The Tower: Part 5: Imbolc
Post #39: In which northern seas ...
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PART 5 IMBOLC
(i-MOLG) February 1; strengthening light, fertility and creativity. Awakening of youthful, chaotic energy. Midway between Yule and spring equinox.
The Card: The Star
Creative potential; renewal; new cycles.
CHAPTER 14
ASH
“Are you sure this a good idea?” Beatrice whispered a few minutes later.
“No,” Ash admitted. He wasn’t sure at all, but his curiosity was irresistible.
The dance, abruptly ended, already seemed like a dream. The dancers and the lynx had melted away into the forest. The candles were snuffed, the bonfire as cold as though it hadn’t burned in years. The ice-glazed forest stilled into a waning winter night.
Baba Yaga had sent everyone away, except Poseidon. He reclaimed his trident and threw a wolfskin cloak around his shoulders as the others left the clearing.
As the dance ended, Ash left his cozy vantage point in the scarf’s folds and flew into the shadow under the eaves overhanging the front of Baba Yaga’s hut. As he perched there, he heard a faint scraping sound, and the window nearest him opened a crack.
“Who’s opening it?” asked Beatrice fearfully.
“It’s the house,” said Ash. He edged down to the window gap and squeezed through.
“Phew!” Beatrice gasped.
They found themselves in Baba Yaga’s bedroom. It was a tiny room, containing nothing recognizable as furniture apart from the bed, which was a frame made from bones. A malevolent-looking skull of no identifiable species glared from the top center of the headboard. The bedding was a malodorous nest of stained and grimy sheets and blankets, the uncovered pillow a sodden, lumpy cushion the color of cold dishwater. The whole room smelled eye-wateringly of old fish, unwashed clothes and imperfectly tanned animal skins. The floor was heaped with tangled, soiled clothing, towels and bedding.
Hastily, Ash flitted through the gaping door. The bedroom consisted of a small square taken out of the larger square of the hut. Ash and Beatrice now found themselves in the single L comprising the rest of the floorplan. Here stood a rickety table with a splintered bench along one side and an old battered chair at the head. A small, obese iron stove squatted in a corner. A tiny galley kitchen contained a stained sink and a counter piled high with dirty dishes, pots and pans. An old-fashioned mangle sulked on the floor against the wall. Next to it leaned a broom with a long tassel of what looked horribly like human hair, clotted with filth
The hut tilted and began lowering.
“Quick! She’s coming!” shrilled Beatrice.
Ash darted among the rafters, which hung with cobwebs that clung greasily to his body. He wedged himself above the junction of three beams and peered down through a slot allowing him to see most of the room. Beatrice crawled out of the fur on his chest and settled herself on the beam over which Ash looked.
The wooden floor below them was littered with bones, dirty utensils, mouse tails, wood chips, cinders, lumps of rotting food, teeth, lurking clumps of grease-coated spiderweb, lint, dead skin, hair and dust balls looking as though they’d been spawned by the Black Rabbit of Inle rather than bunnies.
The front door opened smartly. Baba Yaga and Poseidon stepped in and it slammed behind them.
Ash watched Poseidon take in the room with one swift glance, Baba Yaga a step behind him. Poseidon rolled his eyes, cocked a sardonic eyebrow and turned to her with his crooked grin.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he inquired mockingly.
“My pleasure,” she sneered, “not yours. How about a game of Keepsies with old Baba? Show off your pretty balls, sonny! Give an old lady a thrill!”
Holding her gaze, the smile still in place, Poseidon placed his trident tines on the floor and unscrewed the end of the wooden staff. From the opening, he spilled a handful of marbles.
She smiled the most malevolent smile Ash had ever seen on a human visage, and he squirreled away the picture in hopes of imitating it for Mirmir.
“Clear yourself!” she demanded, looking down at the floor. Without waiting to see what would happen, she stumped into her bedroom, rudely slamming the door behind her. In a moment she returned, weighing a wrinkled, brownish skin bag adorned with sparse, curling black hairs in her hand.
“Is that bag made of what I think it is?” Beatrice murmured in Ash’s ear.
“Shhh!” He hissed back.
Obediently, a wide circle on the floor had cleared itself of debris. Baba Yaga and Poseidon stood eyeing each other across the circle, weighing their marbles in their hands.
“Keepsies it is -- if you’re sure,” Poseidon said slyly.
Baba Yaga snorted. A blob of mucous left her nose and, halfway to the cleared floor, made a 90-degree turn and hurtled into a corner piled with debris.
“Shall we honor the season and play Last Clams?” asked Poseidon.
“That’s played in the snow, Numbwits!”
“Too cold for you?” Poseidon needled.
Baba Yaga hissed, clapped sharply, stomped one bare foot, and screeched “Last Clams!” as the cleared circle filled with two inches of slush.
“Why did she say it aloud like that?” Ash whispered to Beatrice.
“Probably claiming some kind of advantage,” said Beatrice. “Everyone says she cheats. Hush!”
“I’ll do the honors, then,” said Poseidon, and he made a shallow hole in the slush with the heel of his supple boot. With his hands, he shaped the hole into a cup, smoothing the slushy edges. Meanwhile, Baba Yaga measured off twelve feet from the hole.
“Shall we say five for an ante?” Poseidon asked.
“Ten!” she fired back. “If you can bear to lose that many,” she added with a sneer.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “I believe I can fit ten more into my trident handle.”
Poseidon knelt on the twelve-foot mark. He lay his trident staff in the slush, making a shallow groove to the slushy cup he’d formed. Laying the trident aside, he shot an opaque marble, ivory tinged slightly with pink, down the trench toward the cup with a powerful flick of his thumb. The marble rolled about three quarters of the way to the cup before bogging down in the slush.
Baba Yaga cackled triumphantly. She loosened the drawstring tie around her bag and peered into it, stirring with a finger, before choosing her marble. She withdrew a red one with a yellow eye and held it up between her thumb and forefinger. Ash smiled appreciatively at her sense of theater.
Poseidon moved aside and the Baba, in her turn, knelt. She leaned forward with her elbows on the floor, the posture revealing scrawny naked buttocks as the hem of her short tunic lifted. Squinting, she lined up her shot, waggling her rump like a cat getting ready to pounce. Ash, taking in every detail, gave his own bottom an experimental waggle.
She made the shot with a grunt. Her marble clicked against Poseidon’s, moving his forward. Evidently, the hit earned her another shot, for she again searched her bag and this time withdrew a white marble swirled with bloody color.
Ash and Beatrice watched, fascinated, as the hag and the sea king made trenches, selected shooters and gloated over each victory. Ash could see the slush made the game impossibly difficult. Snow would have been much easier to play in. As Baba Yaga’s first marble approached the slushy hole, she was unable to propel it up and over the shallow lip. She cursed, danced with rage and spat. She dug new trenches and advanced on the cup from other directions with other shooters, but still was unable to get her first marble into the hole.
Then, suddenly, she was successful. The marble slipped in smoothly as though rolling downhill, the first one in the cup.
Poseidon, who watched every movement his adversary made, cleared his throat meaningfully and glared at her while she crowed with satisfaction.
“Did you see it?” whispered Beatrice.
“No. What happened?”
“The floorboard raised up and tipped it in!”
Poseidon stalked around the circle, examining the several trenches and the marbles in play. Selecting a new shooter, this one black with a pattern of white stripes, he expertly hit one of the Baba’s pieces, earning a second shot. He then gave his attention to the marble closest to the cup. Kneeling, he took aim with one hand while giving two sharp raps on the floor with the knuckles of the other. As he made the shot, the whole hut tilted slightly and the marble rolled sweetly into the cup, just as Baba Yaga’s had done.
“Cheat!” shrieked the Baba.
“You started it,” replied Poseidon calmly.
Baba Yaga stomped to the door, flung it open and shrieked, “Don’t you dare help him! I’ll break your knees! I’ll beat you! I’ll take away your scarves and let you freeze! I’ll make you walk over hot coals!”
“Save your breath,” Poseidon advised. ‘We made an agreement. If needed, the legs would help me, in exchange for a gift.”
“Gift? What gift?” screeched Baba Yaga.
“Something they’ve always wanted. An ankle bracelet.”
“What?” Baba Yaga looked dumbfounded. Poseidon’s face was full of mischief as he grinned at her. Beatrice vibrated with silent laughter.
“An ankle bracelet,” Poseidon repeated clearly. “Honey invariably catches more flies than vinegar, my dear. Shall we continue?”
They played on, Baba Yaga taking every opportunity to cheat undetected with the help of the floor, but unable to evade Poseidon’s watchful eye. Every time she cheated, he rapped what could only be a previously-agreed upon code to the chicken legs, which obediently tilted to assist his shots. One by one, their marbles rolled into the cup.
Cheating aside, Ash thought they were evenly matched. Neither gained a permanent advantage over the other. At the end of the game Baba Yaga possessed two marbles left in play to Poseidon’s one. With an expert shot, he slammed his last one home and won the game.
While the Baba fumed, stamped her feet and muttered invective, Poseidon scooped the marbles from their slushy resting place and examined them on his broad palm.
“Very nice,” he said with approval. “An oxblood, a tiger and a lovely jasper. What’s this called?” he held up the first marble she had shot, red with a yellow eye.
“That’s my devil’s eye. It’s part of a set,” she whined. “One’s no good without the other. Poor old Baba, cheated out of her finest shooter! My prettiest! The joy of my old age! The heart and soul of my collection!”
Poseidon eyed her. “I suppose I could give it back to you,” he said.
“It’s only right! It’s only just! You cheated poor old Baba!”
Poseidon poured all the marbles but the devil’s eye into the hollow staff of his trident and screwed the end back on.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said.
“A deal? A deal? I don’t make deals with thieves and cheaters!”
“Well, in that case…” He began unscrewing the end of his staff again.
“What deal?” she asked resentfully.
“You know and I know if the Yrtym breaks down entirely Webbd is lost. We must do everything we can to support healthy cycles and seasons. The Rusalka will seek mates among the animals, and tonight Cerunmos was reborn. I propose I join the fertility ritual and add my energy to theirs, allowing the Rusalka to increase their contribution to the next cycle of growth. I’ve already spoken with them, and they consent to my presence, but they’re unwilling to add to the ritual without your agreement.”
“You expect me to sell my girls for a measly marble?” Baba Yaga pretended affront, but Ash saw a calculating gleam in her eye.
“Certainly not. I ask you to honor their consent and my intention in exchange for the prize of your collection. Of course, we could do nothing and let Webbd unravel as it will. I suppose in that case marbles will cease to matter.”
“Give it to me,” Baba Yaga demanded, holding out her hand.
“You agree to the deal?” Poseidon closed his fingers firmly over the devil’s eye.
“I agree!” she screeched. “Hand it over, you pilfering pirate, and get out!”
“Crawl back into my fur,” Ash whispered urgently to Beatrice. As she did so, Poseidon put the marble into Baba Yaga’s palm.
“Begone!” she shrieked, and in a swirl of air the lamps went out, the slush disappeared and the door crashed open. Poseidon, trident in hand, crossed the tilting, lowering floor to the gaping door in a few strides. Outside, the approaching dawn tinged the sky with pale light. Ash launched himself from his hiding place and followed Poseidon out the door, silent as a shadow. Poseidon’s form dropped away below and behind him as he sped away from the clearing and into the forest.
CLARISSA
Morfran, Marceau, Poseidon, Vasilisa and Clarissa gathered in the plunge pool. Many Rusalka were present as well; those whose mating season was not late winter. Sofiya, Morfran’s mate, an owl in her animal aspect, was not there, and neither were the Rusalka who took the aspect of fox and lynx.
Clarissa felt swamped with conflicting emotion. Irritation was uppermost, and she allowed her demeanor to express it, staying on the edge of the group with folded arms and an expressionless face. Nobody paid much attention to her bad mood, which increased her annoyance.
She felt uncomfortably aware, again, of her youth and inexperience. The birch wood positively hummed with sexual power. She felt it and responded to it, but was unable to participate or contribute, aside from the dance. The fact that Marceau and Vasilisa also stayed on the sidelines during the second part of the Imbolc ritual didn’t help the awkwardness of being caught between childhood and adulthood. She was curious, fascinated and a little afraid of the raw energy sizzling and sparking just out beyond sight and hearing. The huge footprint of the lynx in the snow, the feather dropped from an owl and the vixen’s midnight love song burned in her blood and body. Every interaction carried an erotic charge.
She wished passionately for Seren, but a small voice in her heart of hearts whispered the suspicion he would have hated such an elemental show of sexuality. Disloyal, she thought to herself. You don’t know that. He might have joined with the sacred consort and added his energy to the ritual. What’s more fertile than creativity?
She dared not disobey Baba Yaga’s command to accompany the others wherever they were going, in spite of her show of defiance, but she made her reluctance clear. She’d taken no part in the plan or discussion. She thought they were going to see Sedna, whom Marceau had spoken of before they came to the birch wood, but she wasn’t sure even of that.
She coldly ignored the stirring interest and excitement she felt about being in the sea with her own people, seeing new places, trying to discover more about the mysterious Yrtym and collecting stories. It felt gratifying to know when she met Seren again, she would have as much to tell him as he to tell her, but she knew she belonged with him and refused to take pleasure in any delay in rejoining him.
Still, the stories made up for a great deal. Morfran, Marceau, Poseidon and Vasilisa knew many tales, both familiar and new to Clarissa. The Rusalka proved a treasure trove, not only of animal stories but also secret traditions and stories of the rye and poppy fields and the endless birch woods. Clarissa listened, enthralled, to stories about Baba Yaga, sea creatures and people, and tales of the private lives of animals. In exchange, she repeated her father’s tales and poetry and stories she’d learned from Rapunzel and Persephone. She longed to share some of Seren’s tales, but loyally refrained, though she mentioned his enchanting performances whenever she had a chance.
Now, as they left the birch wood for the open sea, Clarissa swam beside Marceau. Morfran and Vasilisa made their farewells and slid into the plunge pool as well. She watched as Poseidon took each Rusalka in his strong arms, looking deeply into her eyes and kissing her warmly on the mouth. The Rusalka smiled at him and returned his caresses with a kind of grateful reverence. Evidently, his role in the fertility ritual had been successful.
She had seen nothing but tracks in the snow of the lynx, Cerunmos, since the dance.
The Rusalka slid into the water after Poseidon. They intended to escort the group to the portal and test its accessibility for themselves.
Clarissa arched forward in a dive, feeling her tail come briefly out of the water as it propelled her down after Marceau. She swam, the others about her, down and then sideways, rising at last toward sunlight filtered by clouds. Her head broke the surface and she found herself in the sea, the others around her. The Rusalka had stayed behind. The portal was open.
Poseidon took the lead. He set a swift pace, and they traveled for a day and a night and another day, the water growing steadily colder as they swam north. They began seeing huge, floating islands of ice, only a small portion of which showed above the surface. These were carved into fantastic ridges, arches, mountains and caves, like frozen clouds fallen into the sea.
Clarissa, gazing around her in wonder, gradually dropped behind the others and was startled to nearly swim into them. They had stopped, floating upright and looking ahead. As she made an abrupt adjustment to her own speed she saw, a yard beyond them, a vertical wall of water, exactly like the one outside the lighthouse. Here, too, the water had receded from the land, holding itself back as though invisibly dammed.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I’ve seen this before. Just swim to the edge and slide down.”
“Wait,” Poseidon commanded.
Clarissa turned in time to see several seals emerge from the water’s gloom. The February sun sank.
The seals approached Poseidon, looking into his face with liquid dark eyes and frisking around him.
“King Poseidon?” said one. “We haven’t seen you in our waters before.”
“Greetings, Seal People,” said Poseidon. “We’ve come in search of Sedna, and to learn how it is with you here in the North’s cold water.”
“We are not Seal People, King,” said the seal. “We are Selchie. As you see, it is not well with us, or with Sedna. She is out there, huddled on the bare sea bed. She’s angry and none dare approach her. Sedna and her people are cut off from the land, and they from us. The land starves for the sea, and we starve for the land.”
“We’ve come to see if we can help,” said Marceau. “Disconnection and breakdown are everywhere. We’re trying to learn how to repair it.”
“Come back to our grotto tonight,” said the selchie. “Night is falling, and the nights here are cold. Sedna has no fire. You’ll freeze. We want to hear your news, and you can rest and eat. It’s better to approach Sedna in daylight.”
“Thank you,” said Poseidon. “We will come with you.”