by J. M. Hofer
“This isn’t fair! How can this be?” she felt herself falling as she had before, falling toward the blackness…
This was Gwion’s choice before he was born to you. He knew the path his life was to take, as you knew yours.
“Mother, I need to show you something. Come with me,” Gwion said.
He spread his wings, unfolding them high above her head, and kneeled down for her. She climbed on his back, and soon he was galloping through the barley field, faster and faster. She wrapped her hands around his mane as he stretched out his wings and took off from the ground, vaulting higher and higher into the sky until they were surrounded by blackness.
Aveta heard wailing below them. The sound was agonizing. She felt dizzy, her heart pounding in fear. She could not keep her hands closed and struggled to hold on.
“Don’t give in, Mother. Don’t let go,” she heard, and felt herself being pulled back into the light—his golden light.
“Stay with me,” rang huge and booming in her mind. She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the blackness, gripping his mane.
“What is this horrible place you have brought me to?”
“Around us are the souls that once lived inside the bodies Cerridwen stole from their graves and forced to awaken again. Now they are trapped here, unable to find the Summerlands, for Arawn cannot reach them.”
“This is what Cerridwen has done?”
“Yes, and it must be made right.”
She felt their breath on her skin, and their voices in her ears. She felt their desire, their misery, and their desperation. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she began to see them. More and more swarmed in, closer and closer to them. They were attracted to Gwion’s light, like fish to a lure. Again she started to feel dizzy.
“It’s not safe for you here. I am taking you back,” Gwion said.
She felt his great wings surge again, away from the grasping hands. The cries of agony increased to a pitch far worse than when they arrived. She clutched his mane and lay her body down, resisting the power of the blackness until fresh night air greeted her nostrils. She gratefully filled her lungs with it and opened her eyes. Though the sky was still black, it was now gloriously dotted with stars. Below them a herd of wild stallions ran in a vast open field.
Gwion flew down to the herd. Soon, he was running with it, smoothly thundering through the landscape with the other horses.
He took the lead, his wings folded tightly against his sides, securing her on his back. The wind blew away her fear, and she let out a joyful cry.
There is no loss. There is no death.
He showed her his world, flying over fantastic vistas until they came to land in a stone circle built on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a vast sea far below.
“I first came here as a small boy,” he told her. “I was terrified—terrified of Cerridwen’s anger and of leaving the Isle, but most of all, of how huge the world had become. After the potion touched my lips and swam in my blood, I gradually became aware of every pulse of life around me –every cricket’s song, every stroke of a butterfly’s wing, every rise and fall of the waves on the lake. I could hear the wayward chatter of a million unseen creatures, see light flowing between them, and feel the turn of the heavens above. I felt like an infant again, clinging to you, afraid to eat or leave your side. Do you remember?
“Yes, of course,” Aveta answered, remembering those horrible times. She had felt so helpless. “I would take you to a quiet place in the forest and hold your head, and rock you until you calmed down. When that wasn’t enough, I would bind a cool wet cloth around your ears and eyes.”
“Yes. Eventually, I learned I could create my own places—places like this one. So I did. In these places, the Great Mother came and spoke to me. She told me I could come here whenever I needed her. I have, many times. Sometimes, when I come, others are here. Sometimes it’s an old man who teaches me about my gifts, and sometimes a child who just wants to play. Now that I’ve shown you the way, you can come here too—to visit me when you miss me. I’ll know when you’re here, and I will come,” he promised.
They stood in the stone temple looking out over the sea for a long time. She looked around, memorizing every detail, so that she could find her way back again.
“Are you ready to return?” Gwion asked.
“Yes, I’m ready,” she replied sadly.
She climbed on Gwion’s back again, and he returned her to the place where her sleeping body lay on the ground. She slid off his back and put her arms around his great white neck.
“May I say goodbye to you as I know you?” she asked. “I want to embrace my son. More than anything, I want to hold him once more.”
The body of the horse then transformed into the familiar body of her son as a small boy. She scooped him up in her arms and held him close a long time before setting him down. He then changed into a boy of five, all skinny legs and golden hair, and he wrapped his little arms around her legs like he used to when they would encounter a stranger. She tousled his hair, and as she did, he grew taller, his face changing, until he became the young man she knew.
“I love you, Mother. I will miss you.”
Tears welled up in Aveta’s eyes. “I love you, too, my son. I have been so blessed to have been your mother. Do what you are meant to do.”
With that, Aveta returned to her sleeping body, fearful of the grief that awaited her on the other side, but resigned to face it with courage.
EPILOGUE
Cerridwen speaks:
The Lord Arawn bid me bear the golden child as my penance; to give back to the world the life I had unjustly taken, and serve him in the Otherworld as Guardian of the Cauldron, which was never again to return to the world of the living.
I fled to a solitary place and waited as the babe grew heavy in my womb. I cursed him for the pain I suffered, the sleep I could not find, and the food I could not eat. In my anger toward Arawn, I vowed to smother the child before he drew his first breath - but when the babe came into the world, he shone forth with such glorious perfection I could not bear to do it.
Instead, I set him adrift upon the sea; if the Guardians willed it, the babe would live. My time in his life was over.
The moment the child left my arms, the ground opened up beneath my feet, and Arawn burst forth to claim me.
Once again at his side, I suddenly knew I had always been so, from the beginning and for eternity; my time upon the earth as the mortal woman, Cerridwen, had been but a fleeting moment…
I am, and have always been, Queen of the Otherworld, consort to Arawn.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J.M. Hofer lives in Salt Lake City, Utah where she works in the travel industry. In her spare time she studies dance, history, mythology, Celtic studies and foreign language.
Islands in the Mist is her first novel, and was one of five semi-finalists out of 2,000 in the Sci-Fi/Fantasy/Horror genre in the 2013 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest.
If you enjoyed the book, she invites you to visit Amazon and leave her a review, and humbly thanks you in advance.
Across the Sea, Book II in the Islands in the Mist series, is due out in Winter of 2015.
Visit her world at www.jmhofer.com