Force of Nature

Chapter 6

The meeting was to take place in the Chief's cell which wasn't far from the Mór. Maisri was still seething from Thomas' teasing and was muttering about him under her breath when she entered the room. Unlike the rest of the settlement, the Chief's Quarters were very spacious. The front area was used as a place for formal meetings and the like. The large double doors behind the desk led to a maze of connected rooms where the Chief and the High Family lived. The Chief's Quarters were very decorative, with large paintings, various rugs, fireplaces and objects littering every space. It made Maisri a little envious to see that her siblings had grown up around all of this luxury, where she had not.

The Nollaig organisers were already present when Maisri entered. They were predominately made up of heads of the Zone's Cinn-Mór families. Torrin's elderly father and mother were both present as well as a few others. Maisri went around the room, greeting everyone and trying to engage them in at least a little conversation. They all gladly participated, praising her for the success in the recent raid. She assured them it was the success of all the participating raiders, not just herself.

The back doors to the room were opened and the Chief entered. As he passed by Maisri he said lowly, "with me Raider." She followed him to the desk. He sat in the chair, flexing his arms against its handles. She remained standing at his side. "So, where are we with Nollaig preparations?" He enquired sternly, his eyes washing fiercely over the gathered congregation.

A tall, thin man with greying short hair stepped wobbled forward. He was older than the rest and by quite a way.

"A fir tree has already been selected for the Mór and has been scheduled to be cut down tomorrow afternoon, so that it is still fresh and vibrant for the celebration. Cutting it down at this time, will ensure enough time for the tree to be transported to the Mór and decorated. The Mór's grander decorations, such as wall hangings and lights have already been prepared by the school children and artisans and will be hung at the same time."

"Tomorrow afternoon?" The Chief questioned, a hand rubbing his mouth. The elderly man nodded so vigorously, Maisri briefly worried that the force of the action would floor him. "I will make an announcement tomorrow morning, explaining that dinner will be earlier than usual. This will afford you sufficient time to decorate the Mór for the next day."

The elderly man bowed deeply in thanks, perhaps too deeply, as others had to help him back up and hobble back to their congregation.

"Who is next?" The Chief grumbled in his deep voice.

A younger lady stepped forward. She was tall and thin, with elegant features. Her long brown hair was streaked with grey and was pulled back into a tidy braid that finished below her waist. Maisri knew this woman. An involuntary sneer graced her face. Her hand fell to her golden-hilted dagger strapped to her hip.

"Widow Blair how is the music and food organising going?" The Chief's tone was softer. Gentle.

Maisri almost growled. Widow Blair curtsied gracefully, her long, slender fingers, holding up her dark grey skirts delicately, so they didn't get dirty on the common floor. Her startling blue eyes held Maisri's fathers wholly. Whilst Maisri had no strong familial relationship to her Mother, she was desperately loyal to her family. It wasn't a secret that Widow Blair had been the mistress of the Chief ever since her husband had died in the infamous skirmish with Dominic Morse and his men. Maisri wanted to scoff. This man was one that despised Maisri's very existence because she wasn't born a boy and therefore jeopardised Zone, Tradition and Family, and yet here he was openly defying the third law of the North. Loyalty to Family.

Maisri had no love for the woman in front of her. There had been numerous rumours that Widow Blair was a witch, a heathen, a spy for the South, but Maisri wisely put no stock in those. It was her own instincts Maisri chose to believe, and something about this woman made every hair on her neck stand up straight and pointed. Perhaps it was those unnerving too-blue eyes. Perhaps it was because she never socialised, never came to the Mór. Perhaps it was the circumstance surrounding her husband's death which appeared far too convenient.