This fantasy land is not a historical piece. There are scenes of physical and sexual exploitation, pain, and death most foul.
*
A Goat Herder has no business with the devil. The closest we come to the shadowy side of science is with our herbs and poultices, but those are just for cuts and burns.
Mother is the County Birthing Maid though, and I will be one after I turn into a full woman. She pulls the calves and billys and lambs from their mother's womb. Slender hands are a family trait and a vital one for the community. The Blacksmith will pass on his broad shoulders and thick back to his sons, so they can continue in their father's stead. With the birth of animals, if you don't have strong but slender hands, you will lose a lot of livestock in the birthing, and often the mother will die if we can't get her offspring through the channel.
My sisters and I were anxiously waiting for the first of May, when we would have the Ceremony of Womanhood, and I would advance into the title of Birthing Submaid. My sister Sarah was two years behind me, and she would move into my spot as the senior Town Herder. She would get my bed to sleep in on her own! Even my other two sisters would be pleased to have the extra room in their small cot.
I would be moving into the pens, to work with the small animals that need extra care. It would be tough work, with long hours, but I was filled with pride, to follow my mum into this proud profession.
It was always sad to give up a goat, but knowing that it will be shared with joy is what makes shepherding so fulfilling. Some of us called this one Curly. We were not to name them, but this one caught our attention, as he loved to jump on everything, even doing flips through the air! It was sad to have his number come up, but the day of Womanhood was very special for any community, so his sacrifice would be especially honorable.
But still... he brought us so many smiles that it was sad to see him go.
All of the girls that had seen 18 seasons of snow, where gathered around the Witches Wall, waiting for the Priest. There were no accused Witches again this fall, so the sacrifice of the goat could be performed here. There were no stalls open on this day, so we stood there with Curly, shivering. Sarah was attending the goat, as the new Senior Town Herder, and she would get a front row seat for the ceremony, ...as it was.
She hugged Curly, with more than the cold on her mind. I had a tear in the corner of my eye too. Five of the other girls were shepherds, but they lived in other areas of the County so we did not know them well.
"Come on girls, let's get on with it," the fat old Priest called out as he finally arrived. "I have other duties to attend to!" He was never a pleasant fellow.
He approached Curly, withdrawing a slender blade from his sleeve, but then he stopped and turned to his small audience.
"Last Spring you were all girls, and today you are all women!" he shouted and bowed his head, putting his hands together in prayer. The rest was in Latin I suppose but the final word we all knew.
"Mortem," the Priest declared as he pushed the blade into Curly's throat.
I only had a moment to mourn for my hooved friend before the man of God stood before me.
"You are now a Woman of North Cumberland. God make you bountiful!" He sang and drizzled a little blood on my white skirt, then he moved to anoint his next subject and so on, repeating the mantra for all 12 of us.
Sarah looked at me with awe, as I had stared just the year before when I held the sacrificial goat. That one had no name, and I couldn't even remember what he looked like.
"I shall never name another," Sarah whispered, with tears flowing down her cheeks.
The butcher hurried over and the Priest gave him the goat with a few more sacred words, then the butcher loaded the blessed carcass onto a trolley and the duo teetered toward the cooking tents.
I was sure that Sarah and I would never forget Curly.
All of the New Women of the town were considered guests for tonight's celebration, which meant that I only had the task of making myself look beautiful, and mum was there to help. My sisters were all off helping with the preparations for the festival.
We washed and braided my hair, then I squeezed into my clean underdress and new white flannels and corset. It pushed my breasts so high, and when laced, made it hard to breath, but I knew that the looks on the faces of the men of my village would be very different now that I was a woman.
"There are four Squires and one Knight in town, and they will serve as the King's Emissary," she explained as she fussed with the dried flowers that were stitched into my gown.
"As such," she continued, "they have the right to bed any woman in this town, but they will certainly choose only New Women on this special day." She was smiling as she instructed me, which told me that she was forcing herself to smile. The wrinkles in her forehead told me that she was worried.
"Of course it would be a privilege to be picked, even an honor to the family... but it would be better if you didn't look too desirable tonight," she finished, with her eyes cast down.
"If you are worried about my inner flower mother, I swear to you that it is still intact," I hurried to assure my troubled mum.
I saw a different look in her eyes. One of bad memories.
"They will not care about your flower, Jenny. You will be fortunate if they care enough to stop pleasuring themselves when you start to bleed," she murmured with tears brimming her eyes.
I had heard that the first time could be painful, but I felt certain that I could handle it.
"I will be fine, mother and if it's God's will that these Guardians of our Land plant their seeds in me, then I will gladly accept their advances with an open heart," I assured her, with reference to our sacred lessons.
The white dress that I wore this morning was re-cut as a sash, with the blood stain prominent on the front. It draped from my left shoulder to my right hip. All of the New Women could be recognized this way.
The remainder of the new white fabric would be saved for me to make underclothes for my children, when the Lord so blessed me. Mother would clean it and fold it and place it in my Chest of Hope with all things that would help me start my own family someday soon. Only rich folk actually had chests though. Mine was a sack in Mother's quarters.
Music spilled into the streets from the public drinking rooms and dance halls. I walked hand in hand with my mum as we skipped to the Great Tent for the party. Sarah had four seats at a long table that she managed to save, with our little brother Carlson.
My father died well over a decade ago when a bridge that he was working on collapsed and he was pinned underwater. Carlson's father was also a stone mason, but he was off to war in the far South, and there was seldom good news from there.
Our sisters, Shannon and Heather would be delivering plates and tankards in the clergy tent, which included the elderly and the beggars. They were too young to be anywhere near the townsmen when there was drinking and other debauchery afoot. They would be safe among the Church men.
Here in the Great Tent there would be singing and dancing, after the feast, and the New Women were all expected to stay until midnight, or until a Nobleman took her to his bed. Sarah took Carlson home after the first few songs, which were classic family songs about love and loyalty. Mother stayed with me, though other mothers left their daughters to fend for themselves.
We danced together, happy to be free women, with full bellies and a warm fire in our hearth and our hearts.
Eventually, the songs turned from ones of fealty and bountiful harvests, to the lusty kind that rhymes about a woman's charms, so we headed to our table.
"Are you two sisters?" a drunken voice caught up with us, just as we sat.
