Nimue and I, hand in hand, left the Crystal Cave, never to return.
Note: I have decided, after much long thought and fretting, to write this in my history. For you see, now in my very old age, evil rumours about Nimue have already begun. I heard the song of a Bard one Moon’s Dance ago, which said:
“Nimue the Enchantress befuddled the thoughts of the old man Merlin to make him fall in Love with her. But she had Loved him not. Only did she want his Magic. So she stole his power and made him a fool. Then, when he taught her all that he knew, she tricked him and Spelled him into a living sleep.”
One of my sisters told me that they had heard a different tune, but that it, too, named Nimue a wicked Creature. So, for your honour, Nimue, I write the truth.
I have only heard from Nimue twice in the long years since she left the Isle of Apples. Both Times was by courier, but never have I seen her face again.
Chapter 41
Nimue’s Letters
Morgan
Gryffydd and Ahna arrive at the Isle of Apples...
About four years after The Merlin “disappeared” – as folk reckoned it and Nimue the Enchantress stepped out of our lives and into legend – a finely outfitted wagon, pulled by two exquisite Horses, arrived at the entrance gate of our Order’s lands.
By then we had posted guards and a large and loud clanging bell to alert us to visitors’ – or foes’ – arrivals. Sad as it was that this had become necessary, we all slept easier at Night because of it. You see, within the less than six years since the breakdown of the federation of the Dux’ authority, more and more Saxons, Angles, and Jutes had sailed to our shores, especially into the South and East and had violently pillaged and taken lands which had been inhabited by Britons for millennia. Whole villages had been razed with their inhabitants slaughtered.
Perhaps I write too harshly against the invaders. Even I, who have been taught since childhood to honour and find the good in all cultures, have my biases.
When the Clans had first come to this land, it is told that they came as intruders, not murdering invaders. Or so it is told... Who knows now?
The true fact of the matter is that at least the Teutonic Clans do not kill the children. Even some of the more “cooperative” young women are assimilated into their families. I should not make them sound like murderous barbarians, for it is just the way of the world that conquering people move the older race out of their way.
The Saxons do have a high culture and are very creative, with talented craftsmen and Poets. Their fine work in gold gives testament to this. Some whom I have met are very warm, friendly, and generous folk – albeit they drink and eat overmuch, compared to my kin, but who am I to judge?
Still, they are, in general, a warring, strong, and lusty people. They have vengeful and violent Gods and Goddesses as well – or so their sagas and Myths tell. One of their most respected Gods – Woden, Wotan or Odin – was a “Walker between the worlds” who had sacrificed one of his eyes to gain Wisdom and the Mysteries. Hel is the name of their Dark Mother of the Underworld, and Baldag, or Balder, is their Child of Promise – not unlike Yeshua or Mabon. So, I suppose, they are not so different from the Gods and Goddesses of the Britons.
Their Seers are well-respected amoung them, so they have shown respect toward the sisters and brothers of our Order – at least for now. Still, we felt the need for caution.
But the young man, his wife, and baby who arrived at our gate in the wagon that Day were not Saxons.
“My Lady,” said the runner from the gate, “Here – they have given this to me for you. They said you would recognize from whom it has come.”
It was an Owl’s feather and a Raven’s claw holding a finely wrought medallion with the same Picti symbols as were tattooed on Nimue tied and wrapped around a vellum scroll.
“Nimue!” I excitedly proclaimed.
“No, my Lady, not Nimue, she is not here – just a young family from Alba – a man, a woman and a young child. Very wealthy they seem.”
“Of course... Nimue,” I mused.
He looked at me as if I had not understood him.
“Go now, allow them entrance and bring them to my quarters immediately.”
By the Time they had arrived I had already arranged for food and drink to be prepared and waiting for them. There were flat breads, butter, cheese, honey, Apples, and Water. I also had a basket filled with fresh straw and soft woolen bedding for the child – and Goat’s milk too, not knowing how old the baby was. The brothers of our Order are not very accustomed to determining the age of young children.
It had seemed that as in a flash of Lightning after my request, the stuffs were there. I laughed at myself. Have these six years of authority turned the manner of my spoken requests into commands? It was probably my heightened excitement – but whatever the cause, my usually serene, relaxed, even slow moving sisters had jumped into action like Horseflies. By the Time the visitors’ wagon had pulled to my cottage door, everything was in readiness.
Then a thought struck me. How far North were they from? Would I understand their speech?
There came a knock on the wall outside my doorway, and the words, “My Lady Morgan, your guests have arrived and are awaiting your welcome.”
“Thank you, D’twain.”
I walked to the doorway of my cottage and pushed aside the ironclad wooden panels, which opened or closed the entrance to my quarters.
“Welcome, travelers!” said I. “May the Goddess bless you. Come in from the Sun. I am Morgan, Lady of the Lake. So, do you come from Nimue?”
“Yes, Lady. And be ye blessed as well.”
Good, I understood them. They spoke the language of the North Britons.
“I forget myself, please sit and be comfortable.”
The child was perhaps a year old. No Goat’s milk needed, then.
“Will you partake of food and drink? If you wish, the babe can rest here.” I pointed to the basket.
“Also, my sisters can prepare vats of warm Water in which you may bathe yourselves clean of the road dust, and perhaps then you can tell me all about your travels and how you have come to know Nimue. Is she well?”
“Yes,” spoke the man through an already full mouth. “And thank you much for your welcome, M’Lady.”
I leaned back in my chair, smiled and took a cup of mead for myself. We all relaxed then. They were quite companionable folk, as it turned out.
The young woman, Ahna, told me she was the eldest of the two sisters of Bronte, “the great Merlin’s apprentice” – she said with pride.
A plague had ravaged their small village and almost everyone had died. Her Father – who had been Chieftain of their small Clan – as well as her younger sister had died of this pestilence. I had received news of this plague. “May the Spirits of illness keep it North. Well, that was not a very kind thought” I mused.
After her Father’s Death and burial, those left of the Clan had Cast lots to vote who could or could not be the new Chieftain. The vote could not be ratified. So the local Seer had Cast the Bones. The decision of the Gods was that her cousin Gryffydd, of the same name as her husband, would become Chieftain.
Another of Ahna’s cousins, Dealbrihl, had married Gryffydd, and was with child when Nimue had come to visit the family of Bronte. All she had found was famine and Death. Nimue saved Ahna and her husband from these eventualities by giving them “a great deal of gold” and arranging for them to take her wagon filled with blankets, food stuffs, Well Water, medicines, and all but one of her Horses. They had tried to refuse these gifts saying that much less would still save their lives, but Nimue would not be argued with.
“Accept some as gift then, and some as payment for a task and long journey you will make on my behalf.”
“She taught us how to travel by the Sun to come to the Isle of Apples, to deliver this letter to you, M’Lady.
“Nimue stayed in our village to mend and Heal the sick. We gave her my Father’s house, garden, and one Goat. It was all we had to
give her. She did keep some food, mead and medicines. She said that the worst of the plague had passed – and thankful of that we were.
“Huge black boils, coughing blood, sometimes shitting it – oh excuse me if I have offended, but the stench of the ill and Dead was the worst – all but for the wailing grief of their Loved ones, that is.
“Nimue told us that she would be alright. She would help tend the ill, bury the Dead, and do her best to restore the Clan as needed and then continue her travels Northward. This, Nimue said, she would do for Bronte, whom The Merlin had Loved.
“That is all, my Lady. Here we are, well and fine. And now you have the vellum scroll Nimue bade us place into your hands – and your hands alone.”
I clutched the medallion, feather, Raven’s claw, and vellum to my breast. “Nimue…”
I gave Gryffydd, Ahna, and their baby a warm and clean partitioned area of our dairy to live in and suggested they build a house beyond the Lake, on the other side of the Christian monastery.
“In the next few weeks we will help you, but for now, be comfortable in our dairy.”
We bade our good-Nights and I had them helped to bring their belongings into the dairy, bathe, and get settled in. The central Fire had been lit for weeks now so the dairy was warm and dry enough for their comfort as well as for the Animals’.
I waited for my privacy to read Nimue’s correspondence. I relished the Love and energy that lingered in the vellum from Nimue. I felt it in my hands and in my heart. I put my feet up on a cushion, relaxed, and read her words:
“Greetings Morgan. I am sure that if you have this letter in your hand, Gryffydd and Ahna have told you the whole story of their Clan and family, and of my meeting them. They left with no sign of the plague, and I knew if it did strike them down, they would be dead long before they reached the Isle of Apples. So, either way, my sending them to you would be safe enough.
I am well and trust that you are too. As to my history, I wish to add these words to it:
My heart so shattered, my body scattered – the cup that holds all that I am was cracked, leaking and almost empty. That is how I left you, the Isle of Apples, and Gwyddion behind. I thought only to return to the Highlands of the far North, where I had first truly found myself.
You see, Morgan, I had forgotten that I am never alone. My guides and my comforts have never left me. Even Gwyddion has walked into my Dreams. The first Time he did, I cried for two Days at the passing of that Dream.
But the next Time he came into my Dreams, he said, “You are asleep and I have come to you in your Dream. Everything will be alright. I Love you. I always will. I will definitely come to you on the Holy-Days, but look for me always.”
When I awoke, all was different. He was there in my heart, alive again. Really, all around me his Spirit walked. Then I remembered that he had told us he would live in our Dreams. The next Time he came to me he said, “You know, I am not really dead. Why, right now I am sitting at the craggy bottom of Vortigern’s failed Hill-fort, even now some have begun to name it after me – The Merlin’s Hill. Why did Vortigern pick this spot, when so many others were more suitable? Yes, it would have been quite defendable and the views are spectacular, but the land slides!”
The Dream faded. The next Night my Dream continued from where the last had ended. He said, “Nimue, funny that some men name it for my brother Ambrosius. Men remember him and that is good. No finer man has Briton seen. I remember working all of this out in my living thoughts.
“This is a Sacred Secret: I see not only the past but some of the future. Someday, long and far into the future, as men reckon it, people of learning will say that there never was a King Arthur. They will believe that you, Morgan and I, and the Isle of Apples lived only in the realm of Legend. Yet, even in those scientific cultures, which will have erased most sacrality from their lives – where all things once Sacred are then profane – there will be some who, filled with Spirit and hope, will believe. For the sake of the Dreamers and believers then, continue to write your history, and send it to Morgan.
“I also See that Bronte, the Magic child, will come back into Morgan’s life as a girl in whose body her Spirit will live. She will protect Morgan’s histories. She is the one Morgan must know and find and recognize. By twists and turns and guidance, these truths will come to light when most needed.
“Long and far from now when the Stars and constellations make their next great shift into a new Epoch, when the Water Bearer’s coming is soon to be established, Morgan’s compiled histories will light the world with the Dream renewed – not only with our Dream, but with the knowledge of the Mysteries and of thousands of Human generations of Earth’s Tribes and Cultures. This knowledge will light the world!
“Good Night, my beloved.”
I awoke enthralled in joy, and with three missions. First, to finish my history and send it to you; secondly, to tell you these words of The Merlin; and thirdly, to honour Bronte’s grave and speak with her. My thinking was that if I could wander to wherever her living Spirit was, perhaps she would know and tell me who this Child of Promise will be.
I journeyed into the Otherworlds to find Gwyddion. Three Times I went there. The first Time, my great Teacher in Spirit appeared to me. She said, “Are you Nimue, Dragon Caller, Enchantress, Seer? Or are you, Gwyddion, The Merlin?” I answered, “I do not know who I am. Will you tell me?”
“It is for you to remember who you are.”
“But I do not know” I answered.
She vanished and I awoke from my Trance. The second Time I went there my great Teacher appeared again, but this Time in a deep Wood, filled with Apple Trees and Oaks and Hazels, Birds, Insects, and Animals of all kinds. Streams rushed, Winds blew, Fires burned – but not to harm. The Dragons were there too, all watching me. My great Teacher asked again,
“What are you? Who are you?”
“I have forgotten...”
In an instant, everything turned to the blackest of blacks, and utter silence. I was lifted far above, then I was left there alone – but only for a moment, or was it a lifetime?
“I will not give up!” I screamed as I awoke to the world of form. For a third Time I journeyed to the Other-Realms. Once more the Forest was overflowing with life of all kinds.
My great Teacher pointed her finger up to the Sky. It was Day. It was Night. It was Dawn. It was Dusk. All at once the Sun shown with the Full Moon beside it, then a Mist came upon the Forest and She said, “I will ask you one last Time. What are you? Who are you? When is today – and tomorrow and yesterday? And what are we all?”
Then her bony finger pointed across a clearing that had not been there a moment ago. Out of the Mist walked my beloved Gwyddion, with Chronos. Gwyddion’s eye winked at me and then he raised his first finger to his lips to signal my silence. For what? To listen! Then Chronos said, “Whoo... Whoo...” All at once everything spun and spiraled down to the Earth, even the Stars fell from the Sky, and all things became indistinguishable. My body became as sand in a Whirlwind. My flesh and my bones dissolved, as did all else around me. I became merely a part of the whole.
Suddenly – I remembered... I yelled at the top of my voice:
“What am I? I am alive! Who am I? I am everyone and yet myself! When is today – and tomorrow and yesterday? All Time is now! What are we all? We are all One!”
“Yes, my girl,” said Gwyddion, spreading his hands and arms out into a sweeping gesture indicating all in the world around us, he continued – “and you are never alone.”
At this, the Mountains were filled with a choir of Elves, and so haunting of voice were they as they sang:
“Live and laugh and Love and sing...
Sharing the beauty is a Magic thing...
Time will come and Time will go...
All Time is now, this we must know...
Time will come and Time will go...
All Time is now... All things must grow...
Dance and twirl and spin and fly...
; Kiss me my Love... Do not sit and cry...
Time will come and Time will go...
All Time is now... All things must grow...
Celebrate the life we share...
The touch, the smile, the breath of Air...
Sleep and Dream and hold me tight...
All Time is now... All things are right...
Shhh... Ooooh... Sleep and Dream...
All Time is now... All Time is now... All Time is now...
All Time is now... All Time is now... All Time is now...
All Time is now... All Time is now... All Time is now...”
Their Voices faded into the Hills...
I had fallen deeper and deeper into nonexistence, a shell with only emptiness inside. But, my beloved caught me from my fall and lifted me back to the realm of the living. He had awakened me from the sleep of grief and reminded me of what and who I am. Thusly reawakened, I fully remembered not only what Wisdoms I, Nimue, had known, but all that my Lord, The Merlin of Briton, had known. These I have reclaimed from over the precipice of living doom. I am whole again. My Dragons and Ancestors, my Spirits and Gods are with me, as is the Great Mother of all.
I write this to you, my dearest Morgan, not to brag – for it is the most humbling experience one could ever have. For, even as I am One with all, I am but an infinitesimal pinpoint of light within the countless others of this great Cosmos – each one being the center; each a Magi un-awakened, each a blade of grass, a bubble in a Brook, a mighty Oak, a gentle Fawn – yet un-remembering or un-aware.
I write, also for those in the distant future, those who The Merlin spoke of who will re-awaken, as well as to assure you that your histories and your life’s work are of the greatest value.
Every person is a Star.
Nimue...”
In some way, hearing from Nimue was like opening the door and window of my cottage on a breezy, sunny Day. I was refreshed and renewed.
Voices of the Stars Page 57