Voices of the Stars

by Rowena Whaling

  And so, on the Night of the Black Moon, we assembled – all cloaked in our dark leaf-green mantles, with our hoods pulled over our heads. We held each other’s hands and gracefully danced, weaving back and forth like a great long Serpent, completely circling the whole of our lands on the Isle of Apples. Three Times around did we dance. It took from twilight to Dawn. As we traversed this path of beauty, we all sang a song of entreaty, release, and comfort – a way out for the Spirits we would banish – gently, but thoroughly. With the contraction and flow, we drew them irresistibly along. To an ancient tune – passed down from generation to generation – these were the words we sang...

  I dance thee out of my home...

  Feelings of anger, betrayal and pain...

  Unwanted emotions, my dance be thy bane...

  I dance thee out of my home...

  I dance thee out of my home...

  Words rashly spoken, malefic intent…

  Want and frustration – thy power be rent

  I dance thee out of my home...

  Fly through the cracks in the doors and the windows

  Follow the breeze towards the boughs up above...

  Then circle and circle, way down to the Mother...

  Whence the Earth will embrace thee, and turn thee to Love.

  I dance thee out of my home...

  I dance thee out of my home...

  I dance thee out of my home...

  I dance thee out of my home...

  Unwelcome intruders, we utter thy name...

  Forces of discord, our peace to reclaim...

  I dance thee out of my home...

  I dance thee out of my home...

  We banish thee now from our own fields and livestock,

  Our homes and our hearts, our Springs and our Wood...

  Gently we Charm thee way down to the Mother...

  Where Her Love will embrace thee, and change thee to good...

  I dance thee out of my home.

  I dance thee out of my home.

  I dance thee out of my home.

  It is so simple to dance, circle, move, spiral, Charm, banish, release, and disseminate, with the widdershins motion – the flow of the Earth, where all is absorbed and absolved into her draw.

  Do you understand?

  There is an old parable that says: “Power lies not within the strength of the arm, but in the quality of the sword.”

  Like a leaf flowing downstream, peace retuned and the years of the Summer King continued. Not even a whisper of war was in the Winds on Our Fair Isles.

  Chapter 29

  Bronte

  Gwyddion

  In about the second year of peace I reminded Arthur of his promise to the Picti and the Highland Clans that he would periodically return to Table Rock to meet with his allies there. So, at my request, all was arranged; messengers sent out, and provisions packed for our journey.

  On the first Day out toward the meet, Arthur, Bedwyr, and Lucian all expressed the desire to visit the great Stone Temples and Dragon lines on an Island far off the West Coast of Alba. And, as well, they said that they wished to go to the extreme North in the wild and craggy Highlands – for none of them had seen that country and they had heard of a beautiful Loch of renown wherein, it is said, lives a great Sea Dragon. Bedwyr and I chuckled and winked at each other. How could Arthur and Lucian know that Dragons travelled everywhere we went? Or so Brennos and Bedwyr had told me and, in fact, I had begun to feel them myself.

  Bedwyr said, “I would like to see a Dragon in the flesh, though I hardly believe the tales that are told. It is probably a very old and grumpy Salmon.”

  We all laughed.

  The Picti, along with some of their neighbors, such as the Southern-most Highland Clans, had planned great games of strength in honour of our meet. A bit different and singular to their culture were these games. They had felled Trees, cutting off the tops and bottoms, keeping only the main trunks, which were smoothed. They drew a line in the dirt and each contestant picked up and held one of these huge trunks straight upwards in their hands - the great beams being supported by stewards or fellow-competitors while being placed into position. Then, they must balance it just right and toss it with a great heave toward a second, third, or fourth line away in the distance. Wherever it landed was marked, so that the next man would try to toss it farther. It was amazing! I learned that the third and fourth lines marked the distance former Champions had tossed the beam.

  These men were stout and muscular; more squarely built than our more Southern men. That was one reason they were such frightening Warriors. But far from the impression these men gave in battle, they were a good-humored lot. Lucian tossed a Tree and did get it many arms’ lengths away – not bad for a first try. He paid for this the next Day with aching arms, shoulders, and knees, though.

  At the end of the Games whilst everyone was packing up, a man engaged Bedwyr and I in conversation. He told us that his name was Mohaw, which meant “Lost in the Mists of Time.” A poetic man was he, with a poetic name. He introduced himself as being of the Gododdin Clan and a member of the Council of the town of Din Eidyn.

  “Din Eidyn is just over there, my Lords...”

  He was pointing toward a nearby promontory overlooking the Sea, which seemed to be – as a Crow flies – about two Roman miles away. He asked if we had made arrangements for this Night’s lodging before continuing our travels. When I said that we had not, he asked if we would honour him by staying a Night or two – or more – at his humble farm.

  “My cottage is comfortable and there is enough room for the four of you to sleep inside. Your Guardsmen can find room in our stable, where there is fresh hay. My farm is farther down yon Hill on the outskirts of Din Eidyn. It is not far.”

  I asked Arthur if we could stay with him. Arthur replied that it may be a good thing, as there would be many others seeking near-by lodging too. Arthur... still so humble and un-pretentious – as if the King could not command lodging anywhere. Arthur told Mohaw that we would gladly accept the hospitality of his comfortable cottage.

  On our way to his farm, Mohaw told us that he was a widower and that he lived with his three daughters, “...all of an age to marry.”

  Bedwyr lowered his head and smiled ever so slightly...

  Mohaw went on, “My three daughters have talked about little else since I told them that King Arthur and his Companions would be at the Games.”

  The youngest of his daughters, whose name was Cleur, was fourteen years, the next, whose name was Ahna, was fifteen, and the eldest – whose name was Bronte – was past her eighteenth year-turn. They looked to have much more Clansmen’s blood than Picti – although Mohaw had told us that his wife had been of the Picti.

  A diary...

  I have interjected this next bit of writing, which – unlike most of my written histories, written well after the incidents involved had actually taken place – were written upon our fourth evening at Mohaw’s farm. I think the events – as well as the hitherto uncharted feelings arising within me – so unexpected and poignant, are worthy of being written down before they slip away into my ever so well-guarded self...

  Feelings... Yes...

  Bronte... I would her call a comely girl, in a simple sort of way... although she has not the mysterious dark beauty of Morgan or Igraine. Neither has she the strong, golden, Sun-lit beauty of Princess Rowena nor the vulnerable, pale allure of Arthur’s wife, Gwenyfar. She is of an average size. Her mouth is a little too wide – all the better to smile with. Her hair is brown, her eyes a light hazel-brown – with green flecks in them. I suppose that most folk would say that Bronte is a plain girl. Yet there is nothing ordinary about her. She is charming and very intelligent. From the first moment I met her, I began to recognize a power within her.

  Bronte has not kept her eyes from me. She has used every excuse to see, to speak, or to walk with me all Day long for the four Days that we have been here. Is it not longer than that that I have known her? I am over fifty years n
ow – older than her Father. Does she desire me? Could a young girl like her want me as her lover? Or am I just an old fool lying to myself just as young fools do? Love? Desire? What business have I toying with such ideas anyway? Long ago I decided that sexual Love was not for one such as me. Yet... all the while we have been here I have felt a hunger within me.

  Oh, I am confused and a little embarrassed – even to write these things in my own secret pages.

  No, it could never be... But then, what does she want? Illumination dawning... “Ah... She wants the Magic from me. Of course.”

  Those were the only words I had written whilst there...

  To Continue -

  Upon the next Day she raised her courage to ask me, “Please, take me with you on your travels, my Lord Merlin – if only for a Moon’s Dance or two. I wish... I want to go with you.”

  “My girl, your Father would not let you travel with four men and their Guard.”

  “Yes, he would! He said so!”

  She blushed.

  “My people hold no value in virginity, so...”

  “My girl! Are you suggesting...?”

  “No, no, I only meant – why else should he have objected? This is what I have always wanted – to learn!”

  “To learn WHAT, exactly?”

  “To Heal people and other Creatures and to travel the Three Realms. My Mother knew the Herbs and she knew other things, too. Like... like... my Mother taught me how to stir the cauldron:

  Three Times widdershins, seven by the Sun

  A bag o’ bones an’ holey Stones

  An then ye ha’ begun

  Bitter Herbs an’ Mouse’s tails – poison Mushrooms, too...

  Bubble, bubble, boil the pot

  Ta make a pungent brew

  Chant a song o’ seven words:

  A Hi le Broch ‘n doodle dee

  Chase ol’ evil, pain an’ Death

  Awee, awee, awee

  Twirl aroun’ th’ cauldron unteel the Charm is done

  Three Times widdershins, seven by the Sun

  “She taught me until she died, when I was ten years. Since then I have done the woman’s work at home and what was needed for my Father and sisters. But now, my sister Ahna is fifteen and old enough to care for our home.”

  “But do you not wish to marry and have children, Bronte?”

  She answered thoughtfully.

  “Perhaps, someday, but all in good Time, my Lord Gwyddion The Merlin.”

  “Bronte, I must think about this. It is a lot that you ask.”

  “But even if only for a short while? I will be a very good student. I will never forget anything you tell me. I will do anything you require of me...”

  “Never is a long Time.” I smiled. “We barely know each other Bronte.”

  “But, if I may be so bold as to contradict you, my Lord – this is not the first Time we have met. Ever and never go in both directions. Have you, my Lord, The Merlin no remembrance of Time we have spent together in other lives?”

  My head began to spin, an itching I could not quite reach. Shadows of memories were rushing through my thoughts – or, well, no – better said, my feelings – three steps ahead of me, but which I could not catch. I felt faint and ill, but it was just a sickness which most Seers experience... as if I had been in the hot Sun too long without Water. Slowly, I came back to myself. Who was she? Or – who had we been to each other?

  “I do not quite remember,” I said. “Will you tell me, Bronte?”

  “Yes, my Lord... Will you take me with you?”

  “It seems that I must…”

  Bronte – the name means “Bestower.” Now, I wonder what Wisdom you might bestow upon me?

  It seems I had spoken it aloud. She responded:

  “It is I, my Lord, who will receive the gift of your company and teachings. I humbly thank you.”

  And so Bronte came with us.

  First we went beyond the West coast of Pictland and across a stretch of Sea, to the Isle of Stones. To say that I like crossing any stretch of Water would be like saying that I like a toothache. I was ill from the moment I stood on the rocking boat until an hour after disembarking it.

  We found there a wild and craggy Island of breathtakingly beautiful shorelines, sparsely inhabited by people of a primitive way of life. The natives called it something that sounded like Haibowdai. Bronte said that her Father called it Skye.

  We did see a couple of crude villages – with round huts of Stone – and there, saw some people. Mostly they avoided us, but a few were friendly and helpful. Bronte understood their dialect easier than the rest of us and this helped us to find food, drink, and lodging. One man acted as guide.

  Our guide also took us to their ring of Stones. Of course we, the men, had all walked amoung the Giant’s Dance, the great Henge near Sorviodunum. But it all seemed different somehow on this majestic, yet lonely place – seemingly so removed from Time and humanity’s imprint.

  I wondered what sort of Magics, sciences, and Rituals had been practiced here down through the Ages. It is now so desolate, but once it must have been awash with people – Priests and Priestesses perhaps – and Merchants plying their trades and wares to all those coming and going. Perhaps it was thus, once. Still the echoes of brilliance linger – the awe and spectacle, the energy and the Magic. My heart rejoiced.

  I thought – “If I should cross the veil today, I have seen and felt more than enough for three lifetimes.”

  I must have said this aloud, too. Bronte was standing next to me, though I had not noticed her until that moment. She said, “You have seen enough for many more than that – even before you were born into this life.”

  “Bronte, please tell me now – here and now, in this place – what you remember of our lives together.”

  “Yes, My Lord, I will.

  “You were an Architect, a designer of buildings – buildings of Stone, a Temple of the Sun. For our people were Sun worshippers. Or well, perhaps not really. We worshipped Gods as symbols, or symbols as Gods. It is hard to explain – the Sun was the symbol, the outward manifestation of the Gods. We worshipped the God of the Sun, at its zenith in the Sky. I seem to remember that His name was Hora or Haru...

  “A Great Age was passing into a new one. This I cannot explain, but, somehow I know.

  “It was taught that our God of Wisdom spoke the first word, which set all Creation into motion. This is all I can remember of that...

  “You were a wise and powerful man, the King’s man, yes, even then. I was... a Water Healer... There was a Ritual of the Cool Water.

  “I saw you many Times, but we never met, until an accident happened. A large Stone fell upon your leg and crushed it. They brought you to the Healing Temple. There the Physicians cut off your leg. They burned it with red hot Stones and covered the stump with a tar-like substance mixed with many Herbs and Flowers, which had been ground into it. You raised a great fever. They brought me to you, to perform the Magic of the Cool Water. I stayed with you Day and Night, along with many Priests coming and going to say their Magic Words. After seven Days, you awoke – feverless – and in great pain, so I gave you wine mixed with the oils and essence of the large red flowers that grew in great abundance in this lush land. I spent a whole season with you, my Lord. I Loved you.”

  She blushed...

  “Then one Night, you died.

  “I have been waiting for you for so long. Now I have found you.”

  “Bronte, I am astounded... I have known others who were born remembering, but your memories are so clear. Pray, tell me more. Do you remember their Words of the Making? Or of the Breaking? And what was your name – or mine? What did people wear? Tell me all you remember.”

  “My Lord and teacher Gwyddion, my Sacred name was given to me by my mentor in the Temple University. And I may never speak it. I cannot remember your name, but I think it had the Sun God’s name within it. As to their secret Words of the Making and the Breaking, I cannot remember a one...”

&
nbsp; Most of our land’s terrain was as the Sand of a shoreline, but there was no Sea – only a great River running through the length of it like blood through the channels in our arms. Extending Eastward and Westward from each bank of this River was lush and fertile land – but only a little way out from it on either side. The people lined their eyes black for beauty, as some of the Tribes in our lands do. We – or was it they? – had Priestly trappings for Ritual and official works.

  Once and only once, did I see a very old Priestess – and a very important person was she. Perhaps she was Royal too. She wore a robe of black with small, white, five pointed Stars spotted all over it – like the Starry Night Sky. I believe very few – and only the highest ranking of those in the Temple Schools – wore a robe like this. Yet this memory is very confusing... Mayhap I only Dreamed of her. I thought I was her, for I saw that robe as if upon myself – from my eyes looking outward. Perhaps I am confused... I do not truly know what this all means or even if this memory is from the same life we shared, my Lord. That is all I remember. When these Visions or Dreams come upon me, it is as though it is happening just then, at that very moment. So many Visions and Dreams have I had about that land...”

  Her voice trailed off.

  I, the so-called great Merlin, stood cold and shivering in her presence. She was so much more than I could ever have known. Bronte was like a sponge of the Sea. I could never quench her thirst for knowledge. Always would she have more and more. True to her word, she remembered every drink from my cup. So quickly did she excel in the Arts that before our travels of four Moon’s Dances had ended, she was as one who had studied for years.

  Bronte was not all seriousness though. She had a wonderful sense of humour, witty and quick of tongue, a joy to be with – we all thought so. We all Loved her, each in our own way.

  I have ever wondered if Bedwyr wanted her as his lover. But if so, to my knowledge he never acted upon it.