The Tower: Part 3: Samhain

Post #16: In which sundered thresholds ...

(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 part 3 in its entirety, go here. For the next serial post, go here.)

Generally speaking, Seren preferred standing before an audience when performing to facilitate playing his lyre and please his listeners with the cut of his clothes and the flirt of his cloak, but his legs still felt unreliable, so he stayed seated, though he straightened his shoulders and imagined, as was his habit, the shining white light he was born with still blossoming about his head like a crown, symbolizing his unparalleled skill and voice.

“Once upon a time,” he began, “before the shining stars learned to sing enchantments,” (this was his own personal private conceit, a subtle reference to his natal white light), “a great poet and musician boarded a ship to return home after entertaining kings in a far-away exotic place.

Naturally, the captain and his crew had heard of this artist, and they begged him for a story or song. Although he felt worn out with his recent exertions in the foreign land, he humbly complied with their importuning.

The entire crew gathered on the deck, and the poet, with his lyre on his arm, enchanted them with music and words, freely giving his best, though the audience was rough and ill-equipped to appreciate it.

As the poet sang, the sails became white wings, and the ship skimmed the waves in the ecstasy of music and lyrics. As he spoke poetry describing the lineage and accomplishments of kings and queens, the masts remembered their roots and budded and sprouted with branches and leaves, becoming starred with sweet blossoms. The figurehead ceased its watch over the waters ahead and listened, her chin propped on her hand.

Night crept across the sky while the poet held the crew rapt in the net of his words. The stars hung low, listening, and crescent Noola tilted to hear. On and on the poet spoke, without food, water or rest, and his audience alternately laughed, groaned and wept as he recited romance and adventure and sang of victory and defeat.

When he finished, the ship had traveled far on the wings of his words, and nearly a day and a night had passed. As they applauded, the poet took a modest bow, and exhausted, staggered to support himself with the rail as the crew went about their duties. The blossoms adorning mast and spar shriveled, the leaves disappeared and the white wings resumed the shapes of sails, rather patched and dirty. As he rested, trying to regain enough strength to go and seek refreshment in the galley, the poet fell into conversation with the captain. The poet suggested pleasantly that his fare, due upon safe arrival at his journey’s end, would reflect a modest debit in remuneration for taxing his strength to hold an unscheduled, though heartfelt and ungrudging, performance.

The captain, apparently unable to grasp the value of the poet’s condescension and the quality of his entertainment, flew into a rage and berated the poet so loudly that some nearby members of the crew drew near to see what caused the disturbance.

Before the poet could defend himself or calm the situation, the brutish captain shouted to the others he refused to pay, and they grasped him roughly by the legs and tipped him over the rail into the sea. As he begged and pleaded for his life, the ship sailed away. With great courage, the poet struggled against his fear and the approach of a watery death, alone and uncomforted, and raised his voice in supplication to the Gods to spare his life and his talent. The Gods answered. In the poet’s last extremity, he felt something underneath him in the water, supporting his fainting, exhausted form.

Image by Myriams-Fotosa from Pixabay

The poet soon understood the Gods had sent him a sea creature of silver and pearl, with a friendly, intelligent eye. It gamboled about the drowning man like a puppy, nudging and supporting and ultimately steering him toward a tall tower on a rocky cliff where three beautiful ladies watched the sea with anxious eyes and willed him to land safely.”

“How marvelous!” breathed Clarissa, looking up at him with shining eyes. “I could see the sails becoming wings and the masts blooming like trees in the spring! I wish I could have seen it!”

Seren tried to look modest.

“It was quite a sight,” he said.

“Dolphins love music and poetry,” said Clarissa. “I bet that’s why the Gods sent one in answer to your prayer. Perhaps Delphinus was already there, listening to you perform before the crew!” She turned to Rapunzel. “Wasn’t that a wonderful story?”

“Wonderful,” agreed Rapunzel, with a smile for Clarissa and a speculative look at Seren, which he met with his most charming smile.

“Thank you,” he said graciously.

“Is fishing you out of the sea and saving your life payment enough?” asked Rapunzel sweetly.

Persephone, who had not said a word, snorted with amusement.

Clarissa turned red. “Of course he deserves to get paid, Rapunzel,” she said. “His skill is beyond price! He honors us with this story as a gift because we helped him, don’t you?” She looked from Rapunzel to Seren.

“Naturally,” said Rapunzel calmly, standing up. “As recipients of such a kingly gift, we can only say -- ‘thank you’!”

PERSEPHONE

“I don’t believe a word he says.” Rapunzel washed the dishes with much vigor and clatter. “Not one word!”

“Clarissa believed every single word he said.” Persephone dried a cup and put it on a nearby shelf.

“Of course she did! Clarissa and every other silly girl he comes across!”

“Probably plenty of silly women, too,” Persephone pointed out.

“I’m glad he’s gone. I thought he’d never leave.”

Seren had left that morning, determined to return to Griffin Town, where he rented a room. He thought from there he could trace the ship he’d been on and demand the return of his possessions.

“He should pay double the passage for being an arrogant brat,” Rapunzel remarked privately to Persephone as Clarissa and Seren made protracted farewells.

Clarissa had watched Seren walk away from the top of the lighthouse, the breeze lifting her hair. Persephone and Rapunzel, having wished him well, came in to deal with the breakfast dishes, and Persephone had looked up and seen Clarissa there, a lonely, romantic figure watching her true love walk away, and smiled to herself.

Happily, the young people were unlikely to meet again. Clarissa appeared far too susceptible to Seren’s silver tongue.

The youth had irritated her less than he had Rapunzel, but she hadn’t warmed to him. He was too pleased with himself and too young for the worldly pose he assumed. He might be a grown man, but he acted like a spoiled child. Too much talent too fast, she thought.

In fact, Seren’s story of his mishap had been entertaining, if suspect, but Clarissa’s tale of Delphinus and Hyash stayed with her, the inescapable attraction of the light and the dark, the shadow and the flame.

It reminded her poignantly of herself and Hades.

Image by Craig Bak from Pixabay

In spite of everything, she missed him. Her body, now completely healed, felt desolate for touch, for caress, for skin and breath and heartbeat. As the year died along the bleak cliffs and scrubby fields around the tower, she felt dislocated and alien. Weeks ago, she should have returned to the Underworld gates to spend the winter with her husband and carry on her work while the Green World slept and her mother rested before the fire, her amethyst shawl around her shoulders.

Now she must consider Cerus, too. Somehow, in companionship with the bewildered, injured bull, she had found healing. His primitive male presence spoke to her injured sexuality and fertility. His massive body, his smooth white coat, the spirals of his alabaster horns and his garnet eyes reawakened her sensuality, and his strength sustained her restless pain and grief.

She couldn’t leave him at the lighthouse. At home, he could share a warm barn with other animals, including Hades’s black stallion, and be well looked after. She could visit him often.

Rapunzel handed her the last plate and wiped down the table with a wet cloth. “That’s done,” she said with satisfaction. “Now I’m off to open my windows and free my room of his lordship’s presence!” She had slept before the stove to accommodate their guest.

“Persephone!”

Rapunzel and Persephone looked at one another in some dismay. Clarissa sounded distraught, her voice high and frightened. She invariably sought Persephone in times of distress, and she’d been cool with Rapunzel ever since Seren’s story about being thrown off the ship.

The two women met Clarissa at the foot of the stairs that wound up the curving wall of the lighthouse. She looked pale and Persephone noted traces of tears on her cheeks.

“Something’s wrong with the sea!”

Persephone opened her arms and Clarissa wrapped her arms about her waist and buried her face in Persephone’s shoulder, trembling.

“Hush, now. Everything’s all right. Perhaps you’ll see him again one day.”

“No!” Clarissa looked up at Persephone, angry. “It’s not that! Something’s wrong with the sea!”

Rapunzel took charge. “Show us,” she commanded.

Clarissa gulped, released Persephone and began climbing the stairs.

“Up here.”

They ascended up through Persephone’s room, then through Rapunzel’s room, the bed disordered from Seren’s occupancy, then through the storeroom above, once the repository for fuel and fixtures for the light at the top of the tower. Each room was a smaller diameter than the one below it as the tower tapered to its apex. Above the storeroom, they stepped out onto a small balcony which held the light and mirrors.

From here, Persephone could see a great sweep of stark cliffs and the rocky shore below them, where the surf pounded among sharp-edged pieces of granite as big as small houses, except now the shore was empty of water. Enormous boulders scattered across the steeply shelving seabed, completely exposed to view. She could see shells and gravel, what looked like rotting timbers and ribbons of seaweed. Further out, the familiar watery horizon was present, but she couldn’t see exactly where the water started. The stillness felt eerie. It made the hairs prickle on her arms. In place of the normal surge and suck of the tide and the crash of the waves against the cliffs were only small sounds of dripping water and the sudden cry of a gull, so loud they jumped.

Image by ELG21 from Pixabay

“What is it?” Persephone asked Rapunzel. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t know,” said Rapunzel. “Did you see it happen?” she asked Clarissa.

“No. I watched Seren walking away, and he didn’t turn back so I could wave, and then he disappeared, and I cried, and then I realized something was wrong, something more than Seren leaving, and I … I… saw!” She collapsed against Persephone, weeping.

“I’m going to walk out and look,” said Rapunzel.

“No!” Clarissa followed her back down the steps, eyes and nose streaming. “You mustn’t do that! Sometimes when the water recedes it means something terrible, a great wave that comes back and drowns the land. It’s not safe. You’ll be drowned!”

At the bottom of the stairs, Rapunzel turned and took Clarissa firmly by her upper arms.

“Calm down. Catch your breath, and listen to me.”

Persephone handed the girl a handkerchief, and Clarissa made a visible effort to stop crying. She wiped her cheeks and blew her nose.

“Take a deep breath,” Persephone encouraged.

Clarissa did so, and Rapunzel said, “Now, I promise you I will not drown. I promise, do you understand? No matter what happens, I won’t drown. There isn’t any kind of a storm, not here, not as far as we can see from the tower. I will be safe. You can come with me, because you won’t drown either, will you? If the water comes back, you’ll change into your merfolk shape and swim, and if I couldn’t save myself you could save me, but it won’t come to that, because I can take care of myself. I possess power, too. I need to see what’s happening where the water and the land meet. Let’s go find out what’s wrong together, all right?”

“All right,” said Clarissa.

Rapunzel took her hand and approached the path climbing down the cliffs.

“I’ll stay here,” Persephone called after them. “Be careful!”

Cerus rose from where he’d been lying in the sun against the curved lighthouse wall, chewing his cud. He stood beside her, his massive creamy shoulder warm and solid against her upper arm, and the two of them watched Rapunzel and Clarissa clamber down the cliff and out of sight.

After giving the white bull a brief caress, Persephone ascended the lighthouse steps again. From the tower, she watched the two figures move slowly down the steep cliff path and then set out, hand in hand, across the exposed sea bed. They looked tiny among the jagged rocks. The sight of the naked sea bed both frightened and fascinated. It was like seeing an alien planet, something not meant for human eyes. Starfish and other slow-moving sea creatures lay naked under the sky.

The two linked figures of Rapunzel and Clarissa gradually moved out of clear sight into a hazy distance where Persephone presumed the water was. She waited, anxiously scanning up and down the cliffs. Scavenging sea birds congregated, not only around the lighthouse but as far as she could see in both directions along the cliffs. As she watched, they swooped and dove above the sea bed, picking up shellfish and offal. The air filled with their harsh cries.

For once on this windy coast, no breeze blew. The sky showed clear and milky. It was a beautiful autumn day, though slightly sticky, as it frequently was so near the sea.

She strained her eyes to catch any hint of a towering wave approaching the cliffs, but the horizon remained still. Only the birds moved.

It seemed to her she stood there waiting and watching for hours before she made out the hazy dark movement of two figures emerging from the horizon on their way back to the lighthouse.