rear view difference...well she had a more slender waist, legs and arms, but they couldn’t really be seen under the clothing at first glance. This time she bit back the sigh.

  Shooting the cackling hens a dirty look, Emery ducked inside the hut. She’d only ordered one item. Rowan threw it quickly around her shoulders, adjusted the cowl and then shoved her excitedly out the door.

  The crowd paused, then clapped and whooped. It was definitely a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Emery had ordered a cape. A proper witch’s cape.

  Made from the last of the sharkskins that had been stored in Rowan’s workshop, it had a long, tube-like cowl that zipped from the top down to her neck. The long skirt-like shroud hung from Emery’s broad shoulders down to just above her ankles. Loops sewn into the front edges of the cape made it adjustable to be fastened onto thorn-shaped, hand-carved abalone buttons. The loops could either be fastened at the front, further to the side to block out wind and rain, or at the opposite shoulder to allow for sitting astride a horse. It was lined in a finely-woven, light-weight black wool. Each shoulder was adorned with an epaulet richly embroidered with silver thorns. The blacksmith had smelted silver into two round buttons, one on either side of the front top closure. Each large button clearly depicted the wickedly-pointed thorns of the wild dog roses that Thornridge Abbey was named after.

  The entire effect was one of elegance, dignity and power.

  Dorothea stood up and swept her young protege into her boney arms. It was only then that both of them realized how much Emery had grown. Even though she’d been tall in high-school, Dorothea had still been able to put Emery’s head on her shoulder. Now the broad-shouldered girl towered over her by a head. Emery hugged the old woman lovingly.

  Then, they both stepped back and exclaimed in unison. “You’ve shrunk!” Emery said in astonishment.

  “You’ve grown!” Dorothea brayed, looking up at Emery through her filthy glasses.

  The three other crones all gathered around. “You’re definitely the one who’s grown,” Bertha crowed. “Dorothea is still two inches taller than me,” the bib-overall clad woman ran her hand across the top of her spikey-haired head and it came out level with her older cousin’s eyebrows - wiry and awry as usual above her narrow glasses.

  “Oh for Pete’s sake!” Emery wailed, “someone measure me!”

  Rowan hurried into her workshop and emerged with a tape measure. With the help of the burly blacksmith, Emery’s form was measured from the ground to the top of her head. “One-hundred eighty-three centimeters,” the blacksmith belted out, as he finished the last stretch of the cloth tape.

  “Oooooh!” exclaimed the crowd. “Wow!” the twins chorused. “Measure us.” The tape was again employed.

  “One hundred eighty-two centimeters,” the burly man said loudly, scratching his shaggy beard with one hand, while handing the tape measure back to Rowan.

  “How tall is that in inches?” Emery yelled, rolling her broad shoulders in exasperation at the blasted metric measurements.

  Kern, standing at the edge of the crowd, yelled out, “Emery, you’re six feet and one-half inch tall!”

  “What?” Emery yelled, her voice trailing onto a high note in shock. “Six feet?” she repeated. “You’re sure?”

  Kern nodded. “I’m sure. Wow! You’re what me mum used to call a long, tall drink o’ water,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows, as his seamstress mother blushed.

  “Shut it!” Emery snapped. “I’m taller than the twins, for Pete’s sake!” With that and a very red face, she swirled to leave, her cape flying out in a majestic statement. Everyone could see that the information that she was the tallest person on the island except for the burly blacksmith had not been the highlight of their queenie’s day.

  “Oh dear,” Dorothea sighed. The other crones sighed too. The blacksmith grinned at Kern, then they both stumped back to their respective kingdoms. The twin’s laughed in delight at Emery’s dismay and went back into the hut to shuck their clothes off for their preferred frayed shorts, then tripped happily back to their sailing preparations.

  Emery did not emerge from her room for the rest of the day. She’d looked at herself in the wavy mirror again upon her return to the Abbey, then groaned and gave the mirror the finger, going back to her room and slamming the door.

  She thought she’d come to terms with her looks, but it wasn�
��t just the changes to her appearance that troubled her. In truth, she knew she was a striking beauty. The wavy mirror had also shown her an outstandingly sculpted body. It was just that, well...she looked like the twins - whom she had just been sighing over as specimens of male beauty. That was the thing. She looked like a beautiful GQ man at first glance...significant word being...man. She pulled on her too small flannel pajamas and pulled the covers over her head.

  How had she not known once Letty sewed an extra two-feet of comforter onto her eiderdown? That should have been a warning sign. Somehow she’d just still identified with being a growing kid. Well, she had been growing and maturing. She just wasn’t a kid anymore. Nor did she really look like much of a girl. She looked like a magnificent Valkyrie queen of old. Somehow, that just wasn’t what she’d always had in her mind as the ‘look’ she wanted. Making a small cave out of the eiderdown so that she could still breathe, Emery closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. Sleep made all things better. Though in this case, when she woke, she would still be this…

  Better to dream on how to accept what she was, than dream of being something she wasn’t. Slowing her breathing, she willed herself into communion with the ethers with only one thing on her mind...accepting herself for what she was.