The Tower: Part 2: Mabon
Post #12: In which the white bull ...
(If you are a new subscriber, you might want to start at the beginning of the Webbd Wheel Series with The Hanged Man. If you would like to start at the beginning of The Tower, go here. If you prefer to read Parts 1 and 2 in their entirety, go here. For the next serial post, go here.)
“So,” said Hades encouragingly, as though his brother was a soul newly come to Hades and needed help beginning its story.
Poseidon shot him an amused look. “You’ve changed,” he remarked. “There was a time you’d have pounded it out of me.”
Hades felt nettled, but his brother’s gaze was friendly and affectionate. There were new lines in his face, but they were lines of good humor and a life lived under the sky and its weather. Hades shrugged. “My wife’s had a civilizing influence.”
Poseidon, his dark eyes compassionate, said, “I heard of your trouble. I’m sorry for it, Hayseed.”
Hades, without meeting his eyes, made a dismissive gesture and dropped his hand to Hope’s ruff, sinking his fingers into her dense coat.
“I’ve come both to ask and to tell,” said Poseidon, adopting a businesslike manner. “Events on Webbd concern us all and if we’re to avoid destruction we must work together.”
Hades remembered his conversation with Odin. “Odin spoke about some kind of cosmic web breaking down. It was a strange word -- yartam?”
“Yrtym,” said Poseidon. “Yes. The web of matterenergytime. It appears it’s unraveling, and without the scaffold it creates, earth, oceans and even stars will collapse. Yrtym is the very fabric of the cosmos, and for some reason it’s weakening.”
“You speak in riddles, like Odin,” said Hades impatiently. “I don’t understand you. What exactly is happening?”
Poseidon sighed, sounding exasperated, and Hades was flung back to his boyhood, watching his younger brother outstrip him intellectually, academically and socially.
“Spare me your condescension,” he snarled in sudden anger. “You came to speak to me, remember?” In his memory, he heard Persephone, coaxing a soul into telling its story. “Help me understand,” he said quietly.
Poseidon chuckled ruefully. “You’re right, brother. I apologize. I daresay by now you know many things I can’t understand, after all.”
“Only if I refuse to tell you about them,” said Hades pointedly.
“The truth is, I’m not sure how much to say. I don’t want to make anything harder for you.”
“By all the Gods, Posey, spit it out or I will pound it out of you! I don’t want your protection! Speak plainly and don’t leave anything out! What the hell is going on?”
“Listen, then,” said Poseidon, resigned. “I’ll tell you what I know…”
Hades sat back, his hand idly resting on Hope’s neck, and heard for the first time about the delicate, complex living system of the sea; the currents and tides, the effect of temperature, light and depth, the food web’s microscopic foundations, the complicated chemistry and all the interwoven life forms.
“And under that system is another system,” said Poseidon at length, “the system we call Yrtym, and it’s made up of matterenergytime. It’s largely invisible, but it’s there, like a huge, intelligent net, and it connects everything, not only in the sea but in the earth and the cosmos as well. It sends and gathers information and nutrients, it learns, it grows and it adapts.”
“And something’s wrong with it?” asked Hades, fascinated.
“Something’s wrong with it.”
“How do we know?”
Poseidon reached out and laid a hand on Hade’s arm.
“We know because healthy patterns and connections are breaking down. You know, because it’s happened to you.”
“Oh, come on, Posey!” Hades rose abruptly to his feet. “That’s just a private -- just a thing that’s happening all the time! Unions break up every day! Children die. People die -- and life changes. That’s always been the pattern!”
“Yes. But the King and Queen of the Underworld don’t divide. The Green World’s growing and resting cycles endure, driven by Demeter, the Corn Mother, and her daughter, Persephone. You’re no ordinary human couple. You’re part of the great wheel of life. You know Persephone can’t tear herself from the fabric of the Underworld. The Norns themselves ordained it when she ate from the pomegranate.”
Hades shook his head doubtfully, pacing before the fire with his hands clasped behind his back.
“That’s not the only sign,” Poseidon continued. “There’s a slow destruction at connecting points, at threshold places and portals. A lighthouse keeper on a desolate coast was killed by a storm, and he was part merman, mind you, one of my people. He was an empath, an intuitive, a storyteller, and he connected the land and the sea, both geographically and in his body, for he made his home in both worlds. He created a safe passage and when he died the passage closed and lives were lost. That’s partly why I’ve come -- to warn you. You too stand on a threshold, and you must be alert and mindful of any change in Webbd’s matrix. Hel, too, is at risk, and Odin.”
“The strangest event that’s happened here is your arrival and the road you chose to use,” said Hades, with a rueful smile.
“There’s more,” said Poseidon, returning the smile, but soberly. “The oldest trees on Webbd are dying. Many kinds are affected in many different places, but no one knows why. Also, and this disturbs me most of all, stars are disappearing.”
Hades gaped at him, surprised out of his restless pacing. “The stars are disappearing?”
“Yes. The Yrtym holding them together is weakening. In fact, I pulled down the constellation of Cerus not long ago with my trident. It took little effort to tear him away from the sky.”
“And what exactly were you doing near the constellation of Cerus?”
“Trying to seduce a luscious naiad in the Celestial River,” Poseidon replied casually. “The Celestial River, if you don’t know, is the constellation Eridanus, which is near Cerus.”
Hades sat in his chair and eyed his unabashed brother with disapproval. “Was the seduction a success?” he enquired dryly.
“No. She set a crocodile on me, the wench!”
“Serves you right. So what did you do with Cerus?”
“I sent him to Persephone.”
Hades hunched in his chair. “You sent Cerus the bull to Persephone?”
Poseidon chuckled and Hades flushed and closed his mouth abruptly.
“You look like a boy again, Hayseed, with your mouth fallen open.”
Hades glared at him and Poseidon raised a placating hand. “I’m not teasing you. Persephone is at the lighthouse that belonged to the keeper I spoke of who was killed. I suspect his soul passed through here and it seemed to her a good refuge. She’s not alone. There’s a young witch with her, an acquaintance of Persephone’s. The queen has taken a deep wound, brother, as have you.”
Hades shaded his eyes with his hand and looked down.
“It’s not your fault,” said Poseidon gently. “She knows it. But right now she needs the company of women and the wisdom of the Green World to heal and come back to herself so she can return to you. Cerus had a broken horn; perhaps it broke because of the Yrtym breaking down. I don’t know. But if so, he may have fallen eventually in any case. He must have been bewildered when I pulled him from the sky. I thought they might help one another, as indeed they have. Give her time, and I believe she’ll come home.”
For a moment, Hades couldn’t speak. Then he cleared his throat and said gruffly, “What do you want me to do about the Yrtym? What can anyone do?”
Poseidon smiled ruefully, and shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone knows what to do. Perhaps there’s nothing to be done. Nobody seems to understand why connections are breaking down, and if we can’t identify the cause we won’t find the cure. I have this idea…well, not an idea so much as a feeling…”
Hades, glancing up at his Poseidon’s face, saw a kind of embarrassed determination that made his brother seem young and unsure of himself. In an instant, Hades’ defensiveness was swept away by a wave of fraternal protectiveness.
“Tell me,” he encouraged.
“You’ll think I’m a fool,” said Poseidon, “and perhaps I am, but my sense is the best action we can take as things fall apart is to stay together.”
Hades raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“I mean, you and I have been out of touch for a long time. Watching things loosen and break away from each other -- dividing, if you will -- makes me want to do the opposite. You, know, create connection and maintain it, keep it whole.”
“But the sea and the Underworld have never been much connected,” said Hades.
“Maybe they should be,” said Poseidon stubbornly, not meeting Hades’ eyes. “That’s not what I mean, though, or at least not all. I miss you, Hayseed. I want to see you and talk to you and know you. I want to meet Persephone and know her. I want us to be friends. It probably won’t help the Yrtym at all. Yrtym is much bigger than we are, but it’s something we can do, a protest, a counteraction against division.”
“I see,” said Hades slowly. “Posey, are you frightened?”
“Yes. I’m a gregarious fellow. I love life, I love women, and I’m awed by the marvelous complex connection I sense everywhere. If we begin amputating one kind of life from another, every amputation point will become infected and diseased, and the disease will spread and overtake us all eventually. I refuse to be amputated. I hold out my hand to you. Will you take it, and hold on, whatever comes?”
For answer, Hades, standing with his back to the fire, extended his hand. Poseidon clasped it, smiling into his face, the firelight revealing a sheen of unshed tears his eyes.
HEKS
Heks made her way slowly toward the sea. After her hermitage on the snowy mountaintop with the Sickle Moon Bear, the scrubby land and late fall sun felt luxurious and welcoming. Now, in midafternoon, it was warm enough to unfasten the wool cloak Maria had made her, neither green nor grey, but some indeterminate color in between.
She’d traveled much longer than she’d expected to. The portal nearest the lighthouse was no longer open, necessitating using another, more distant one. She wondered if the portal at Rowan Tree still functioned.
However, now she neared her goal. The lighthouse could not be far ahead. The breeze brought the smell of the sea. There, she knew, she would find Ginger, Persephone and Rapunzel. Baba Yaga had hinted at someone else, muttering about a “useless piece of flotsam,” but refused to explain further. Neither would she explain the Queen of the Underworld’s presence at the tower, so far from Hades, where she should be joyously reuniting with King Hades in this season.
Heks didn’t know how long she’d been alone in the cold and snow, absorbing the gleaming company of the galaxies, but it felt like an age, at least as long as her life with the charcoal burner, now a pale memory. She looked forward to the company of women again.
All day she’d traveled through sweeping fields and sparse farmland. Gradually, as she neared the sea, the soil became thinner and thinner over Webbd’s bones. This land supported no trees. She followed no path, but walked according to the stars’ nightly guidance, straight as the crow flies over the gently undulating land.
Heks climbed the last steps to a low rocky ridge, a landmark she’d been moving toward for the last three or four miles. Below the rocky crest, the hill sloped down into a sheltered depression with a narrow stream wandering through it. It trapped the sun, and the grass growing along the trickling water grew thicker and showed a deeper green than that on the hills.
An enormous white bull lay at rest, jaws moving, in the thick grass, and a few feet away a naked woman stood ankle-deep in the stream. She bent over, scrabbling for wet rocks like a child. Her long hair, dropping like thick honey, trailed carelessly in the water.
Heks sank quietly down behind the concealing ridge, drawing her cloak around her again, for she crouched in cool shadow on the north side of the rock.
The woman straightened up, inspecting rocks in her dripping palm, and Heks recognized Persephone. For a moment, Persephone remained absorbed in what she held, her face abstracted, and then she tilted her hand and let the rocks fall back into the water with small splashes. She bent, rinsing her hands, and then stood again, rubbing her wet hands over her arms, and then her hips. Persephone waded along until she found a pool and crouched, splashing herself with the water and washing her body. She put her hand in the water, brought up a handful of coarse-looking sand, and rubbed it over her skin. Heks imagined it must feel like sandpaper and winced, but Persephone appeared careless of any discomfort.
Body washed, Persephone released the sand and rolled onto her back, letting the water splash over her body, hair feathering out like seaweed in the current. She couldn’t fully submerge in the shallow stream, and the twin hills of breasts and shallower rise of belly became islands, along with her face, knees and toes. She lay with her eyes closed, letting the water wash over her, legs spread and arms relaxed at her sides.
Heks, who had often bathed alone in the river in early mornings at Rowan Tree, remembered the current tugging against her body, and the living water’s busy murmur in her ears. She remembered her gratitude for the friendly river’s touch, the pull and push against her flesh and hair. She too had opened herself to the lively cool caress that took no notice of age, beauty or modesty.
In a youthful movement, Persephone rolled and stood, letting water run off her body. Barefoot in the grass, she left the stream and approached the bull.
The animal came out of his ruminative daze and nuzzled Persephone like a puppy. Heks noticed for the first time he had a broken horn, and the sight of it set off a dim bell in her memory. She watched the woman and the bull, groping for the elusive thought. Where had she seen or heard of a bull with a broken horn?
With a gasp, she clapped a hand over the hidden pocket of marbles. They were there, lumpy and hard beneath her palm. She narrowed her eyes and examined the bull carefully. He lay with his front legs folded under him, but she could see a thick back leg ending in a massive hoof, black as obsidian.
The horns curved graceful as a lyre and cream colored, the top third of the left one cleanly broken. The bull’s hide was palest cream and glowed like…like…starlight.
Heks remembered the night on the mountain when the Sickle Moon Bear had towered above her, roaring, so she looked up into its gaping red maw, as it reached a massive arm up, its paw fringed with hanging daggers, and raked treasure from the sky, glittering star marbles and red spheres like jewels, like embers, like drops of celestial…blood.
She remembered the constellation of Cerus, in which Cerus the bull endlessly struggled to pull himself out of the black depths of the night heavens into starlight and moonlight, forever arrested by The Warrior with his shield and club. During her apprenticeship with the Sickle Moon Bear and then, later, Baba Yaga, Cerus’s horn had been broken. Had it always been so?
If she could see the creature’s eyes, she’d know for sure, but he was too far away.
Persephone had been gathering late-blooming purple asters and now sat cross-legged by Cerus’ head, deftly weaving the flowers and their stems with long grass. She draped a garland over Cerus’ horns and made a crown for her own head. Her tumbled hair dried, curling and waving over her shoulders and breasts.
Standing up, Persephone threaded asters through the cloud of gold brown hair below her navel. The bull watched her hands for a moment, gave a sigh and surged to his feet with a grunt. Heks could clearly see the paired testicles dangling between his massive back legs.
Delicately, the bull lowered his broad muzzle to Persephone’s sex and sniffed. She raised her hands, wrapping them around each horn and swaying with the bull as he rubbed his nose against her belly and hips. She widened her stance and the bull put out his tongue and lipped up an entwined aster. He raised his head to look into her face and she released his horns. Heks could hear her murmur something as she stroked his cheeks and muzzle. She bent and rubbed his broad forehead with her cheek, and then her own forehead. He turned, nuzzling against the globe of her breast. She cupped her breasts and offered them to him, and he dipped his head, velvet lips moving over her body. Her body expressed tension as she stood, slightly hunched, the long curve of her back looking desolate rather than sensual.
Heks, watching, felt troubled. Why did Persephone offer her body to this unusually gentle and beautiful white bull, rather than to Hades?
The bull turned aside, dropped his head, and took a mouthful of grass. Persephone leaned against his broad shoulder, looking like a child next to his bulk. She passed her hands over his neck, rubbing, caressing, and speaking in a low voice. She pulled a handful of drying grass and twisted it into a rough curry comb, rubbing every inch of the bull from head to tail. He appeared to enjoy it, leaning against her heavily, groaning and heaving great sighs. At last, she threw away the twist of grass and, with a light movement, sprang onto the bull’s back. He took absolutely no notice, and Persephone draped herself along the length of his back, her face turned up to the sun, one knee bent and her head pillowed on his thick neck. Her hair hung over his shoulder like a scarf.
The bull cropped peacefully at the grass; the naked woman motionless on top of him. Heks did not think she slept. The lines of her body were not relaxed and dreaming but taut. After a few minutes, she turned and lay face down on the table of the white bull’s back, one arm and one leg hanging down on each side, cheek against the humped neck above the shoulder. Idly, she moved her hands over the bull’s hide, stroking, stroking.
Taking Heks by surprise, Persephone sat up abruptly with a lithe movement.
“Run with me!” Persephone said. “Run with me somewhere, anywhere far away, until we’re too tired to think or feel or remember!” Her bare feet kick against the white bull’s sides, but he took no notice and continued grazing.
Persephone wept. She leaned forward and clung to the bull’s neck, weeping into the lustrous hide. Her bare back shuddered with grief. The bull grazed and Heks bore silent but sympathetic witness. She could offer nothing greater than the comfort of the stolid bull, the gurgling water and sheltering grassy cup’s peaceful solitude.
Gradually, Persephone calmed and her body relaxed. She sat up, pushing her hair back and blotting her cheeks. Sliding off the bull’s back, she knelt again by the water, splashing her face repeatedly and blowing her nose. She cupped her hands and drank, went to a pile of clothes lying on the grass and dressed. Combing her hair with her fingers, she reached back and braided it swiftly. The aster crown lay discarded near the stream.
“I’m going back,” she said to the bull, laying an affectionate hand on his shoulder. “Will you stay and graze, or do you want to come with me?”
The bull lifted his garlanded head and snorted. They moved up and out of the hollow together, away from Heks, easy companions walking side by side.
Heks stayed concealed for some minutes, thinking about what she’d seen. After a time, she moved down the ridge, away from the small grassy valley, before resuming her course toward the sea.