Concentric Circles

by Aithne Jarretta

The slow, step by step journey up the center isle gave her the opportunity to gather her thoughts and observe Joseph who would serve as chief mourner. The minister, standing to the left behind a podium, looked respectfully official in his black robes. The unity of different religious beliefs represented here between the interior arcading walls of St. Mary’s Chapel gave witness to Amethyst Graham’s benevolent spirit.

  The bier beneath the white casket bore the carvings of the Vesica Piscis. The concentric circles embellished with gold and silver caught the afternoon sun. With a deep refreshing breath, Shayla squeezed Meekal’s hand and stepped up onto the stone riser in accompaniment of his actions.

  Despite the crowd, silence dominated within the stone walls.

  Joseph, face lined with sorrow and weariness, raised his palms heavenward. Everyone stood, heads bowed in remembrance.

  The moisture welled once more behind Shayla’s eyelids when the sound of bagpipes came into the chapel. She knew they were close, within the broken arch of the Abbey, playing their lament.

  The music brought back memories of Kat MacGreggor practicing her pipes under the Everett Road covered bridge back home in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. The acoustics there were optimal for listening pleasure.

  The sounds today, passing around and through gothic arches hummed in her senses, journeying on the earth’s ley lines into infinity. The renewed urge for home constricted her heart.

  Meekal, sensing her distress, squeezed her hand.

  She gave him a responsive tightening. Mom. Torn between her new life and roots of home and hearth, Shayla clung to the present moment. Meekal, she whispered repeatedly in her mind. Gradually, her heart relaxed into a steady rhythm, beating in tandem with his.

  The last notes of the bagpipes resonated along the stones and hushed quiet returned.

  “Everyone, please be seated.” Joseph’s strong baritone voice gave the impression of calmness and fortitude. Rustlings filled the silence as the mourners tried to get comfortable in the wooden chairs.

  “We are gathered here for a brief ceremony. Amethyst touched so many in her lifetime.” His eyes crinkled into a soft smile. “As a child, she was surrounded with mischief. I remember many escapades that would curl your hair.” Sad laughter shook his shoulders. “I’ll keep it short because I realize many of you may wish to speak. Despite her reputation for orneriness, I prefer to tell you of the first time I met Amethyst.”

  His throat constricted with emotion and he raised a hand to brush moisture away quickly. “I was a small lad, lost in the countryside. Too young to wander off, I found myself frightened and scraped from a fall. I sat on a stone next to an old pilgrim’s trail. Despite my youth, I knew I would be in serious trouble once I arrived back at home. Amidst my tears, Amethyst floated down out of the branches of Old Magog and knelt to comfort me. She was an angel in the eyes of a six year old that day.” Finished, Joseph turned to Shayla.

  She stepped forward and reached into the silk bag. The branch with one leaf still attached whispered to her soul. She pulled it from the sheltering depths and handed it carefully to Joseph.

  “This fine young lady is Shayla Brinawell,” Joseph said. “She is here with Meekal as a representative of Amethyst’s newest friendship. The branch she just gave me comes from Magog, one of the sentinels into Glastonbury’s Somerset. You see, Amethyst broke a branch from that gnarled old tree that day. She told me it had magical powers and would guide me home. She knew who I was, of course. She just thought I should find my own way, like the pilgrims of old. Her voice was sweet and her confidence boundless. I set off on my sojourn arriving home in time for tea. Hehem. And a rousing spanking.”

  Chuckles passed through the crowd.

  “I discovered later,” Joseph said, pausing to laugh softly, “by listening to conversations through keyholes that twelve year old Amethyst had kept a vigilant eye on me all the way home.”

  Meekal smirked at his grandfather.

  Joseph became serious. “She never changed. From that first encounter to the night she left us, Amethyst Elisabeth Cumyn Graham watched over our community with constant vigilance and boundless love. She will be missed greatly, but for the knowledge that her spirit is here with us in the same capacity of guardian. For without death, we cannot experience the boundlessness of heaven and rebirth.” Joseph turned and placed the branch, intertwining it with the purple blanket of roses embellishing the white iridescent finish of the casket. “Meekal,” Joseph said and gave center stage to his grandson.

  “Keyholes, Grandfather? Thank you for that little tidbit of information. I’ll remember it always.” He cleared his throat and pushed his hand through his hair. “I could begin by telling you that Amethyst was there when I took my first steps.”

  Someone snorted.

  “Oh wait, I just did.” Meekal shrugged with humor. “She wouldn’t want us to be sad. I know this because she is one of the people who taught me about heaven and its splendor. I was seven. I knew of it from church—she just had a unique perspective that made it more real. As you can see, she has always had a strong influence on the Chilkwells.” He dropped his gaze and took a deep breath. “Watching over us. Guiding us,” he murmured low as though caught up somewhere in a memory.

  Joseph placed a bracing hand on his shoulder.

  “Aye,” Meekal whispered. He raised his face and scanned the mourners. “She taught me many things that I will always remember. Her positive influence is a part of me—my soul, so to speak.” Obviously having difficulty speaking, Meekal stiffened.

  Shayla moved forward and wrapped her fingers in his. He gave her a sad smile and blinked the moisture from his eyes.

  “Recently—” Meekal’s voice broke. A sob came forth.

  She leaned closer.

  Meekal met her gaze, eyes wet, spiraling in emotional realization and turmoil. “She passed the torch.” He pulled his fingers away and brushed them over his cheeks. “I didn’t comprehend it until this very moment. She was there, even in ‘that’ moment. I’m sorry, I just never realized and I didn’t thank her.” Meekal’s steadfastness dissolved. He crumpled onto Shayla’s shoulder, shaking and crying in mournful grief. “Thank her.”

  “Shush,” Shayla said, rubbing his back. She had the odd sense that the only sound in the whole world at that moment came from Meekal. Everything else slid away into a vast nothingness. His twisting heart and the moisture on her neck from tears were all that existed. Strong arms encircled them both. Awareness returned, followed by sounds of other mournful keening. She chewed her lip and stepped back, fingers lingering in Meekal’s hand.

  Clutching the silk bag, she stood next to the casket. Reaching in, she extracted the two small bottles of water. “I haven’t known Amethyst long.” The glass clinked in her palm. “Only a short time ago, she greeted me at the Bristol Airport. I understand she has done that many times. For me, it was significant because I have never been so far from home. I came here seeking, like many others.”

  A child’s plaintive cry drew her attention. She sucked her lip in for an instant and then continued. “The waters of the Chalice Well call to us who seek healing. I’m one of those. My family tree became fragmented through tragedy.”

  Harry’s face in the front row caught her gaze. She gave him a trembling smile. “I discovered family I never knew existed and the boundlessness of eternal love. Today for Amethyst, I wish to give her the gift of these vials of water.”

  “One is from the Chalice Well, red and rich in minerals. The other is from the White Spring. Their complementary polarity maintains the nature, health and harmony of this land that she loved. She longed for the return of understanding of the importance of the White Spring. I respect her wishes and hope to advocate its rebirth. Thank you for allowing me to speak today.” Shayla tied the glass vials to Magog’s branch with white satin ribbon. The silkiness of a rose petal caressed her fingers.

  Gail approached the stone riser. Shrouded in white, she gave the appearance of an angel. Murmuring rose
from the back of the chapel, rushing toward the front where its energy was silenced with rough glares.

  Shayla embraced her. “It’ll be all right,” she whispered.

  Trembling visibly, Gail rubbed her palm over the gleaming white casket, pausing on the latch to open it.

  Joseph stayed her movement, shaking his head in discouragement. “It won’t help,” he said low so only those in close proximity could hear.

  Her fingers gripped in stubborn insistence. The exertion required apparently drained Gail. She gazed at the crowd from the left side of the chapel to the right, her face showing grief and regret. “I won’t say much. I know my presence here offends some. Amethyst knew I loved her. That’s all that matters now.” She smoothed her tearstained handkerchief next to the roses and left the chapel, walking its full length with her head held high.

  Joseph, restrained anger in his voice, spoke once more. “Father Dunstan, perhaps you’d lead us in prayer.” The dismissive tone cut the ceremony short.

  “Our Father who aren’t in heaven…”

  Shayla lowered her eyes, allowing the minister’s voice to blur into one long tonal drone. Thinking of Gail, renewed moisture escaped her eyes. Rudeness from the mourners toward Gail reflected uncharitable attitudes. Amethyst would never have approved. Related through only one commonality, Syther, Amethyst loved Gail as the daughter she never had, Syther’s wife.

  She had not known this information herself until Meekal told her late last night in his moon-silvered bedroom. The vision of Gail kneeling next to Amethyst between Syther and another Thyrza had reared its ugly head.

  “That’s why he didn’t kill her?” Shayla had asked.

  “Aye,” Meekal said, nodding mournfully. “There’s always the chance for reconciliation in Syther’s point of view. He will want an heir.”

  Bile roiled in her stomach. She knew her face was twisted in horror. She could feel every little energetic molecule of it. Its pain riddled her to the heart. “Poor Gail. In my point of view there’s no way to make up. She loved Amethyst dearly. That I could see. Besides, witnessing such horror changes a person.”

  “Syther’s mind is twisted, Shayla. Don’t ever expect to understand it.”

  Memory vanished within the drone of the minister’s voice. “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, as it is in heaven…”

  The warmth of Meekal’s hand in hers vibrated to her heart. She squeezed in response and began walking the main isle to exit at the back of St. Mary’s.

  [13] Separate Ways

  Soulful eyes gazed at him. Meekal swallowed the lump in his throat along with his pride and raised a hand to wave.

  Shayla tucked a loose strand of wayward hair behind her ear, smiled sadly and blew him a kiss. As though moving in slow motion, she turned and stepped through the door leading to the concourse and her flight back to the USA.

  His heart contracted. The distance separating them grew. Stiffening in resolve, he left Bristol Airport, stepping into the night and got into his car. Although the Jaguar was a prized possession, he didn’t usually drive it. Somehow, in some manner, he had wanted Shayla’s departure to bear a fragment of normalcy.

  He pressed the smart key button on the console, allowing the engine’s roar to calm his frazzled senses. Some classic rock-n-roll inserted into the player, he pulled out of the car park to the rhythm of Eden Mystic’s ‘Everywhere With You, Baby.’ Memory of Shayla’s glowing face at Harry’s Pub propelled his foot to the floor. The Jag shot out into traffic. He drove as if he were the only one on the road.

  Heading north on A38, he wasn’t in the mood to drive south toward Glastonbury and home. Right now, the memories were too new, raw and debilitating. He knew his family would be worried.

  His voice activated communication system remained connected at all times. “Chilkwell Manor,” he said and waited as the phone rang on the other end. “Hey, Mum.”

  “Are you all right?”

  He smiled, understanding the concern in her voice. “Aye. I’m not coming straight home.” He hesitated, gnawing on his lower lip. The action gave his heart a twist. Mirror, my love. He released his lip and a held breath. “Thought I’d go north. Well, it’s been awhile, you know.”

  “That’s fine, dear. Just be careful.”

  Silence came across the airwaves.

  “Mum?”

  “Call me when you get there?”

  He stopped for a red light, staring at the glaring orb impeding his forward progress. “Aye,” he answered low-voiced. He gunned the car forward, the light changing with a blink of an eye. The night scenery flashed by him in patches of human existence. He ignored it all for the sake of driving fast along the northbound lane of A38.

  An hour later, he zipped through the roundabout and slipped off A38 into the next exit to B4053, Victoria Street.

  “Separate ways,” he muttered, spurring forward to a higher speed. “Put distance between us. Sort things out. Don’t you know your own heart, Kal?”

  He ground his teeth and passed a slow moving Morris. The small auto blurred in his rearview mirror. He could travel the Semple Folk way and journey to his destination five hundred thirty-three miles in about eight and a half hours.

  Instead, he used a tricky charm, passing everyone so he could arrive in half the time. “Adaptive cruise control tweaked with a little Fae based magic.”

  “Okay, so magic is kewl. Life is too short to do without.” He pushed the button to roll the windows down, allowing the cool night air to bustle through the Jaguar’s interior. Having the auto persona of a black cat around him suited him to a T.

  Blackpool, Gloucester and the Kincardine Bridge at Glasgow were all a blur. He slowed down and paid the road toll at Erskine.

  Thoughts about the last few days banged around in his head like a hyperactive fidget. He laughed roughly at that realization. “Mental,” he grumbled. “Maybe that’s what it takes to put down Syther’s evil plot. Hyper insanity.” He pressed the accelerator roughly and angled into a sharp turn. “Meet wickedness with a headstrong highlander charge. To hell with this!”

  He slammed on the brakes and pulled into a roadside car park, squealing the tires. A tree loomed grotesquely, bare limbs swaying in the night air. His breath came fast as he stared at the tree’s broad trunk only inches from his car bumper. “Bloody hell, you’re radgie, Kal.”

  He shoved the door open and stepped out. The empty car park, wind whistling through bare branches and moon glow, all combined to squeeze him in insurmountable loneliness. He kicked the curb. “Dammit!”

  The echo, pounding his ears, multiplied heart-splitting anguish. Angry about his inability to push desolation aside, he reached between the driver’s seat and boot, grabbed his coat and yanked it on. He closed the door gently, refusing to take his rage out on his car. Passing his palm over the warm front hood, he murmured, “Miniature.”

  The Jaguar XK morphed into a pocket sized black ebony beauty. He bent, picked her up, and placed it protectively in his inner coat pocket.

  A truck rumbled past, the only other night traveler. Meekal glanced at his watch. “Three twenty-three a.m.” He sighed. “Must’ve been driving slower than I thought.” He closed his eyes against the empty countryside and spun on his heel, arriving in Fiunary Forest on a chilled wind. He stumbled slightly when his shoe bumped a tree root.

  Tucked up in the northern reaches of the Fiunary Forest, Raven’s Gate remained hidden centuries after it had been deserted. He stared at the twin megaliths guarding the sequestered lands of his ancestors.

  Cell phone in hand, he dialed. The line buzzed with residual magic projected from the towering stones. He clasped the device and faced south, hoping for a clearer connection.

  “Meekal?”

  “Aye, Mum. I’m here.”

  Crackling static and the line went quiet. He gritted his teeth and closed the phone. At least she knew he arrived safely.

  Once more, the towering stones loomed, beckoning him to journey through their magical port
al into the mythical land of Raven’s Gate. On the other side, he would be cut off from the dangers of the real world. He did not come here to hide. Instead, the call to the origin of familial roots shouted, demanding his presence.

  He tapped his forehead just above the center of his eyebrows, and then over his heart. Made the sign of the eight points of truth star and moved forward. The sensation of heavy pressure on his ears, tightened like a band when he stepped through the portal.

  Normalcy dissolved, revealing a moon-kissed glen and stretching black waters of Loch Dhu. He released an elemental breath and stepped toward the water’s edge.

  The moon reflection shimmered like a million sparkling diamonds on the wet surface, guiding his eye to the man standing, at water’s edge waiting. “Figured you’d be here, Grandfather.”

  “Chaeli said the line on yer phone went dead. She’s worried.” Black Bryan’s voice had a distinct sadness to its timbre. He stopped speaking and sent his gaze around the glen. “Why come here? We could have met in Annwn.”

  “Compulsion.” Meekal stared at the bastle on a slight rise of land. The old house, a cross between a large cottage and a castle, stood in perfect condition, magically preserved for all time. “What if I don’t survive?”

  Black Bryan began the trek up the path to the stone house. “Ye must maintain faith. We should go in.” A highland wind pushed his kilt into a plaid dance.

  “Cold, Grandfather?” Meekal asked, jesting.

  Baritone laughter and deep dimples expressed his humor. “Never.” He opened the door to a dark interior, but then stepped aside allowing Meekal to enter first.

  Meekal paused, and then stepped forward, initiating the inner magic. Flames ignited in sconces attached to the stone walls of the center hall. A split down the chamber’s midpoint housed a whispering burn, running water in the ancient stone structure. The stairs on the right rose to the upper level. On the left, a wide archway opened to the combination kitchen and common room. Meekal led the way across the wooden footbridge and headed straight for the larder.