VOTE! 2011 LUGHNASADH/IMBOLC PROSE

[Earthwoman]

Notice: Please use the poll to cast vote(s) for your favorite prose. You cannot select more than three. ONLY those votes submitted to the poll will be tallied. Votes submitted as posts below will not be counted.

[Mellinda]

The River

The sun is up its a lovely bright morning.
A small stocky built man about 30 years old is looking agitated, he’s loading baskets of grain on to a cart. There are several large clay pots full of a strong smelling drink also packed on the cart.
He picks up a small jar decorated with a fine twisted pattern, which he holds for a while then carefully places it in the cart.

He looks at the cart and scratches his head ….and mutters under his breath, “so much to take, there’s no room for anything more,” as he ties ropes across to secure the load.

In the street people are also busy packing belongings on to carts and into bags slung over oxen backs, and animals of every kind being tethered to the carts. The sound of laughter and talking all around.
The man turns and shouts, “Come on time to go,” a child giggles inside the dwelling.

He shouts again “If we don’t get on our journey soon, it will be dark before we make the campsite,” just then a small plump lady with a baby in her arms, and a child of about 4 years old, step out of the hut door.
“I only have one pair of hands you know,” she hands the baby to the man as she climes onto the cart.

“Have you put the jar safe,” she asks, “yes its in the front it will be fine there,” he then points to it and gives it a rub, then he hands the baby to her and lifts the child up bedside her.

The journey is long. They have been following a winding track along the edge of the forest, one that has been well trodden over many years.

The sun is now directly above them, its about noon. The lady looks wishful, “I hope we see Gweneth this time, it has been two years since we last saw her, I wonder if she has a family yet. I miss our daughter and her laughter,” she turns and looks down at her husband who is leading the Oxon. “Yes, I wish she had married someone nearer to us, but she is with her husbands family now,” the man answers

He looks up at her and halts the Oxon. “Time for a rest and some food I think, and the animals need feeding to.” He lifts the little girl down, then helps his wife and baby down. “Don’t wander off to far,” he says as he puts a rug on the ground and then takes one of the small bags of the cart and lays the contents out on the rug, bread, water and cheese, and dried meat.

The sun has hidden behind a cloud, the little girl is picking flowers with her mother.
The man picks up the rug and gives it a shake,
“Ok time to continue are journey.” He calls, and they clime back on the cart.

Now they have been following this track for several hours, the sun is now low in the sky, and the path is now getting very steep and in the distance the sound of music and voices. “Will we make it by dusk,” the lady asks the man. “Yes we have made good time,” he replies.

The track now widens and a large campsite comes into view, lots of people have gathered and are looking for family and friends.

“Oh look over there” the lady shouts, “its Gweneth.”
She jumps down from the cart nearly dropping the baby in her excitement, Gweneth has seen them, and is running towards them with her arms out wide, they hug and great each other in the moonlight, tears of joy running down their faces.

Around the campfire they catch up on all the news before retiring for the night, as tomorrow will be a busy day.

The horn sounds 3 times, calling all the people together.
They and in a long procession they follow the Druids down the track to the river.

Small family groups walking in silence one at a time go to the river, the suns reflection is dancing on the water.

Now it was the turn of Gweneth and family they make there way to the waters edge, the man is carrying the small decorated jar, he holds it up high and says.

“River of our ancestors flowing to the land of Avalon, take the ashes of my dear Father to be reunite with the ancestors of our tribe, and be forever at peace,” then he scatters the ashes in the river.

They watch the ashes float down the river, then slowly turn and return to the campsite, high upon the hill by a row of large wooden polls several meters high standing out on the landscape marking the temple site.

Now a feast is to prepared to send the ancestors on their way, they unloading from the cart the large jars holding sweet mead and the bags of grain for making into bread, Gweneth picks up a basket then hears a voice?

“Gweneth put that down, you shouldn’t be lifting that,” Gweneth turns and smiles as a tall man comes over and takes the basket from her hand, and then helps them unpacking the cart.

The sun is setting low in the sky, a red glow on the horizon just about to disappear, campfires glowing in the night, families gathered around, talking and laughing.

Suckling pigs roasting on spit, crackling and spitting as the fat drips down onto the fire and onto roasting vegetables below. The smell of fresh bread just baked, time to celebrate a life past and a new life yet to be born, here at the Henge campsite.

Solstice Blessings to all and peace though ought the lands.

By L F Tallis (Mellinda) Copyright © June 2011
Member of: The Order of Bard Ovates and Druids.

[Frog]

The Giant's Rest

Sometimes the opportunity to sit and contemplate will become an inspiration. This story was borne from an opportunity I had in June as I sat at the foot of the Longman of Wilmington, the Sunday before the Summer solstice of 2011. It is a personal story I guess, but I publish it here that you may read it and consider a simple thought… who is looking over your shoulder?




I pulled into the car park and drove to a quiet corner. It wasn’t the usual one, the one for visitors to the Longman, but one about half a mile along the road. It wasn’t a happy decision either; I’d wanted to be at the other one as that’s where we were all going to meet, then walk as a group to the Longman. But hey, I didn’t want to park on the very narrow roads either. So I gathered my things and started to walk to the Longman car park.

About halfway, I saw a footpath sign pointing to the Longman and as it got me off the road I decided to take it. The sun beat down on me – I was sure it would rain, but the spirits seem to be kind today. I saw that the path was leading straight to where we would conduct the solstice ritual – and as it was such a lovely day I thought I’d just head over and spend a little time in quiet contemplation.

I sat on the mound at the foot of the Long man, looking at that chalk outline, lost in my thoughts, when a strange man approached me. He looked like a wild man – not mad, but one who had lived his entire life wild in the woods. His face was tanned from time spent in the sun, the skin hard and wrinkled like an old favourite chair. His clothes were a mixture of leather, fur and what looked like the remnants of a tracksuit, long past their prime.

“You know, he never answers.”

Much as I sensed this person meant no harm to me, years of living in the city had always made me uncomfortable about being round homeless people; never sure why they had ended up in the way that they had, living the life that they did. Walking to work meant running the gauntlet of people asking for spare change, only to see them again as I walked back to the station oblivious to the world on cheap vodka and strong lager.

“I know those that do answer though.”

I nodded and smiled, wishing the hands on my watch to spin faster.

“We just need to step through that door.” He waved his hands towards the right of the feet of the Longman. I’m sure that I didn’t imagine this, but between the trees there was a shimmer and the ground beyond changed from earth and chalk to a cave entrance; dark and mysterious – the rock outline so very clear.

“Come on, I can’t leave it open for anyone! Hurry Frog – come on!”

“But, how did you know my name?” I asked as I stood and started to follow this strange man. I’m still not clear why I decided to follow someone I’d never met – but he knew my name and I… well I sensed I knew him too. I checked to make sure that I didn’t have a badge or something with my name on, something that would have explained the trick.

We stepped forward and into the cave. I turned and saw that whilst I could still see out, a veil had been drawn across the cave entrance; I guess that to the outside world it was a cliff wall again. The tunnel was carved roughly from the chalk; hewn as if simple tools had been used to tunnel. In the walls large crystals of Moonstone glowed gently, providing just enough light to see down the tunnel and towards the flickering light at the end.

I followed the strange man and we entered a huge cavern, many feet across and with a very detailed carved vaulted wall.

“Enter Frog and welcome.”

I nodded my head as I looked around. Around this cavern, carved further into the rocks, eight throne chairs had been carved. Four of the thrones were occupied by giants of men, similarly dressed to the Wildman, but with thick long hair. The back of their thrones rose above their heads and I saw the familiar symbols of the four elements.

“So you are my guardians then” I announced, and the giant sitting at the earth throne laughed.

“YOUR guardians? What, you think there are little groups like this for every person?”

“No, I mean …” I was lost for words. The thought that here I was debating logic and reason with four characters that I had never considered had actually existed; guardians that we welcomed, gave form to, asked for help, made flesh… these were above Kings and politicians, above men, above…

“No, we’re not that big.”

I turned on my heels to see the Fire Guardian smiling at me.

“I said, no, we’re not that big.”

“So, err, there is a god?”

The Wisdom Guardian coughed, then spoke.

“Now that’s a really deep question – and one that we can’t answer for you – you need to fathom that bit. We’re a bit, well, more personal really”

“So, what are you here for then?”

The Earth Guardian spoke again.

“Frog, you came here to celebrate the solstice. You had questions, hopes and prayers in your heart that you hoped you could offer up to us in the hope that we would direct you, show you a sign – you weren’t quite sure. There are a lot of changes in your life about to happen, and you will have lots of questions – so know this; we are here, we are listening and things will work out. You may have to think a little for yourself – and the Air Guardian, with the power of creative expression, will prompt a little here – and of course, things may take a little longer than you would like; in our time there is no time at all, so it’s not a concept we’re really used to; but know that we are here. For you.”

I stood quietly, thinking about this audience that I was having. Any questions I had felt small and trivial – even ‘what is your favourite cheese’ sprang to mind – so I decided to just thank the Guardians for this information and guidance.

“Merlin, could you help David find his way out? Last time we let someone leave on their own accord they took ages and it was all quite embarrassing; centuries in a day and all that.”

Merlin stepped forward and with a gesture, directed me to the cavern exit – the North West corner, I noted. We got to the edge of the cave entrance. Merlin held me back and peeked out.

“Coast is clear, you can leave now. Oh, I can tell you … it’s Stilton.”

I looked at Merlin quizzically before a broad smile appeared on both our lips.

“Bright Blessings” said Merlin.

“Happy Solstice” I replied.

I stepped forward into the sunlight and saw the gathering as they walked up to the Longman. I looked at my watch. What had seemed like a very long time had passed in an instance. As I suppose it’s supposed to when you meet your Guardians.

[Crimson Stormfire]

{this is posted by me elsewhere in the forums}

The love of PAN

The desert was hot. Fierce blazing winds cut at the soldiers as they fought fiercely in the dunes with their enemy.
Bullets buzzed by as if angry bees. The soldiers were outnumbered and they knew it, yet they fought
On, pressing even closer to the small hut where their prey lay. An enemy soldier fell, and another, and
Another to their bullets as they were aimed true. Until after hours of fighting the desert was quiet again.
Orders to move up were commanded. As the troop approached the hut in the low dunes of a setting sun, no sound was heard from within,
only the sand crunching under the soldiers boots.
As they approached the door, with all protocols followed, and as safe as they could, a man slowly opened the door and stepped calmly out,
the world went white.

Across the great and blue oceans half a world away a young mother rubs her swollen belly and hopes that her
Husband is safe and well in that far off war. She longs for him to be home, as she is due to birth in just a few weeks.
She hums a long forgotten tune as she sits on her porch that fine day in June. She sees a strange long black car with flags
Adorning its hood slow to a stop in front of her drive, and she stands raising her hands to mouth as tears begin to form
In her bright emerald eyes. Tears of joy or tears of sorrow yet to be determined. Out from the car steps a sharply dressed
Man and woman. The mother recognizes them as the base commander and his second in command. In their hands they have a
Letter and a flag, folded in a neat triangle. They slowly approach the porch with no smile, or joy in their step. A breeze
Floats up and on it the young mother thinks she can smell the old woods she played in as child mixed with her grandfathers
Pipe tobacco. The smell soothes her some.

The letter is handed over as is the flag with grim news. Her husband was killed in action, in that great desert
Conflict. Her heart sank and unbelieving she shrieked and pounded on the commanders chest as he tried to speak the hard
Words. She suddenly stops screaming and is left with only her sorrowful tears falling to her porch, as the two leave with
Tears of their own their eyes. As the car pulls away a new presence enters her driveway. A man with long black hair, neatly
Tied in a ponytail with an old leather thong. He is dressed simply in a black t-shirt tucked into jeans above black combat boots.
His boots looked to be covered in sand. As he approaches she thinks there’s no sand here. He pulls from his
Shirt pocket a pipe and asks "do you mind if I join you for a bit and take a break. My but I have been walking a long way."
He lights his pipe and that smell wafts to her again, old forest and grandfathers red cherry tobacco. She is no mood to
Entertain but the man seems nice enough and she offers her porch.

"Do you know me?" he asks

The young woman looks into his eyes and cannot stay long as they are of the purest green and of a beauty unmatched in all
The world of today. They hold secrets and wonder she thought as she looked away, tears anew falling from her eyes, as
Sorrow again tightened its icy grip.

"Well I know you." his voice was a silken as the slow rivers, and soft as a gentle breeze.

"Those two carry heavy news this day." As he watched the black car round the corner.

The man saw the woman shaking in sorrow and placed his arm around her shoulder. She turned into him and he embraced her as
Her heart broke finally. There amongst the blackened ruins of her life she felt safe somehow. As the man held her and she
Cried and screamed, his calm voice spoke all the while

"There there child. I am here, I am here. You are safe now"

When her sorrow had abated the man released her from his embrace and stood looking at the now setting sun, which played
Somehow impossibly, a green color from his hair.

"I must go now for I tend to others this bleak night as well."
as he stepped from her first step onto her driveway an
Oak leaf fell from his boot cuff.

"I know you" she whispered "I know you"

In the dusky light of twilight standing at the foot of a young mothers drive, the man turned towards her. His loving green eyes
Now glowing softly in the veil, he tossed something to her which she caught without effort. She looked to it briefly and saw
The object was a flute of ancient styling.
she lifted her eyes as the man shimmered away in the twilight walking down the street.
She turned over the flute and etched in the underside were three letters
P A N .
His voice drifted back over the soft breeze accompanied by the smell of the old forest and cherry pipe tobacco.

"Tell your young one of its father and be proud as he died a noble pagan warriors death and shall be honored a hero in the
Realms beyond. I am always with you young one I love you now as I always have and always will."

{this story is posted elsewhere in the writers forums.}

[Fox of the Oaks]

The Museum of 21st Century Pagans

Earth, 3505 C.E. A Museum...

The Museum Guide steps forward and clears his throat.

Greetings Folks, welcome to the Pagan exhibition at our Museum of Spiritual History, I trust you have found your day pleasant so far.

The eager crowd nods and affirms the fact.

Right then, let's get to it then.

The Pagans of the 21st century were a most variegated bunch, and just like last nights dinner can't be discerned once it is digested and eliminated, we've found our research into the past a real challenge, but thanks to our ability to talk to living Pagans today, we've been able to understand a lot more about our Pagan past.

A man in the crowd makes a statement about that being a common sense approach.

Right then, to our left here, you can see a chart showing the variety of Pagan groups and categorisations as we have come to understand it.

Have a little look at it, then when you are ready... come over to the display... here.

They approach a large glassed off display area, with several human statues, dressed in robes, with large stone monoliths behind them. An altar-stone lies in the centre with a grail and sword, and wreaths of oak.

So these people, are the Druids of the 21st Century. They seemed to enjoy dressing up, having a laugh, and revering nature. Bit of an unusual bunch, but not atypical among the Pagan community.

And then further along, another common type, Witches!

The guide shows them a display of a lady in a black robe with a pointy black hat, and a black cat. She appears to be gazing up at the sky and screaming.

An old lady in the crowd gasps, 'Oh how exciting!'

Yes folks, this is your typical witch, yet they didn't all look like that obviously.

And here is another type. The Internet Pagan...

He shows them a display of a rather thin young man sitting at a computer, with a dragon statue and crystal ball also on the desk. The man seems quite absorbed in the screen as he drinks from an ornate goblet in his right hand.

Some amazing exchanges worldwide were opening up at the time as Pagans were able to connect worldwide.

The guide stops to reflect on this scene silently to himself a little.

Now ahead of us here... you will see another classification we've come to understand. The Pagan Sceptic.

They viewed Science as a valid way of Nature Spirituality, and in doing so, paved the way for a greater natural influence and ethic to the previously dry and detached-from-nature form of 20th century Science.

...So we move on, to the next section.

A man in the crowd remarks, 'Oh lord, what is that!?'

Yes this one often get's such remarks.

In the case is a large bunny-rabbit suited Pagan, holding in one hand a staff with a light-bulb attached to the top, and in the other a large sunflower the size of her fluffy head. A welcoming smile beams across her rosy-cheeked rabbit painted face. She wears a badge that says 'My totem is the rabbit!'

Yes, this is one of the kinds of Pagans we found hardest to understand. They were termed at the time Fluffy-New-Age-Love-and-Light-Pagans. They held to their beliefs of love, light and life with great valour... such a noble sentiment! We can only be grateful for them actually, for their Great Stand of Love and Light in 2033, when 3000 of them marched upon the head office of Dictators Inc. and the sight of them scared the living daylights out of the CEO. It was not their intention of course, for they are nothing but pure hearted. The CEO was so shaken by the sight of them that he instantly logged on to several Pagan websites to join up. Years later he was reported to have explained on world-wide media the event.

"The site of them, with their light, and their love, revealed to me my own inner darkness, clear as day," he was said to have remarked.

That is what scared him... He could not face it, the darkness, and didn't know what to do, so he asked his chief secretary, who just happened to be a ninja-eco-pagan-activist spy inplanted there several years earlier for reasons unknown. The secretary turned in place with a mysterious smile to the CEO, and had to only say one word, 'Pagans!'."

'Oh yes, what an extraordinary change of events that was!' remarked an elderly man with one eye, wearing an old brimmed hat.

That's right. After that, things started to shift in major ways towards a world of peaceful harmony with all of life.

So... Now you're probably feeling like you're ready for lunch, but before that, one last display.

They follow him over to a similar large glass display.

This one is interactive.

He gestures his hand towards the glass. Inside are a woman and a man, each sitting on a stone throne, dressed in colourful ritual clothing and adorned with body paint as the God and Goddess. The man wears an oak wreath interwoven with gold, and the woman a silver crown laden with pearls. Around them are real trees, and they can see there is no roof above, and the sky visible, as the Sunlight shines through on the mossy earthen ground. They see that the trees seem to go back a fair distance. Some birds flit about and play in the trees. Then they notice that the man and woman are not statues, they are real people.

"They're just like us mommy." A young child says.

"Yes we are." the man says proudly as he stands from the throne.

"Please join us for a feast in the forest!" says the woman in a gentle melodious voice, "Following that we can frolic and play, and share stories and song, like the Pagans of old, and new alike."

"I'd like a good feast" says a short hungry looking man, and steps forward unhesitantly.

The people all enter through a door in the glass, and with the man and woman, walk off into the forest, never to return.

The guide stands alone in the spacious, now quite, museum.

"It's a good job I've got!" he says to himself.

[Shaun Hayes]

HERNE'S LANDSCAPE

I was quietly thinking and meditating about the masculine earth spirit one night. Thinking of the Horned One, of Herne, and Druids, OBOD And the grove, and suddenly I saw it all as flowing, channelled energy but still wild and potent . . . . . . . .

Then I was looking out over a magical landscape of mountains and green valleys, rivers and forests – and he was with me, up close and personal, in my head.

He showed me the outer landscape we were travelling, taught me its language and its songs. I learned to share in poem and story and considered the ebb and flow of the seasons.

Then we looked again and I saw the inner landscape all about me, all connected. I began to understand the deeper meaning of the words and symbols. I saw the tools and systems that were mine to use and the flow of energy that touched everything.

Then once more he showed me – and there it all was – yet only now could I see it – it was all in the palm of his hand. The mountains were the ridges of skin, the valleys and rivers were the lines.

Then I felt his hand on my shoulder and his words gently entered my mind:


All this Am I

All this also are you


Then my heart leapt with joy

And my ego cheered with glee


But my soul came close and gently whispered –

Actually, I think he means me!



Shaun William Hayes

[Conn]

The tale of Ásfastr and Áine

Ásfastr and Áine were walking through the forest. The path in the forest was nice and wide. Ásfastr hailed from north, he had jet-black hair and dark eyes. Áine came from the west, with hair as white as snow. Her eyes reminded of a sky in a cloudless day. Dodging the stones, they wandered through the woods, surrounded by birches and warmth of the spring sun.
Where are we going?, Ásfastr asked.
To the Mountain, replied Áine with a gentle smile.
And where is the Mountain? How can we get there?, Ásfastr was worried, as he saw only the path and birches singing the spring song along with the wind.
We must carry onward. The path will lead us.
He was silent since then, only listening to joyful songs sang by the birches' leaves. And the birches whispered to go forth, because there, at the end, our heroes will find the Mountain. And as they carried on, the forest has changed. Strong, sky-scraping pines were now in charge. The Sun was also somewhat higher, shining so bright. Ásfastr looked up to the sky, and then walked to one of the pines, touching her bark.
T'is summer, he said with a joyful smile.
They moved on, talking about some small things, as the pines hummed summer song, full of warmth and strength. They sang about the Mountain, that awaits at the end of the path. After some time, just like the birches, also pines with their cinnamon bark stepped down and mighty oaks filled the forest. The path was now covered with colorful leaves. Áine stood beside one of the great, old trees and touched its bark. The oak was drifting away to sleep, as he hummed an oakish lullaby.
Autumn, she said.
And they moved on, as the oaks murmured autumnal ballad, as they were put to sleep by fading sun. They sang about the Mountain that awaits at the end of the road. Eventually Ásfastr and Áine came out of the forest and onto a large plain. There only a few trees remained, naked and frail. Ásfastr and Áine didn't stop, as they saw the Mountain on the horizon. After a while though, sun disappeared as heavy clouds covered the sky. And then, it snowed.
Already the winter, said Áine.
Ásfastr nodded and they moved on. Snow became so dense, so thick that they barely saw the goal of their journey. They started to feel the cold, because they wore only light, spring clothes. They carried on, although slower. Ásfastr's eyes narrowed as he asked:
Why the Mountain isn't closer? Our journey is so long…
It's a mirage, sometimes the Mountain does that, replied Áine, It's close now, we only think that the Mountain is far away.
Ásfastr rejoyced and they jauntily moved on. Alas, strong wind blew, dashing snow and ice into their faces. They did not surrender, even when they were almost grated with icy needles and their faces became livid. Great blizzard came, and dissapeared the Mountain, and the plain, and they saw only themselves. Ásfastr holded Áine's hand, dragging her along they way, for he felt and knew where to go. They waded through the snow. At first, it was only as high as their ankles. Then the knees, and finally Ásfastr holded Áine with one hand, and mowed the snow with the other, almost like it was grass. He looked ahead and in the end, despite the blizzard, he saw the Mountain's silhouette in front of them. And on Its peak there was a shining dot. He turned to Áine and pointed to the misty peak. She lifted her head and said:
T'is the tree.
Ásfastr was silent, but a thought sparked through his mind – an ash. And though he did not know what is the dot on the Mountain's peak, he believed Áine. And they went onward, seeing almost nothing, until they realized that it is the Mountain's bottom that lies before them. Far far away, on the peak, a tree shined on. The mountainside was filled with thorn-like rocks.
I feel so cold…, Ásfastr said to Áine.
Let's rest a while, she replied with a faint voice.
They dug a hole in the snow and lied down, and they embraced in despair, to get at least a little warmer. Áine smiled sadly, kissed Ásfastr and rested her head on his chest. Ásfastr stood awake for a while, but he was very tired and soon he fell asleep as well.

When he woke up, he wanted to tell Áine that it is time to move on, to the peak. Alas, he saw her open eyes. Blue sky covered by the rime. No warm breath coming out through her lips. And when he tried to free himself, he realized that Áine holds him so firmly that she will never let him go. He stroked her hair gently and looked up. And he saw the peak and a shining dot – the tree they never reached. And as his vision blurred and faded along the Mountainside, he realized that what he took for thorny rock, was in fact dozens of people intertwined in their last embrace, on their way to the top.

The blizzard came again, whispering the last word.

[Conn]

The tale of the pine

The pine, lonely and tired, was surrounded by the crowd. It was snowing gently and almost anyone rubbed their numb hands, for it was rather cold. There was the shop clerk and a lady from the other side of the world. And there were those who fought for the Nature and their opponents. There were priests, soldiers, villains. Politicians, peculators and law officers stood in one line. And there were also gods. Those with names long forgotten. Those old but still worshipped. And those new, and those considered as the only ones. And stood a god in blue trenchcoat – he was playing with his trident charm as he looked at the pine. And stood a goddess with olive skin, a wise look in her eyes, a rose in her hand. And stood a god and vipers were crawling under his feet, doing him no harm. And there was one-eyed god, and goddess that stroked gently a pair of cats. And other gods, so different. No one payed any attention to them, for we see gods only when we do not expect them. They all looked at the pine. And a man in orange vest and earmuffs stood in front of the pine, smoking a cigarette.

It was getting darker, the sun was gone but the moon did not want to show up on the sky. First stars came. Someone gasped as one of them fell. And before an eye-blink the sky was covered with falling stars. Those very old of us recalled summer times when in august nights one could see such wonderful event. But even they were astonished. Never ever so many stars left the sky.

The man in orange vest finished his cigarette, threw the stump on the ground and trampled it. He raised his chainsaw and shook it from the snow. He pulled once, twice and a terrible throb filled the wilds. Some of the people in the crowd were startled, as they heard a dog barking. But that was impossible – if there were any dogs alive, they were far far away.

And when the chainsaw plunged into the pine, a hum of anxiety filled the crowd. It was not a matter of a special sensibility or perfect hearing. Even someone who saw only himself, despite the indifference, felt the song of relief and sadness that the last pine sang. And though the song was barely heard by the people, the gods received it as well, heard it too well. They knew, at least some of them, that they won't make it to be forgotten. Some of them gave another glance at the tree. The last tree on earth that fell to embrace the frozen earth. They turned away and went to finish their business.

For through the all nine worlds travelled a deep, thundering sound of a horn.

[Frog]

The Crystal Tower - A short story
In the Tale of Taliesin, Ceridwen visits the Druids to obtain the recipe for making the magical brew of Awen. The Druids she visits were in a crystal tower. This short story is a tale of that Tower.



Aelron’s coracle finally touched the shoreline. With youth and vigour he swiftly jumped out, not heeding the cold water of Llyn Padam that seeped into his leather boots, or the icy drips that ran down his neck. He looked back out to the lake, to see his older comrades still working their way towards the shore. It was easy for him, being just a few years into puberty and the wisps of a beard starting to show. He also realised that when his friends did finally get here, they would be cold, tired and complaining – like always – and that perhaps a fire might warm their more aged bones. So he set to, gathering the firewood and arranging it on the beach.

After a little while, the small pyre stood proud. Aelron’s colleagues were still a little way from the shore, but he reckoned that if he got the fire going now it would be ready for them. He looked round – no-one else visible. So he turned back to the fire, held his palms and closed his eyes.

There was a crackle, then a fwoof! Aerlon opened his eyes and saw that the neat pile of wood was scattered around... but no fire. He sighed and started to gather the wood again. Once more the pyre was ready and once more he looked round – no-one else visible. Crackle... fwoof! Aerlon huffed aloud.

“Of course, it would work if I didn’t keep putting it out.”

Aerlon spun round, to see the long, grey beard, matted with ice and water. He knew who it was, even if he didn’t see the eyes, smiling kindly at him through deep wrinkles.

“Young Aerlon, you need to remember that your magic is not a shortcut and that learning the true art of fire lighting may actually save your life.”

“But master, surely as a Druid, a Fferyllt, I would be safe and respected?”

“It might have been thought so, but many are frightened of magic and you are still young; you don’t have the gravitas that we might think we have. That is why we stay into the shadows, out of the view of most people. Now, Maella is nearly upon the shore, so we must have the fire in readiness for him.”

Aerlon gathered the sticks once more, this time, using two stones to spark to get the fire going. Beneath that large mass of hair, the Master Druid smiled.



Later that evening, the four druids sat round the fire. Aerlon was ready to be dispatched to catch rabbits for the meal – but Bryn had delivered a massive fish that would feed them all (“It landed in my Coracle and refused to leave. It near drowned me thrashing about!”) As they all sat silently staring into the embers, looking for messages and meanings as the red and black colours danced seductively, Aerlon looked back out to the lake.

“Clouds are forming; she’s coming”

The three Druid masters turned back to also look out. Bryn looked to Gawain and to Maella, then to Aerlon. “Explain”, he asked.

Aerlon reached into the depths of his mind and recalled the information he had learned whilst in that dark hut two summers past.

“The big cloud – there – and that cloud – there – they are not in normal position. For their size and colour they should be lower to the ground with a flat base; the anvil shape is inverted. They are parted as a goddess would part water as she walks towards you; Ceridwen is coming as the bones told us.”

“Very good young Aerlon” said Maella. “Now, how far would you say she is?”

“Not hard sir; the first cloud just sits near Tal-y-bont; it is unlikely that Ceridwen would come straight over, more likely to come round as we had. Our crossing of the lake by coracle probably gave us an additional day’s grace.”

“Very good. So which direction should we aim for in the morning?”

Aerlon stood up. He looked to the mountain of Dinorwic to the north and to smaller Llanberis hills to the South – but then he saw the location. He raised his hand and pointed.

“There. The top.”

Bran looked at Maella and they both nodded and smiled. Bryn reached into his heavy coat and brought out a parchment. Carefully, he opened it up. Aerlon looked at it carefully; it was the first time he had seen this in his waking hour, but he was very familiar from his dreams. Bryn spoke

“Aerlon – I have been holding this parchment for many years. It was passed to me by my master and his master before him. We knew a time would come when this parchment would be read and understood by a Druid – I’d always assumed one with older years than you – and everything you have said has been described here. I show it to you now as I feel we are close. You have directed us to this place and without seeing this parchment you have exactly followed its directions. This is the time and you will lead us.”

Maella coughed. “All very exciting, but my bones are tired and they need to rest. Tomorrow this mountain goat will lead us and I will struggle to keep up – as will you Bran – So I must take my leave and rest now.”

Bran smiled. He was significantly older than Maella, but somehow he had never felt so old, perhaps it was the dreams he had. But it was time to sleep and dream.



In the morning they set off. Maella’s prophecy of Aerlon’s enthusiasm and energy (and his lack) proved true and it took them many hours to walk the constant uphill track to the top of the mountain. It was fortunate that the mountain had such a distinctive peak as the clouds had created a uniform grey which covered the sky in a blanket of nothingness. As they walked, the cloud level rose, always just a couple of yards above their heads so they could see false summits and turns on the path… and steep sides of the mountain either side. As they gathered at the top, they each looked out – to the North, to the South, the East and the West. Almost on command a small break in the grey sky appeared and a shaft of light illuminated a small clearing to the east.

“There!” cried Aerlon. The three other Druids nodded in agreement. They stood in a curved line, facing the lit ground. Maella raised his staff.

“To the spirits of the Earth, I ask that you part to allow the Crystal Tower to rise from the ground.”

He pointed his staff tip to the lit piece of ground – and a green spark shot from the staff and landed square on the mark. The ground started to move, to shake and vibrate and cracks started to appear.

Bran raised his staff.

“To the spirits of the sky, I thank you for showing us this location and we ask that you assist the earth guardians in softening the ground and splitting the rocks to build the Crystal Tower.”

He too pointed his staff. Two yellow sparks leapt from the staff – one towards the shaking earth, the other straight into the gap in the sky. A very concentrated bolt of lightning flew from the hole in the clouds, straight into the crack in the earth.

Bryn raised his staff.

“To the spirits of the water, I ask that you provide the building materials to construct our crystal tower, the particles becoming harder than diamond yet as soft as water”

As the three blue sparks left Bryn’s pointed stick, the Tower started to take shape. Bryn’s first spark hit the sky and the rain started to fall; the second spark hit the ground and the rocks started to rise through the fast softening earth; the third spark hovered between, creating a swirling vortex.

Maella called out.

“Now Aerlon – your turn!”

Aerlon raised his staff. His eyes closed and his thoughts became separate. He felt the Fire spirits enter his body – heating him, engaging him, warming the passion, an intense anger and strength – a focus of control. He felt himself shake uncontrollably and it was as much as he could do to stand up and hold his staff. His eyes burned red, his skin felt like it was melting from his burning bones – these Fire spirits were so intensive… and yet he knew that this was his turn and he pointed his staff to that spot. Immediately Aerlon felt the rush of the fire spirits as they seized their target in their sights and rushed headlong. Aerlon felt the energy drain from his body so very quickly, so very fast and he collapsed to the ground, the sense of cold flooding is body to fill the vacuum left by the fire spirits. The three other druids stood firm, rooted to the spot watching the fire spirits play amongst the water droplets and lightning bolts, building the Tower of Crystal before their eyes.

And yet in a small moment that lasted forever it was over. The tower was ready. Maella picked up the slumped body of Aerlon, the earth spirits filling Maella with the energy to carry their fourth colleague and they walked to the tower.

“I do hope we can light a fire in there” said Maella. “My bones feel cold.”

“What, again?” smiled Bryn.

[Earthwoman]

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