The Tower: Part 5: Imbolc
Post #47: In which where is my power?
(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.)
“Hold on,” Ash muttered to Beatrice, and swooped down from their hiding place to Rumpelstiltskin’s beard.
“Hello, Ash,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “I wondered if you were around somewhere. Is Beatrice there, too?”
Beatrice emerged from the velvety brown fur on Ash’s chest and waved her antennae at him.
“Hello, Bea. What do you think of all this?”
“They’re not very quick, are they?” Beatrice asked cautiously.
Rumpelstiltskin chuckled like a bucket of gravel being emptied.
“No. For the most part, we’re as stubborn and slow as the rocks and stones we spend our lives with. Slate may have convinced some -- for now. It won’t be so easy, though, to dislodge our whole history and tradition. That’s the first time I’ve seen him, you know.”
Ash puckered up his mouth and produced a spitting sound in a remarkably fine imitation of Slate.
“Yes,” said Beatrice, “but he’s a dangerous adversary. We mustn’t underestimate him.”
“I agree,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “Still, he’s inconsistent, to have developed a habit involving a plant from aboveground.”
“Since when is villainy required to be consistent?” asked Ash.
“True.”
“Do you think Pele will respond?” Beatrice asked.
“I don’t know. I hope so. I think I’ll go aboveground tonight and sleep under the stars. Have you noticed the salamanders are gone?”
Ash looked down into the glowing coals. “I didn’t notice them leave.”
“They’re very quick. They’ve gone, no doubt, to tell Pele about my offering and my request. I think it’s best to clear out now for the rest of the night. I’m interested to see if my offerings are accepted and she leaves any sign in return. In the meantime, Pele loves meat, and I want to arrange a pig roast in her honor tomorrow. The abovegrounders here worship her too, you know. This island is formed from old volcanoes, and some are still awake. That mining accident we spoke of? It wasn’t a cave-in at all. Lava spewed up through a far-reaching area of Dvorgdom and filled caves and tunnels.”
“Was that Pele?” asked Beatrice.
“That was Pele in a rage,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “She embodies female primal energy and passion.”
“Tobacco, brandy and beautiful things,” said Beatrice.
“That’s right.”
“Does she have a consort?” asked Beatrice.
“I don’t know,” said Rumpelstiltskin, sounding surprised. “Some of the old stories say she and Ocean are lovers, but I haven’t thought much about it, to tell you the truth.”
“Such a female needs a consort,” said Beatrice. “No wonder she’s so angry.”
“Could Ocean be Poseidon?” asked Ash.
“I suppose,” said Rumpelstiltskin, “though I haven’t heard them specifically linked as lovers.”
Ash thought of the Imbolc fertility ritual he and Beatrice had witnessed in the bathhouse, during which Poseidon joined with every Rusalka in the plunge pool. It had been a night of water and foam, of gleaming scales and white skin, of rapture and sensuous play. Poseidon had indeed shown himself kingly, and Ash felt certain he was a worthy lover for Pele, if lovers they were. If so, however, why was he not here to soothe her temper?
Evidently, Beatrice was remembering, too. “Just like a man,” she said with a sniff. “Unavailable when he’s most needed, dallying with other women and playing marbles.”
“Marbles!” said Rumpelstiltskin, startled.
“Never mind,” Ash said hastily. “We’ll tell you later. We’ll go back to our hiding place and watch. You want to see Pele, don’t you, Beatrice?”
“You know I do.”
***
Beatrice had chewed bark all day while Ash slept in the cavern. Now, he left her on the high rock ledge where they’d watched Rumpelstiltskin speak to the Dvorgs and flew out to hunt. The humid air was intoxicating; the sea’s susurration sounded like the breathing of some sensual being lying in the shallows and dreaming passionflower dreams. The night air was alive with insects and Ash hunted to his heart’s content, eating the exotic food until he could hold no more. He would never admit it to Beatrice, but a steady diet of bark beetle did grow monotonous. He would be glad when spring came and he would no longer need to feed on his friend.
He flitted and danced silently above the place where Rumpelstiltskin lay sleeping, protected from rain by a projecting rock shelf.
Satiated, he flew back into the cavern.
“Anything happening?” he asked Beatrice.
“Nothing,” she said.
They settled down together to wait. In the night’s silence the cavern amplified the sound of the waves.
“Is it getting warmer in here?” Beatrice asked at length.
“Hush,” said Ash.
A fissure began opening in the cave floor with a grating sound. A dull glow issued from it. The crack widened, and several fire salamanders crawled out, glowing dimly. They nestled in the fire’s ashes, which Ash thought probably still retained some warmth. Their bodies flickered with low flame.
Two dusky flames appeared at the fissure’s edge, followed by a vaguely human shape pulsating with orange and red. Ash realized the flames were in fact arms and hands of tremendous strength that hoisted the being from the fissure’s depths into the cavern with one mighty heave. It knelt there on the brink of the crevasse, tendrils of thick black smoke like wild hair around the shape of a head and shoulders. Something moved apart from the roiling glow enveloping the figure, something sinuous and undulating, black and yellow and as thick as a strong man’s thigh.
“A snake!” whispered Beatrice.
She was right. Ash could see it clearly now, twining around the human shape.
A hot smell hung heavily in the cavern. It was nothing like the comforting scent of a burning fire, but an elemental, primal odor of unspeakable strength and merciless power that made Ash gasp and cower back.
The figure stood, becoming more clearly defined, the bubbling glow cooling and fading. Ash saw large bare breasts, proud and heavy, with jeweled nipples. Her thick hair writhed like sooty snakes around her head, the hair at her groin also thick and black but threaded through with delicate flowers, yellow and white petals like open wings. Ash wondered how such fragile-looking blooms endured the heat, but they looked as fresh as though growing on a rain-drenched hillside.
Her skin was coal black and smooth over voluptuous flesh, her arms curving with muscles, her generous thighs, buttocks and hips a passionate landscape around which the snake twined. An orange jewel shone from her navel. She stood proudly, as though the snake weighed no more than tendrils of smoke, looking about the cavern. Her eyes burned, a startling blue in her dark face, and a red gem glowed in the side of her nose.
Pele, for it could be no other, approached the stone on which Rumpelstiltskin’s offerings lay. She stood looking down at the colorful arrangement, her hair around her face, motionless as a stone. Ash wondered what was in her mind.
Pele crossed her arms over her chest, worming her hands underneath the snake’s coils and clasped her shoulders in an oddly childlike gesture of self-comfort. The snake, as though responding to the gesture, twined lovingly, caressing her with its body. Ash saw wet streaks on Pele’s cheeks and realized she wept. Beatrice stirred beside him, and he knew she had seen it, too.
After a moment or two, Pele wiped her eyes angrily with a forearm and picked up a gold coin, examining it closely, before she gave it to a salamander, which darted across the cavern floor and disappeared into the fissure from which Pele had emerged. The other two coins and the fire opal likewise appeared to find favor, and Pele handed each to a salamander. She sipped brandy from the engraved flask, rolling it on her tongue, and then took a healthy swig, smacking her lips. She put a pinch of tobacco into her mouth, making a sound of pleasure, before opening her lips and exhaling a fragrant cloud of smoke.
Next, she fingered the silk scarf. Her hands were broad and strong, her nails surprisingly well kept. She swirled the scarf through the air and it floated like a rippling flame. She took a few steps across the cavern, light on her feet in spite of her bulk. Ash noticed her delicate ankles and finely boned feet. She wore a gold toe ring. She moved like a dancer, the scarf a sensuous gossamer flame against her rich, dark skin with its jeweled adornments. She began chanting in a low, sibilant hiss, rather like a burbling tea kettle, and Ash watched a thin jet of steam issue from between her lips. She rolled her hips smoothly, the muscles in her abdomen strong and flowing.
Abandoning chant and dance, Pele tenderly bound the scarf around the flower stems, the sugarcane, the red brocade pouch and the flask. She plucked a single bloom from the hair at her groin and laid it on the flat rock, crossed the cavern floor and slid back into the fissure, holding the silk-swathed bundle carefully, the remaining salamanders following. She moved with remarkable grace and silence, given her strong body.
The fissure lips tightened behind her but remained slightly agape.
“My goodness,” said Beatrice inadequately when they were alone again.
“Indeed,” said Ash.
“She’s a dancer.”
“I saw. We must speak with Rumpelstiltskin.”
***
“Do you think they’ll come?” Rumpelstiltskin asked. He sat cross-legged on a stone in the cavern, twirling the blossom between his fingers.
“Yes,” said Ash.
“They’ll come,” said Beatrice. “In some strange way, Pele reminds me of Heks. They’re alike, somehow, even though they seem so different. Oh, I can’t explain it.”
“I saw it, too,”” said Ash. “Heks has a kind of wisdom, a kind of ancient … well, not beauty, exactly, but …”
“Toughness?” asked Rumpelstiltskin.
“Something like that. It’s hard to explain. And Ginger is a dancer.”
“When Pele moved, all I could think about was Ginger,” said Beatrice.
“Can you find your way back to the portal at Yggdrasil?” Rumpelstiltskin asked. “If it’s still working, you can try Rowan Gate from there.”
“I don’t know if it’s open,” said Ash doubtfully. The last time we were there, Kunik and Eurydice were trying to fix it.”
“We can only try,” said Beatrice. “If we can’t go that way, maybe the Norns will have an idea.”
“Go, then,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “Rest today while the sun is up and go tonight. In the meantime, I’m hopeful Pele will meet with me.” He held up the flower. “This isn’t a promise, exactly, but it seems a good sign. I’ll see about arranging a pig roast.”
“Do you think you can find a drum?” asked Beatrice, “And someone to play it?”
“I’m not sure,” said Rumpelstiltskin, frowning. “I’ll try.”
“Maybe Heks or Ginger will have an idea about that, too,” said Ash.
***
“You took your time,” Mirmir complained bitterly. “Here am I, with no newss, nobody comess to tell me what’ss happening, nobody keepss me in the loop.”
Ash, from his upside-down hanging position on a branch near the snake’s head, let his eyes travel obviously along the visible length of Mirmir’s body as it looped among Yggdrasil’s branches and grinned sardonically.
“Here you are,” he agreed, “with daily updates on Current Events from Verdani, not to mention visits from ravens and crows who fly between you and Odin, you and Hecate and who knows who else. Not to mention owls from Minerva and that fey creature Bloduewedd! As for loops …”
“Oh, shut up,” said Mirmir. “Sstop teassing me. What’ss the latesst?”
In spite of Mirmir’s nagging, Ash had refused to pass on any news until he’d eaten. He and Beatrice retired to his usual sleeping hole in Yggdrasil’s body, where he consumed her, over and over, until his hunger was satisfied. It didn’t seem quite nice to make such an unusual ritual public.
Once he had fed, Beatrice snuggled back into his chest fur and he flitted through Yggdrasil’s canopy in search of his friend’s head and a roosting place. With Beatrice’s help, Ash told Mirmir about Rapunzel, Seren and Clarissa, the happenings in the birch wood (Mirmir was particularly amused by the marble game between Poseidon and Baba Yaga), and the events taking place at the edge of Dvorgdom.
“So, we hope Heks will come and help Rumpelstiltskin talk to Pele. He stayed to make more offerings. We came to see if we could get through Rowan Gate and talk to Heks.”
“And you need a drummer,” mused Mirmir.
“Rumpelstiltskin said he would try to find someone. The abovegrounders there recognize Pele’s power and probably have ritual music and dance. But yes, a drummer would help.”
“Do you know what’s happening at Rowan Tree?” asked Beatrice. “Seren must have arrived by now, and as soon as Clarissa and the others return to the bathhouse portal, she’ll try to use Rowan Gate.”
“We haven’t heard anything. Weaving beginnings and endings from the Yrtym helped repair our portal and the Norns are able to work again, after a fashion, but the news is still spotty, as is Verdani’s thread. We do know Clarissa’s group is with Sedna, the Ice Mother, but we’ve heard no details.”
“The last time we were at Rowan Tree, Heks and some of the others were trying to get Gwelda settled for the rest of the winter. Artemis and one of the new people, I forget his name, left to see if they could find out who killed Jan, Gwelda’s husband. There was a lot of tension. Maria, in particular, was worried. Rose Red and Artemis took the White Stag’s sacrifice hard,” said Ash.
“It’s nearly morning,” said Beatrice. “Do you want to eat again before you sleep, Ash?”
“I do. Let me stretch my wings a bit. I’ll meet you back here. We’ll try the portal at dusk tonight.”
EURYDICE
As Eurydice helped the others build Gwelda’s shelter, she thought constantly about how she might repair Rowan Portal. Her mind returned again and again to the Samhain ritual and Hecate’s words: “Understand in Motherhood you must come to terms with death, with change, with time and with hunger, for as Mother you feed rather than being fed. You must come to terms with the limits of your power. Motherhood is life. Motherhood is death.”
She felt certain she had a role to play in both repairing the portal and the community, but she couldn’t grasp it. She was the gatekeeper. She was Mother. How did the two go together? How could she combine both responsibilities?
In these days, Kunik was like a rock at her back, the only strength she could find. Rose Red supported Gwelda staunchly, but Eurydice knew her anguish over the White Stag’s sacrifice, the loss of Rowan and the health of her oak tree. She grew paler every day. Her friends rallied around her, kind, supportive and respecting her sensitivity. They were joined, oddly, by Mingan, who often accompanied Gabriel and helped build Gwelda’s shelter in the birch wood.
Eurydice was of two minds about Mingan. He appeared helpful and generous with his strength and skill, but Eurydice noticed he rarely spoke to Gwelda or even looked at her. As Gwelda naturally caught the eye due to her size, fondness for bright colors and outgoing personality, Eurydice wondered why he took such trouble to ignore her. The contradiction in his behavior worried her.
His attitude toward Rose Red also made her uneasy. To her, he paid too much attention. There was something predatory in the way he stayed close to her, sometimes forcing his way between her and the others physically. He was one of those men who moves an inch too close and appears to loom, even when standing perfectly upright.
Rose Red was suffering, but Eurydice knew her too well to mistake her courage or strength. Her air of shy fragility fooled some into thinking she needed protection, but she was far stronger and more determined than she appeared. Eurydice had seen her step away from Mingan on several occasions, or draw away from his casual heavy hand on her shoulder or her arm with a warning flicker in her eyes he didn’t appear to notice.
Gabriel did notice, and he developed a habit of popping up suddenly whenever Rose Red and Mingan moved apart from the others, garrulous and annoying, inserting himself neatly into the subtle tension between them. Artemis, too, kept a close eye on Rose Red. With the loss of her consort, Artemis appeared to have aged overnight, though she, too, maintained a calm and capable demeanor. Maria appeared tight-lipped and tense, working tirelessly to help Gwelda get settled. Though pleasant, capable and calm, her eyes smoldered with unspoken anger.
Even among this group of Gwelda’s friends and supporters Eurydice sensed dangerous half-hidden currents and subtle strain. A kind of watchful wariness replaced the easy affection they’d once shared. Eurydice felt glad, at the end of the day, to be alone or relax with Kunik, with whom she felt completely at ease.