'Tis the Seasoning
Written November 2005
3012 TA
Eastern Borders of Mirkwood
"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."
Iolanthe stirred her tea slowly, wincing at the stiffness in her joints. An icy wind had come up during the night to rattle the shutters and moan about the eaves. With it had come the all too familiar aching within her fingers and knees. For more years than she wished to count, the ancient words were viewed as being no more than a forecast of bad weather. Now, with the Shadow reaching ever outward from its stronghold in the south, the herbmistress of Ran-tathren acknowledged darker meaning to the rhyme: one the wise took to heart.
Gnarled hands cradled the thick mug as Iolanthe ticked off the measures taken thus far to see her folk though the coming season. Above each door within the village hung a spray of dried fennel, while every keyhole had been filled with seeds of the same plant. Ash leaves gathered during the last new moon were burned, and the ashes scattered to the four winds when the full moon rose. Even those who scoffed at the ancient tales bore some charm as protection from evil, whether it be as simple as a sprig of prickly holly tucked into a man's hatband or an ivy leaf pinned to the bodice of a young wife.
'Twas a pity that more lore had not survived, but much that once was had been lost. Even amongst those with longer lives and better memories than Men.
Sipping slowly, Iolanthe considered once more the greeting carried by her almost apprentice, Dulce, some months past.
"Lithnar of the Woodland Realm wishes you peace and happiness."
The girl's tale of meeting the sender of the greeting in the company of a young Woodsman added substance to the whispered rumors that the Elves of Mirkwood had emerged from their hidden fortresses. Now, it is said, the Elves stood in alliance with the Men of Wood, Dale and Lake against the evil spreading from the Hill of Sorcery. If Dulce's tale was to be believed, and there was no reason to doubt the all too pragmatic girl, then the spell allowing the elf's human companion to see the radiance of the Elvish spirit was truth as well. Did the Lords of the Wood possess the knowledge needed to protect her folk? Would they share it if they did?
Iolanthe whispered within her mind the other message Dulce had relayed:
"Apple, mayweed and waybread
Against the evil hand.
Fiddlewood, nettle and cress
Against the evil eye.
Mugwort, fennel and chervil
Against the evil breath."
The herbmistress tapped her spoon irritably against the rim of her mug. Without knowing the correct amounts and procedures, it would be disastrous to attempt combining the ingredients of the spell. Even to utter the words of power without proper precautions was a risk.
"Fie on it!" she declared. 'Twas time to stop gnawing at what she could not do and focus upon how she might best use the supplies and knowledge she possessed for the greatest good.
Again she named the herbs silently. Chevril was unavailable until spring returned, but there had been an ample harvest made of fennel. Dulce could be set to pounding the dried plant to a powder to be sprinkled about the doors and windows.
"Mugwort," she murmured, cocking her head to one side. "Aye, now there's a thought."
If memory ran true, Finnan the Fletcher and his good wife, Eldrida, had made an ample harvesting of the flowers. The beer the arrowsmith brewed for the approaching winter solstice was flavored with a decoction of mugwort, and it would be only a matter of a few words to convince Eldrida to lead the village lasses in stitching up sachets filled with the herb to ward off evil dreams.
Nodding with satisfaction at her plans, Iolanthe considered that the winter festivities would also provide an excuse to request Finnan lead a hunting party to the narrow pond south of the village and return with several geese. Roast goose, seasoned with mugwort, would prove a splendid course for the upcoming feast.
Perhaps, just to be neighborly, she might issue an invitation to Lithnar and his young friend.
Author's Note: Inspiration is owed to Brother Cadfael's Herb Garden by Talbot and Whitema, a gift from Sillimarilli. Other vignettes in this series are: Nine Herb Charm and A Gathering of Fennel.
From: Lacnunga: Woden's Nine Herbs Charm dates from around the 10th- or 11th-c.
It stands against pain, stands against poison,
has might against three and against thirty,
Against devil's hand and against deception,
Against the witchcraft of the wicked ones.
These nine herbs have power against nine horrors.