The Great Harvest
an excerpt

The smell of mulled cider and cinnamon venison filled the room. Mara’s stomach cramped in response to remind her that it had been far too long since she had last eaten. She stopped to glance at the closed door, then returned to the task at hand. With her sister ill after an early childbirth, she was the only one around qualified to complete the dress. If it were just sewing, they could have brought in a few of the older women in town, but the intricate magic woven into every thread was for witches alone. Yet the others didn’t sew; their talents lay elsewhere. So did hers, normally, but this was the skill needed today, and without Lina someone had to step in. She turned her attention back to the thread and needle, murmuring a soft chant that would have been barely audible to anyone who chanced to be near.

Downstairs the noise was beginning to pick up as the others arrived. There was so much to be done before tomorrow night. Sharril came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Winter wasn’t quite here, but the nights had grown rather chilly, and during the day there was a constant wind, a cool wet wind that promised much snow in the months to come. She shivered as the wind swept into the house. She looked up to see who had left the door open and scolded Tre and Misca to close the door. She then returned to the feast preparations in the kitchen.

Everyone had a job to do tonight. Tre and Misca were the youngest, being just barely fifteen, and therefore their jobs were to assist the others, who were slowly arriving one or two at a time. Bernard was the oldest. Tre and Misca had whispered among themselves about Bernard, wondering if he had always been old. Their whisperings were overheard and forgiven, for youth is a gift of blindness that you lose as you grow older. None of the elders would fault them, for we all remember our innocence fondly.

Besides, Bernard was nearly eighty. He wasn’t the only elder, of course. Verna had just had her 70th birthday. Kira was in her mid-sixties, and Nen was sixty-one. Sharril was in the middle range, being forty-nine. Her cohort included Mag, Harin, Suna, Brax, Teram, Kanet, and Galia. Mara was in the next age range, being thirty-three. Her group contained Mir, Rafir, Neal, Dew, Citav, and Mela, Tre and Misca’s mother. Then came Lina, Parm, Yeta, and Kern in their early twenties. And the twins, of course, Tre and Misca (boy and girl, respectively), both with their mother’s auburn curls.

Sharril bustled about in the kitchen, calling Misca and Tre in to help her move one of the larger kettles from the water spout to the fire. Misca whispered to Tre about Sharril’s long gold and silver hair. “Why does she always wear it like that?” Tre shrugged and Sharril, who had overheard Misca’s soft whisper, didn’t enlighten the girl. Sharril had always worn her hair in a long braid. She refused to wear it in a bun like the older women in the village, and she had never liked wearing it loose like the younger women were wearing it. Besides that bun usually meant one was married, and though marriage was permissible for witches, Sharril had always chosen to avoid that yoke. However, there were stories that Sharril hadn’t always been alone. When she was younger, she had had a companion, a woman named Jena, but one winter Jena had slipped through the ice and drowned. That had been twenty years ago. Sharril had never quite stopped grieving.

Mara finally stood, stretching and realizing how tired she was. She laid the dress on the table near her, and walked slowly to the door of her room. She pulled a leather cord from her apron pocket and tied her long brown hair back into a ponytail. She normally wore it loose, but had gotten so warm in the room, sitting so close to the fire.

The noise level had increased as people came in, and when she opened the door the sound seemed to double. Mara could tell from the sound, recognizing the tenor of most of the voices, that most of the group was there now. She was prepared to greet everyone once she got downstairs. But she wasn’t prepared for a squealing Misca, who was running up the stairs to tackle her in a tight hug. Mara laughed and ruffled Misca’s auburn hair.

“When did you get here?” Misca asked Mara.

“Three days ago. I’ve been locked away, dearest … working. When did you arrive?”

“We got here around midday. Mom went off to talk to Verna and Kanet. Tre and I came in the house and Sharril put us to work.”

Mara laughed, “Good. You two could get in too much trouble without something to keep you busy.”

Mara realized that at midday she had been completely unaware of anyone coming or going from the house. She must have been so focused she had shut everyone out. She glanced out a window as they came into the main room, and realized it was almost twilight. What a long day it had been already. And still so much to do.

Mara greeted everyone warmly, and wandered into the kitchen. It was strange to see Sharril not in there, but Mara had seen her talking to Bernard and Galia in a corner of the main room. Mara walked toward the hearth and just inhaled the delicious scent. Her stomach grumbled angrily, and suddenly Mara felt the lightheadedness and shaking of too little food and too little sleep. She sat down hard on the bench to the right of the hearth, and suddenly Sharril was at her elbow.

“Dammit, Mara. You know better than this. If I hadn’t been so focused on preparations I would have realized your energy was getting low. Here … eat this!” Her words were a little harsh, but her tone was more gentle. She handed Mara a piece of warm bread. Then she dipped a cup of cider and sat beside Mara, handing her the drink when she had stopped chewing. Sharril continued, “We have to have our strength to do this, Mara. We can’t afford for you to wear yourself down, especially not now, with Lina unable to help.”

Mara lowered her head and nodded. “I know. I just got caught up …”

Sharril smiled and kissed Mara on the cheek. There had always been warm affection between them, and Mara felt warmed by the kiss, knowing Sharril wasn’t scolding her out of anger, but from love.

Sharril worried about Mara. Mara had always been such a serious girl. After their mother died when Lina, the baby of the family, was ten, Mara had raised Lina. Being the only two witches in their family, Mara had felt it important for Lina to be around other witches for training. Their father had been sad to see his baby go, he had been especially fond of the beautiful and vibrant Lina, but he had understood Mara and knew this was something she felt she must do. Mara had always been the responsible one, and their father had always praised her for it. As she got older, though, he wondered if he should have encouraged to play more. But it was really too late for questions like that.

Mara had never married. She was too busy with her obligations and responsibilities to even consider it. She felt that her devotion lay first to Lina and second to the group, but she took both of those very seriously and very much to heart. Mara was very determined, tenacious and intense, but also very loving, and Lina could never once say that she wanted for love while in Mara’s care. Misca, too, could feel Mara’s immense apacity for love and was devoted to Mara even more so than her mother. The only person Misca loved more than Mara was Tre, and that was because you have to love someone you shared a womb with most.

Mara sat in the kitchen after Sharril left. Her thoughts turned to her sister Lina, and she wondered how Lina was faring. Mara would never admit it to Lina, but Lina’s decision to marry at twenty-two had been hard for Mara. Even though she was happy for Lina, she couldn’t help feeling a little resentful and abandoned. Like many a mother (or guardian, as was Mara’s case), Mara was dealing with the disturbing quiet of an empty house. The last news Mara had heard of Lina was that Lina was recovering, but slowly; that the baby, a girl Lina had named Ranil after their beloved mother, was healthy; and that Lina’s new husband, Dar, was beside himself with worry. For some reason that last piece of news calmed Mara some, for she felt that it was proof that he cared about Lina. “Maybe not as much as me,” Mara thought selfishly, but still it meant that Lina wasn’t all alone in a cold house.

Mara cut herself another piece of bread and ate it. When she felt the shaking of no food subside as the food and cider found their way to her empty belly, she finally stood and made her way back into the enthusiastic buzzing in the main room. Mela found Mara and drug her off to a warm corner, asking about what still needed to be done.

Tre and Misca sat on the window seat observing everyone, and talking among themselves as the twins often did. They watched their mother and Mara talking, noted the concentration on the women’s faces and talked about Mara’s height, something that Misca had always admired about Mara, but Mara herself was incredibly self-conscious about. Mara was as tall as some of the men, and taller than all of the other women there. Mara was blind to the fact that her height added to her solemn beauty, instead she saw it as a limitation somehow, something that made her stand out as different. And Mara had never wanted to stand out. She just wanted to be left alone to do her job and do it well, so that everyone benefited from it. To Mara, Lina had always been the real beauty, with her slight and lithe frame, somewhat dramatic in most of her responses, but always charming to everyone no matter who they were and vibrant in a way one might describe an incredibly beautiful butterfly, full of color and life. It was Lina who should be the one to stand out, Mara thought. But Mara was unaware of her own strength, and of her own destiny.

Misca and Tre looked around the room and Misca’s eyes fell on Parm and Yeta. She whispered to Tre that Parm and Yeta looked quite friendly. Indeed, Parm had his arm around Yeta’s shoulder. “Do you think they will get married soon?” Misca asked. Tre nodded eagerly, “Oh yes,” he said, “before the end of winter. I’m sure of it.”

Another reason the elders listened to Tre and Misca’s wonderings, though they rarely let the young pair know, was because the twins were both seers, and often gems of hidden knowledge fell from their lips, unbeknownst to them. They played these guessing games, and on almost every occasion, their “guesses” were proven correct. That was because, as Bernard would later explain to them, they weren’t really “guessing” as they thought, but were, instead, predicting the future, or rather seeing it more clearly than some people were able to see the present.

The pair scanned the room again and Tre’s eyes fell on Verna, who was talking quietly with Kira, Suna, and Brax. Tre noticed Verna’s cough and glanced worriedly at Misca. Misca frowned and shook her head sadly. Then they nodded in silent agreement. They knew. Verna would not make it through till the end of spring.

Mir and Rafir, twin brothers, were standing to one side, talking while Rafir drew in his sketchbook. Rafir always worried about the images being lost. Great storytellers could repeat long oratories, but where were the images to go along with these stories? He and Mir always argued about this.

“Words tell the stories,” Mir would say.

“Yes, but pictures show it,” Rafir would respond.

Always the same argument. But to Rafir it was important how the fading light of the main room at the close of day cast shadows across people’s faces. He sensed the importance of the intense look in Mara’s brown eyes as she and Mela spoke, and the way Sharril leaned forward in her conversation with Mag, worry written clearly on her face. Rafir thought the silver of Bernard’s hair and the wizened forehead told of stories long hidden but never forgotten. Rafir and Mir both had a memory for detail unsurpassed by anyone present. It was their gift, and like the other twins, Misca and Tre, they seemed to work best when working together.

Sharril motioned for Citav, Dew and Kern to help her in the kitchen, while Tre and Misca hopped off the window seat to begin setting the large table in the far right corner of the main room. Others moved slowly toward the table to help light candles, while Kanet and Neal worked on the two fireplaces nearest the table to ensure that everyone was comfortable on this chilly eve.

For such a large group, they really seemed to be quite cozy and comfortable with each other. As well they should be, though, for their work together was intense and required a trust greater than anything else. The goal was “perfect love and perfect trust” during their rituals (and at other times as well), but they knew that perfection was illusion. They did their best, however, to strive for as total a trust and as unconditional a love as each of them could give. And this seemed to work well.

Sharril and the others soon emerged from the kitchen, laden with large bowls and platters. Along with the cinnamon venison that had been teasing Mara’s nostrils all day, many other sumptuous dishes came to the table. Honey sweetened pumpkin cakes, fried apples, breaded zucchini, three different kinds of bread, and six different kinds of vegetables.

Tre eagerly helped himself to a helping of everything and proceeded to eat every last bite. Mara smiled to herself in admiration of Tre’s appetite. Mara herself could barely find room for the small helpings of venison and fried apples she had placed on her plate. Even the cider felt heavy to Mara, and she realized just how much outside her body she had pulled herself while working on the dress. Dangerous to do that at this time of year when the veil was so thin, and more dangerous, indeed, to do this at the time of the Great Harvest, that time, once every hundred years, when the veil was so thin even a non-witch could almost walk through it.

Dinner finished and everyone wandered off to begin to do whatever work they needed to do tonight, so that tomorrow would go smoothly. Mara stood and made her way back to her room. Sharril followed her up the stairs.

“Mara, can I talk to you?”

Mara nodded and they entered her room.

“You really must rest some before you finish this dress. If you like I will have someone come in and wake you in a bit, just a short nap, even, will do you some good.”

Again Mara nodded. She knew this was coming, and she knew Sharril was right. She just worried about the completion of the dress. She stood there, thinking, until she heard Sharril laugh.

“Oh, Mara … come on …” Sharril took Mara by the hand and led her to the bed. “You are so tired you are practically sleeping on your feet.”

“No, I’m fine, really …”

Sharril laughed again, softly, and said, “You stood there for far too long to just be thinking, dear one. I can see that you are not going to do this on your own, so … come on, lie down.” She sat on the bed and pulled Mara in with her. Mara curled up on her side and Sharril lay behind her, curled up against her back. Within mere minutes, Mara was asleep. Sharril had planned to get up and ask someone to watch the time, but she, too, fell asleep. A few hours later, Sharril woke with a start, realizing she had fallen asleep. Mara was still sleeping beside her. The fire in the room had dwindled down fairly low, and the room had cooled off a good bit. Sharril wondered if it was the cold that had awakened her, or just her worry about over sleeping. Either way, it didn’t matter, she was awake now. She slipped slowly out of bed, careful to not wake Mara, and set about rebuilding the fire. It wasn’t long before the room was glowing again. Sharril glanced over at Mara, sleeping so beautifully, and wondered how much longer she could get away with letting her sleep. She walked quietly to the door, found Verna and Rafir in the main room, Rafir was sketching Verna while she gave him instructions for the next day. Sharril asked them to please come to Mara’s room and wake her in a few hours. They agreed, and Sharril went to the kitchen to check on a few things, stoke the fire in there, and then went back to Mara’s room to curl back up with her. Sharril had been so busy worrying about Mara that she hadn’t realized how tired she herself was.

Sharril felt she had just fallen asleep when Rafir knocked on the door as a wake up call. Sharril raises up on her elbow and looked over at the door. Mara stirred gently beside Sharril at the knock, but didn’t open her eyes right away. Rafir peaked his head in the door and saw Sharril awake, looking at him. He smiled, waved and closed the door again. Mara rolled over, with a soft yawn hidden behind her hand, and looked up at Sharril.

“Good morning.” Sharril said playfully, smiling down at Mara.

“Good morning.” Mara said softly. She realized she had never seen Sharril from this angle. “You’re so beautiful. I hadn’t ever noticed.” She murmured, sleep making her voice husky and soft, and reached up to touch the softness of Sharril’s braid. Sharril chuckled, kissed Mara on the forehead, and said, “So are you.” Then she slipped off the opposite side of the bed, saying, “It’s time to get up and get back to work. There will be time for another nap just after lunch. We have much work to do.” The door made a soft click as she closed it behind her.

Mara stretched again and nodded. She knew how important their work was. She didn’t realize how much difference a little sleep would make. When she walked to the fire, and picked up the dress, she felt as though she had been revived. She hummed to herself as she sewed, something that would have surprised her sister, had she been around to see it. Something that would have surprised Mara herself, actually, if she had realized she was doing it. Mara, serious, studious, solid Mara, was humming. What she didn’t realize was that she was humming the song of the dress. The dress was singing to her very soul, awakening her to herself.

After a few hours, Sharril came back into the room with a cup of cider. Mara smiled gratefully. It seemed she had never really noticed Sharril before and tonight she was seeing so much of her anew. She felt a little shy around her mentor and friend, and after a quick gulp of cider, Mara returned her attention to her dress. Sharril quietly let herself out of the room.

Morning dawned and Mara stood, stretching. It was amazing to her how quickly time passed when she was working on this dress, and how stiff she got during that time. She opened her door, and could tell that Sharril was already busy in the kitchen making breakfast. She wandered through the quiet halls. Almost everyone else was sleeping. She walked down the stairs and into the main room. She overheard Tre say, “She won’t.” and to hear Misca tearfully reply, “Yes, she will!” Mara wasn’t sure who or what they were discussing, but it was the first time she had ever heard the twins disagree on something. The twins looked up guiltily as they heard her enter. Tre waved at her, but Misca looked miserable. Mara walked over to them and ruffled Misca’s hair. “What’s wrong, little one?” But Misca would not speak of it. She just buried her face against Mara’s chest and hugged her tightly. Mara knew better than to ask and just stood there holding Misca. Mara looked at Tre for answers, but he just shrugged, though his eyes said that he knew more than he was willing to say. Mara decided to let it go. Whatever it was would be revealed soon enough.

Once she had untangled herself from Misca’s clinging and almost desperate embrace, Mara made her way into the kitchen. Sharril had her back to the door, and was kneading dough. “Good morning, Mara.” She said. “Why are you wearing Misca’s tears?”

Mara could be perceptive too, but Sharril’s intuitions were amazing. “Good morning.” Mara smiled at Sharril’s back, then shrugged, knowing Sharril would sense her shrug even though she still hadn’t turned around. “I’m not sure what’s going on with Misca. I came across her and Tre having a disagreement. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard them disagree.”

Sharril nodded. Unlike Mara, she seemed unsurprised. Finally, Sharril glanced over her shoulder. “How’s the dress coming along?”

“Pretty well, actually. I think, after I eat, I will be able to finish it long before mid-day.”

“Good. Then you will have time for another nap in the afternoon. It’s going to be a long night. We will all need a nap in the afternoon.”

Mara nodded. That made sense to her. They had done many a festival in the dark of night. She felt she had an idea of what was going to happen. She would soon learn that she knew very little. Very little, indeed.

After a quick breakfast, Mara returned to her room. The dress was done before mid-day as she had predicted. Sharril came into the room once, and Mara was so engrossed that she never heard her enter. She was no longer just humming, she was singing, the song a melody of dark and light, about twilight, about beginnings and endings.

“What’s that you’re singing?”

Mara stopped suddenly. “What?”

“What were you singing?”

“I …. I wasn’t singing.”

“Mara, you were singing.”

“I thought …. No, the dress was singing.” Mara said in surprised recognition. “The dress was singing.”

They stared at each other in wonder. “There is more to that dress that either of us know.” Sharril said, and Mara nodded in response.