The Hanged Man: Part 3: Samhain
Post #11: In which plans go awry and a dangerous seduction ensues ...
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CREIRWY
“You’re not a little girl any more, my heart,” said Bald Tegid. “You’re becoming a young woman. Going here and there amongst the tenants and farms was one thing when you were a dandelion floss below my knee, but now I think you’re safer here with your mother and brother sometimes.”
“But, Dada, I want to be with you! I won’t be a bother!”
“You couldn’t be a bother. It’s only that I might be distracted, or looking the other way while I’m working, and you get hurt. We’ll still roam together, you’ll see. Just not quite so often. Your mother and brother will need you here, with Ceridwen being so busy with her cauldron.”
Creirwy found time heavy on her hands. She felt the loss of her father’s companionship keenly. Unlike her brother, she was gregarious, a favorite wherever she went because of her sweet manner and easy laughter. Now at home the days were long. Ceridwen had little thought for anything but her cauldron, and Morfran and Gwion, when not taking their turns with the brewing, were off about their own business, Gwion helping with garden, orchard and animals, and Morfran wandering by himself among the hills or on the lake. Gwion was so shy as to be speechless in her presence. Creirwy loved Morfran and would have been glad to spend the days with him, but she saw how happy he was in his own company and he didn’t think to invite her to join him.
One market day Creirwy met a stranger, a man called Raoul. He was a traveling man. He’d come to explore the area, having heard much about its wild beauty and magic. The first day they met she’d told him the story of Bala Lake. He was interested, asking questions and encouraging her to talk. Hours passed like minutes. She didn’t want to leave him and go home. He assured her he’d spend some time there, basing himself in the village in order to explore the area. She wanted to invite him to Bala Lake, but, somehow, she hesitated.
After that first meeting, she spent all her time thinking of him, his smile, the way his dark, warm eyes looked into hers. She thought of the muscles in his arms and the way they swelled as he gestured. The sound of his laugh stayed in her ears. His hair was black with a sheen of blue like a raven’s wing. His skin was smooth and brown over the bones of his face. She waited, longing for her next chance to go to the village. The night before the next market she could hardly sleep for excitement and fear. What if he had gone, after all? What if he wasn’t there, but wandering on some remote hillside? What if he’d forgotten her?
But he was there. When he saw her his face lit with happiness.
“I’ve been hoping every day to see you! I was afraid you’d never come back!”
She laughed with joy. “And I was afraid you’d forget me!”
He took her hands and looked into her eyes. “I could never forget the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he said seriously. “You shine, Creirwy. I never want to be away from your light.”
No one had ever called her a woman before and she was filled with confused pride. She felt a new consciousness and strength in her body. She was a woman! He’d made her so with his attention and caring. He’d called her into womanhood and her body responded, breasts and belly and thighs sensitive and aware as they’d never been before. Every chance she got she left Bala Lake to be with Raoul. Fortunately, it was the busiest social season between spring and fall, so hardly a week passed without a fair, a bonfire, a visit to the area from a musician or peddler or group of gypsies, a market or a dance. Creirwy went to them all.
Raoul spent a lot of solitary time in the hills and mountains, walking and exploring. As he grew more familiar with the area, he often met her and they walked together. She told him all of Bald Tegid’s stories and opened her whole life to him, talking artlessly of her family, Bala Lake, and the unfolding tale of the Cauldron of Inspiration and Knowledge. She was uneasy sometimes about not inviting him to come home with her and meet her family, but he didn’t seem to expect it and she couldn’t bear to reveal this secret life that filled her with so much joy and excitement.
At times, she slipped out on her own to wander in the hills around Bala Lake, remembering her last meeting with Raoul and dreaming of the next. It was a relief to not have to pretend before her family she was the same girl she’d been before Raoul.,
One summer day she unexpectedly came across his familiar figure striding across the crest of a distant hill. She cried out joyfully and raised a hand, running lightly to catch up. He turned and raised a hand in return, waiting where he was for her. As she came near, breathless and laughing with pleasure, she saw a wry smile on his face, as though he mocked himself, and the twist of his lips was framed in stubble, blue as a swallow’s wing.
She stood still, looking wonderingly into his face, so familiar yet also unfamiliar now.
He put a rueful hand against his cheek. “You caught me,” he said lightly. “I know it’s ugly. I didn’t want you to see…” He turned away, as though ashamed.
She went to him and held his face between her hands.
“Don’t look at me, Creirwy,” he said roughly and put his hands up to hold her wrists.
She’d dreamed of kissing him but never done it. She leaned forward until she could feel his breath, holding his gaze and tilting her face up to his. She didn’t touch his face—quite. She could smell him, a true smell of a man who’s been living rough for some days, overlaid with wood smoke. He stood very still, looking into her eyes, and desire leapt between them. She closed her eyes and laid her lips on his.
The texture of that kiss was the most vivid experience of her life. She’d not known lips could be so soft and seeking, and yet so hard and demanding. He bruised her mouth and still she strained toward him, wanting more. Stubble on his face rubbed against her mouth and cheeks with a friction that made her groan with desire.
When the madness of their joined mouths had passed a little, she stood trembling in his arms. She opened her eyes and saw his beard was not as blue as she’d first thought. Somehow the summer light had made it seem a shocking blue, like a jay’s feather, but no person’s hair could be that color, after all! Even so, the strange color made him somehow beautiful, more uniquely hers.
She reached up and rested the palm of her hand against his cheek.
“You’re beautiful,” she said.
Her turned his head and kissed her palm.
“I thought you’d be afraid and find it ugly. Most people do, so I’m careful to shave every day. But out here I thought there’d be no one to see.”
“Oh, Raoul! It’s not so very blue! I like it!”
He laughed aloud and held her tightly against him, his lips on her hair.
“You delight me,” he murmured, and released her.
After they parted that afternoon Creirwy went home, eyes full of dreams, mouth a little swollen with kisses, senses aroused with the memory of his blue beard against her skin.
MORFRAN
“She misses her father, poor child,” said Ceridwen to Morfran one evening as she stirred the cauldron and inspected the brew. “Have you noticed how often she goes off on her own? As soon as this is brewed,” she tapped the spoon sharply on the rim of the cauldron, “we must try to give her a wiser understanding of the world. Her trust as a little girl was enchanting, but now it’s getting dangerous, and I worry for her.”
“She’s innocent,” said Morfran.
“She is, and I don’t want to make her afraid, but she can’t go out into the world undefended. We need to start to think of her future. In the meantime, it’s good for her to travel to market now and then, see old friends, and buy a piece of ribbon or a length of cloth for herself.”
Morfran had always been aware of a light within Creirwy. She made him think of a slim white candle. As the weeks passed, he sometimes thought her light flickered, burning not quite so steadily as it had throughout her childhood. But she grew lovelier and more loving every day, so he dismissed his impression.
In this way months passed for each member of the family and the brew gradually became thicker and harder to stir. On the last day of the year and the day, Gwion took a turn at the cauldron and the rest of the family gathered to watch Morfran receive the first three drops of the brew. It was a solemn occasion and Ceridwen looked worn out and tense. They stood around the fire, Bald Tegid, Creirwy, Morfran and Ceridwen, and watched Gwion stirring the steaming contents of the Cauldron of the Deep.
For Ceridwen’s sake, Morfran tried to appear appropriately subdued and honored. He longed to be finished with the whole unnecessary ordeal. Ceridwen beckoned to him, smiling into his eyes, and he stepped forward to stand next to Gwion, who gave one final stir and stepped back. As the boy retreated, three viscous drops flew up out of the cauldron and landed on his hand. The brew was thick and syrupy, yet Morfran distinctly saw the drops fly up, as though boiling water or broth had been splashed with a careless spoon, though the spoon Gwion had been using was already out of the cauldron. Gwion hissed as the hot liquid clung to his skin, raised his hand to his lips and sucked it off.
MIRMIR
“I love this story,” said the Hanged Man. “Dar told it to me after he got it from Morfran. Mind you tell it properly, now, Mirmir!” He grinned, and for a moment Mirmir saw the reckless young gold and green God in the first flush of manhood after he and Mary had met and mated.
“It happened sso fasst Ceridwen had no time to sstop it. She gave Gwion a terrible look and he, realizing what he’d done, dropped the wooden spoon and ran, but she stayed close behind him. The boy ran and ran, and in his panicked thoughts he made a picture of a hare, running for safety…as Hare, he leapt away. But Ceridwen turned herself into a greyhound and Greyhound ran swifter than Hare. Hare bounded to the lake’s edge and thought of a salmon, darting down through cool water to hide. Salmon swam away through dark lake waters. But Ceridwen turned herself into an otter and Otter swam swifter than Salmon. Salmon leapt out of the water, and in his thoughts he made a picture of a bird, flying upward into freedom. As Crow, he flung himself up from the lake. But Ceridwen turned herself into a hawk, fierce and terrible with outstretched talons, ready for the kill, and Hawk flew faster than Crow.
Miles away, Crow looked in desperation down into a valley and saw a pile of wheat. He hurled himself out of the sky, exhausted, and turned himself into a grain of wheat, hiding among thousands. But Ceridwen turned herself into a black hen and searched among the wheat until she found him, and swallowed him whole.”
“Now the end,” said the Hanged Man gleefully, “go on, Mirmir, tell about the coracle and rabbit skins and what came after that …”
“Not now,” said Mirmir. “It’ss not time for the resst.”
“You’re a tease,” said the Hanged Man. “You’re just being stubborn. Very well. Tell it your way. Don’t mind me. After all, I’m a captive audience and what I want means nothing!” He crossed his arms.
Mirmir blinked a sardonic golden eye at the Hanged Man and continued.
MORFRAN
The rest of the family watched as they flew out of sight, Ceridwen gaining fast on Gwion. Morfran could hardly take it in. He’d been prepared to drink the three drops with ceremony and gratitude to please Ceridwen and then, thankfully, this long year would be over. He felt a shameful desire to laugh at the sudden turn of events. He’d grown fond of Gwion and feared for him. Ceridwen’s passion made her formidable in anger. Would she kill the boy in her rage? He hoped Gwion eluded her long enough for her anger to cool. It seemed there were other forces at work here. The Cauldron of Inspiration and Knowledge hadn’t been meant for him, and he was glad.
“Oh, what can we do?” cried Creirwy.
Bald Tegid pulled her against him. “Nothing, my heart,” he said. “This is between Gwion and your mother. It’s a bitter disappointment for her after all her work.” He looked at Morfran. “I think you’re not too disappointed, though?”
“No,” said Morfran quietly. “I’m not disappointed. I know she gave a gift of love, but I didn’t want it or need it. She needed to give it to me.”
Bald Tegid sighed. “What will be will be, and Ceridwen will understand that when her anger cools. Let’s hope Gwion can avoid her until then, for his own sake!”
The three of them stood together, Creirwy in the curve of Bald Tegid’s arm. He laid a hand on Morfran’s shoulder and silently they watched the fire under the cauldron go out for the first time in a year and a day.
Ceridwen didn’t return until after dark. She was alone. One look at her face persuaded Morfran to ask no questions, and the family went silently to bed.
In the following days Ceridwen brooded. Her family didn’t bother her with questions or commiseration. Morfran stayed close by her in silent companionship. He brought her a clump of shy wildflowers that he knew she was fond of. They grew on a far mountainside and he dug them up carefully and put them in a basket of plaited lake reeds, bedding the roots in cool moss. Together they planted them in the garden. Gwion’s name wasn’t mentioned. No one dared ask what had become of him. Ceridwen poured the contents of the Cauldron of the Deep into the lake and scrubbed it out with sand.
Morfran recognized a disconcerting sense of anticlimax. The season turned toward the peace and rest of winter, but the family on the shores of Bala Lake seemed suspended in unease. Autumn failed to bring its usual sense of satisfied closure. Daily tasks and routines became fraught with unspoken questions and uneasy silences. Morfran, comfortable in his own self-containment, felt distressed by a sense of disconnection as his parents and even Creirwy seemed to withdraw.
(This post was published with this essay.)