2005 BELTANE/SAMHUINN SHORT STORY ENTRIES

[Crow]

Notice: Please post your short stories for the current Eisteddfod here:

[Elvish15601]

A Sad Farewel

"All those nights you snuck into my room, the love we made while my husband, your lord, was on his mission of diplomacy. Yet it was all for naught, for he comes home today and if he discovers you have soiled his sheets, both our lives are condemned," her majesty expressed to me with utter sadness in her voice.

xXx

I first laid eyes on her a few months ago during the king’s annual tourney. Her beauty struck me so, that I dedicated my joust to her. With her beauty driving me I easily defeated the competition. When she placed the medal around my neck I told her how beautiful I thought she was and she smiled at me with both her lips and eyes. It was at that time I realized that she found me to her liking.

I tried everything in my power to see her everyday, even if I could only see her from afar. It was about a month ago when the king left on his mission to a far off land. When the news reached me that he was gone I snuck up to her chamber in the castle. That night was the first time that I made love with someone I cared for. It was an ecstasy I never wish to forget.

xXx

"I love you so, I do not fear the king and his wrath," I said to her with a pleading tone.

"I do not wish to lose my life, we can wait until my husband leaves again to continue our torrid affair."

"If we die together we can spend eternity in our holy fathers blissful light."

"Farewell my love for I must leave to welcome my husband when he arrives." She leaned out of her carriage and gave me one last kiss.

As she road off I felt my heart sink all the way to the lush earth below my feet. The woman I love just left me and I don't know when I will be able to embrace her again.l[/u]

[willowmist]

A Search
written: 2003

I go to seek a maiden fair, upon the green hills. where flowers ever bloom, and no mark of man would stand. I follow the steps of old, of those who've petitioned her. She dances around upon the blooming Heather. Yet not a single one does she crush, with her bare feet. she baides me towards the hill-top to join her in the dance. I go no futther than the purple Heather, not willing harm to come to their beauty. She twirls about me and gives my cheek a kiss of rain. She gently wispers, "I am yours if you can catch me."

I reach out to her when she fades away, "follow if you wish to know me." Through river valleys, deserts, and mountain tops she led me. The width and breath of the world did I travel for her.
In times of dispare she gave promise of great things to come. Tempted on thus, I came to this great old forest-that sits atop a clif, overlooking the sea.

"Am I not worhty of thee? I have followed thee without question or complaint. Will thou be mine, mysterious lady? If not I'll part, but give me a name for my endevors."

"My gentle friend, you have learned much in your travels, yet do not know it. I am as much as thine as thou art mine, always was and always will be thus. I am thee and thou art I. We are as much one-another as we be the life around us. We be all, yet all be One. Thou have known my name in thine own soul, for it too be thine own name."

[Prairie_Kestrel]

The Three Fires

I had a vision. I dreamt that I was questing for a great treasure. I had journeyed far, through many lands, and had narrowly escaped many dangers. Now, my goal was in sight. I approached the great cave where the treasure was said to be kept. As I drew nearer, a great and fearsome warrior emerged from the cave.

“I seek the treasure that lies within,” I challenged. “Stand aside!”

“The treasure you seek does not lie here,” the warrior replied, “but if you can defeat me in combat, I will tell you where it can be found.”

The clash of our swords echoed through the cave behind us. Long and hard we fought, neither gaining the advantage. The warrior seemed to anticipate every attack, and defended it easily. But neither did I give him any opening to strike. We fought this way until the sun began to disappear behind the cave.

“Stop!”, cried the warrior. “Know this: I cannot be defeated. And yet you have fought well, and so I will tell you where you can find the treasure you seek.”

He sheathed his sword, and appeared not at all wearied by our long encounter.

“You will find the treasure you seek in the very place in which your journey began. There is a forest where men fear to go. You know the place of which I speak. The treasure it buried there, beneath a great tree.”

“I know the forest,” I replied. “It lies but a day’s journey from the place I call home. But I have traveled so far, and through so much danger! Has it all been in vain?”

“No,” said the warrior, “you traveled this way because it is impossible to pass the guardians of the treasure without these.”

From his quiver, he pulled out three arrows, each one tipped in flame. I took the great gift, and made the journey back towards my home.

I reached the dark forest, and made my way towards the great tree at its centre. The tree was guarded by three great shaggy beasts that seemed half man, half animal. They walked on two legs, but were covered in a great shaggy brown fur.

Armed with my magical arrows, I stood boldly and fired one arrow at each of the beasts, confident that the arrows would work their magic and strike them down. The arrows hit their mark, but to my horror they seemed to do nothing at all!

I realized this too late. I did not have time to take cover before they retuned fire. I fell to the ground, mortally wounded. The forest began to fade to a green light as I felt the life leaving me.

Then, a woman appeared before me, dressed in flowing white.

“Why didn’t the arrows work?” I thought, as I gazed at her.

She smiled softly back at me. “You did not have the fire within to give the arrows the power they needed.”

“What fire is that?” I asked.

“The first fire is the fire of courage, which burns within the belly. The second fire is the fire of compassion, which burns within the chest. The third fire is the fire of inspiration, which burns within the head. When these three fires are united within you, a tower of flame will emerge from your head and reach into the sky, and nothing will be able to stand between you and the treasure you seek.”

Darkness fell over me. My vision ended.

[Underground River]

The Well

I was driving to my mother's house for her birthday celebration. She was turning 50, and I needed to be there early so I could start setting things up. My mum lives a two hour drive away, so it is not a simple matter of dashing to her home and visiting her every day like I want to do. I was an excited 21 year old Englishwoman going to visit her mum on a beautiful bright spring Saturday morning.
I took a wrong turn but didn't notice that I had done so. I drove merrily along until I realized I was not in the right spot and started to get nervous. I did a lot of trying to figure out where I was and couldn't. I didn't have a cell phone. I was frightened and couldn't think well. I pulled my car over to take a rest and collect my scattered mind.
I worried about being late for mum but knew she would understand. She knew how panicked I could get when lost. I thought about the cell phone sitting happily on my kitchen table at home, unable to help me and not caring. I pushed that thought away as fear welled up inside me again.
After the terror of being lost had died down somewhat, I looked at my surroundings. My car was sitting at the edge of a quiet country road with a forest on either side. On the right, there was a small path leading into the woods with no sign or anything, just a dirt path leading off into nowhere.
I decided I had better leave and try to find a person who might have directions for me. I had turned my car off, and when I tried to start it, it would not start. It was a fairly new car, and had had no previous starting trouble. I was shocked, to say the least. I don't remember well those frantic minutes in my car, furiously trying to start it, then hopelessly screaming my fear and frustration out into the clear spring morning. I am sure I screamed for my mum, my dad, maybe god, who knows. All I know is that when I emerged from my panicked state, I was covered with sweat and thirsty. I reached for my water bottle and realized I had forgotten it at home too. I was alone on a deserted country road with no cell phone, no working car, no food and no water. I was totally out of luck!
I saw the path leading into the woods again and thought it would be interesting to see what was in there. Then I told myself not to be daft, that my situation was grim and that I should not be curious at a time like this. However, I could not deny that I was curious. I have no idea why, I never went into the woods before that day, I was always afraid of them. I am a city girl and never walked around trees much.
After about ten minutes of telling myself not to be daft, mad, and various other names, I realized I was still curious. This fact blew me away with surprise, but there it was, that pulling sensation, that force telling me to go see those woods. Equally strong was a feeling of great fear and dread. Most of the fear was taken up by the thought that I was probably going insane. I decided to go and see what was in those woods. I had no idea why, but sometimes curiosity won't listen to reason.
I got out of my car slowly and somewhat fearfully. I was thinking about how I would defend myself if anybody came down this lonely road and tried to kidnap me. when I am in my panic mood, everything seems not only possible, but likely.
I walked slowly toward the path. I noticed that the path was quite muddy and that my shoes and clothes would be ruined if they touched it at all. I took a step on to the path, and my shoe sunk into deep mud. I was already filthy, and I hadn't even walked a yard into that forest.
The stillness of the place unnerved me. I didn't like the forest, so what in the world was I doing there?
I walked for awhile, hoping that my curiosity would leave soon so I could try and figure out how I would get home. I just couldn't understand my wreckless behavior and decided that I must be going insane. There was no hope for it. I vowed that if I ever got home alive I would ring a psychiatrist and let him sort out my madness.
An hour later my clothes were muddy as the ground itself and I was exhausted and very thirsty. I still didn't know why I was there, and I was afraid for my life by then. I thought I would die in those lonely woods, starved and alone, without comfort at my last hour. I couldn't believe how long this path was. I kept hoping it would lead to a road with lots of people so I could go home and be away from this nonsense.
Finally, after another half hour, I came to a clearing. In the centre there was a well. I stared at the well, longing for a drink, but afraid to drink the unsanitized water. I told you I am a city girl. I expect clean treated water, electricity, a running car, and all the other city stuff. A walk in the woods is so out of character for a person like me that I still couldn't believe it.
I stared down into the well, feeling afraid and lost. The well rippled as I looked at it, seeming to call to me. That's rubbish, I told myself. It's not talking to you, it's a bloody well and it can't bloody talk, you daft girl!
I really needed to have a drink of water, but I decided that since the well seemed to be talking to me I had better leave before the madness that seemed to have come over me could become any stronger. I turned around to leave and heard a meow. A cat, I thought, somehow relieved that something as normal as a cat could be included in insanity.
I turned around to see a black cat sitting primly beside the well. Now I am not a superstitious person, but something about that black cat gave me a chill of dread. I mean, why was it black? Why couldn't it have been grey or white or anything else? Go pet it, my mind told me. No, I said inwardly. My mind can no longer be trusted. I am certifiably mad, and I am no longer acting reasonably. I must leave, now!
Resolutely, I turned to leave again. I must get help for myself or I would die out there in the woods and nobody would ever find me or know how I died.
I felt a softness brush my legs. I looked down and saw the cat. It was brushing up against me, as cats often do. Without thinking I leaned down and petted it's smooth black fur. I felt my curiosity about the well rushing up inside me again. Curiosity kills the cat! I thought wildly before I whirled around and ran to the well. I collapsed on the ground before it, and began to tremble with fear and the need to jump into that well.
The cat meowed again, and I could no longer stand it. I jumped up, and without a thought, plunged head long into the well. I floated down, down, down...
I did not drown, even though I cannot swim. I was not afraid, even though I should have been terrified. I floated as in a dream, but I remained awake and alert. Water filled my parched mouth and I drank and then the water somehow receeded from my face so I did not swallow too much. I felt renewed and reborn as I was sucked deeper and deeper into that mysterious well. I felt a fire light within me and something new happening. I could not explain it, but there it was. I was a druid. the word popped into my mind. "This is the well of awen," a voice seemed to be in my head. "What twaddle," I mumbled. "No," said the voice. "Not twaddle, truth. You are a druid. You thought you were a city girl. You may be, but you are also a Nature girl. You will go on to do great things."
"What are you talking about?" I asked, thoroughly confused. The voice did not answer. I was sucked further down into the well then. I don't remember much after that, but finally I felt a sense of rising upward on wings of water. I floated gently up until I felt my head break the surface of the gentle well.
I felt refreshed, reborn, unafraid, calm, and everything I am usually not. Usually I am nervous and on edge, but I was totally reshaped emotionally by that experience. I felt my pocket and found my car keys. I felt my other pocket and found the cellphone I had not left at home. I felt foolish and greatful at the same time. I walked back toward the lovely forested path to go home. The cat followed me, and I knew she would be my companion until she breathed her last. I found my car, and put the key in. It started straight away, and I realized that in my panic I must have tried to start it with my housekey.
I did have no water, but the well had replenished me.
I had a weird impulse to open the glove compartment. I did so, and pulled out a sheet of lovely cream coloured paper. On it was drawn a map with my car marked "car" and a red line drawn to show exactly where my mum's house was. I put the car in gear and drove mumward.
When I reached my mum's house two hours later, she said, "What took you so long?"
"Well, Mum," I said. "I had a rather interesting experience today."
"You have a cat?" she asked, looking down to where my new friend had crept up on us without me knowing.
"Yes, mum, but if I told you the story of how this happened, you'd think it was twaddle and you'd send me to a psychiatrist."
"Oh, yeah?" my mum said, her eyes lighting up with interest. "Try me!"
I told her the story, fearfully at first, then more confidently.
When I finished, she turned to me and said, "Darling, some may think you mad, but I know you. You may have panic attacks, but you would not imagine something that didn't happen. Sometimes there are things in this world that cannot be explained. For instance, just yesterday, I was surfing the internet and found this website of this thing called The Order of Bards, Ovates, and Druids. Cool coincidence, eh?"
I stood there speechless, staring at my dear mum.
"There are some things we will never understand," she repeated. "Do not be afraid, darling daughter, we will learn how to be druids and embrace this mystery together."
Needless to say, my mum's fiftyith birthday party was a bash with a great mum such as her!
Copyright March 21, 2005 by GreenDruid.

[Ai-Ante]

Well, originally I wanted to make this longer, but I havn't kept going for two reasons. One being I thought going on would just drag it to a length not suitable for this competition. The other being that I just couldn't keep writing. I tried to go in the direction I wanted to but I just couldn't, it all turned out bad. It seems to be complete right where it stands.

Tied Together

“A learned man came to me once.
He said, ‘I know the way, -- come.’
And I was overjoyed at this.
Together we hastened.
Soon, too soon, were we
Where my eyes were useless,
And I knew not the ways of my feet.
I clung to the hand of my friend;
But at last he cried, ‘I am lost.’”

-Stephen Crane



Sand stretched for miles, nothing more than an oasis of clarity, of the certainty of mortality that all villagers possessed. The only true link between all of these people was but their job and the life that caused them to work it, yet more so the mortality that loomed at the end. For, they were to all live in the same way, tending the fields and mining the mines, yet all were of different make, different ability, and different edge. Death however, knows no difference.

It had been all their lives that they sat, wielding the rusty sickles and picks that entrenched them farther into their trivial fate, the very sweat glistening off of their bare skin. All day as the men toiled with the demanding figure of manual labor, the women would remain around the household, raising children, cleaning, and tending to the creation of mandatory items. The lifestyle was but a simple and physically daunting one, but the Eyes would always watch, and under the Eyes, laziness was no option.

The village was in a near oval shape, stretching nearly 1 mile, if the very outer houses were counted. The houses indeed looked sad, made of clay scooped up from the bottom of the still river and packed tightly together in an irrationally symmetrical way.

The main mass of the town was a smaller circle within the main oval, housing the most subservient of the village. The reason for this being the Eyes that sat upon a high rise platform directly in the middle of the circle, and even the oval, where all was able to be seen for miles around, the most important being the fields and mines were the men toiled.

The Eyes preached of discourse and folly, breeching the innermost human condition in the outermost arrogant way. All day it would bore holes through the men and women of the village as it yelled glorious obscenities and slanderous truths upon its high platform. It spoke of poverty and famine, death and disease: all that would come about if rebellion was mounted. It even threatened that the very tree, large and luxurious, that was the only tree left for miles, would be burned away if any dare hearken a harsh tongue or raise a questioning finger. In this way the village was preserved, Eyes staring down upon the Body, making every conscious decision and move, not letting the Body act in any way of its own.

Of course, preservation can only flourish for so long, and the length was up. The night had an aroma of mustiness to it, a long known smell within the village. Being after work hours, most villagers sat in their houses, bringing their family together in false prayer and lingering hope. The Eyes, and all sinewy subterfuge attached to them, gazed out forward into the broad horizon, taking in nothing more than miles of desolation with the one tree standing valiantly, out of place within the barren world.

However vigilant they worked, the Eyes were not able to see all, for under the tall platform sat but 6 men, their own eyes flaunting a horrified gaze upon the sleeping village. Together they took council, out of reach of their glorious overlord, telling tales of a better world and a better time. Out of aspiration, they plotted.

A new day dawned upon the village, Eyes piercing their normal course, however, this day things were different. The shadowy doors did not open, the solemn figures did not leave. Driving himself around in haste the Eyes searched for his Body to no avail. Screaming a hymn of war and mortality the figure slowly rose up, turning himself around.

His vision went slowly, taking in the essence of all there was. The houses, the still river, the miles and miles of desert, and lo! the tree with a congregation of villagers beneath it wielding their very tools of bondage within battle-ready hands. In rage the man high above the world brought up his hands, taking up a torch that served as his only clarifying light, speaking threats that would come to pass if work was not taken up once more.

The villagers only stared. Men, women, and children all brought together by this one unifying event. Eyes bored into them all, clenching the torch even tighter in hands void of color. Like a lance the torch was thrown, straight towards the rebellious group. Swinging wildly through the air it missed the villagers, hitting a mark even closer to humanity. In mere seconds, the top of the almighty tree was raped by flames and smoke that poured out of every nuance it possessed.

As cattle scared by a bolt of lightning, the many people began to scatter and scream among themselves, some in an attempt to gather water for the flames and others in an effort to get back into their homes and back to work. The entourage’s willingness to end all rebellion did nothing to abate the wrathful ways of the Eyes as it began to gather all parts of its life that sat around it on the platform, wistfully lancing it all down upon the scattering villagers. Some of the sharper objects pierced flesh as bodies began to hit the ground in a bloodied pattern.

Flames continued to emit from the sagging tree in the background, watching bodies fall to the ground and a man driven by power finally meet his match. The chaos continued in a way delectable to the Eyes for a few minutes as arms clutched for doors and bodies continued to fall into the hardened mud.

A rumbling slowly battered the ground, starting as a slow hum and eventually erupting to a violent quake. The Eyes watched as its platform began to loose its grip upon the dried ground. That moment saw but the unification of Eyes and Body as every part of the whole stared out upon the clouds, now coming in as a full mask causing the scene to be of nighttime, even though it was yet to be noon. Grasping the sides of his heavenly throne, the Eyes shuttered in some prophetical acknowledgement as all working of the world of rebellion stopped, other than the conflagration of tree that sat in attentive display. All heads were raised to the sky, taking in the scene that was strewn out before them. Balls of flame sat mere miles above, cascading down from the outer bounds of the sky in an array of simplistic profanity and awkward readiness.

One by one the flames penetrated houses as the once slanderous lie of the Eyes began to unfold right before the eyes of all, and before even the limbs of the vibrant tree. Rumbling violently, the ground began to cause all that gawked to stumble, forcing them to their knees with a gaze of awe-inspired fear.

Everything seemed to be but a cauldron of harshly wrought flame, nothing being safe from the mouth of this new devil.

The scene battered on for time immeasurable to the people of the village, yet only a split second in the eyes of god’s. Although it would seem that the sky had nothing more to pelt upon the scorched and dry earth any longer, balls of flame continued to rain. In haste the villagers gathered themselves together, sprinting awkwardly towards a high rising hill nearly a mile from the village. No person was left behind save the burning dead. Unless of course you classify the Eyes and the dangling body beneath it to still be an entity of true life, for all sensible human emotion and action was drained from it, and only a slight shaking sensation was able to be produced. For a while the Eyes just stared, up towards the heavens, to a land where it believed itself to be-but was it really there? Could it ever get there? Dreams and hopes gathered in the Eyes, mirrored off by the lens that began to soften as understanding was reached, but it was too late now. The dreams and hope began to break up and leave the smooth glass gaze as another figure entered its throes. It was a great sphere, many sided and glorious, burning as the flame of a phoenix, yet more malicious and meaningful than even the mythical creature. In one moment all of life was before the Eyes as it led men in a life of servitude, but in the next the Eyes found itself in this bondage and mediocre living, and with this understanding, it was finally consumed by the flames that it had erected upon itself.

So finally the tides of class had ebbed away, and in fate three elements had come together—lord, bondmen, and the silent and natural onlooker—each subservient to the other, yet all tied together in the end. Hand in hand these three elements came together whence the solace of death consumed them, finality being the finest line between all factions of the world.

High above in the skies, miles away from the world and the burning village, the god’s sat. Triumphant one called out, “Ha! It is punishment he wanted, it is punishment he will get. He is a fool for thinking himself higher than even us. We should scorch the whole lot of the planet for this!”

The answer was but a choir of laughs.

[Ai-Ante]

The Tale of Nevare

Alas, war had ended and freedom was nigh. The city, its turreted walls gleaming in the half-light, awoke to the sound of harmonic beatings of a far off drum. War was the first thought, it had come forth to the very walls of the kingdom. However, as the children gathered out upon the roof tops shouts of a new hope filled the air—the soldiers had returned! War had ended!

Soon the whole kingdom began to run out into the main road towards the entrance gate, bringing even some of the most prestigious men from the dumfounded castle. Shouts and cries rang out upon the dismal scene as men returned, and some did not.

However prideful the city was it could not match the pride of the victorious soldiers, triumphant in their campaign to save numerous villages from the hands of their greedy neighbors, finally returning to their joyous capitol, back into the arms of peace.

They had been away for nearly a year, loosing half of their men, yet not even this solemn fact served to perturb their infamous valiance. Although each was but a hero within themselves, one man stood out upon the crowd. Lord Nevare Ne’Palm, a nobleman and the only son of Baron Ne’Palm, Minister of the kingdom, was hoisted far up into the heavens upon the shoulders of his comrades, glistening faces that had never seen war smiling back at him like a herd of lame cattle.

Nevare himself had been the most daunting man to the enemy ranks, using superior tactical training to gather as many advantages as possible into the hands of his nation. With these tactics he rose to top ranks, becoming the main general after the death of the previous one in which the general had made a monstrous error, leading to the massacre of his whole unit. With this merit of wartime Nevare returned home, held above the soldiers like an effigy of time gone past.

His return was not well met by everyone however, for his father, deep in the king’s counsel, told of his son’s avaricious ways. Both men soon became convinced that his wartime prestige would lead Nevare to have deep interest in the throne, hence he was barred from the castle and thrown out into the winding and squalid streets of the city.

For 2 years Nevare remained within the city, his wartime popularity bolstering higher than ever as he brought a congregation of freemen together weekly to discuss politics and gossip. Equipped with a wife at his side, Nevare was portrayed as a fierce soldier with the power to love in a steadfast nature.

A bitter political battle soon broke out, father against son head to head with the blind old king as the mascot. After another month passed Nevare had put a strangling hold upon the city. In what seemed as a matter of seconds, the majority of the city fell into his arms, and with this power he barraged himself upon the castle.

Entrenched in obligation to look at the nation’s best interest, Baron Ne’Palm allowed his son to enter the castle for a brief meeting and dinner that would ideally lead to a compromise. The dinner went more graciously than expected, and together Nevare, his wife, his father, and the king all heard each other out through a night of bloodied meats and hearty wines.

The end of the night was less promising then wished however, and no compromise was met. After the meeting broke Nevare went off to take council with his men in the city as the king and Baron Ne’Palm came into council with each other. Both men were extremely pleased with the fact of still holding on to the kingdom but knew taking Nevare out of the picture altogether would be difficult. His wartime reverence still lingered despite its long time passing and nearly seventy percent wished to see him in some high position within the kingdom, even the throne if possible.

The rest of the night the castle was filled with languid laughter and dauntingly formulaic ideas of how to get Nevare cut away from the worries of the king. The morning saw a different light however, one much more dark and concealing.

Whence morning came Baron Ne’Palm cast himself out of bed and up into the king’s chambers. The door, paint peeling in large sheets, opened softly and hadn’t been locked from the night before, the obvious reason being the king’s drunkenness. However, neither drunkenness nor soberness could had made any man ready for the next stream of events, for in his lonely old bed lied the lonely old king, weathered chest no longer beating the songs of life. This absence startled the groggy Baron, yet the whole climax of his uncertainty could not be reached until he brought his hands towards the old king, taking up the covers that so loosely constricted him.

Within mere minutes every building—sophisticated or not—rolled tidings of the death of their king through one door and out the other. The king’s death was untimely, but not a mark left in time, and despite the death the people crowded around Nevare’s homestead, cheering aloud in the bliss of a new era.

A cheery nobleman with a single thin piece of glass in front of one eye went into the throes of Nevare’s house, congratulating the legendary hero and his wife for their surefire rise to the top of the kingdom. Nevare tried to mirror an ounce of uncertainty and modesty upon the man’s singular lens, yet, if the man wouldn’t had been so blind, he would had been able to feel Nevare’s utter rapture.

So, hand on hand, Nevare and his wife went forth through the whimsical crowds off into the long and winding road one last time, leading into the darkened threshold of the castle. Bringing every citizen who could fit into the castle, Nevare streamed wistfully into the throne room, looking upon his battered father who sat like a mystic in modern times upon the interchanging throne. His father only gave a sigh, looking at his son with a glance that was an even greater abomination than disgust. “Aye, you have come ere to claim this throne, have you not? And to claim me to? Well then, claim what is rightfully yours!” his father yelled, his tone starting slowly and building into a more powerful winding together of the epochal words. For a moment all stood silent until Nevare began to choke up a slavering laugh from the very bottoms of his stomach. Slowly all people who stood packed together in the large throne room began to mimic the laugh, shouting in reinforced vigor.

“I will claim thee, and all that you stand upon like a tyrant! Be gone, back to your cave!” Nevare said, nonchalant and certain. With the slow rise of his father from the moistened and black throne Nevare brought about his sword, hilt coming out from scabbard in a deafening clamor. Through the yells of support Nevare brought his sword half mast and forward, streaming it right through his fathers rumbling chest and out to the other side, nearly missing the throne itself by inches.

So ended an era, and so birth was given to many eras to come. With the king “mysteriously” dead(no one ever questioned the means of his death, although poison was later found), and his father murdered in front of the greedy eyes of all, Nevare rose to the very top of the kingdom, bolstered by war and murder, and on a light and fair day in Spring he was crowned.

So began the reign of Nevare, which for 20 years saw the coming of one of the greatest times ever witnessed within the kingdom. No war ever broke out, yet the empire nearly doubled. No blood was spilled, yet freedom continued. It was a time for all to come together, and flourish under the shade of Nevare’s idealistic and triumphant ideas. His wife stayed faithful to him and was but his beautiful jewel, despite her inability to ever conceive an heir for him. He was not troubled by this, and continued to stamp a glorious foot upon the past by his upbeat demeanor.

Years passed and the empire swelled, until the aforesaid 20 year mark. Delving slowly into this new decade of his leadership, things began to immediately change. Although they were not outright apparent to himself, the one closest to him could see it. He began to become cold and reserved as he had once been, long before royalty clouded his mind. He no longer shared his opinions in senatorial meetings, and began having his minister relate all issues described. After a while he even fell from this tradition, leaving most issues at the hands of his most trusted.

It was not just his political agenda that began to dwindle however, for his public relations began to wan away with this turning point in his career also. No longer leaving his self proclaimed prison, Nevare would watch all events and functions of the outside world from his curtained window. Dinners were much calmer, casting away his old ritualistic views of dinner that would cause him to entertain a gaggle of guests for a more simpler dinner, that of just him and his wife.

Although things seemed to be moving into a direction that would suggest age was beginning to strangle Nevare, his wife saw different. More and more often Nevare would begin to shake violently when doing nothing more than sitting still or taking on an easy household task. Most of the kingdom disregarded this sort of behavior, saying it was only his age and was a natural occurrence. His wife thought differently however, and out of fear called in a number of specialists.

Each would monitor Nevare for an elapsed amount of time, and in the end come up with the same lame postulation: that Nevare’s behavior was normal on his condition and standard, and was more than likely just some regrettable reflection of his war time days. At first his wife was forced into accepting this, but as Nevare’s actions became stranger, his wife’s horror of what may be brewing swelled.

Her doubt and fear was finally breeched and acknowledged one perilous night. Awaking to some low and far off whisper, she slowly gathered herself into consciousness, peering around for the source of this low noise. It took her no longer than half a minute to find the creator of the low mumblings, for it was her husband, hunched over and squinting in the half-light. She watched on as he seemed to speak to the air for nearly an hour. What it was she could not know, but believed it had to be some apparition that supported the blunt hypothesis that each specialist dictated.

The next day shattered all hopes within her innocent mind. Not an ounce less important was the way the day also ended the last and prolonged murmuring of great deeds of war some 22 years earlier. This day showed but one thing: the day you are in is the only that must be feared.

So, with the morning came the absence of Nevare, his wife waking to him being gone for the indented spot where he had spent most of the night was now vacant. A city wide search burst out, and for almost 5 hours thousands of awkward and blundering bodies searched for the only ray of hope that had ever been in their lives—their king.

It was almost dinnertime when they found him; or rather, he found them. Large search parties still combed the streets leading up to the castle threshold, checking every nuance that could be found in hopes that they had merely missed the spot where he sat in silent meditation. Aspirations began to fall as his whereabouts were frustratingly attempted to be divined, but no divination could sentence any to the fate that was about to be tried.

Dinnertime hit its peak when all within the town square and the winding road leading up to the castle, including his wife, heard Nevare shouting something from the direction of the castle. Indeed it was him, standing out upon the balcony that gracefully swept away from his room some 5 or 6 stories up.

With the look of a mortal god he began to yell, “Ah, my people of this glorious villa, this dell, this nook in the graceful spires of what our lords have erected for us! I see you have been looking for a man that once lived here, but he does not stumble among you any longer. He has found a path, and with words spoke gently into his ear of some viper he ought not had listened to, he has rose above you all. The man that sits before you is but a shell of what you all will become, glorious and misled! Battered and cradled! Would you all wish this fate, or would you enjoy tasting the sweet poison that I have found so many times? All of heaven and hell has been told straight to my ear, in a cycle of wind like utterances that have shown me the way, and this way I would give to you! Crawl now, out of your skin, all of you. And come with me. Come with me. Find my body, cast this shell away! Join me in Hell!”

Maniacal laughter streamed steadily from the mouth of the man before them all, brows raised in defiant and fearful scowls by all others.

A nobleman with eyes of bronze stepped forward in defiance. “What is this of Hell? Where have you come from, man? Where is our glorious and headstrong leader that hath brought us through battle? Whatever shell of him you are is not enough for me, cast yourself away! Let the Devil now speak if he wish to intervene, if not, be gone with you!”

The wife of a man who was once on her own level now sat looking up at this entity that had been thrown before her. Sweat glistened down her face intermingled with the tears of some blind intuition that she faced. Hastily she tried to break through the crowd that had now gathered, but her efforts were in vain, none would let her through.

The figure on the balcony cried out once more: “What is this Hell? What is this Hell? Must I reiterate? You are this Hell, and except it you must. Join me in this prophetical understanding, join me in the breaking of this paradox! I have come from the very shores that you now toil within. I fought your good fights. I fought for your freedom, but who else is there to fight for the freedom of the enemy? Which side are we really? Are we not all blasted like seedlings out of the hands of a distraught mystic into this Hell—does this not make us all one? Think for a minute man, and you will find the intervention you wish. What Devil do you seek? There are many! Look now. Look closer than ever before and you will see!”

The man did this, looking through his bronze eyes up into the glistening crystal lattice of the balcony. Suddenly he did understand, as if the eyes of the man upon the balcony had told him the answer he had sought. With spastic and fearful breaths he began to pull back, pushing all people within the crowd that sat in his way. Fingers clawing in every direction he tried to run, but was barred from his fleeing when the crowds over encumbered him, pushing him violently to the ground.

As if the man’s wisdom had spread, everyone began to understand. Spastically swinging in all directions the crowd tried to lumber away, people smacking into another from every direction, screams coming as understanding was reached. In seconds the crowd began its flight, total chaos ensuing.

Under foot the man with bronze eyes was trampled to his death. Upon the balcony a whole man smirked. “That is right. Run. Together we are but the manipulations of the Devil, and this. This is Hell.”

[Azrienoch]

Rapists Anonymous

This story is entirely fictitional and any resemblance to actual people or events is the result of jumping to your own conclusions. Enjoy your read.

"Hello, everyone. I'm John, and I'm a registered sex offender." John's balding head was covered in sweat, and he shifted uncomfortably as he tried to loosen his collar.
"Hi John," the participants chimed. I would have as well, but I still wasn't sure about this whole thing.
Justin, the program instructor, who was a man of about fifty years, white hair with grey streaks and a goatee, spoke up. "Very good, John. Admitting your problem is the first step to changing that problem and encouraging a more sound life. Would you like to tell the rest of the group why you've decided to come here?"
"Okay, here's the deal; I have this secretary who's always flirting around with me. One day, she came into work wearing a blouse that I could see right through. Before it was time for her to go home for the weekend, she came into my office and locked the door. She told me that she wanted me, and very soon after that, our clothes were off and we were having sex on my desk. She would say that she liked it rough, and so I would beat her on command from time to time, as she was telling me to. The next day, Saturday, she was off, but I had to come in to work. I wasn't there for an hour before the police arrived and arrested me for rape. They had pictures of the bruises I'd given her, a semen sample left on that damned blouse, and a security video tape of her pressing the intercom button and entering my office, as if I'd asked her to come in, and also there was video of her leaving my office, crying and running."

"So John," Justin spoke up, "Do you think that it's your own, the court's, or her fault that you were convicted of raping her?"
"It's my fault for being so stupid as to not know something was up."
"Do you think that you could ever forgive her for fooling you, and even yourself for being fooled?"
"My wife left me. She took our two children with her, and took possession of everything we owned together. I have nothing to lose or gain by holding a grudge, so yes, I do think that forgiveness is a possibility. I just thank God that I was able to get out of prison early. Without this support group, I might have been serving the full sentence." A few others in the circle nodded their heads in agreement, since we all got out of our sentences early by agreeing to come here. In fact, I, specifically, was considered for release to make room for an 18 year-old high school senior who was caught driving half a ton of marijuana across the state border.

Justin put his hands on his knees and gave a big sigh, looking around the room. "Who'd like to go next?"
Everyone looked at each other. A few seconds of uncomfortable silence passed, and then a big, sweaty guy stood up.
"'Kay, muh name's Joe, and I'mma raper."
"Alright, Joe, good..." Justin said, and Joe sat back down. Justin spoke up again, "Joe, would you like to tell everyone why you're here?"
Joe stood up again. "Uh huh," he nodded, "I seen this chica at a bar an' 'cause she wouldn't talk to me I got her going out to her car an' made her gimme a blowjob an' she puked all over me."
Justin raised an eye brow. "... And how does that make you feel?"
"Angry."
"Why?"
"'Cause she made me do it an' I got in trouble."
"She made you rape her?"
Joe nodded. "Yeah."
"How did she make you rape her?"
"'Cause she wouldn't talk to me."
"But you had the choice not to rape her."
"Nuh uh, 'cause she made me do it."
"Did she tell you to come outside with her so you could rape her?"
"Nah."
"Then how did she make you do it?"
"She just did. She wouldn't talk to me."
"So you're saying that you didn't have a choice in the matter? That it was her fault, and not your own?"
"Yeah."
"Well," Justin seemed annoyed, "perhaps we'll work further on your problem at the next meeting. Okay, Joe?"
"But she made me do it."
"Joe..."
"It weren't my fault! I didn't do nothin' wrong, she made me do it!"
"Enough, Joe. We need to let some other people have a turn to talk."

Joe is a sick man. I do feel bad for him, in a way, because his drive to rape is not something he can control. That's something that this society just doesn't seem to get. You can't throw someone like Joe into prison, or stick him in a support group like this one, and expect him to simply learn to be normal by talking through his problems or punishing him. For these simian sort of sex offenders, this is a mental condition, and should probably be treated with medication. Our government should have a similar time putting epileptics in time-out and telling them to never to have another seizure, without the benefit of medication and treatment. Guys like Joe cannot be changed like society wants them to from prison and support groups.
Of course, that doesn't mean that I can't call him a fat, disgusting bastard.

Justin spoke up again, "Alright, who'd like to go next?"
The guy sitting next to me stood up. "I guess I'll go." He scratched his forehead with a thoughtful look on his face while looking at his shoes. "My name is Jake, and I'm a sex offender."
Jake was obviously a young guy - much younger than the rest of us - probably about 25 years old.
"I'm 25 years old (Ha! I was right!), and I had a 17 year old girlfriend. When her parents found out about our age difference and also that we were having sex, they filed statutory rape charges against me."

That's such utter nonsense. What sort of judiciary system calls guys like Joe, or even John, the same loaded word for guys like Jake?
I became so enraged as Jake described his story further, that I shouted out, "That's bull crap! You shouldn't even be here!"
Justin stood up quickly, "Thank you, but Jake doesn't need that sort of support from us. He can only make progress to a better, spirit-filled, rewarding life if he, as well as the rest of us, follows the Rapists Anonymous 12-step program precisely."
"A spirit-filled life? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Come now, you know as well as anyone else here that trusting God to support us when we're down is one of the twelve steps of any 12-step program. We need God's support if we are ever going to find peace in our lives and beyond."

If I had thought of it, I would have pointed out that, as this group was mandated by the government, it was quite an unconstitutional step to include, this "support from God."
But the thought came a few moments too late, and I had already lashed out. "Jake didn't do anything wrong! He doesn't deserve prison, and he doesn't need this group." I could tell that our group guide was steaming, but he tried not to let it show in his voice.
He turned to Jake. "Thank you for sharing. Admitting that you have a problem is the first step towards a fulfilled life." He then turned back to me. "Since you're so talkative tonight, you may share next."

"Fine," I said, and I stood up. "My name is Jackson, and I don't think that I should have to be here."
"Then why are you here?"
"My lawyer screwed me."
"... Care to expand?"
"I like kids. I never really had a childhood of my own, and having them around makes me feel like I'm their age again.
Ten years ago, I was accused of molesting a child. That just isn't true. I would never do that. I was able to settle that out of court, since they just wanted money, and knew that it simply wasn't true.
Years passed by while I surrounded myself with kids, and nothing happened until one child's parents decided that our play time included molestation. Again, this simply isn't true. I would never do that.
I wasn't able to settle out of court, and even though they had no hard evidence, and it was my word against their's, the publicity of the trial and the public opinion of me after that first accusation ten years ago took over the jury and I was convicted.
From now on, my life, and everything I do, is recorded and publicly displayed for anyone and everyone to see. I have forever lost any ounce of privacy and dignity I ever had."

"What exactly did they say that you did?"
"They accused me of sleeping with the children, touching myself inappropriately while touching them inappropriately."
"Is that true?"
"Absolutely not. We would sleep in the same bed, but I never have and never would touch them inappropriately."
Justin gave a look of dissatisfaction of my story and asked, "Did you touch them at all?"
"Of course I did. It's hard to be friends with anyone and not touch them. Physical interation is necessary for any friendship."
"Yes, but did you ever touch any child's genitals?"
"Of course. Everyone does that."
Justin almost laughed, I just know it. I could see the hint of a smirk. "No they don't. That's molestation."
"That's rediculous."
"Well, it's true."
"If it is, then that just proves that I was convicted unjustly."
Justin glanced at his watch. "Well, we're running out of time, so we need to begin the one-on-one support discussions."

The meeting went on for another hour, and when it ended, I went home. A friend was waiting for me.
"I'm sorry that took so long, Jason."
"Iss'okay, Jackson. Wanna play a game?" he asked, those big brown eyes looking up at me.
"No, not now. I'm too tired."
Jason lowered his eyes. "Is it time for bed?"
"Yes, Jason, it's bedtime."

[MaiaElan]

That was a very good story, well thought out and a courageous attempt at exploring a contraversial issue. Well done.

[Saille-Panthera]

Note: after doing a waning moon ritual tonight, I just had to get something of my chest. Below is the result, I thought I might as well post it here..



Dear Friends,
it is time to say goodbye… although you probably do not hear me saying it…. I think you might feel it though…

When we first met, everything seemed to click. Our energies melted together, our paths crossed. Well, our paths didn’t actually cross, they became one path.

In the beginning it was great, best experience of my life, I felt on top of the world! Such energy, such power, such love.

However, after a while, things started to go awry… In stead of taking care of our own steps, and watch out for ourselves to not step into a pitfall, we started to pay more attention to where the others were going.
I mean, I don’t mind if people warn me for a rough spot, a puddle of mud, a gigantic hole in the road. Or if they steady me when I am about to stumble, or hold me back if I am about to fall.
But to actually have one of you push me away from a puddle of mud, so I would stumble and fall over a root into the thorns of the bush next to the road…
And then having to hear from the rest of you: well, it's kinda your own fault, you really weren’t looking where you were going, you should have walked this way, like we did…

I was shocked, to shocked to find a way away from our path, which was more your path then mine at the time.

Next thing I knew, I was exidentily pushed into a major hole in the road. If it wasn't for help offered to me by other people, I couldn't have crawled out of it again, and finally the time came when I fled, as far away from you as I could. But then I took the next turn, and there you were again, from a distance though this time. Some farther away then others, but we could again see each other, and talk some. I had mixed feelings about that, one way I still felt resentful about the way you have treated me, on the other hand, well, we are all human, and in some twisted way you really wanted what was best for me and, well, I somehow missed you. So overall I was glad most of you came back into my life, no matter how distant. However, we all have come to a crossroad…

My path is still separated from yours, and I see it turning into a completely different direction than yours. Actually, I see many different roads for each and every one of us. Some walking together for a little while, or for eternity, I cannot see that from here. But for you, if you haven't done so already, the time has come to divide the joined path that was once one into different paths again, like I had to separate my path from yours a while ago.

Anyway, seeing the way my path is going, I want to say goodbye to you. On one hand it is an enormous relief, but on the other hand I have to say goodbye with sadness in my heart. You’ve been to much part of my life to say otherwise. I’ve shared my deepest thoughts and greatest fears with you, as I now do with others, and felt like we were completely and utterly melted together. I loved you, and still do. So, my beloved friends, tonight I say goodbye and farewell. Perhaps our paths will cross again in the future, however I’ve learned to keep my path my own, and mine alone to travel.
Dear friends, I wish you all the best!
Merry Meet, Merry Part and Merry Meet Again!
In much, much love,
Saille

[MaiaElan]

That is absolutely beautiful and I totally understand where you are coming from! much love and oodles of good vibrations! MaiaElan xx

[Saille-Panthera]

Thank you MaiaElan

[EarthWard]

Getting Naked with Nuinn (entry)

By Frederick Casey

Granted, I am probably way more conservative than the run-of-the-mill pagan should be, however, I am as inquisitive as a pagan should be, so that does help the exploration of the Druid path I have set myself on. I’ll look into anything at least once, but there is one thing I have never done while in my years as a pagan: I’ve never been skyclad.

Impressive word sky clad is, clothed only by the air around you as you perform ritual. I had been to pagan camps where they would prance around naked. I didn’t see anything wrong with it, but I didn’t see anything beautiful either. Maybe it’s a hygiene thing I have, but when I speak to somebody, I would prefer not to be in close proximity to their exposed buttocks! In fact there is a whole host of reasons why I would not want to be at a naked camp.

Despite those feelings, I did look into the camp that Nuinn used to visit on the OBOD website. I read the whole deal about naturism. I’m glad I did, too, because before that, I thought naturism was somebody who loved nature. So thank you, OBOD website, for saving me of any embarrassing moments I might have stumbled into in the future. If somebody asked me to go for a naturism hike, I will know they don’t mean bird watching!

As fascinating as it was, and I could grok the idea of it very well – the freedom to be you – the problem for me is that nudity is not what I would label one of my personal freedoms. Once again it’s a hygiene thing.

But still, this is something that Nuinn felt was important to him. It gave him freedom. And as an admirer of his writings and his ideas, and as a member of a group that he helped start, I felt like I owed him something. I owed him a skyclad druid ritual, by god, and he was going to get it!

Now Nuinn has been created as something of an archetype inside my mind. This is the way I work with it: He was the wise old druid who met with me in my scared grove, and through this persona that I have created of him, he guides me in my rituals. He can be kind of moody with me, and impatient, but I think that is what I look for in a teacher, a no-nonsense, let’s-get-to-it, don’t-waste-my-time kind of teacher. It makes me better, and, of course, at the heart of it, is love.

At the moment of this decision of mine I was working with the earth element, so I was already feeling a bit, well, earthy. At the stroke of midnight, like all good witches and wizards, I struck out to the garden. Carrying only a candle and a book of matches, I set up my circle. Now I do have a pretty private yard, but you can never tell if somebody might just happen to be looking at exactly the right time at exactly the right area. It was a chance that I would have to take. The moment had come.

I said to Nuinn, “What exactly is this going to do for me? To which I replied to myself, using Nuinn’s persona, “Well you are the one who chose to do it now aren’t you?”

“Yes,” me again, “But why was it so important to you?”

“Life and times, lad. You had to be there. But underneath it all, I suppose it was because I am an animal first and then a Druid.”

Being a believer in evolution, I had to agree with myself about that. So here goes nothing. The robe dropped and there I stood, shivering like a fool.

“I am cold, Nuinn."

“It’s not cold.”

“Well, I am shivering.”

“Just breathe.”

So I did. I shook it off and began to breathe. Large intakes at first, and then it steadied into a strong movement of air coursing into my lungs. Now comes the difficult part in writing that everyone experiences when trying to put a metaphysical experience into words. Only the most gifted can do it, while the majority resorts to poetry. I will have to join the majority on this one, because that is how my mind was thinking.

"Ritual is poetry"

Heartbeat
No a drumbeat
One in the same
A connection
A power
A feeling of insanely sane
Like a child in a womb
I am utterly consumed
Wrapped in the blanket of life
Unadulterated
Unfiltered
Uncensored
Power coursing
Blood souring
Eyes dilating
Hearing sharpening
Senses awakening
Awareness cultivating
There is no separation between
Me, my body, and the air I breathe
To sustain my life
I am life
I am living
Oh the immaculate power of Life
How abundantly aware you are
And how dull of it we have become

In that moment in time, the walls around me fell. I had never felt that way before. The sky was higher. The air was purer. The night was brighter than a full moon could allow. This was life, and I was fully a part of it. Now I understood without a doubt why this was important. I understood. More than words could confirm I understood.

“Honey?!? Are you out there?”

This was not Nuinn talking! This was my wife! And she was coming like all curious partners, wondering what I was doing, uncaring that I might be in a peculiar situation, more so than that hoping that I would be.

I’m glad I enjoyed those falling walls when I did, because they came right back up! In a blind panic I picked up my robe and turned for the safety of a wall to dress myself, but as destiny would have it, or perhaps my Nuinn just wanting to play a joke on me, I tripped and fell in the freshly laid mulch. As I rolled around she turned on her little flashlight, which framed me, naked, covered in mulch.

Now I’ve been getting myself into these types of situations my whole life, and it really did not come as a shock when my wife saw me. Just another thing for her to cut on me about later on in life, at the exact moment in which I would have thought she would have forgotten it.

“What are you doing?”

I mean really what am I supposed to say to that? Nothing?

“Come on, before the neighbors hear you.”

Well, speak of the devil and the devil arrives: On comes their porch light. I needed no other motivation to make a dash to the house, where I once again put on my full body flannel pajamas.
I have never done another skyclad ritual, but I don’t rule it out either. That magic is still waiting for me whenever I choose to accept it.

Until then, I will always remember the time I was naked with Nuinn.

[Lizzy]

Wow, absolutely loved this one EarthWard, thank you for sharing!!

[Saille-Panthera]

lol, great story Earthward! I love it!

[Underground River]

I posted this story last Samhuin in this competition, but thought I'd enter it again in this competition. Please enjoy!
I only made a few minor spelling corrections, no changes to the actual tale.

A Halloween to Remember

I woke up on October 31 feeling excited. I couldn't wait for the evening! I was 24 years old, but I still loved this day. I feel like screaming "Halloween apples!" as soon as I wake up on this day every year. I went into the kitchen to brew up some morning java. I was dying for a cup so I filled the coffeemaker with coffee and water and flicked the switch. The coffee began to make that lovely dripping sound it makes when it's going to taste great. I went to the fridge to check on the bags of apples I had purchased for the children. They were red delicious apples and I had bought 3 10 lb bags of them. They looked red and so delicious I almost ate one but then remembered they weren't for me to eat. The coffee finished brewing and I poured myself a cup. It had never tasted so good! After the coffee, I put on my fall jacket and went out to my truck. I jumped in and started it then drove away. I drove until I came to a shopping mall. There was one thing I needed to buy, Halloween music! No 31st of October is complete without some scary music for to frighten everybody. I parked my truck, walked into the mall and found the music store. I went to the sound effects section and found the CD I wanted. It was called Spooky Sounds for Halloween. I noticed one odd thing. The cover on the CDs is supposed to have a picture of a frightened child clutching a bag of candy, but instead this cover had a picture of a forest and some strange people. There were words but I couldn't quite see them because they were too small to read. I shrugged, figuring the cover of a different CD had accidentally been put on this one copy. I went to the checkout counter and forked over $13.99. The salesman and I laughed about the funny cover and said I probably had a collector's item. I jumped in my truck and drove home.
At home, I put the disc on the table by the front door where my CD player is. I then found a large piece of cardboard and wrote on it in black marker:
"Please yell if you would like a treat. I do not answer ringing doorbells. Only yellers will receive."
I signed my name and affixed the sign to my front door. I love making kids yell. They love yelling, so why not?
It was Sunday, so I didn't have to work that day. I hate working on Halloween because the preparations are so important to me. I don't know why, it's been like that ever since I was a wee lad on my father's farm. I went to my room and dressed in my costume. I wore a long silk robe, a sort of wizard's hat, and farmer's boots. I couldn't decide if I wanted the boots. I thought going barefoot might be better so I tried it without the boots and liked it better. The working boots just didn't go with the silk robe and the hat. I had no need to paint my face. I hate makeup anyway. I set up my little stone altar which was part of my costume. I was pretending to be a druid that year. Every year I find a costume and really try to play the part. I had been practicing some Welsch words to try to sound convincingly druidic. They were really just normal words, but to a 5 year old I was sure they would sound terrifying because the poor child wouldn't know I was just saying good evening or whatever.
I practiced my words a bit more, chanting them to sound like a druid performing magic or something. I moved my hands around saying words in Welsch and thought I sounded pretty scary. I smiled at myself in my bathroom mirror and knew tonight would rock!
At 5:00 I opened my doors to the night. I was so pumped up I couldn't remember my own name. I was going to have a glorious night of scaring little kids, apologizing to their parents for scaring them and giving out cold, delicious apples. I pranced around in my druid robe and chanted spells as I waited for the first victim...oops I mean child....sorry. Seriously, I never hurt them. I only scare them and then apologize.
At 5:10 I heard a young voice scream "HALLOWEEN APPLES!".
I ran a couple steps and opened the door wide, chanting a spell at the poor child. He cowered in fear and backed away. I grinned at him, held out an apple and said in English, "Fear not little laddie, I'm just a harmless guy who likes Halloween as much as you do."
The boy looked at me for a second, then said, "Well, Mister, you sure scared me. Thanks."
"No problem, laddie," I said.
I grinned at him and closed the door.
I went on in this way for an hour. At 6, I was ready to start scaring the night with my music. I picked up the CD, unwrapped it, and put it in the player. I was a little afraid but shrugged that off. The CD seemed to take a loooooong time to load, but finally the display came up and said there were 99 tracks and 74 minutes and 20 seconds on the disc. I was afraid again to press play, but I did it anyway.
The instant I did, I heard a horrible screaming sound, felt thunder shaking the house, and then I heard a terrifying voice begin to chant in what I was positive was Welsch.
The voice screamed out the words, and I had a horrible image of a man moving his hands about deliberately in a spell. I tried to press stop, but my hands were frozen in fear. The chant increased in volume until it bounced off the walls. Finally, it fell into utter silence. I waited, paralyzed in fear for the calamity I expected...

A soft voice said into the silence "hello, Mike."
I jumped. My name is Mike. How did the voice know that?
I whirled and saw the loveliest creature I had ever known. He was tall, slim, slightly built and very beautiful. His hair was short and white, and his eyes were a soft green. He extended a hand and I took it. "That was my voice on the CD," he said. "I was the one chanting in elvish, not Welsch, and you were afraid. You shouldn't be afraid of Elves, laddie."
I stared at his outstretched hand in disbelief and mumbled something unintelligible. "What was that?" he asked, grinning at me.
"Um," I mumbled. "Um, good day...um good evening I mean...sorry my manners aren't working...sorry..."
"'Tis nothing to fret about, Laddie," he said jovially. "I have this effect on all those I meet. They are afraid then they are confused, then they are polite and give me apples and candy, then they ask me all about magic and druidry and trees and ancestors and Nature and all manner of things and then they ask for more and more and more knowledge. People are so hungry for knowledge they ask and ask and ask and ask and it's like they are children again when they meet me. So, young lad, sit yourself down on that chair yonder and let's have ourselves a night of learning and fun."
I sat down and waited expectantly.
"I will answer your door next," he said. "I will sing some verses in Elvish and really make the children happy. Halloween isn't about fear only you know. There's fun and laughter and bards get to sing verses and make merry and all that. Do you have any milk in your fridge? I am parched after that chant. Please may I have a glass?"
"Oh yes," I stammered. "Sorry Sir. I plum forgot my manners again."
I staggered over to the kitchen, unsteady with emotions I could not name. I clutched the carton of milk and thought to pour it in a tall glass for the thirsty elf.
I handed him the glass and he smiled at me so charmingly I almost fell over. "Thank you," he said and gulped down the milk faster than I could have.
Suddenly, we heard "HALLOWEEN APPLES!" shouted from outside. He Jumped up, skipped to the door and flung it open. What followed is permanently etched into my mind.
The elf sang so sweetly and so perfectly on key I almost died and went to Heaven. I have never, ever, ever heard such awesome music in my life and never will again. He sang the song and danced and the girl standing there just listened and watched and I saw her crying. The girl's mom stood there mutely, having expected me to be scary as I was usually every year. I knew them, they were my neighbours from down the street and me dancing and singing was not what they had expected. "Mike," the mother finally spoke in a tremulous voice. "Mikey is that you?"
"No" said the elf. "'Tis not Mikey. That laddie is in the livingroom listening. I am his elven guest. Here is an apple for thee and thy daughter." He produced two apples from his pocket, and I stared at them. They were golden and sparkly and filled with light somehow. The elf handed one to the little girl who took it and held it and stared at it in awe.
"From now on," said the elf. "Whenever Mikey plays his new CD, I will appear and set the world right. I am from the other world. I am a good elf and won't bother anybody. The veils are very thin right now, so this will probably only work at this time of year, but if you like I can be called any time. I just might not be able to get here if the veils are so thick. I know this is confusing you, sorry, I do tend to ramble. I am not crazy, do not be afraid."
The mother was backing away, hands held up in defence. I came to life then, unfrozen from my chair. I couldn't let my neighbour leave in fear and disgust from my home. "Hello, Mrs. Smith," I called.
She looked in and saw me. "Mike," she said. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," I said. "Just as flustered as you are by this um, creature. I think we are going to have to re-think our oppinions about magic Mrs. Smith. That CD did something..."
"Mommy," spoke up her daughter Hope. "I know magic is real because this apple I have is so lovely. A regular apple couldn't be so shiny and soft and crispy at the same time. What would happen if I took a bite, Wizard?"
The elf smiled and said, "You would be nurrished by the juices and lifted into the far reaches of delight by the flavour. Your dear ancestors would speak to you and you would remember all your happy times you ever had."
The child timidly took a bite before her mother could get out the warning words that would stop her. Hope's eyes widened in surprise and joy as the apple touched her mouth. "It is Dusty!" she cried in wonder. Dusty was their dearly departed kitty cat. "He's happy in the other lands. He's enjoying catnip and petting and mouse-chasing. He loves me and thinks about me every day. He says to not be sad anymore and there are other cats in this life who want to play with me!"
Mrs. Smith, emboldened by her daughter's words took a bite of her golden apple. "Oh, Hope," she said. "It's your grandmother. She says she is so happy in the otherworld. She is singing and telling stories and remembering me and you and your daddy and your brother. She is telling me that it was her time to leave this world last year and she is not sad where she is. Oh, Hope, what is happening? My grown-up's mind doesn't understand."
"All things come in circles, Mom," said the little girl. "The druids love the circles and they love the people who are gone to the otherworld. They are not sad and they love trees and animals and worship dirt. This elf here has come to show us magic and spells and sing us songs and give us lovely apples every year. The CD Mister Mike bought will call him each Halloween so we can learn more about ourselves and about being with Nature."
"That is correct," said the elf. "Your daughter will make a fine bard some day if she chooses that path."
We sat around chatting until 11:00 PM. The elf would answer the door, and more people would come in until the house was full of children and parents and the elf and I. We talked and ate golden apples and sang and made merry until we thought we would die of happiness. Big teenagers who thought they were immortal, little kids with light in their eyes, mothers, fathers, grandparents, everybody, all learned something that night. All learned that magic was real, druids were good people who didn't practice blood sacrifice, and elves were awesome! The elf never told anybody directly to become a druid. He said the word choose so often I started knowing what he would say. "If you choose this path", or "the path you have chosen is equally valid" or "Nobody should ever be forced to choose any path". He was so kind and gentle I knew it would all last but a night. At 11:00 he bid everybody good night and told all that he would return next year if I played the magic CD. When everybody left, he said to me "Make copies of that disc in your computer if you wish. You can give this magical Halloween gift to others. It will call an elf on this night for everybody. There are lots of us elves so that won't be a problem. I must go now, as I have to go to another place that is in another time zone. It is earlier there, and somebody there is about to press play."
With that, he vanished.
I have played that CD every Halloween since that day 10 years ago. Every year, elves visit our humble world and tell us stories, give us ancestral apples and we always make merry and enjoy every last minute until the elves must leave. I tried the CD at other times, but it only worked once. That was the day my own Grandmother died and I needed help dealing with grief. An elf appeared and sat with me all the long night telling me my dear Grandmommy was safe and happy in the otherworld, thinking of me and always loving me every second. I am blessed and honoured to have the elves visit me. I consider it a gift from Earth herself. I am studying druidry now, but I still do not know if it is my path. I might study magic instead. I am learning to love everybody of every religion and that is what matters most to me. When I see a sad person, I smile at him or her and say that there is always hope and a kind person in this world to help when times are hard. The sad person usually agrees with this.
Well, good day to all, I have enjoyed telling this tall tale to you all.

Copyright October 24, 2004 by GreenDruid.

This story is a combination of things. I thought it would be neat to have a magical CD, and somebody...think it was Branbeith suggested a story from my Mental picture of a Druid poem. Here is that story and thank you for reading it.
Sincerely,
GreenDruid

[Branbeith]

Duster was just trying to settle down in his bed. His young mind was swirling with the horror tales his mischievous brothers had told him about the monsters. His body shivered involuntarily as he thought of the Levis callum belua just waiting to steal his essence. His brothers had referred to them as magic vampires. Wariness overtook him, and he submerged into a fitful nightmare of running from the iron clawed clutches of the belua. He must have called out in his sleep for he awakened to find himself curled next to the warm comfort of his mother’s body. He smiled slightly at her prudence for not waking him. Good dreams or bad should never be interrupted for one could never know when it could be a message from the gods. He nuzzled closer to her. The motion was rewarded with two silvery blue eyes looking down at him.

“Your path was rocky in the land of dreams last night.” The brilliant sun all around them and his mother’s reassuring presence made Dusty feel immature and foolish.
The stories seemed just that – stories to frighten a gullible child.
“Do you wish to talk about it?” His mother asked gently looking serenely down at her son. The serene look started to fade as Duster relayed the stories his sibs had told him.

“I will deal with them later. You are excessively young to know about the Levis callum belua, but what is done cannot be undone. There is a reason for every event. Yes, Dusty, the belua are real. They call themselves humans.”

The word human chilled the young whelping.

“They fight over land, interpretations of the Divine All, and worship silly things like paper and metal. They ravage the world, kill their own kind for sport or greed, and have the audacity to label us dragons as monsters.”

“Why are these belua so cruel?” Duster could not even use the h word. It was too horrible.

“For a number of reasons. Most of them have denied magic so long they are no longer a part of it. A few of them will have a glimmer of it – just enough to drive most of the magical ones mad. Many of them are confined to the world of the physical – they have forgotten how to fly. Bound to an earth bound state, they have taken on the negative aspects of the physical – ownership and power.” Her serious expression softened as she noticed how terrified Duster looked.

“There is almost a comical side to it. Some of the magic wielders – they go by different names -Wicca, shaman, druid…just to mention a few – actually claim they can call us and use our wisdom and magic to further their studies.” His mother actually laughed at the thought.

“But didn’t Uncle Snaggle often go on mysterious trips to the land of the physical?” Duster asked, not realizing he was admitting to eavesdropping when he was supposed to be asleep.
His mother chuckled again at the mention of her younger brother. He was such a scamp – always into trouble.

“It amuses him to let them think they have called him. Only a few humans get it. They can invite us but never call or summon us, and their puny attempts at “protecting themselves” from us are just that – puny attempts. They even accuse the dragons of wanting to eat virgin human maids.”

“What is a virgin?”

“Ask your father sometime.” His mother replied cryptically, dismissing the question.

“But, “ Duster said, thinking about the countless stories his brothers had told him the night before and matching it with snippets of overheard adult conversation, was not Aunt Flysbee accused of eating something on the physical plain?

“Yes,” his mother answered sadly. The evil of the belua can corrupt some of the weaker-willed dragons. We refer to these sorry few as humankin. Their individual stories are quite tragic. Once corrupted, they become physical - forever shunned – by dragon.” Duster had always wondered about what had happened to his great-aunt. He missed her wonderful stories and her interestingly way of looking at history. To learn about her disgrace was more then he could bear.

“She will be kept alive through the knowledge she passed to you, Duster.” Somehow, the thought comforted him a bit.

“We are guides to the few that are worthy. Sometimes, even the worthy ones think they can call or manipulate us, but they all come to the truth eventually. To be chosen by a dragon is an honor. We choose them, not the other way around. I am a guide to two sisters. The fact that you have acquired this knowledge of humans at such an early age seems to tell me you will be a guide also. Only a very few of our people aspire to this task. Most dragons have long since abandoned humans and the physical world. They feel that the physical realm has long abandoned the magic in favor of something called science.”

“Isn’t science just another name for magic?” Duster asked, showing off the fact that he paid attention to his studies, and furthering his mother’s hope that her son would be a guide.

“You listen well. Yes, and it is the guide’s honor-bound code to make humans part of the magic again.” She smiled at her son. When it came time, Duster would be an excellent and important guide.

[MaiaElan]

HOORAH!! i am eating an apple, thinking of dragons

[wolfsong]

Back to Tahoe

Her hair was up, in a kind of elegant way, although she was wearing loose, comfortable jeans, and an old gray T-shirt, and she was sitting in her beat-up ‘87 Honda.
She looked at her passenger. “Well, Smoky, I’ve done a really stupid thing.” She glanced at the clock in the dashboard. “But there’s still time. I could turn around now, and be on time. Or I could keep going. What do you think?”
Her pale gray cat continued to gaze out the window, and she sighed. When she thought about the decision she needed to make, her stomach knotted up, and she felt slightly sick, like anytime she gets nervous.
She gazed out the rearview mirror. She had stopped her car in the shoulder of the highway. There wasn’t much traffic. Her eye caught the pile of white in her backseat. The dress.
She glanced again at the clock. There was still time if she hurried back. But she had no desire to hurry back. Or go back at all. She knew he’d be waiting for her, and felt bad that he wouldn’t get her note until too late, but there was nothing to be done about it. She couldn’t stay. Not with him, not in that city.
She had promised him that once they were married, she’d stop living so that she could pick up and leave in a minute. But she’d known all along that she couldn’t “settle down.” The thought of the heavy oak waterbed he wanted to buy weighed her down as much as the thought of the thin gold band he wanted to give her. She’d had a month-to-month rent agreement in a furnished apartment, and she had two suitcases in her trunk. All she needed.
And her wedding dress in the backseat. She put her car into drive, and turned the wheel. She took a deep breath, and stepped on the gas.

[MaiaElan]

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She lay there, in the cold clear night, weak from losing her focus in this conscious place. He took her into his pale arms, lifting her weight effortlessly. Turning to the shadows, the green-cloaked stranger left a trail of leaves on the autumn floor as He headed for the trees. In a moss-scented moment the wind that followed Him hushed and He lay her on the soft forest floor, gathering her robe around her, aware of her need for warmth.

Scanning her face with His earthy green eyes, he breathed a gentle wind across her skin and she opened those eyes, those wonderful tourmaline eyes that would see so much more than Eve could as yet imagine. Not wanting to break this moment, Eve remained as she was, caught in a time where Spirit speaks into the heart. She had dreamed of such encounters, but surely such things belong to other realms? Her faith in nature and the intimacy of the seasons with her own cycle of life and rebirth had always been strong, so strong that she breathed her beliefs into everything she touched.

Just as the Greenman was about to breath a new truth into her soul, she burned this experience into her memory. This would not be a dream.
They talked for hours, days and nights flew passed as she listened to tales of old souls and traditions long since lost. He gave her wisdom beyond her years, a gift bestowed upon those who are willing to learn and ready to accept the ways of being.

Eve felt so euphoric, not wanting this moment to end but eager to journey the new path she had been shown. She knew that He had to leave, it was Samhain, the time of passing. She knew He would cleanse her cherished Earth with a chill wind, riding the night sky and running through distant woods, taking the old with Him as he passed over to the place of healing and rebirth. She knew He would return, after his time of darkness, he would return to the womb of His Love, would be born again into a beautiful celebration of the seasons. Eve knew she would not see Him in this likeness again, but she would feel him. In the trees, in the wind, in the rich brown earth and berry red leaves that blew around her feet. Her imagination savoured the new memories she would bear and in that moment, He was gone.

Walking back to her house on the hill, she heard the familiar voices of friends, her chosen family, filling the hall with merriment and exchanged tales of their preparations. She knew the night had stood still in that place, where seasons pass and Spirit dances in and out of time. She hurried to her guests, walking in through the open door, smiling as she asked "Who's for wine?"


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