She's the One Who Won't Behave Read online

  Copyright 2022 by Sherrie Cronin

  All rights reserved

  by Cinnabar Press, Black Mountain North Carolina 28711

  ISBN-13: 978-1-941283-64-6

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except for review.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except for historical figures and information, the events and characters in it are imaginary.

  Dedication

  To all the women who know, deep in their hearts, that they can do anything, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

  Gypsum’s Table of Contents

  Warning: You Are About to Enter Ilari

  The Map of Ilari

  Part One. The Year of Immense Concern

  Chapter 1. A Different Sort of Spring

  Chapter 2. A Truth, a Disappearance, and a Plan

  Chapter 3. Ed

  Chapter 4. Harmony and Camaraderie? At a Wedding?

  Chapter 5. Other Things a Lacemaker Can Make

  Chapter 6. The Prey the Predator Avoids

  Part. Two. The Year of Extreme Distress

  Chapter 7. Wind and Fire

  Chapter 8. A Fast Exit From Pilk

  Chapter 9. Ten Strangers in Lev

  Chapter 10. Mom Sends Her Love

  Chapter 11. In the Forest

  Chapter 12. A Rescue Operation

  Chapter 13. Cool Water on a Hot Day

  Chapter 14. Hiding a Wall

  Chapter 15. A Royal Connection

  Chapter 16. The K’ba Palace

  Chapter 17. Black Mustard Seed, Grains of Paradise, and Valerian Root

  Chapter 18. Eggs

  Chapter 19. Not That Door

  Chapter 20. Less of a Big Deal Than Usual

  Chapter 21. Not a Prince

  Chapter 22. More Than Bunnies

  Chapter 23. A Well Delivered Message

  Chapter 24. Burying the Crock

  Chapter 25. Dead Fish and Three Riders

  Chapter 26. Anyone in Purple Can Help You

  Chapter 27. A Lot of People, a Lot of Trees, and Not Much Space

  Chapter 28. Down the Cliff

  About These Books

  About the Author

  The Ilarian Calendar

  The Twelve Nichnas

  The Map of Ilari

  Words Used by Ilarians

  Meet the Ilarians in this Book

  Warning: You Are About to Enter Ilari

  Welcome to the thirteenth century in a universe nearly identical to your own. The one major difference here is the existence of Ilari.

  Ilari (el ARE ee) is a small hidden coalition of principalities in far eastern Europe. It has never been conquered thanks to its natural protection and the magic of its people. The lack of outside influence means that much will be new to you. But fear not, you have the tools to help.

  A map of Ilari is located at the front and back of this book. The back also has a description of the twelve nichnas (tiny principalities) that comprise Ilari.

  Ilarians do not use any variation of the Roman calendar, as Rome never invaded their realm. Each chapter starts with a picture of the Ilarian calendar and the shaded area shows when that chapter takes place. Details about the Ilarian calendar are at the back of the book along with definitions for unique Ilarian words and a list of characters.

  All of this information is also at https://troublesome7sisters.xyz/ and can be downloaded and printed.

  Ilarians of the 1200s have some contact with the outside even though legend says interaction with others used to be rarer. Ilarian scholars know facts about world history and current events beyond their borders. What they know matches what you know, of course, because the world outside of Ilari is like the one in which we live.

  However, the world inside is filled with surprises.

  Enjoy your visit!

  The Map of Ilari

  Part One. The Year of Immense Concern

  Chapter 1. A Different Sort of Spring

  “What’s your name?”

  I knew every boy who went to my school and the smiling young man asking the question was not one of them. He’d joined our circle of tidzys after the others arrived, standing around the fire with us as we sought partners for the holiday celebration. He’d already introduced himself to several young women. Whatever he murmured incited giggles and a few unmistakable wiggles as well.

  When he approached me, these women turned their wide eyes away from his face to give me a narrowed-eye stare of warning. I didn’t understand why. His lighter hair and tanned country physique weren’t that special, although he did have the confidence that makes everyone seem more attractive. And enough indifference to make a young woman willing to do much to impress him.

  I didn’t play games like that.

  My first instinct was to make up a ridiculous name. Duck Piss came to mind. Then I decided the name my family had stuck me with was probably ridiculous enough.

  “Gypsum. My name is Gypsum.”

  “Isn’t that some ugly grey rock?” he asked.

  “Yup. It was going to be that or Duck Piss, so I guess I lucked out.”

  I turned away from him and focused my gaze on several attractive men crouching in front of the fire, sharing laughter and ale. As I said, I don’t like stupid games or the men who play them.

  “My name is Sheep Scump. Nice to meet you.”

  I turned back. “Well, at least you play along.”

  “Oh, I play along very well.”

  Really?

  “So, what are you doing here? You got tired of playing with the tidzys over at your school?”

  “No. My school got tired of me. Or rather they grew tired of my attempts at humor and asked me to seek education elsewhere. I start classes here after the holiday.”

  I don’t know why I asked the next question.

  “Do your parents know?”

  He winced.

  “They barely knew which school I was at then.”

  “Oh. What did you do to get kicked out?”

  He slipped an arm around my waist and in one slick move he turned the two of us away from the fire.

  “I’ve got a jug of particularly fine red dinner wine waiting in my saddle bag. I hoped I’d find someone worth sharing it with. Would you care to walk over to the stables while I tell you of my horrendous crimes?”

  I liked the feel of him. His smell. Okay, I even liked the undercurrent of hurt under his bravado. And I liked the promise of something better to drink than the cheap ale being handed out around the fire.

  “Sure. Let’s walk, talk, and see where this goes.”

  He ran his hand up my side and gave my breast a friendly squeeze. I didn’t have much to offer in that area, but he didn’t seem to care.

  I put my hand on his butt and squeezed back.

  We both knew exactly where this was going.

  We rode together on his horse to another part of Pilk. His old school wasn’t far from mine and he took me to the small room he shared with three other students who’d left for the holiday. We drank and had sex the way strangers do -- cautiously, each taking our pleasure while guessing what would please the other. It ended well enough and the rest of the wine tasted even better as we lay together and talked.

  Curled up naked beside him on his lumpy bed, I learned of the ill-advised pranks that forced him to change schools. Stupid things. I thought his school overreacted until I learned his closest friend received no punishment at all.

  “They decided I had to be the bad influence. Best to get rid of me, you know? Probably shouldn’t have let me in to begin with…”
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  “Because your name is Sheep Scump?” Despite my joke, I sat up, indignant for him.

  He sat up as well, scooted next to me, and wrapped a blanket around both of our shoulders.

  “No. Because my friend has a father who teaches there. They look out for their own.”

  Maybe this wasn’t the time to tell him my father taught also.

  “Your parents weren’t inclined to intervene on your behalf?” I saw the displeasure on his face before I finished the sentence. “Wait. I remember. They don’t care that you’re in school.”

  “Oh, they care; they just don’t care which one. Anything that keeps me from herding goats pisses them off.”

  I only knew one place in Ilari where goat herding was common. I scooted away from him without thinking.

  “You’re an Edser?”

  “Yes.” He met my gaze with a look saying you want to make something of it?

  I didn’t. Edsers were known for being cranky, intolerant, and ignorant. So far Sheep Scump had only shown signs of crankiness. I didn’t want to encourage it.

  “So. You’re an unusual Edser who wants an education.”

  “I thought I did. And what are you? The cherished daughter of a …”

  I interrupted him. “Don’t go there. I’m not a cherished anything. I’m the sixth daughter of wheat farmers, and I’m the child both parents wish had never been born.”

  My eyes met his. Top that they said.

  Spring sauntered into Pilk that year with an abundance of hyacinths. A whole garden of them bloomed outside of Sheep Scump’s bedroom and their scent wafted through my dreams when I lay with him. We slept together any night his roommates were gone. They stayed elsewhere often, and I supposed he asked them to.

  As we got more comfortable, we teased each other. He enjoyed playfulness and so did I, and our sex got less cautious and more fun. Our time afterward improved too. We often stayed up half the night, laughing at ourselves and everyone else. In between, we shared our worst moments and our deepest hurts and we laughed at them too, all while surrounded by the soft smell of flowers. I’d never had a friend like him, much less one I could pruck.

  Yet others hardly noticed the hyacinths. That spring, people avoided looking around, deep in their worries. What was wrong with them?

  More Svadlu appeared and more officers strutted around in their yellow capes, filled with self-importance. Sheep Scump saw the changes too, and they baffled him. We both asked others what had happened but our friends at school knew nothing.

  Knowing I preferred to study people instead of things, I mostly took classes in Ilari’s history and government. I had a history teacher I liked, and one afternoon I visited her office.

  “Why is everyone acting so scared lately?” It couldn’t hurt to ask. Maybe she knew.

  Her eyes widened in surprise and she put a finger to her lips as she gestured me into a chair in her office. She pulled the curtain shut, leaving us in a tiny enclosure lit by a single candle.

  “The Svadlu came to us for information,” she said in a low voice. “We’re not supposed to talk about it, but I’m not going lie to anyone who asks me. Ilari could be invaded soon by those who mean us ill-will.”

  “What? That’s horrible. Why would people do that to us?”

  “Come now, you’ve paid more attention in my class. Elsewhere throughout history others often took over lands that weren’t theirs. Ilarians don’t understand it, but it appears to have been common.”

  “Then why has no one done this to us before?”

  She smiled and I knew I’d asked the perfect question.

  “Well, that’s the subject of much discussion in my field. Many propose physical reasons for our safety. Mountains on one side and two large rivers, a lake, and a marsh do make entry difficult. Certainly, that plays a role.”

  “What else does?”

  Another pleased smile.

  “The more religious credit the Goddess.” Her scrunched face told me she disagreed. “The more sensible think the Velka in the forest once wielded stronger magic and kept all but the occasional traveler or merchant from crossing our borders. Others go as far as believing that only the well-meaning could enter. There could be truth to their theories. The Velka still do unexplainable things.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. My own mother hated these women of the forest, so I hadn’t exactly been raised to be unbiased about them. I had trouble believing they could do something as impressive as protecting the entire realm.

  My teacher shrugged and gave me a little laugh. “But of course, I study people, so I think people have kept us safe. The people in other lands that is.”

  She leaned forward in her chair and watched me to see if I understood her. I did.

  “You invade places you covet, because you want what they’ve got,” I said.

  “Exactly! And others don’t know enough about us to come after us.”

  “So what’s changed?”

  “There’s a mountainous land far to the northeast, with fierce people doing something quite unique. They don’t care what you’ve got. They invade everybody, and we’re in their path. The only question is how long it will take them to get here.”

  Well, that sounded serious.

  “Later today, after you’ve thought about this, I know you’ll want to warn everyone you know. But please don’t, Gypsum. It won’t do any good. You’ll sound crazy and I could lose my job for telling a student this information. If you wait, everyone will know soon enough. Okay?”

  She stood and pulled back her curtain, her trust in me showing on her face. What could I say?

  “Of course. I promise.”

  She was right about one thing. I didn’t need more people thinking I was strange.

  I walked back to the room I shared with other students and gathered up thread and supplies to occupy me all day. Then I walked until I found a sunny spot to sit.

  Sewing had always calmed me. I’d done most of the mending for my family when I lived at home and it was the one activity that earned me any respect. What a shame this talent wasn’t considered worthy of advanced study, like art or music or teaching.

  Now I did needlepoint for fun, and crocheted sometimes too, although others usually found my results too disorderly. Tatting was my favorite. The beautiful bits of knotted lace grew in whatever wild patterns suited my mood, and they always came out beautiful to anyone’s eye.

  Today I took threads in shades of green. Green like the Velka, whom many referred to as green witches because of their talents with plants. We didn’t talk about them much at my house, of course, although I got the vague impression my mother’s unexplained dislike of them had something to do with me. Maybe I’d work up the nerve to ask her about it. Someday.

  I sat cross-legged on the ground in my day dress, cursing the confinement of my clothes. I’d have been far more comfortable in my night shift or even just wearing my breast band and the short breeches I put on under my skirts. I thought of how soothing the sun would feel on my bare skin and wondered why my world denied me such a simple pleasure.

  My fingers flew as I made the familiar knots in the thick thread. The voices in my head stopped complaining as I worked, and I felt my shoulders relax. Good. I knew I put myself into each thing I created, and I wanted to infuse this green lace with all the calm I could. Then I’d fasten pieces onto each dress I owned. Maybe over the next several days, they could wash the image of these horrible invaders from my mind.

  I returned late in the day, too late to be fed with the other girls. The older woman who looked after us had put aside bread, cheese, and dried fruit for me so I wouldn’t go to bed hungry. She was good about such things. As I chewed on the thick bread, wishing I had ale to wash it down, I studied my afternoon’s work. I’d made more leaves than I’d intended.

  I nibbled on the hard cheese when a messenger came to the door and asked for me. Most of the women I lived with got frequent messages from their families, but mine wasted no such money. If the
y paid someone to speak their words, those words had to be important.

  “Gypsum Yemi Glonti?” he inquired.

  My full name made me cringe. Even as a small child I knew my middle name screamed out to the world that I differed from my sisters and would never be one of them. Not really.

  “Yes?”

  He moved his left hand up in front of his face to indicate he donned the mask of the person for whom he spoke.

  “We don’t know your plans, daughter, because you have not shared them with us, but we beseech you to join the rest of your family for the celebration of Keva.”

  Oh Heli. I’d been looking forward to that celebration with Sheep Scump.

  The messenger studied my face, then continued.

  “Your oldest sister Ryalgar has chosen to leave the family and join the Velka.”

  What?! My mother must be horrified. For a heartbeat, I felt sorry for the woman.

  “Custom decrees that when your sister enters the forest her family accompanies her, decked out in leaves, flowers, and other symbols of nature. We, we find this difficult enough. Please, come lend your support.”

  I wondered if my father or my mother had created this message. It was hard to tell. Neither stumbled over their words, usually, and I couldn’t recall either of them ever saying “please” to me. And this was more enthusiasm for my presence than I could remember.

  “Did they pay you to bring a message back?” They knew I couldn’t afford to respond with the little stipend they gave me.

  He hastily moved his right hand down in front of his face to indicate he spoke as himself.

  “They did. They instructed me not to leave until I had one.”

  Should I go home for Keva? Ryalgar’s decision would move all my sisters up in Mother’s expectations for marriage and no one would be happy. Sure, we all loved each other but that didn’t mean we understood or even liked each other. Somedays, I didn’t like any of them.