The Tower: Part 4: Yule
Post #35: In which preparation for The Maiden's return ...
(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. For the next serial post, go here.)
When everyone had made themselves comfortable, Marceau called the meeting to order.
“Where have you come from, ‘Lisa?”
“The bathhouse portal in the birch wood.”
“And Clarissa has come from a lighthouse at the sea’s edge, whose keeper is the witch Rapunzel. Posey has been visiting his brother and Persephone in Hades, as well as traveling all over our kingdom. We have much to tell and hear.”
Poseidon began. Vasilisa listened with consternation as he described the sea withdrawing from the land in many places, along with rising water temperatures due to sudden and unprecedented volcanic activity on land and underwater.
“New volcanic vents are appearing in the sea bed. Hydrothermal vents are generally areas of great biodiversity and support many kinds of life, but so many are opening the water temperature is increasing too fast. It’s killing the organisms at the base of the food chain, and, we think, damaging the Yrtym, which grows like an invisible net in all water, both salt and fresh. The Yrtym is conscious; it communicates, moves nutrients back and forth, and shares information, but as it becomes disrupted it’s unable to function well and the entire system is affected.”
“Why is the sea withdrawing from the land?” asked Vasilisa.
“We don’t know, except it seems many connections are disrupted or broken. The shore is a threshold place, rather like the portals, and whatever is happening appears to attack points of connection. It’s in my mind to visit some of the other sea guardians, Sedna, for example, and see what she knows.”
“Sedna?” asked Clarissa.
“She’s a sea goddess, old and very powerful, and lives in the farthest northern places. She’s not friendly and generally I leave her alone, but given Webbd’s current state, I intend to check in with her. Perhaps she’s unaffected. We’re not sure how widespread the problems are.”
“What about the volcanic activity?” Vasilisa asked.
Poseidon frowned and looked away. “I may have an idea about that,” he said with reluctance. “I’m not sure, and I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
Marceau gave him a level look. “Do you think it can be stopped?”
“I tell you, I’m not sure!” Poseidon snapped.
“What’s the news from Hades?” Marceau inquired, ignoring the tense moment. “That’s certainly a threshold place.”
“It is. Persephone and Hades tell me volcanic activity affects them, too. Even they can’t tell the extent of Hades’ kingdom, but the dead speak of tunnel and cavern collapses, and the River Styx is blocked by an avalanche of rock and lava. I can still reach Hades, but it’s necessary to travel overland for some distance, and the river is down to a trickle. Hades’s boatman spends his time playing marbles now, as his boat is grounded. Also, many of the dead who are ready to move on are unable to, so the Underworld is becoming increasingly congested and chaotic. The flow of transformation from one thing to another is interrupted. Hades and Persephone are doing their best, but they’re beginning to get overwhelmed.”
“Playing marbles, did you say?” asked Vasilisa, incredulous.
“Taught him myself,” said Poseidon, with modest pride.
“My observations and concerns are the same as Posey’s,” said Marceau. “On every side I hear reports of the sea withdrawing from the land, catastrophic volcanic activity and earthquakes, and sea life sickening or dying. The bathhouse portal hasn’t worked for weeks, so we’ve been cut off from the Rusalka and you and Morfran. Clarissa brings me news from the land, but I’ll let her tell you herself.”
Clarissa related the death of Irvin, Rapunzel and Persephone’s arrival to the lighthouse, and the visits of Ginger and Heks. She mentioned Cerus, and Poseidon exclaimed, “I’d forgotten to mention the stars. The night sky is changing, the constellations disappearing or moving. Navigation grows difficult. The movement of water away from land causes rising sea levels and changing currents.”
“Cerus fell out of the night sky?” said Vasilisa. “I’d no idea the problem was so big!”
“Delphinus saved someone else, too,” said Clarissa eagerly, eyes and cheeks glowing. “He rescued Seren and brought him to the lighthouse!” She looked eagerly from face to face, clearly expecting excitement and awe.
“Seren,” Poseidon mused, searching his memory. “Ah, yes, the child Ceridwen gave to the sea until his time arrived. Delphinus protected him in his magical coracle and steered him to his foster family when the time was right. He was the child with the white light shining around his brow.”
“He’s the greatest poet and musician who ever lived,” said Clarissa worshipfully. “No one can tell stories like he can. That’s why I’m here. Seren has been mending portals on land, and he’s gone to a place called Rowan Tree. Their portal has closed. I couldn’t travel overland with him and be so far away from water, but Rapunzel said if I could use the bathhouse portal it connects to Rowan Gate and then I could help Seren. I know what he likes, and I know what he needs. I can help him so he can put his energy into repairing the portal.”
Privately, Vasilisa doubted one young man, no matter how talented, possessed the ability to repair all the portals.
“Seren was one of the company at Yggdrasil who helped the Norns,” said Poseidon. “Odin mentioned him.”
“He told me,” said Clarissa. “He made a new story out of it, how he played the sound of the drums and the horn and wove together prayer, lament and chant so the Norns could spin Yrtym and create new beginnings. I wish I’d been there! That’s what he’s going to do at Rowan Tree.”
Vasilisa saw Marceau and Poseidon exchange the merest flick of a glance and smoothly changed the subject.
“I’ve news from the Rusalka and the birch wood,” she said and proceeded to describe the Samhain ritual and everything that had happened since.
“So, now it appears the portal did respond to Morfran and me using the bathhouse again,” she finished. “When I was in the plunge pool it opened and let me through after weeks of being closed.” She addressed Marceau. “I hoped you’d travel back with me so we can try to go back through from this side. Maybe the more people who use it, the stronger it will get.”
“We’ll take Clarissa with us,” said Marceau.
“I’ll come, too,” said Poseidon. “I’d like to see the birch wood and bathhouse for myself, as well as old Baba Yaga. Perhaps she’ll invite me to tea!”
Marceau shook his head at him. “Better you than me, my friend. With the White Stag gone,” he asked Vasilisa, “how will the Rusalka ensure the fertility cycle?”
“They’re worried about that,” she replied. “Sofiya says they hope the new Sacred Consort will appear. If not, they’ll choose animal mates and hope for the best, but the birch wood isn’t healthy. None of the forests are, even Yggdrasil, as you know.”
“What will happen?” asked Clarissa fearfully. “Will everything die?”
“Where there’s life, there’s hope,” said Marceau firmly, and put an arm around her. “Perhaps the Rusalka know a way to help the Yrtym and the portals, and maybe your Seren can help, as well.”
Clarissa’s strained look evaporated and she glowed at Marceau’s reference to ‘her Seren.’
CLARISSA
As Clarissa rose to the surface, propelling herself with her tail, she sensed narrowing walls around her. Flickering orange light shining somewhere above beckoned her. Vasilisa swam beside her, clasping her hand, and Marceau on her other side. There were others in the water. First, she only sensed movement, but as they swam up and the light increased, she could see merfolk tails, and then pale skin above the tails, and then her head broke the surface in a rush of bubbles and froth.
She found herself in a pool about twenty feet in diameter, enclosed by four wooden walls and a roof. After the underwater silence, the sounds of water and talk seemed noisy. In a corner a familiar skull perched on a long staff, glowing orange and red with fiery light.
“Vasilisa! The portal is opened, then?”
“For now,” said Vasilisa, breathless and smiling. She addressed a woman with long dark hair floating like a cape around her bare shoulders. “I brought some friends.”
“So I see. You’re most welcome, Lord Poseidon, and you, Marceau. Varvara, go tell the others we have guests. Morfran will want to greet his grandfather.”
One of the Rusalka left the pool, regained her human form and disappeared through a narrow wooden door, closing it behind her. Near the door, on the floor, sat a wooden bucket and dipper.
Poseidon and Marceau heaved themselves out of the pool with identical movements of their strong arms and shoulders, turning neatly so they sat with their tails still dangling in the cold water. Valeria and two other Rusalka also clambered out of the pool. Poseidon handed his trident to Valeria and she leaned it against the wall near the fiery skull.
“This is Clarissa,” said Marceau, helping her exit the pool. “She’s one of us and also half human. She’s a friend of Vasilisa’s and under my care.”
“You, most of all, are welcome,” said Valeria. “We need a maiden for our Imbolc ritual.”
Clarissa felt both embarrassed and warmed. To be needed in this magical place by the powerful Rusalka restored confidence she didn’t know she’d begun to lose until it returned.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, and wondered uneasily what role she was expected to play as a maiden, and how long it would take. She must get to Rowan Tree and back to Seren!
She sat close to Marceau, watching and listening while other Rusalka came through the narrow door, along with Vasilisa’s nephew, Morfran, and his Rusalka mate, Sofiya. She envied Poseidon his poise. His charm, humility, good humor and confidence gave him a magnetic quality, and he soon had everyone laughing and relaxed, effortlessly remembering names and relationships.
She was here, in the Rusalka’s birch wood. The bathhouse portal had let them through. Would she be able to go through it again and reach Rowan Gate? Was Seren there yet? Perhaps she would be there waiting for him when he arrived! She imagined his warm delight at finding her, his embrace, the feel of his lips on hers. Perhaps away from the lighthouse and Rapunzel, in a new place where they were obviously a couple, they would consummate their relationship. If what the Rusalka suspected was true, and the portals responded to unity and connection, their physical relationship might even be part of the repair Rowan Gate needed. Her love for Seren felt strong enough to open any number of blocked portals.
He would understand she was not passive, but strong and determined, a fit mate for him. She was capable of going out into the world and having her own adventures, taking her own journeys. He’d be delighted with her, proud of her.
A yawn made her eyes water, and brought her back to the present. She felt cold and tired. Marceau pulled her closer to his side.
Vasilisa observed the yawn. “It’s been a long day,” she said to the Rusalka. “I’ll give Clarissa, Marceau and Poseidon a place for the night and we can talk again in the morning.”
“No need,” said Poseidon easily. “I prefer to spend the night underwater. I’ll stay here. You take Marceau and Clarissa with you.”
The Rusalka provided the visitors with linen tunics and fur-lined capes. Vasilisa retrieved her own clothing from a row of hooks inside the bathhouse door, and they went out together into a cold, still night, their footsteps noisy in the crusty snow.
Vasilisa led them to a crude log cabin with a galley kitchen, a squat black woodstove radiating gentle heat from a banked fire, and a single room furnished with a table, stools and a heap of animal skins and blankets.
Gratefully, Clarissa lay down on a pad made from a folded wool blanket and pulled a heavy cover of pieced-together wolfskins over herself. She dove into sleep as though diving into a wave, embracing it like a lover, Marceau and Vasilisa’s quiet conversation a fading murmur in her ears.
The next morning, over crusty rye bread, bacon and innumerable cups of strong tea, Clarissa learned more about the Imbolc ritual Valeria had spoken of. She was relieved to find the ritual would take place the following day. Rapunzel had said it would take at least a week for Seren to reach Rowan Tree, and it had only been three days since he left the lighthouse.
Vasilisa, with the Rusalka’s permission, shared with Marceau and Clarissa their role as fertility spirits and the need for the new Sacred Consort. She also spoke of Baba Yaga.
Marceau was familiar with the Mother of Witches, who also made appearances in the sea as the Sea Witch. It had been the Baba who helped his daughter, Marella, follow her love for a human onto land. Marceau, sitting cross-legged on a wolfskin, told the story with passion and feeling, captivating Clarissa.
“May I tell your story?” she asked when he finished.
The sadness in his face brightened. “Of course. In that way, Marella won’t be forgotten.”
Gently, Vasilisa led them back to the subject of Baba Yaga.
“This birch wood is her home base, and it’s she who will oversee the Imbolc ritual. She knows of your arrival.”
“What will I have to do?” Clarissa asked, feeling nervous.
“The ritual consists of two parts. Tonight, we’ll dance together to welcome the return of the Maiden and raise power for her. Tomorrow night the fertility ritual takes place, but you, Marceau and I won’t be involved in that.
“I know about dance,” said Clarissa, feeling relieved. “I’ve danced with Persephone and Rapunzel and Ginger.”
“That’s all you have to do,” said Vasilisa. “Baba Yaga will be there, but you mustn’t let her intimidate you. She appreciates people who stand up to her, though she’ll never admit it. Be polite and respectful, but don’t take anything she says too much to heart. She possesses great power and wisdom and no tolerance for weakness or silliness. She’ll try to hurt your feelings and embarrass you.”
“What about today?” asked Marceau.
“Today we prepare for the dance. We’ll cleanse in the bathhouse and plunge pool, and you can spend time in the water if you like. If you dive deep enough you can find plenty of fish for food, or you can eat with me. We’ll visit with the others and share information. The Rusalka want to speak at length with you and Poseidon. Baba Yaga is here. Her house on chicken legs is in the clearing where the Rusalka dance in the winter, though lately we haven’t danced because of all the trouble. Tonight will be important, because it signals renewed collaboration between merfolk, human and Rusalka, in addition to celebrating Imbolc.”
After breakfast, Marceau returned to the bathhouse and Vasilisa took Clarissa out into the birch wood.
Snow fell in wet, feathery flakes through the humid, still air. Columns of sentinel birches marched in every direction, their slim black and white bodies fading gracefully into the thick snow. The woods felt alive and watchful to Clarissa. Horizontal black markings on the white trunks looked like eyes, and they followed her as she and Vasilisa wound between them.
“There’s Baba Yaga’s house,” said Vasilisa in a low voice, pointing.
The house on chicken legs stood motionless and dreamlike in the hushed snow, its windows blank. It was situated at the end of a large oval clearing.
“That clearing is where we dance. There’s a fire pit, but the snow has covered it.”
“Will we dance in the snow?”
“Baba Yaga will take care of it.”
They turned and started back. It snowed so hard their footprints were already filling in.
“It’s so lonely and wild,” said Clarissa.
“Yes. It’s a place of deep invisible power. I can’t see it or hear it, but it hums in my bones. Wait until you see it in the dark. Dancing with the Rusalka is not like dancing with anyone else. Their shapes flicker, flowing between creature and human. When I dance with them, I am utterly free. Nothing I can be is ugly or shameful. Every feeling, every expression and movement and desire is powerful and sacred.”
“Vasilisa?”
“Yes?”
“Do some people think desire is unattractive?”
“Are you talking about sexual desire?” Vasilisa kept her tone casual.
“Yes.”
“I think some humans do. Some humans are confused about sex. They make social rules about what’s attractive and appropriate, what it means to be male or female.”
“That’s what my mother’s like! She’s always talking about appropriate behavior and following God’s rules to stay safe.”
“Yes. Some people are fearful about living freely and naturally. They think it’s dangerous. The problem is, different people believe in different rules. The merfolk’s attitude is much simpler. You grow up honoring your bodies and sexuality. The sea holds and touches you from birth. Your bodies ensure sexual expression can only occur with mutual consent. Passion and desire are natural feelings with no shame or restriction attached to them. I envy you, growing up like that.”
“Did you know some humans say merfolk are neither male nor female because of our tails? And we’re passionless?”
“I have heard that. Silly, isn’t it? Where do they think merchildren come from?”
“Isn’t all life based on a balance of male and female power? That’s what I learned.”
“That’s right.”
“Some people don’t know that?”
“Some people are so busy with their rules, trying to take power away from others, or their own self-hatred or fear, they lose track of the big picture, the sacred dichotomy of male and female biology, each distinct, each equally necessary and powerful.”
“Why do people hate themselves?”
“Because they’re deeply wounded or confused. Humans create different rules for men and women, and that causes problems. You fully inhabit and share the power and body you were born into. Not everyone does. Look at the Dvorgs. Some of the old conservative Dvorgs hate all women on principle. They despise female energy of any kind. There are no female Dvorgs.”
“How do they make children?”
“It appears their children grow in underground nurseries. I don’t know much about it, but I’m certain female energy enters into the process somewhere.”
“What do they eat?”
Vasilisa laughed. “An excellent question! They eat plants and animals, like the rest of us.”
“But plants and animals exist because of male and female energy. Don’t they know?”
“They choose not to know.”
Clarissa shook her head. “I don’t understand why people make things so complicated.”
“Relationships are complicated, and sexual expression is part of adult relationships.”
Vasilisa’s little cabin became visible through the curtain of falling snow.
“Here we are. Shall we eat something, and then go to the bathhouse?”
“Yes. Will the Rusalka be there?”
“Probably, at least some of them.”
“They scare me a little.”
“I know what you mean. They’re wise, though. They know a great deal about male and female energies and how they work together. They must, as fertility spirits. Talk to Sofiya. She’s Morfran’s mate, the one who shifts into an owl.”