The Tower: Part 5: Imbolc
Post #45: In which shelter from the storm ...
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Pim, without waiting for permission or direction, picked up his drum by a short, protruding handle. He struck not the hide, but the edges of the instrument with a stout piece of wood like a mallet. As he struck it, he swayed on his feet, his body moving with his beat, and the big drum tilted with each blow. Morfran thought the effect was of not merely drumming but dancing as well, a one-person expression of instrument and body. Pim raised and lowered his arms, hitting the drum in a steady beat, crouching and then rising to his full height. Bundled in his heavy layered furs and moving with his clumsy boots, he made an ponderous yet oddly beautiful figure in the qulliq’s light with the cold starry sky arching above him, a male figure of strength and skill rather than grace.
Nephthys picked up the bones, one at a time. She held one out so they could see it, a carved polar bear. Pim, still drumming, spoke the native word for it, and bent at the waist, holding the drum low and lumbering in imitation of a bear’s movements. Nephthys repeated the strange word, and suddenly flung the bone out of the circle into the night. Morfran couldn’t hear the sound of it falling on the stony sea bed over the wind and Pim’s drum.
Nephthys searched through the pile and repeated the same ritual for a carved arctic fox, a hare, and, lastly, an arctic wolf made from walrus ivory. Pim supplied the native word for each creature, as well as a mime or dance of its movement, and each was cast outside the circle. Lastly, Nephthys held up an owl. Pim gave her the native word, she repeated it, and flung it straight up into the night sky. The object unfolded into an owl, silent as snow, white as ice, and took wing, flying inland.
“Boom, boom, boom, boom,” went the drum.
Now, Nephthys began laying out the shape of human hands, as though working a puzzle she’d completed many times before. Morfran leaned forward, fascinated by the way she pieced together the bones, some carved, and all from animals except the one knucklebone, which she carefully laid in place for the left hand’s middle finger.
While she worked in the qulliq’s light, Pim moved around the circle of watchers, never varying his drumbeat and playing with his whole body, as though he played the wind, each stone, each piece of bone, every star and creature of the night. Morfran felt mesmerized, hypnotized by the flickering light and the drum. The wind sighed in his ears, colder than death.
As Nephthys finished the second hand, Morfran heard a disturbance in the night. A snowy owl floated out of the darkness and perched on a whale rib, pale as a ghost, its eyes glinting in the qulliq light. Morfran turned his head and saw bobbing lights in the distance, and heard the sound of voices. An arctic fox, white as new snow, trotted toward them and sat like a dog, its tail wrapped around its feet. A polar bear moved out of the shadows with a powerful, rocking gait, sitting on its haunches and watching them out of small black eyes.
Morfran heard Clarissa gasp as a large white wolf moved opposite the bear, ears pricked, long tongue lolling. An arctic hare followed the wolf, appearing unconcerned by the presence of the predators, though keeping a prudent distance between itself and the fox and wolf.
The watching group stayed seated, craning their heads to see the approaching people and animals. Pim stopped drumming and stood motionless, his face amazed.
Nephthys alone appeared unsurprised. Two skeletal hands laid on a hide before her now, fingertips pointing toward her. She watched the approaching people, a group of perhaps forty women and men, smiling but aloof, as though watching expected but slightly late guests to the party. The people gathered around the seated circle. Some carried qulliqs. Nephthys gestured, and they came forward and set their lamps in the circle’s center with the camp’s qulliq before stepping back to rejoin their fellows.
Nephthys nodded to Pim, and he resumed beating the drum and his swaying, crouching dance. The newcomers allowed him space to move. Morfran supposed the animals had summoned the shaman in some magical way, and he in turn summoned Pim’s people, who followed their guides onto the dry sea bed.
Nephthys stood up and extended a hand to Sedna, who also stood. Sedna studied the faces around her, a thin smile on her lips. She made no effort to hide her stumps. Indeed, she shook them free of the skins fastened around her shoulders as though displaying them. The people murmured, and Morfran heard someone say “Sedna!” in a hushed tone of fearful reverence.
Sedna’s gaze traveled around the circle, her bearing proud and dignified. She stepped forward into the circle’s center. Hastily, Morfran folded a skin and laid it on the stones near the skeletal hands. Sedna, at Nephthys’s gesture, knelt and laid her stumps next to the neat rows of bones that lie at the dividing point between long arm bones and the intricate sculpture of hands.
Someone began chanting. It seemed to Morfran the qulliq flames rose higher in answer, and Pim at once beat a new rhythm, bending, swaying, crouching. Other voices joined the chanting, unintelligible words chopping the air with guttural sounds. The crowd swayed, feet moving up and down together, as the chant swelled.
Morfran thought it the strangest scene he’d ever witnessed: the ancient desert child and the lovely Ice Mother, kneeling next to a cluster of lamps rimmed with fire, surrounded by a handful of strangers from far seas and lands, who were in turn surrounded by the native people of this wind, this sky, this land of ice and snow and sea, who were in turn surrounded by the creatures they depended upon for life.
Sedna knelt, motionless, hunched over the framework of hands Nephthys had pieced together, and Nephthys crouched across from her, still and silent, watching intently. In the uncertain, wavering qulliq light, all was shadow and flicker, bone and stone and starlight, and the compelling chant, shuffling feet, and Pim’s drumming made a background as eternal and elemental as the night sky.
After what might have been minutes or hours, Morfran was never sure, Sedna sprang to her feet with a triumphant cry and held up her … hands.
“Oohhh!” said the watching crowd.
The night filled with a roaring, rushing sound Morfran couldn’t identify. The snowy owl took off from its perch. Pim stopped drumming.
“It’s the sea!” shouted Poseidon thunderously. “It returns to the land! Change!”
Morfran felt the sea bed tremble as he shifted into his seal shape and a wave of water swept across the sea bed, taking everything and everyone with it. A foaming whirlpool of water filled with struggling people. He felt no fear for Sedna or his other companions, but the people would drown without help, and he knew they could ill afford to lose so many skins and qulliqs. He looked around and made for the nearest struggling human shape. Many seals were in the water, far more than his companions, and he realized the selchie had come with the sea and they, too, did their utmost to rescue the humans. He fastened his teeth on a parka’s fur collar and swam with all his strength toward the shore.
One by one, everyone was pushed, pulled and carried to safety. No one had seen or rescued Nephthys, and Morfran felt cold at the thought of her death. Surely she, in her power, had not been swept away by the icy black sea! Then he heard Poseidon’s joyous roar and saw Sedna, riding on the back of an Orca and looking entirely at home. A falcon perched on her dark braided crown, dry and serene.
Most of Pim’s village, waterlogged and cold but awed and touched with wonder, trailed away into the night. Pim himself and a few others stayed, collecting soaked skins, qulliq bowls, the hide tent and even the pot in which they had melted snow and ice for drinking water, as the seals and other sea creatures retrieved them. Sedna herself found Pim’s drum floating on the agitated waves and brought it to Pim, though his mallet was gone.
“When daylight comes, we’ll get the rest,” she assured him. “Nothing will be lost. Go get dry and warm. “
“Ice Mother,” Pim said, kneeling before her and kissing her new hands. “Forgive us. Forgive me. I did not understand.”
“Now we begin again,” she said. “Carry my story and tell it so it is not forgotten. Let your drum speak it, dance with it and share it with your people and strangers, both. Remember me, and I will remember you.” She looked around at the others, standing naked and shivering in their human forms to say goodbye. “I will tell of the selchie, the birch wood, the Rusalka, and the sea kings. I will tell of the ancient child Nephthys, in her desert between the worlds, where everything lost is found again.”
She kissed Clarissa and Vasilisa and held Morfran’s face between her hands. “Thank you,” she said. He embraced her, as did Marceau and Poseidon.
“Go now,” commanded Sedna, “before you freeze. Pim, will you take care of Nephthys until the sun rises and she can find her way home?” He nodded and held out an arm. Nephthys flew to him and alighted.
The sea people slid into the waves, once again lapping against the land, and the water felt warm as a bath to Morfran after standing in his thin human skin in the icy wind. Sedna swam with them, supple and lithe and strong, her hands graceful and pale in the dark water. A huge black and white face rose from the depths to greet her and the merfolk moved past her, swimming out to sea, heading toward the portal to the birch wood and home.
CHAPTER 16
RAPUNZEL
When at last Rapunzel found herself alone in the lighthouse, her desire for absolute solitude had long abated. She missed Persephone, Ginger, Heks and Clarissa. She even missed Cerus.
It was a bleak time on the cliffs above the sea. The stone, bereft of the sea’s passionate caress, grew starker and colder by the day. Bitter frost hardened the dry sea bed and pewter sky watched dully over a scouring wind.
Rapunzel frequently observed the violet light which had first appeared the night she danced with Ginger, Persephone and Clarissa. She associated it with storms, but also days of frozen stillness, when all of Webbd seemed to be sleeping stone and cold silence. On such days she frequently stood at the top of the lighthouse, exulting in the wild, stern beauty of sky, stone and sea, and the eerie violet light settled in her cloak’s folds and outlined her swathed figure. Sometimes she thought she caught a plaintive, far-distant phrase of music, as though Dar’s ghost roamed the winter landscape with his pipe.
On still days her only companions were clouds of seabirds, white and grey, wheeling in raucous, rowdy groups above the stony landscape. One of them brought her a letter from Radulf.
Dear Rapunzel:
Morfran and Delphinus showed up a few days ago at dawn. Chris woke me. We were on our way back to Griffin Town after a discouraging series of stops at our usual ports of call. Trade becomes increasingly disrupted, especially building, smithing, and luxury trade, like gems. Usually ports are my favorite places, with the intermingling of people from all over Webbd, come together to buy, sell and trade, but now the happy camaraderie has turned to sullen mistrust. Fights break out frequently and dishonesty and thievery are rife. I was glad to get back home to the wide-open sea.
Even the sea, though, is not entirely peaceful. During my childhood I remember talk of corsairs boarding ships to steal goods and occasionally ransacking a port, but their numbers were small and their activities largely kept in check. Everyone knows about the magical specialty black market. Now we hear ugly rumors of increased demand for animal parts, and even enslavement of tree nymphs and merfolk. It’s getting hard to find anyone to barter with. Everyone wants gold, not to pass on in further trade or barter, but to hoard and keep.
Morfran has been far north with Poseidon, Vasilisa, Marceau and Clarissa. They traveled there to see Sedna and her people, who have also been affected by the division between land and sea. Sedna is a powerful guardian, but she became estranged from her people and they lost faith in her and, by extension, their natural world of ice, snow and sea. The story is too long to repeat here; either Marceau or Clarissa will bring it to you in person. They healed the disconnection and the water returned to the land, with the help of Nephthys, of all people!
Morfran also brought me news of recent events in the birch wood, including an Imbolc ritual in which Clarissa participated. I think you know the White Stag sacrificed himself during Samhain, and since then the Rusalka have been quite concerned about the loss of Cerunmos and a sacred consort for Artemis. Cerunmos was at the heart of the Imbolc ritual as a symbol of male fertility. However, during the ritual the new Sacred Consort revealed himself in the shape of a lynx. His presence, along with the bathhouse portal’s repair, gives the Rusalka and Morfran hope we might yet find a way to heal the damaged Yrtym and return to happier, more peaceful times.
During that Samhain ritual, Morfran and Rumpelstiltskin were initiated into malehood by Odin, and we talked a long time about what he learned and how he applied it to the situation with Sedna. I vividly remember the Ostara initiation we did with Baba Yaga before you and I met and before Rowan Tree. These initiations are both powerful and enigmatic; they leave one with more questions than answers about how to proceed, but they do provide a fixed point of reference, rather like Vasilisa’s fiery skull, to steer by.
If my role as a male is to provide, protect and procreate, how do I perform those tasks in a way that best supports the Yrtym, those around me, and myself?
I’m wondering about the Yrtym in the sea. If I understand correctly, Yrtym forms a kind of invisible scaffold or matrix weaving land, sea, and sky together. Marceau, Chris, Poseidon and I speculate endlessly about this. Is it possible to see it? Is there a center point of origin somewhere in the sea? Even Posey has no idea. The only one who might know is Proteus, the Old Man of the Sea, but Proteus is elusive and will answer no questions unless someone can catch him. As far as we know, nobody ever has, so that may only be an old story, like the Firebird leading one to treasure if captured. The only contact Poseidon has with Proteus has to do with his horses and sea wolves, for Proteus breeds both, along with herding seals and other creatures. Proteus does not buy or sell his animals; his price is always a marble game. Poseidon says he rarely speaks. He’s evidently quite a good marble player, though!
I find myself thinking often of Dar, the White Stag, and the Firebird. They were guides, and friends. Both Dar and the White Stag are gone now, but are they? I used to rarely see spirit candles; that queer blue light only appeared during a violent lightning storm at sea. Now I often see them, outlining the Marella’s sails at night or flickering and rippling in the swells. My figurehead is a snarling wolf, and the light plays about that, too. Does the light come from Castor, or from Dar? Or are they the same? If only Dar could appear, tell me a story, play his bone pipe, and lead me to where I need to be!
As for the White Stag, I can’t speak of my feelings about his death, and I can’t imagine either the grief or strength of Artemis. Perhaps one day I’ll see the lynx Morfran described and find out for myself if there’s any echo of the magnificent creature I knew and loved as Cerunmos.
None of my news seems useful. I wish I could do more, make some kind of a real difference, provide some essential clue or missing link to all this. It seems Webbd is unraveling faster than we can mend it, and I wonder what the future holds. There isn’t much point in my heading to sea again as a merchant until something changes. It's not worth the cost or effort right now. When I get back to Griffin Town, I’ll have a long talk with Minerva and figure out my next step. I’ll be in touch.
In the meantime, take care of yourself. I hope you’re gathering more helpful news from other places and informants. Thank you for being so kind to Chris. You’ll see him again. The fire salamanders fascinated him. Interesting, that you turn out to have direct access to Dvorgdom through the tower.
Affectionately,
Radulf
One day a mighty storm blew in from the sea. The wind hurled itself around the lighthouse. Rapunzel wrapped her cloak around herself and stood on the narrow platform atop the tower, exulting in the storm. The purple and grey sky filled with noisy tumult. It snatched her breath and her cloak and the stone tower felt suddenly frail and vulnerable.
A sprawling black form, flung by the wind, fell awkwardly against her and slid down her body to the platform. Another fell against her arm. She swept it under the shelter of her cloak and snatched a third attempting to alight on the narrow rail surrounding the tiny platform.
Hastily, she bundled the three birds into the door at the tower’s top. Snow whirled in the air like white sand, making her eyes water and her cheeks sting. She shut the door behind her with a hard kick. The silence and stillness in the small circular room was shocking after the chaos outside. Rapunzel and the crows looked at one another, dazed and wind-blown.
Something thumped against the door. Rapunzel, expecting another crow, opened it and found a huddled form on the threshold. She made out a red beak and black feathers, but it was far too large to be a crow. She bent, bundled it unceremoniously in her arms and brought it into the shelter of the lighthouse.
The bird she held remained motionless. “Come along,” Rapunzel said to the crows, and quickly descended the stone steps winding along the tower’s curving walls. The ground floor room was warm and cozy, the stove radiating heat. Rapunzel knelt and carefully laid the bird on a sheepskin near the fire. She stretched out the large wings, feeling the bones for a fracture. The bird’s feathers were broken and crumpled, but she found no serious injury. It possessed the long graceful neck and regal look of a swan, but Rapunzel hadn’t seen or heard of a black swan with a red beak.
The crows found perches and busily preened their disordered feathers, exchanging an occasional hoarse comment. They appeared perfectly at home and unharmed. Rapunzel filled a flat dish with water so they could drink and set it on the kitchen table. Immediately, the nearest crow hopped off the back of a chair, landed in the dish and began taking a vigorous and enthusiastic bath.
“Hold on!” Rapunzel snatched up the dish, laughing, plugged the sink and filled it with a couple of inches of water. “If you must bathe, do it here.”
The crow perched on the sink’s edge, gave Rapunzel a roguish look out of shining dark eyes, hopped down into the sink and commenced splashing.
Rapunzel checked on the swan. In its place she found a young man, fair-skinned and handsome, with one large black wing in place of his arm. He was conscious, but confused.
“What happened?”
“You were caught in a storm.”
“The crows tried to lead me to safety, but I lost track of them.”
“They’re here, too.”
All three crows, hearing the stranger’s voice, walked about the place where he lay, jostling one another rudely, mincing gleefully and hopping, making chuckling sounds and giving vent to soft yaps like a nest of puppies.
“Thank you, my friends,” said the swan man.
“I’m Rapunzel and you’re in a lighthouse.”
“My name is Johan. I’m a traveler, and the wind blew so fiercely I couldn’t keep my bearings.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” He moved his arm, legs and wing gingerly, stretching and flexing.
“Rest. I made fish chowder. Will you eat some?”
“Yes, please!”
Rapunzel left him and warmed the soup. She sliced bread and set the table. After a few minutes Johan rose and went to the lighthouse door, accompanied by the crows. He slid the bolt back and looked out into the gale. The wind groaned and a snow swirled across the threshold. Johan shut the door hastily.
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