by J. M. Hofer
“That you will, Bran of Agarah, because it is what you were born to do,” said a familiar elderly voice moving toward them from the path ahead. “And I’m here to help you do it.”
Bran smiled as its owner came into view. “Islwyn!” he exclaimed, moving to embrace the old man. He was comforted by his presence, as if some part of Talhaiarn might yet live among them again through the old druid. It seemed he had come to stay, but Bran did not ask, for fear of a disappointing answer. Surely they had had enough of those.
There was yet the most disappointing news of all to deliver. Bran yearned to see Lucia, but dreaded the blow he would have to inflict upon her with the news of Gwion’s death. A blow which she, in turn, would have the horrible burden of delivering to the child’s mother.
No, although they had vanquished their enemies, there would be no victory songs tonight, nor for many nights hence.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Farewell
Aveta longed desperately for some news, for it had been almost a month since Lucia and Gwion had left the Isle with Bran. She had sent word to the Sisters in the South but had not received a reply. Her patience had run out. After much consideration, she decided to brew the Seeing Tea.
Brewing the Seeing Tea was something every Daughter of the Isle knew how to do, but the process was long and demanded much of the body and mind. The older you were, the more painful and difficult the effects of the tea could be on your body, as well. It had been years since Aveta had last drank the tea, but she was certain it would be worth it to gain the knowledge she craved.
Aveta rose at dawn the following day. She enjoyed the quiet solitude of the morning as she scanned the forest floor and under the roots of trees for the mushrooms and herbs she needed. Most of them she found quickly. Trees and plants were something she understood the way others understood animals or people. She admired their silent vigil and quiet knowledge, and the way they adapted to survive whatever obstacles were put in their way. She had always loved growing and nurturing them. There was nothing more satisfying to her than pushing her hands into good, dark soil.
After gathering everything she needed from the forest, she made her way to the meadow. She walked along the stream bed that led through the birch grove, stopping a moment to admire the sky through its cathedral of white tree trunks. The small yellow leaves that had managed to survive through autumn into winter winked and fluttered at her, and she smiled at their tenacity.
The path wound through some brush and then opened up into the meadow she remembered playing in as a child. As she wandered through the meadow looking for her herbs, she slowly began to notice the sun growing warmer, and wildflowers beginning to dot the outer edges of her vision. She looked up, and to her surprise found they were blooming all around her. Their bright faces peeked out from between new green rushes while butterflies courted them, teetering on a fresh springtime breeze. Winter had somehow turned to spring in the meadow. Aveta smiled in recognition of the handiwork of the Guardians of the East.
Their voices came to her upon the wind, calling, “Run and play, Avie!”
Hearing the name of her youth, Aveta suddenly felt like a child again….
Her body felt younger, and so it was.
Her heart, lighter, and so it was.
Her mind, clearer, and so it was.
She surrendered to it, taking her shoes off and running through the meadow. She no longer felt any aches or pains in her joints or limbs as she ran, feeling her hair bouncing everywhere. When she could run no more, she tumbled down in the grass and lay on her back, staring up at the beautiful early morning light.
She watched the clouds move across the sky and the sun rise higher, until she remembered she was there to find something. She sat up with a start, as if waking from a dream, and found herself once more in a winter meadow. There, in the snow, next to her hand, was a small parting gift—the final ingredient for her tea.
***
The sun was directly overhead. Aveta gathered the wood of several different trees, set it aflame and began to chant, walking clockwise around the fire.
Slowly, she felt the innocent joy of her morning turning into passion and strength, quickening and coursing through her body.
She began to hear drums…Her heart beat to the same rhythm, and her blood rose. Soon the rhythm took over, and when she was no longer able to contain the energy building up within her, she burst forth into a dance. With each revolution, she gave herself over to the rhythm, more and more, surrendering herself…
Her dance spun on and on, until the landscape began to shift and change around her. The trees faded in and out, at times becoming almost completely transparent. She caught glimpses through the smoke of spirits dancing across from her, the ever-growing heat distorting their images. The earth beneath her bare feet felt drier and drier with every step, and soon she no longer felt cool grass beneath them, but warm dust.
Sweat ran down her body. She felt suffocated by her robe. She pulled it off so she could move freely. Naked, she danced, luxuriating in the heat of the fire on her skin.
Through the smoke she glimpsed a red arid land under a blazing sun. With each turn, the image strengthened and grew, taking up more and more of the space around her, until it surrounded her. She danced around her fire which was now set upon a mesa, strange cliffs vaulting above her into a vast blue sky arching majestically overhead and spanning out in all directions. Atop the cliffs were luminous beings. Guardians.
Her thoughts and feelings became different colored vines of light, emanating out from her in all directions. Those that rang true in her heart went forth as flames of light, but those that were fearful or doubtful looked dull, their path crippled and without direction. She willed the flames of the fire to rise and burn the weak ones before they could escape, and focused on a chant of powerful truth.
“Dance with me!” she cried, welcoming the Guardians into her circle.
The Guardians accepted her invitation, descending on trails of light which spiraled upwards into the sky in an ever-expanding arc. They began to move with her, weaving patterns of light around and between each other. Aveta was overwhelmed with gratitude, humbled beyond measure that they would choose to grace her so.
When the fire had burned down to a few logs, the Guardians returned to their place atop the cliffs. The tapestry of energy they had woven together settled upon Aveta as a mantle of radiance and protection.
She glowed with the color of late summer apricots, looking to be once more in the prime of her child-bearing years. Her hair had become shiny, skin creamy and smooth, her breasts round and full. Aveta felt sexual and fertile again, her bones strong and muscles supple; she was beautiful again. She thought back to the many lovers of her youth, the passion of those memories surging within her as she remembered what it felt like to be worshipped, held, and dominated—the thrill of being fully ravished and fulfilled by a man’s desire and then basking together with him in ecstasy. She gave thanks for all of the men who had taken her to such bliss, and most of all, for the spark of passion planted within her womb that had become the miracle of her only child.
As the sun began to set, she slowed her dance to a simple walk. She looked up toward the cliffs and saw that they were fading. The trees began to return around her. Slowly, with each step, she felt more and more grass beneath her feet.
The fire had burned down to a huge bed of glowing coals. She stood in silence for awhile, breathing deeply, until the last flame died and only the coals remained.
***
Aveta stepped lightly on the path to the pool, as sure-footed and silent as a fox, disturbing nothing as she moved. She walked alongside the stream, carefully pushing aside tree branches and stepping over river rocks. The late afternoon light danced on the water as she hiked ever-upward through the thickening brush.
Dusk was approaching. Her surroundings became greener and the sound of the water louder as she climbed. Moss clung to every tree and rock, and a fine mist began to fill th
e air around her, letting her know she was almost there.
She soon glimpsed the pool through the trees. She went to the water’s edge where she could look into the water’s depths through her own reflection.
She chose a place she had sat many times before, her heart beating a bit faster. For being a Daughter of the Isle, gazing into the water had always been surprisingly frightening for her. As peaceful and beautiful as the Sacred Pools were, their waters often revealed frightening or disturbing things from within. As a girl, she often felt as if she were drowning, and would wrench herself from trance in a panic. She had often wondered why she had not been born to the Northerners, with their deep love of the earth and talent for growing things. She felt much more at home with them. Her mother had explained that despite her natural talents, she had been born as a daughter of the West for a reason, and that reason was why her heart beat so fast; the water had lessons for her, and she would need to face her fears with courage if she wanted to learn them.
It helped her to have the clear joy of the morning and the strong energy built up by dancing around the fire as she faced the water. She felt prepared, and found a place to greet her reflection.
The woman staring back at her was serene. The past few years had been hard, but they had not broken her. After a few moments, she dared to look past herself into the depths of the water, waiting for what would emerge.
She was unaware of time passing. She did not fight her thoughts. She simply stepped away from them, watching them from above, like looking down upon a river she no longer swam in.
Once she felt ready, she asked the Great Mother for a guide. Often loved ones from the other side answered the call and came to guide seekers through the water, as it was notoriously disorienting.
The first person who came up from the water to greet her was Gwion’s father, and her heart melted with melancholic joy. Images of the nights they spent together floated toward her—his kind and handsome face, the moon overhead, waking up next to him….She felt his love washing over her, holding her, and relaxed into his protection. She allowed the water to take over, simply breathing, surrendering to the steady sound of the currents swirling all around her. So entranced, she was barely conscious of twilight falling upon the glade.
Images and emotions began to assail her with greater force. She found herself holding Gwion’s hand the night they fled her sister’s wrath and left the Isle. She felt terrified inside, but pretended not to be so he would not be afraid. “Everything will be alright,” she heard herself say to him.
Next, she was kneeling in front of him, holding his shoulders, looking into his face before she left him with Talhaiarn—again, hiding her fear and anguish.
Then, an image of her son came to her that she could not bear to see.
No!
She tried to pull away from it, but couldn’t. The more she resisted, the deeper the water pulled her beneath its surface. She looked up and could see her own face high above the water peering down, but she couldn’t move. Panic.
She began to thrash, unable to breathe, desperately reaching toward the surface but unable to reach it in time…
And then, blackness.
***
Aveta woke, shivering and cold upon the ground, her feet still in the water. The sun had set and the stars were out.
She sat up, wondering how long she had been unconscious, and then wept at what she had been forced to see.
Time passed, and again she looked past her face into the water, resigned to it, willing to surrender.
Gwion came to the surface. Upon seeing his face, a sickening feeling of loss engulfed her—the loss of love and the searing pain of being left behind—but this time she did not fight. She let the images come and offered herself to the message they brought.
Instead of pain, she suddenly found herself a young mother again. She was nursing her infant son beneath a tree, his green eyes looking up at her in complete trust and love, the moment as vivid as if she were truly there. She felt the grass against her ankles, the bark of the tree against her back, and the summer breeze on her breasts. She was warm and content, so happy. She bent down to kiss Gwion’s golden head, and the smell of his hair made her weep.
You can come here whenever you wish, Aveta, the water whispered to her tenderly.
Aveta held her baby close to her, rocking him, letting the water’s message in.
This moment is eternal, as all moments are. They belong to you forever. There is no such thing as loss.
***
When she was ready, Aveta allowed the sound of the water call her back to the grove and opened her eyes. She reached into the pool and filled her small cauldron, drank from it, and then filled it a second time.
She returned to the embers of the fire she had danced around that day, and set her cauldron upon it. When the water began to boil, she added the herbs she had collected that morning, and then lay down to sleep.
Mother Earth cradled her in her arms and would perhaps speak to her in her dreams as her tea brewed through the night. Aveta felt comfortable, her head against the solid earth that she knew would always be there. She pressed her palms into it and stared up into the night sky, listening to the sound of her breath until she fell asleep.
***
The next morning the fire had died and the tea was ready. Aveta drank it all, then lay down with her cauldron at her side should she need to vomit.
She folded her hands across her belly and focused on the pale sunlight coming down through the branches of the trees overhead. Soon, she felt the tea traveling through her blood and quickening her heartbeat, changing her thoughts.
It had been a long time since she last drank the tea, but slowly she recognized where she was going. Her mind cleared. Her body felt as light as autumn leaves or butterfly wings…So light, that she sat up and came right out of it. She began to float up, occasionally looking down at the silver thread that tethered her spirit to her body. It trailed behind her as she rose into the heavens.
She flew far above the Isle, rising higher above the clouds until they were all she could see for miles. They glowed a golden pink, like the roses she planted alongside the villa wall. Below her, the clouds became a sea that eventually broke upon a shore that stretched on forever. Towering above the shoreline were rugged cliffs, and over the cliffs tumbled waterfalls created by rivers that wound like melted silver through miles of rolling green hills dotted with groves of trees. Beyond the hills lay golden meadows filled with wildflowers, and beyond those, foothills undulated into rugged mountains that cleaved the air.
These were the Summerlands as her soul knew them; a place for her to come and pray and ask for guidance. Sometimes, the Great Mother would speak to her upon the seashore while she listened to the waves crash upon the beach, and sometimes when she sat beside a river, toes in the water, leaning against a tree. She had even sat perched on the edge of the cliffs a few times, watching the gulls sail out over the ocean and smelling the salty air. Today, however, Aveta longed for something far more mundane.
She longed for the home she once shared with Lucia and Gwion by the lake, and her garden, and the hearth she had cooked so many meals upon. She imagined it, and it appeared around her, shimmering into view in the middle of her meadow—the lake, the villa, the garden—all of it. The path along the lake unwound before her, and she followed it through the barley field and the apple orchard.
She looked across the lake and saw the Isle, awash in golden light, glittering like an emerald in the mist. She walked up the path to her garden. The sun was shining down upon its fat cabbages, string beans, peas, onions and carrots, all ready to be picked. Her basket was right where she expected it to be. She knelt down and harvested all of them, one by one, shoving her hands joyfully into the soil. The smell of the earth filled her nostrils, and she breathed in deeply.
“I’ve come to speak to you, Great Mother,” she said, pulling carrots from the ground.
I am here, child.
“Tell me
of my sister. Can anything be done for her?”
Her pain has driven her to desire power she does not understand, and cannot wield, but this is her path.
“Must she die?”
There is no death.
“Must her body die?”
All bodies must die.
Aveta knew she was not asking correctly. “Must she be killed?” she finally asked, fearing the answer.
No, but balance must be restored. Sacrifices must be made.
She felt a surge of fear. “What kind of sacrifices?”
There was no answer from the Great Mother.
“What kind of sacrifices?” she repeated, looking up into the sky.
Just then, the stable door swung open, and a beautiful white-winged horse trotted out.
“Hello, Mother.”
She smiled, recognizing her son’s chosen form in that realm.
“Hello, son.”
The horse came close and nuzzled her shoulder. She stood and put her arms around his great white head, and her face into his mane.
“It is I who must make the sacrifice the Great Mother speaks of.”
“What? No!”
Tears welled up in Aveta’s eyes as she realized she had known this truth from the day Gwion was born. It all became clear—the deep fear she carried in her heart, the pang of anxiousness whenever they were separated for more than a few hours, and why she had wanted to spend every waking moment with him from the time she held him as a newborn in her arms.
We become so vulnerable after giving birth. From the moment a woman holds her infant in her arms, her heart splits in two and no longer belongs to her alone. Her child carries a half of it about, bouncing along through life, sometimes dangling it carelessly, oblivious to how much pain he can cause.
“I took something that was not mine to take, Mother.”
“You were a child! A child, Gwion! It was not your fault! It was an accident!”
“It was no accident. What power has been taken must be paid for. The Great Mother helped me see this.”