The fourth Mother Goddess’ name was Elat... to Become Black... Death... Night... She was the cold North... Winter... The dirt and the bones. Elat never showed herself at all. But She allowed herself to be honoured as the Dark Moon.
She, in her unnamable compassion, great Wisdom, and deep heart, received the dead unto her bosom, there to hold them fast and unfold to them all Cosmic secrets – which, of course, only their Spirit Bodies would remember in their next life.
She was the Full Moon Mother’s silent twin; never could they touch, or be rejoined to each other until the end of the Cosmos – each drawing to and away from each other, pushing and pulling in flux and flow – mirror images in polarity – as above, so below – darkness and illumination.
These first four Mother Goddesses were the Cosmic Elements. Each one holding up one Quarter of the known realms, which were suspended between their voluptuous arms... ever spinning in cycles.
The fifth Mother – who was born between the thighs of the first four – was the Star Goddess, Mother of spatial dimension, the Mother from whose belly and outstretched body would come – in a boat through the Starry Night Sky – the Original Ones, the Ancestors, and the Ancestor’s Ancestors, bringing their seed, their culture, and their knowledge to our homeland.
She named herself Nana... Beauty of the Stars.
The sixth Mother burned as a great Fiery disk, outshining the light of her sisters and turning blackness into Dawn and shone in the clear blue Sky. She was the Dependable Light, She was to bring ever a new Day. She warmed her children’s hearts with playfulness. Even once in a while, did she too play ‘Hide yourself from me.’
She named herself Sud-Ma... Sun Mother.
The seventh Mother Goddess named Herself Kia... Earth. She walked as one with her children – all beasts, and Creatures of green, Stone, feather, fin or flesh, including Humans. Her robe swayed in Summer as the Grain of the fields and the dance of the leaves in the Trees. In Winter She was silver, brown, and grey. In wakefulness or slumber, Kia was always beautiful and abounding with life.
The eighth Mother was Goddess of the Seas... Mysterious one of unknown realms and Creatures. She undulated to mimic the White Moon Goddess’ dance... then became Entranced by Her ever changing tides, becoming the place and Being of Magic. She was and is the gateway into the twilight of the three otherworldly realms. She named herself Na-Amu-Ma... The Deep Sea.
And then there was the ninth GODDESS... However, SHE was only the ninth in so much as SHE became the ninth in Human awareness. For, when we Humans had become enlightened enough to understand that there is THAT which is not understandable or to perceive that there is THAT which is imperceptible, we began to See that there was – and is – The GODDESS before everything... THE GREAT MOTHER... THE ONE...
SHE is the ABZU-AABBABA... The Primeval Source...
SHE is TIME... As designer and implementer of the great ONE, SHE alone holds the secret of the epochs of Cosmic Time... SHE is ETERNAL... Before, after, and ever – existed, exists, and will exist.
SHE is FATE... who Weaves and Spins with HER gossamer threads the pattern and Creation of all the Cosmos... As such, SHE is sometimes called “The Weavers.”
SHE dwells in the center – The center of the Cosmos... the center of our Temple, and the center of ourselves.
HER name is AIXIA...
We understand!
Thank you for listening...”
And so it is that in our Order, the Circle of Nine High Wise Mothers reflect these original Mother Goddesses – the how and why of this is only known by and passed down to them as Guardians of these Sacred Secrets.
Makyr was the first in my experience to be elevated to one of The Nine and so was the first one in whom I was to see “the Change.” The Change is what happens to one who has ascended to Spiritual Enlightenment, while yet in a body of flesh – a Holy One, a Magi. I, of course, could feel the difference between ordinary mortals and those of the Nine. But then and there, to suddenly experience this change in Maker was… was… I find no words. Perhaps my tongue is bound from the utterance of something that must remain unspoken.
When the Moon was Dark that month and cast no shadows, the Nine met alone upon the Tor to induct Makyr into their ranks. What Rites were performed I did not then know.
Later in that Moon’s Dance, under the Full Moon, the second part of Makyr’s elevation was to be completed. Upon that beauteous Night, all initiated males and females of the Order met at the Tor, within the circle of Stones, to celebrate and honour the White Moon Goddess as well as her consort, the Stag God – God of wild Nature, the ecstatic Dance and the Hunt. If you have read the entirety of these histories, you will well know of Him.
Although I am forbidden to reveal certain parts of that Full Moon Ritual, I can relate some...
On that beautiful, crisp Night, dressed in our long, hooded, green cloaks, we women walked in silent procession through the Woods, upon an ancient Deer path, toward the Tor – each of us holding a small flame. As we walked, only the sounds of Nature and the jingling of the bells on our ankle braces could be heard. This we call “The silence of Man.” I remember well that in that silence all the world around gently hummed and buzzed, whispered and howled, a song of such great beauty that for those wistful moments I felt that I could live my whole life in that silence. One of our women pulled a cart with a large skin of Water, a wool blanket, and a sack of dirt – this in precaution of a Fire running out of control, which of course, and thankfully, had never happened. And so did we wend our way to the bottom of the Tor’s spiral path.
The men of our Order awaited us atop the windy Tor. Many Times since have they told me that we appeared to them as elusive as Wood Spirits, gliding through the Forest – disappearing and reappearing twixt the Trees – our flames small in the distance, twinkling as though Summer Glow-flies.
They, being so high upon the Tor, could watch the Mist roll in across the inland Sea. Mostly the Mist covers all but the Tor by Sundown, but that Night the Mist came later than usual, reaching the bottom of the Tor just as we, the women did – and it had been full twilight when we began our procession. Stars filled the deep blue-black Sky above. Our Lady the White Moon Goddess was rising as we walked. To our vision, it was She who danced between the boughs, winking at us as She went higher and higher in her arch of beauty.
When we reached the Tor, our silence broke. We, all together, began to Hum the ancient tunes of our Foremothers and Forefathers. The Bees were sleeping so they did not join me in this, but a family of Wolfs in the distance howled their song of greeting and celebration to the White Moon Goddess. The men drummed as we spiraled up the Tor.
Later I was told that the Lake carried our songs as far as to the Marsh Folk. They – though of strange customs and unknown origins – regarded our voices as a blessing of the Gods. Just, who their Gods were we have never been never told...
There is always to me a shift in the worlds, a dizzying change of something – my usual consciousness dropping down through my feet as if it must remain at the bottom – whenever I walk up the Tor. And so it was upon that Night.
Even after all these years – when now as I compile these histories, and am so old that I must be assisted or pulled in a wagon up the narrow and perilous path – I still feel the same familiar shift. Although I leave behind – or lose – some part of my consciousness, what I gain is overwhelming in the balance. I enter the realm of the Divine Ones. Oh – not only of our Gods and Goddesses, but of the great ONE – the Spirits of those around me. It brings to my memory the Chant:
“We are all One... We are all one...
My brothers and sisters of the winged ones...
Of Stone and Brook, of flesh and Tree...
All are ONE with me...
My fingers are branches they reach to the Stars...
To all beyond and in-between,
Heard, touched, tasted, or seen
All is ONE with me...
We are all ONE... We are all ONE
... We are all ONE...”
I always know this, of course, but rarely am I as aware as when I climb up the Tor.
Oh, I digress again... I am getting old.
But back to that blessed Starry Night, when we all began to Hum and Drum and drone a single low note with our voices, which, at Times purposely clashed against the tunes we Hummed – to bring Chaos. Then as our notes changed, their droning became sometimes a melodious harmony of Cosmos – of form – thusly stirring the energies of... Oh... Perhaps I should say no more to the uninitiated, except that amidst the Stones and Firelight, we danced in wild abandon.
Whoever you are reading this, please feel no offence. Here I speak only of tradition, not of value. The Divine One who breathed life into you is the same who did to us. “May the peace of that One be upon and within you forever.”
It is enough to say that our sisters and brothers performed a Rite of great sincerity and worship to the White Moon Goddess and the Stag God – and then all who were not of the Nine retreated down the spiral path to await them at their finish. Then we feasted and danced in honour of Makyr’s becoming – all congratulating her with deepest reverence.
When it was my turn, I held her tightly in my arms, and kissed her cheek. I whispered in her ear; “My dear friend and sister, I Love you.” She smiled at me, but without the trace of sadness that had always been there before.
Although I am compiling these histories many years later, the remembrance of my experience of Makyr’s elevation and Change is burned into my Vision forever.
Chapter 28
Branwen
Morgan
Not long after the Death and mourning of Ribrowst – which in itself made me aware of my own mortality – an unexpected visitor arrived at the Isle of Apples. She came from the West, riding a very fine Horse – with only a few clothes, a bag of gold coins, and her gold Saxon lyre. It was Branwen.
Branwen was the daughter of Gwenyfar’s Mother’s closest friend and handmaiden. She and Gwenyfar had always been inseparable. They had been children together, raised in the court of Hengist, when Gwenyfar’s Mother had been in great favor. There were rumours, of course, of the sexual nature of their closeness, but I had paid little attention – there were always rumours. Gossip is a cultural pastime, I think.
But now, Branwen stood before me with haunted eyes – the unmistakable look of someone mourning a great loss. She broke with protocol by not presenting herself to Lady Vivianne first. She had ridden quickly and directly to the small cottage in which I lived and had found only Gwenda there. Gwenda – who had nursed Arthur through his injury from the incident with Lucian years ago at the Games of Lleu – was still sharing my cottage with me.
Branwen would say nothing but to ask for me. Seeing her state, Gwenda hurried to bring me to her. When I arrived, with no preamble she fell into my arms and wept bitterly. I spoke not a word. I knew that there is a Time for words and a Time for silence. I held and comforted her as a child. She needed only to cry, and cry she did – for so long. Through her unbroken sobbing and the racking of her body, without words I knew she had suffered a life tragedy. Finally, late into the evening she composed herself. I had sent Gwenda away for our privacy and prepared some warmed spiced honey mead to help calm her down. We both drank, for I had a feeling that what I was about to hear would shake fortresses to the ground.
Branwen knew that whatever she would confide would be safe with me. I could see already within her the whole story, but of course I listened attentively to all she must say. The floodgates opened and so she talked for hours.
Her whole life she had Loved Gwenyfar more than anyone or anything. She said that she would tell me – with my oath of confidence that never while she lived would I repeat what she was about to say – of a certain tragic event in Gwenyfar’s life. And so she began...
It seemed that while Branwen had never so much as looked at a man or boy with sexual desire, it had not always been so with Gwenyfar.
“When Gweny was only twelve year-turns, she fell in Love with one of her Father’s guards. Uthbert was his name. He was a good man, with a hearty sense of humor. He was also twenty years older than Gwenyfar. But she threw herself at him at every opportunity.”
Branwen went on to tell me that she still believed Uthbert never touched Gwenyfar, for even if he had Loved her, it could not be. She was a beautiful Princess, and therefore, a political pawn to Hengist. Uthbert knew very well that Hengist would kill him if ever he had touched her or even spoken of it.
“I am not even sure he ever wanted her at all,” said Branwen, “but then who could not? She was – is – so beautiful.”
Branwen went on with the story.
“I tried to warn her even for her Mother’s sake and mine, to leave Uthbert alone, for Hengist was a fierce and cruel man. But Gwenyfar would have her way, as always. I do not know how she managed it, but one Night she crept into the guard’s hall where Uthbert was sleeping. She awakened him and offered herself to him. She told me later that he refused. Well, the desperate whispered commotion awoke another guard who came, so he thought, to Uthbert’s rescue. What he saw was the Princess in tears, with Uthbert’s hands on her shoulders. Shocked and thinking to protect the fair little Princess, he shouted an alarm and Uthbert was taken to the dungeon and chained to the Stone wall.
When Hengist heard of it, he went into a rage. He would listen to no explanation – especially from Gwenyfar. Of course, Uthbert was as good as a dead man and would not die with a sword or an ax in his hand. No one was surprised at that. And by their thinking, that would mean that he would never be allowed into the Halls of the Warrior’s Paradise. It was a horrible punishment. Hengist wanted to severely punish Gwenyfar too, but not to leave a physical mark or flaw on his prized possession, so the very next Day, at Midday, he ordered all in his household and guard – even the children – to stand in the outer keep courtyard, to watch Uthbert’s execution. Gwenyfar was placed a few arm’s spans in front of Uthbert, who was naked and tied to a pole. Hengist himself, walking up slowly, took a Saex – a curved dagger – and cut off Uthbert’s manhood – all of it. There was so much blood... Uthbert, a battle worn Warrior, could not keep from wailing. Gwenyfar began to faint, but Hengist slapped her face, to rouse her. His hands – covered in blood – left a dripping handprint on her face – Uthbert’s blood. But this was not enough for Hengist. He had Gwenyfar held – just out of harm’s way – and he beheaded Uthbert. His head rolled to her feet. She could not stop screaming, and then Hengist picked up his hairy, bloody man parts and held them up to Gwenyfar’s face. “Here,” he said, “enjoy him all you want to.”
“Well, she was never the same...”
Branwen let her head hang in silence for several moments... then continued:
“My dearest one – so full of daring and Spirit – diminished before my horrified eyes.
“From then on, she clung only to me, afraid of everyone but me. Even her Mother she could not be with, knowing that she was still allowing herself to be sexually ravaged by this monster who was her Father. That is why – I could not believe my good fortune, nay blessing – when she spoke up that I must accompany her to Arthur’s house and then again, to ask Igraine so straightforwardly to place my chamber next to hers. When she refused to lie with Arthur I thought I had my Gweny back forever.”
Branwen sat quietly for a few moments, looking down at the floor. I rose to warm some more spiced mead.
She looked around my humble cottage; the walls of baked mud and straw and at the plain and scant furnishings. Then her eyes caught the beautiful, scarlet woolen blanket on my straw bed. From there her gaze went to the cozy hearth Fire then to my chest that was covered by a doeskin with ancient Tribal symbols burnt into it. Upon it were my Crystal and other personal ceremonial tools – also my short bladed knife. For the first Time I saw her eyes as they really were – clever, intelligent, inquisitive, and thoroughly heart sick. Branwen talked all Night long. She told me everything, even what Arthur had sai
d to them. She quoted:
“My lady, there is no shame in Love. It is the Goddess’s greatest blessing.”
“So like Arthur,” I thought.
By late into the Night, she had exhausted herself, and finally slept on my bed.
Branwen awoke a few hours later. I had had Gwenda cook Apples and honey along with pieces of broken flat bread for her to eat. Also some cheese from our dairy and warmed milk. I thought perhaps Branwen had not eaten for a few Days and surely this meal would tempt anyone. She ate it heartily and smiled her first smile at me.
She was a pretty girl in a boyish sort of way. Really she was past her girl years. Still there was an air about her that made her look much younger than her years. How she could have kept any of her innocence with all she had been through was beyond my understanding. She would be perhaps twenty-six or twenty-seven years old by now, I believe – about two years younger than Gwenyfar. But I was realizing that she had seen more than enough violence and pain for a lifetime. I had asked about her Mother and Gwenyfar’s Mother. She said only “dead.” Something in her look made me pursue this no more. But now, eating and still sitting up in my bed, she seemed so much more peaceful than upon the previous Night.
I told her that today she should be presented to Lady Vivianne to receive her blessing of welcome. “You will be welcomed to rest here for one full Moon’s Dance, or longer if you will,” said I.
“And Branwen, even though you are much older than our usual postulants, you may be given the opportunity to learn our Mysteries, if you wish. If you do wish to stay here with us, perhaps the Lady will allow it. Of course you need not – nor should you even – decide this now. No, you must wait at least through the first Moon’s Dance spent here. You are simply our guest for now. I only mention this to give you hope for your life. There is also the possibility of living amoungst us as a worker for a season or two while you learn where your heart will lead you.”
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