The Tower: Part 2: Mabon
Post #6: In which visitors, seen and unseen ...
(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.)
Persephone felt too restless to sustain much attention, but Rapunzel was interested in the previous light keeper, and she sat at the desk in Persephone’s room sorting through Irvin’s papers and books while Persephone rambled up and down the coastline.
The man had indeed been a poet. She found several pieces of poetry, as well as bits of stories, myths and legends. Books stood in a row along the back of the desk. She paged through heavy volumes of poetry with dim, worn covers; old novels; slim, calf-bound plays; myths and legends and stories from cultures she’d never heard of. Someone had carefully lined up a row of shells, a dried starfish and a coral lump on one side of the surface.
It occurred to her, as she explored, it would be useful to take notes of her time in the lighthouse. Heks had clearly expected her to gather information, though she couldn’t imagine what useful information would reach her in such an isolated spot. So far, she’d done little but tend the light, housework, and interact with Persephone, who knew less than she did about the Yrtym. Still, a record might be useful.
Rapunzel gradually worked her way through Irvin’s papers, sometimes reading bits aloud to Persephone during their evening time in front of the stove, but carefully preserving everything in case someone came one day to claim it. She felt certain someone who’d loved the lighthouse keeper would want this eloquent evidence of what had occupied his attention and affection in his solitude.
The flat stone on the trapdoor remained undisturbed.
Persephone remembered Irvin talking about his children, but recalled no names, and knew of no way to reach them. Irvin had left a few well-worn clothes as well as his books and papers, but nothing else. Rapunzel suggested they contact Radulf, but Persephone had shaken her head and turned away, so clearly unwilling that Rapunzel didn’t suggest it again.
Rapunzel often lingered at the top of the lighthouse after lighting the signal and adjusting the mirrors, watching the day fade into darkness. The breeze frequently blew at the threshold of land and sea, occasionally still holding a fugitive warmth. On one such evening a small dark shadow darted among the swirling insects drawn by the lit tower.
She was familiar with bats, and had made a friend of one in the days during which she lived in the tower of her childhood. Rapunzel had freed herself from that tower, ending at the same time her first love affair.
A small colony of brown bats had taken up residence in the top of that other stone tower, and Rapunzel, bored, lonely, and resentful, had learned their ways and formed a friendship with one in particular named Ash. She hadn’t thought of him since she’d left the tower of her maidenhood, but now she exclaimed with delight as she watched this bat dart and swoop, impossibly swift and graceful and utterly silent. She groped in her memory for the right words and spoke to it.
“Welcome, Insect Eater.”
To her surprise, the creature darted toward her and came to rest against her cloak, clinging with its clawed feet. It peered up at her with its small wrinkled face.
“Rapunzel?”
“Ash?”
“What happened to your hair?”
“I cut it off. That’s how I escaped the tower. I had the key all along.”
“I woke one night and you were gone.”
“I know. It happened suddenly. What are you doing here?”
“I know this place. I liked the old light keeper. I’ve been waiting to see who would come and tend the lighthouse now. I never thought it would be you!”
“When you’re finished hunting, come talk with me. See that window?” Rapunzel pointed at a lighted window two levels below the platform. “That’s my room. I’ll leave it ajar.”
They talked all night, she and the little brown bat, filling in the years since she’d so abruptly fled her prison tower. An entertaining storyteller, Ash described the Norns, Mirmir and Yggdrasil in rich detail, as well as telling Rapunzel something about the history of the Dvorgs and Dwarves and Slate’s divisive behavior.
She, in her turn, described her reunion with her mother, the meeting with Baba Yaga resulting in her ugliest-woman-in-the-world aspect, which delighted Ash, and something about her travels and the friends she’d made, culminating in Rowan Tree’s founding. Ash was such a sympathetic and interested listener she even told him something about Dar, her choice to go to the Rusalka and learn to drum, Heks’s appearance and request that she come to the lighthouse, and Persephone’s unexpected presence.
“Has the child been born?” Ash asked.
“What child?”
“Persephone’s child, of course!”
Rapunzel looked at him, bewildered.
“There’s no child? She’s not pregnant?”
“No,” said Rapunzel. “So that’s the trouble! I knew something must be wrong, but I didn’t know what it was.”
“She hasn’t said anything?”
“No, not a word. And we mustn’t let on. When and if she’s ready to talk about it, she will.”
Ash slipped out at dawn while the lighthouse light still burned and hunted before roosting for the day.
The next evening, Rapunzel introduced Persephone and Ash. Persephone was familiar with bats, as they were naturally present in Hades. She was polite, but clearly not much interested in Rapunzel’s old friend. After a brief exchange, she left them.
“She’s usually friendlier,” Rapunzel said when she’d gone.
“I’ve seen her before,” said Ash, “but not to speak to. She’s changed, hasn’t she?”
“She has. I’m worried about her.”
“If she’s here with you, it must be where she needs to be.”
Rapunzel sighed. “I’m not sure if I’m any help at all, to be honest. Never mind. I want to show you something. Will you come inside with me?”
They left the top of the lighthouse, Ash clinging to Rapunzel’s tunic, and descended the winding stairs to the main level.
“I found this while I was cleaning the floor,” said Rapunzel, stooping to pull the iron ring attached to the trapdoor. She carefully propped the door against the wall and entered the cellar. While Ash flitted here and there, exploring, she lit the lanterns and candles, as well as sending balls of her own blue witchlight into corners and crevices.
Ash came to rest on the shelf of bowls and other material and they examined the artwork on the rock wall together.
“Who did this?” he asked.
“I have no idea. I hoped you could tell me,” she replied.
“It might have been Irvin,” he said, sounding doubtful.
“It might have been, but I think Irvin worked with words. This strikes me as someone else’s work.”
“Interesting,” said Ash. “You say what’s-er’-name -- Heks? -- asked you to come here and gather information?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure how. Persephone’s the only person I see or talk to. I watch the weather, the sea, and the night sky. I see a lot of birds, but none to talk to. This is an isolated spot.”
“This place reminds me a bit of Yggdrasil.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, Yggdrasil is tall beyond telling. I’m not sure anyone but Mirmir has ever seen the top, but I’ve been way up in it with Mirry, so high the air is thin and cold. They say the top branches are interwoven with the stars. Then the roots go way, way down, to Webbd’s center, they say, and drink from the Well of Urd, which is bottomless. It connects everything. There’s even a portal in the tree roots.”
“Persephone and I wondered if the well, or pool, or whatever it is there in the floor is a portal, but we didn’t much want to try it.”
“Here you’ve a tall tower in a place where sea meets rock. The lighthouse is a kind of connector too, like Yggdrasil. Do you see the cleft up there, near the ceiling in the corner?” He pointed with a wing, and Rapunzel sent a witchlight to the place he indicated.
“Yes, right there. From here it looks like a shadow, but it’s actually a hole. If I’m not mistaken, it’s a passage into Dvorgdom. Shall I go exploring?”
“Do you think it’s safe?”
Ash chuckled. “I think a cleft in a rock wall underground is perfectly safe -- for a little brown bat! I’ll be back!”
He darted up to the place and disappeared.
CHAPTER 3
PERSEPHONE
Persephone went out one morning after a night of wind and rain. She’d laid awake, listening to the waves beat the rocks, watching the light through a crack in her curtains. For the first time, she wondered what Baubo had done with the child. Was there a grave somewhere? Did Hades know about it? Had he perhaps gone there to lay autumn flowers on the raw earth? It seemed terrible she hadn’t thought about this before. It was unnatural, wicked. What kind of a mother forgot to ask about her child’s grave? Did the rain beat on the little grave, turning earth to mud? Was the child alone in the dark, cold, cast adrift in some Land of the Dead, while she lay safe and warm, alive in her bed?
She rose and went out at dawn without bite or sup, leaving her hair in its disordered nighttime braid and throwing on whatever clothes came to hand. Her burning eyes felt gritty and her head throbbed dully.
The air off the sea felt like a cold slap in the face, but the wind was dropping. The rock underfoot was slippery and treacherous. Dim dawn light under an iron sky showed grey waves veined with dirty foam. Persephone walked along the cliff path, dropping down and away from the tower and then climbing slightly again. She heard a sudden clatter of rock and a loud snort from the cliff below. Cautiously, she stepped to the edge and looked down.
A large white animal labored up the rocks. Horns gleamed dully in the light, the color of cream. One was broken at the tip. The creature gasped and snorted, powerful flanks and chest heaving and straining, black hooves slipping and pawing. It was soaking wet and trembling, either from cold or exhaustion.
Persephone had grown up with horses and animals and she knew a cow when she saw one, but this was the biggest cow she’d ever seen. It looked as though it used its last reserves of strength to mount the cliff and she dared not frighten or distract it, in case it fell. She stood quite still, the wind blowing her cape and unraveling her hair.
At last it reached the top, scrabbling with huge black hooves at the rock and pushing with all the strength in its back legs. It stood panting, head hanging in exhaustion, chest heaving. There was froth around its muzzle. Its eyes were red, like jewels in the grey light. Along one flank three bloody furrows seeped blood. They were deep and fresh and Persephone winced, thinking of cold salt water in the open wounds. A feathery fan of blood formed beneath them and dripped down a trembling leg. In noticing this, she saw an impressive pair of testicles. This was a bull, then.
“Where did you come from?”
The animal threw its head up with a snort and she realized it hadn’t been aware of her presence in its struggle to escape the sea and the cliff. Persephone stood quite still.
“I won’t hurt you. Something has, though. That looks sore. You must be hungry, too.” She looked up and down the cliff. “There’s no hay or grass here, but I can give you water…and oats! We have oats!” She felt real pleasure at her ability to feed this exhausted refugee from sea and storm. But how could she persuade it to come with her? She had no rope, belt or anything to use as a lead.
It looked at her out of those marvelous gem-like eyes. It looked pale as a ghost, sticky and wet with seawater, little rivulets of blood and its eyes the only color.
As she watched, drops of red like blood fell from the eyes and she understood, with horrified pity, the creature wept.
Persephone had not wept since she’d left her bloody bed in Hades, but the silent grief of this magnificent creature struck her heart, and his garnet tears unlocked her own. They stood there, the disheveled young woman, gaunt and pale, and the huge white bull, and their tears mingled with salt spray and the last ragged raindrops. The tattered clouds split and dissolved, allowing a sunbeam to fall on the wet stone.
At last, the bull raised his head and heaved a sigh. His breathing had slowed and his trembling stilled. Persephone, feeling released, wiped her sleeve carelessly across her face, cleared her throat, sniffed, shuddered with a few last sobs and pulled herself together.
“If you come with me, I’ll help you,” she said simply, and turned away, back toward the lighthouse. She didn’t look back but she heard the bull’s hooves on the rock behind her.
***
Rapunzel, after a moment of jaw-dropped surprise, took it well. They possessed a good supply of oats, and they poured some into their largest bowl with a little hot water and salt. While this cooled, they carried the hip bath out and filled it with buckets of water from the cistern. The bull drank thirstily. Rapunzel recommended honey for the bull’s flank.
“Are you sure he’s safe?” Rapunzel asked nervously as she held the bowl of oats for the bull to eat from. “He’s so big!”
“I don’t think he’ll hurt us,” said Persephone. She dipped two fingers in the honey and smeared it gently over the bull’s flank. He snorted and his skin quivered, but he stood still, jaws grinding.
“He needs hay, or grass,” said Persephone. “Cows graze. I need to find pasture for him, or hay from some nearby farm.”
“Do you know a place?”
“No. I’ve mostly explored the shoreline. But I can walk inland today and find some pasture. There should still be plenty of grass.”
“How will you get him there? Do you think he’ll follow you?” Rapunzel looked doubtful.
“He followed me here,” said Persephone.
“Heks said someone would come with supplies and to check on us once a month. We’ve been here three weeks, so it should be soon.”
“We’ll ask about hay then, but he can’t wait. He’ll get sick if he can’t eat the right food.” Persephone finished anointing the slash marks and cleaned her fingers. “This has stopped bleeding, at any rate.”
The oats were gone. Rapunzel stepped away from the marble horns, still holding the bowl. The bull heaved a great sigh, took another draught of water, ambled to the curved tower wall and lay down in the thin sun.
The familiar sight of a cow at ease gave Persephone a deep feeling of security and comfort. She swayed on her feet, suddenly exhausted.
“You need your breakfast,” Rapunzel said firmly, and steered her inside.
ASH
Ash hunted in the clear skies above the tower while the eye at its apex looked up into the night sky’s depths. Golden eye and starry eyes regarded each other. The wind sang its endless song of stone and sea, and starsong spread its net across the cosmos, but something was different. Some small note was lost. Some red pinprick of light had gone out. The wind ruffled the waves, searching. The tower eye sought but could not find. Heaven’s vault turned. A milky bull with a broken horn stood on thin pasture near the rocky coast and grazed peacefully.
Inside the tower two women slept and outside, above the cliff’s edge, Ash watched an old man stand looking out to sea, his face hidden in shadows from his hood. One bright eye gazed across the starry waves and the ebbing, flowing sky. The man turned and walked along the cliff, head bent, studying the dark stone under his feet. He caught a gleam of light, took a swift step that defied his age, and knelt. The rock cupped a gleam and glitter, crystal and ruby. He picked up four objects, two clear and bright as diamonds, and two like drops of fresh blood. The four orbs rolled in his hand, clinking gently together.
The tears of a queen and a constellation. The blood of death and change. He closed the marbles in his hand and transferred them to a pouch within his cloak.
Far above, Ash danced on silent wings, waiting for dawn and Rapunzel’s waking.
***
The cleft in the lighthouse cellar had indeed led into a remote edge of Dvorgdom, a kind of underground cul-de-sac. Several miles inland Ash had found a few Dvorgs stumping through the tunnels, working in a small underground quarry. He suspected much of the stone for the lighthouse had come originally from the quarry. Perhaps at one time there had been activity here, but now it was quiet and felt rather abandoned. However, he found plenty of his kin, who liked the quiet, and there were fire salamanders.
He stopped to speak to a pair of them, addressing them politely.
“Greetings, Glowing Brothers.”
“Winged Brother,” they said.
“Do your people know the roots of the lighthouse? The place is connected to our kingdom.”
The salamanders looked at each other, their bodies shimmering with flames and heat, and shook their heads. “Will you show us?” asked one.
It had taken some time, as they traveled more slowly than he could, but on the way they became comfortable with one another and formality eased. The salamanders were named Ig and Mag, but Ash couldn’t tell them apart.
When at last he led them through the cleft into the lighthouse cellar, they explored every corner, insatiably curious, climbing up and down the walls, flowing into every nook, cranny and crevice, intently examining the mural and the shelf of material, and cautiously approaching the edge of the stone well in which the sea ebbed and flowed.
“We do not know this place,” they told Ash. “The Dvorgs built it, obviously, but we’ve never been here or heard of it. What is this thing you call a lighthouse?”
“It’s aboveground,” said Ash in warning. “I can show you, but there’s a lot of water. We’re on the sea’s edge here. Also, my friend lives here, a female human who is also a witch. She’s here to gather news of Webbd, all of Webbd, from Dvorgdom to the sea to the night sky.”
“We are not Dvorgs who fear females,” sniffed one of the lizards, burning yellow with blue and green flames. “Our Lady of Flames is a powerful female. She is unafraid of aboveground or even water. But why is a human female interested in news of Dvorgdom?”
“It’s a long story,” said Ash. “If you’re willing to meet her, you can ask her. I’m tired, my friends, and hungry. It’s time for me to sleep. Will you wait here, and I’ll return with her in a while? I must go out and hunt before roosting.”
He had left them then, curled together in a niche, well away from the water’s chill breath. The trapdoor was closed, but he reentered Dvorgdom and found an old mine entrance nearby. He darted up into the night sky, worn out but pleased with himself, and made his way back to the lighthouse to fill his belly and sleep until dawn.