Excerpt: T I N S A L - About junipers & March hares

 

“Who is that?” Terra pointed to the right, squinting in the new shadows thrown by the ancient tree beside them.

An old woman, bent over with age or cares, ambled slowly along the far hedgerow, seemingly sniffing at the berries and blossoms there. Terra had the distinct feeling that she sent her gaze at Broadwood more often than was necessary when out walking in the fresh air.

“That would be Ma March,” Folly muttered. “Mad as the March Juniper, probably how she got her name. She lives in a cottage on Ferntree.” He frowned and began to glance repeatedly over his shoulder.

“What is it?” Rhodry asked in a low tone.

“Jonah will do his nut when he sees her.”

“Why?”

“He hates thinking of Ferntree even by indirect reminder, you know that. Its proximity to Broadwood …” Folly gestured beyond the hedgerow. “… often keeps him from visiting here. When he surrendered his assets to the Church, he thought he was doing the right thing, as a priest has no need of earthly wealth, after all, but now he begins to wonder if he erred.’

“He erred,” Rhodry said.

Folly placed hands on hips. “How is that, my friend? Jonah will never further his line. Why keep a manor house, one ageing year by year into disrepair without adequate maintenance? For his old age? The Church will place him in care. More than likely it will be decent care after his very generous gift. How, therefore, did he err?”

“He was too hasty after his father died. He allowed grief to–”

“Grief had nothing to do with it. Jonah’s conscience came into play.”

“But you must admit he was too hasty,” Rhodry insisted.

Folly swung away. “Maybe. Still, what is done is done. And it is also a truth that he hates reminders of his departed legacy … and Ma March is a direct reminder.”

“How?” Terra asked.

“She was his nursemaid for many years.”

Rhodry made a face. “Perhaps she stalks that hedgerow for a reason, one other than smelling the bounty.”

“That’s what worries me,” Folly muttered.

Terra was decisive. “Then you two distract Jonah while I talk to her.”

Without awaiting confirmation, she headed down the steps to walk with purpose across the manicured lawn towards the far boundary. She hoped the two men would heed her, but did not look back to check. She had to seem authoritative to the waiting watcher.

Yes, Ma March had straightened and was waiting.

 

 

“WHO ARE YOU?” the older woman demanded as Terra came to rest on her side of the hedgerow. “I must speak with Jonah.”

Terra eyed her. “I am Terra. You’re not mad at all.”

A blink, then a twinkle appeared in faded blue eyes. “A mad woman is allowed certain liberties. No junipers in my line. My family name is, in fact, March. Suits my purpose to appear mad, it does.”

“Your purpose?”

“I swore to look out for the young master of Ferntree, and I aim to keep that promise until I draw my final breath. His mother entrusted his well-being to me and if there is one woman I have every respect for, it is Ruth Ferntree, bless her departed soul.”

Terra frowned. “Why are you telling me? Why trust me?”

“You are Terra.”

Terra abruptly bent over, hands to knees, sucking in deep breaths. “Someone has said that to me in my dreams since I was a child. You are Terra, she says, many nights. You? How? Why?”

“Dear, calm yourself. There are connections everywhere. In some manner or another we are all of us linked. You heard me, I saw you, and now we meet.”

“How?” Terra whispered, managing to straighten.

“There is magic in the world, dear. This particular society may not feel it as it should be felt, but it exists nonetheless.” Ma March changed direction then, much to Terra’s consternation. “Do you know of Amaris?”

It took Terra a fair few moments to focus. “The witch?”

“Many call her that, yes, and she has power, thus they are not wrong … only misled about what exactly a witch is. Amaris is dead.”

A blunt statement, that, one which served to further confuse. “That’s terrible, but–”

“Zanderin visited with her this morning.”

Terra was silenced.

“Now you wonder how Amaris is connected to the Stone. Not so? She was the love of Kell Sindaland’s life, that’s how.”

Terra puffed out her cheeks, feeling completely lost. “She died because a dead man once loved her?”

“Yes.”

“How terrible.”

“What is terrible is that Rhodry Fairweather has lost the ability to use her wisdom, and that means Jonah loses some of the protection that surrounds Rhodry.”

“What?” She sounded wholly ignorant, but this old woman now spoke in riddles. “You are not making sense.”

A wrinkled hand reached across the hedgerow to grip her wrist. “Dear, just listen. You are Terra. Listen and tell them.” Maintaining a paralysing grip, she glanced over her shoulder. “The holier-than-thou churchmen search for me. Part of the deal for Ferntree is my continued existence, something Jonah insisted upon. Makes them avid little watchdogs, I’m afraid.”

She turned back to capture Terra’s eyes in a fierce, intense gaze, one as paralysing as her hold on her wrist.

“Listen. Many years ago Amaris spoke words of protection for Rhodry Fairweather, but its efficacy is less now that she is passed beyond. It’s there, but less. The danger to all of you young ones is thus greater than it was just an hour ago. Be aware of this and help Jonah where you are able, for I cannot do so myself, other than to speak the warning. And know this also, many will die before this is over. The Tinsal whore cannot be turned from her path. She has a tarot card, one she allocated to herself, for she is part of the net of connections after all. Clever girl. It binds her to see it done.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Because I have the same card, dear. Oh, it wasn’t delivered me by that fool Zanderin; it is a card handed down in my family, woman to woman, until it came to me. One will be left, our story goes, and she will be the one who knows of the other.”

“I don’t understand,” Terra urged.

“The Manipulator, child. We call it Destiny. I am the last of my line. My destiny is to know when another takes up this eccentric card, and Bronwyn has now done that. And not even Zanderin knows. Tell Rhodry. It gifts him insights Zanderin is forced to overlook in his ignorance … oh, here they come, my watchdogs.”

An astonished Terra witnessed an utter transformation. Within moments Ma March was again bent and frail and seemingly as crazy as the juniper with which she was associated. Ma March winked at her and shuffled away. She wandered into the clutches of three robed figures and did not look back.

The priests merely nodded in Terra’s direction. Thank heavens they were an incurious bunch.

Why were junipers considered crazy? It had something to do with dwarf trees and souls within, a children’s tale once, now folklore. Drawing breath after breath, never mind the bloody junipers, she berated herself, Terra strolled back to Broadwood.

Rhodry was outside, waiting.

His seductive smile drew her ever nearer.

Fantasy with a twist; akin to an alternate Assassin’s Creed, where tarot cards are the weapons.

Bronwyn, a woman scorned, loses her honour, status, and her leg, and now the time has come to exact retribution.

Zanderin, a sorcerer bound to her, waves his magic over the attention seeking cards, each with a name attached, and every card becomes a symbol of doom. This is a cosmic deck, dealing in fate. Via his swift carriage, hooded and cloaked, he is the harbinger and assassin.

Terra meets her betrothed, Rhodry, when Zanderin gifts his first card. Rhodry and Zanderin are connected, and everyone linked to them is on Bronwyn’s list of names.

TINSAL is about bloodlines, secrets, and a controlled society. As the cards are dealt, death follows, until the endgame moves to Castle Tinsal itself.

TINSAL