The Tower: Part 6: Ostara (Entire)

In which you can read without interruption ...

(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.)

(O-STAR-ah) Spring equinox; balance point between Yule and summer solstice. Increasing fertility and creativity.

The Card: Ace of Cups: A journey into feelings.

CHAPTER 18

ROSE RED

Rose Red lay awake. Her bed was a wool mattress laid on a platform curving around the oak’s trunk. She lay curled on her side, her back pressed against the solid reassurance of the tree’s trunk. The dying tree weakened, but its strength remained far greater than hers, and it comforted her.

She felt afraid. Her sleep was light and restless these days. Sometimes it seemed to her she’d not slept well since Rowan melted away into the wild spring world of musk and tree. Anticipating his return troubled her sleep for weeks. Then, when she understood he would not return, a mixture of grief and shame she felt unable to share kept her wakeful.

Rowan’s absence had not wakened her now. Time and recent events had effectively diluted and crowded out Rowan’s departure. She no longer thought about him every day or grieved his loss every night.

A new feeling disturbed her now, not grief but a sense of menace circling around Rowan Tree. It threatened the whole community, but her specifically.

Unless she was making it up. Unless it was all in her head. Unless she was being hypersensitive and hysterical. She lay, her heart throbbing uncomfortably, tense with listening, her breathing shallow. She felt like a small, furry hunted thing crouching underground while an unknown predator stalked outside.

Stop it, she told herself silently. You’re being ridiculous. You’re overwrought. You’re safe at Rowan Tree. Gwelda’s tucked up in her new house. Artemis is somewhere outside, enjoying the spring night. Eurydice and Kunik are asleep near Rowan Portal. The spring is gurgling to itself.

Deliberately, she relaxed her shoulders, her neck. She rolled onto her back and made herself take a deep breath. She considered getting up, making a light, perhaps going out in search of Artemis.

Her pulse accelerated again. No. Something waited out there. Something. She must not call attention to herself; she must not leave her shelter. When day dawned she would be safe, but not until then.

Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Unsplash

She remembered a day, a long time ago, just this time of year, when Rumpelstiltskin revealed he’d watched over her mother, Queen Snow White, when she was a girl. Rose Red had already left her parents’ castle then, and become apprenticed to Artemis.

The Dwarve had talked about her mother’s sensitivity, and her own. It was the first time anyone had acknowledged her heightened feeling and awareness as a gift, rather than a shameful flaw. He’d said her sensitivity made her “more than” rather than “less than.”

She’d never forgotten that, though she remained unwilling to allow others to see her vulnerabilities. Was it possible now there was a real reason for her fear? Whatever her mind said, her body was most definitely afraid – of something.

Tentatively, she probed. When had it begun, this fear?

It was hard to pin down. It had grown slowly, increasing over time from a vague uneasiness she hardly noticed and attributed to her own unhappiness over Rowan, her sickening oak tree and Rowan Gate’s breakdown. The Rusalka’s departure had been a loss. The breakdown of the Yrtym, its cause and consequences, affected everyone. That worry was impersonal. It was like a slowly-approaching storm, muttering and rumbling in the distance. There didn’t seem to be anything she could do to help, yet it overshadowed every day. She couldn’t bear to think of Webbd without trees, without portals, without the connections between different peoples, so she tried not to.

Had she felt uneasy when Artemis arrived with news of the White Stag’s death? She couldn’t remember. Perhaps. Uneasy, but not afraid. Mostly, she’d felt sad, a condition Artemis’s companionship had eased, even though she brought such sad news. They had been able to talk, to share their loss. Her fear wasn’t associated with Rowan, or her oak tree, Artemis or the White Stag. Gwelda arrived then, which added another layer of sadness, but no fear. Then, for some weeks, all her energy went into helping Gwelda recover from her burn and shock and get settled.

She felt sad, too, about the new tensions within the community. She worried about Maria, as well as feeling furious with David and others who appeared bent on dividing Rowan Tree. She felt irritated with Mingan, one of the newcomers. She didn’t trust him. For some reason, he had inserted himself into the group assisting Gwelda, though also subtly supporting David’s attempts to take over leadership of the community. He’d worked as hard as any of them, but he’d hardly spoken to Gwelda and appeared, in fact, to avoid her.

It made no sense. Added to that, he paid her, Rose Red, altogether too much attention. She felt his eyes on her, and he frequently found a way to work with her. She knew the others noticed it, too. Gabriel often interrupted Mingan’s attempts to involve her in private conversation.

Mingan appeared a strong man, barrel-chested, with thickly-furred arms. His coarse hair was a strange yellowish grey brown mixture, his eyes brown with a greyish cast like over-stewed cold tea. He repelled her physically after Rowan’s soft-footed feline grace.

In dance, when training with Artemis, Rose Red discovered in herself a deep, cold, corrosive anger. At first, she’d felt ashamed, and even afraid of this feeling, but gradually she’d come to terms with the wild, fierce part of herself that could fight with no fear or thought of anything but survival. Something about Mingan made that snake-eyed, elemental female in her stir.

Image by efes from Pixabay

Now, Gwelda’s house was built, and her hand healed. It was Spring. Rowan Tree quieted down. Eurydice had led a ritual that repaired Rowan Gate, at least temporarily, and gave new hope and connection to a small group of grieving women, including Rose Red. After the ritual, Kunik moved in with Eurydice. He planned to turn his little house into a workshop after Chattan no longer needed a place to stay. Their delight in each other increased daily. Persephone had visited, taking a break from her busy life in Hades. Clarissa, the first to use the newly-repaired portal, had arrived to meet Seren, the storyteller who’d come, unsolicited, to repair Rowan Gate and, as far as she could tell, show off. With these events she associated relief, gratitude, irritation, and even hope, but not fear.

She groped under the mattress for the strange copper knife Brigid had given her the night of Eurydice’s ritual. It was an enigmatic gift. She’d never seen or heard of a copper knife before. Brigid had told her she’d know when and how to use it, and to keep it close. She was well-accustomed to using bow and arrows and knives, but something about this particular knife disturbed her. What kind of an act required such a blade? Was the knife connected to her sense of hidden threat?

A robin announced the dawn, insistent and confident. It sounded as though it perched in the oak tree canopy above her head. She imagined other birds stirring, waking, pulling their heads out from under their wings to begin a new day of building nests and mating play. The night’s dangers were over.

Rose Red turned on her side, relaxing. In a minute, she would get up, dress, make a light and heat water.

She slept.

Later that morning, Artemis came by to walk her down to the community kitchen for breakfast.

“You’re sleeping late.”

“I didn’t sleep well. I heard the robins start chirping, and then I suddenly did.” She yawned, feeling more tired than she had earlier.

“What kept you awake?”

“I don’t know,” said Rose Red, feeling suddenly tearful. “Everything, I guess. Sometimes I feel scared.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. That’s what’s so hard. I feel a sense of threat, especially at night. I’m probably being stupid.”

“Maybe not,” said Artemis. “Come and eat breakfast now, though. You’ll feel better.”

Rose Red was surprised to find Chattan cooking. He’d been absent for several weeks after going with Artemis to investigate Jan’s death and the fire. Kunik was with him, eating ham and eggs.

“Breakfast, ladies?” Chattan inquired breezily.

“Please and thank you,” said Artemis. “I’ll make tea.”

“Already made,” said Kunik, with his mouth full.

Rose Red sat beside Kunik while Artemis poured tea, handed her a cup, and began slicing bread for toast.

“When did you get back?” Rose Red asked Chattan, wrapping her hands around the cup’s comforting heat.

“During the night. I missed Rowan Tree. I’m glad to be back. How are you? How is Gwelda?” His tawny eyes smiled into hers as he flipped the ham in the skillet.

She felt warmed by his friendliness, but also shy. She looked down into her tea cup.

“I’m all right. Gwelda is better. Her hand has healed, and she loves her house.”

“That’s good.” He broke two eggs into the sizzling pan. “Did Artemis tell you what we found?”

“She said there wasn’t much left of the house, but some of Jan’s tools were still there. Gwelda has them now. She said you found the place where Jan was killed.”

“Yes.” His mouth tightened in a grim line.

“Who would do such a thing? Artemis said she didn’t think it was an animal.”

“No. Wild animals don’t kill like that. Does Gwelda have any ideas about someone who didn’t like them, or had some kind of a grudge?”

“She’s as puzzled about it as we are.”

The door opened and Maria and Heks appeared.

“Good morning, all,” said Maria. “Welcome back, Chattan.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Breakfast?”

“Tea,” said Heks.

Artemis brought two plates from the stove, along with a cup for Heks. Maria refilled the tea pot, set it near Heks’s elbow, and nudged Chattan aside. “You’ve done your part. Sit.”

He surrendered the frying pan and Maria began frying more ham.

“We were talking about Gwelda and Jan,” Artemis said.

“Anything new?” Maria asked.

A look passed between Artemis and Chattan, and Rose Red put down her fork. “What is it? There’s something you’re not telling us.”

“There’s something you’re not telling us, too,” said Artemis.

Rose Red looked at her, open-mouthed.

“You’re not sleeping,” she prompted.

“But that’s nothing,” Rose Red protested. Her face felt hot. “I’m just being silly.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Maria cut in.

Rose Red looked from one face to another, feeling trapped. Kunik looked concerned, Chattan interested. Heks appeared wrapped in her own thoughts. Maria’s gaze demanded a truthful answer.

“I’m afraid of … something. I don’t know what. I feel it mostly at night. It started gradually, but it was so strong last night I felt afraid to get up and make a light. It’s like an invisible eye watching me – watching Rowan Tree – in the dark.”

“That’s not silly, Rosie,” said Maria. “Do you normally lie awake, scared, at night?”

“No.”

“Then why would you suddenly start for no reason?”

Rose Red shook her head.

“Eat,” said Chattan. She glanced up at him. His face was kind.

“I knew a woman once,” said Maria. “Her name was Juliana. She had a feeling about someone, a feeling of danger, of trouble. She told herself it was nothing, not important, and there was nothing she could do about it.”

“And then, one day, he killed her,” said Heks unexpectedly, “and then he killed someone else, another woman.”

“Jenny,” said Rose Red.

“Lovely Jenny,” said Kunik.

“There were other signs Juliana was in danger,” said Maria. “Heks?”

Heks reached into the collar of her tunic and withdrew a leather drawstring bag. She loosened the top and spilled out the contents on the table. Marbles rolled in every direction, among them two large black ones with points of shimmering light and six smaller ones. One rolled against Rose Red’s plate and an open blue eye looked at her. She returned its gaze, fascinated and horrified.

Image by Stefan Kellera from Pixabay

“That was Rapunzel’s,” Heks explained. “It belonged to her lover, Alexander.”

“The one who found her in the tower?” asked Rose Red.

“The very one. These,” she indicated four brown eyes,” are the eyes of Maria’s children, Juan and Carlos.” Maria picked them up, closed her fingers around them and dropped a kiss onto her hand before releasing them. They, too, were open.

“That,” said Heks, pointing to a glaring amber eye Chattan examined, “belonged to Radulf. He thought it was a wolf’s eye.”

“The eyes aren’t always open,” said Maria. “Usually they’re not, in fact. It appears they open when there’s danger, or at least something important to look at. While Rapunzel and I were with Juliana, before she was killed, Alexander’s eye was always open. Radulf, Rapunzel and I gave Heks our eyes the year we founded Rowan Tree for safekeeping, and they’ve remained closed since then. Sometime last winter they opened again.”

“Could it be the Yrtym?” Chattan asked.

“It could be,” said Heks. “It could be anything.”

“I believe in intuition,” said Artemis. “Part of what makes you so special, Rosie, is your sensitivity. You don’t make up uncomfortable feelings for attention or to entertain yourself. If you feel danger, there is danger.” She sounded exceedingly cross.

Rose Red felt both chastened and relieved. “All right,” she said to Artemis. “I take your point.” She turned to Chattan.

“I thought of the Yrtym, too, and of Gwelda and Rowan Gate and losing the Rusalka, along with many other things. I’m concerned, irritated, frustrated, and scared about a lot of things, but what I felt last night is more immediate, more personal and closer to panic or terror than worry. I feel … hunted.”

“Like Jan,” Artemis said to Chattan.

“There’s more,” said Rose Red, determined to tell it all now. “When I go through every single thing that’s happened and is happening now, the only thing connected to this fear in any way is this.” She reached into her supple leather boot and withdrew the copper knife, setting it on the table.

“Brigid made this for me during our ritual with Eurydice. She wouldn’t tell me anything about it, just to keep it close and I’d know how to use it when the time came. I feel better when I keep it near, so I sleep with it and carry it during the day.”

Kunik turned it between his fingers. “The handle is made from your oak tree, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Have you ever seen a copper knife before?”

“No. It’s beautiful, but rather strange.” Kunik handed the knife to Chattan, who ran his thumb appreciatively along the knife’s blade. “I’m glad you have this,” he said to Rose Red. “Keep it with you.” He returned it and she tucked it back in her boot.

“I will. Now it’s your turn,” she said to Artemis. “What are you not telling?”

“We’ll show you,” said Artemis. “Is everyone finished eating?”

Kunik stacked and rinsed the plates and they left the community kitchen and went out into the spring morning.

Artemis and Chattan led them up the hill to Rose Red’s little house. A hawthorn thicket grew a few yards away. The north side of the thicket was still wet, the ground soft from melting snow, and Chattan crouched, pointing at a track in the mud.

Rose Red noted the clear indentations of claws. The track was canine, as wide as Kunik’s broad hand.

“That’s a huge wolf,” she said in surprise. “I didn’t know there were wolves in the area.”

“Look,” said Chattan. “Here’s the other paw, see? It stood here and looked that way,” he indicated a line of sight between the trees going right to Rose Red’s house.

Rose Red felt a stab of fear, but controlled it. “Chattan, wolves don’t stalk and hunt humans unless there’s a famine. It was only curious. Have you looked around the animal pens? That’s what we need to worry about.”

Image by Shannon Robertson from a Pixabay

“Why would it be so interested in this particular house?” asked Chattan. “You don’t keep chickens or rabbits or ducks up here, do you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then why does a wolf come to this spot at night to watch your house?”

“I don’t know. It’s strange. Wolves don’t hunt people when the forest is full of game! They avoid people.”

“Not this one.”

“Here’s another track,” Kunik called from under a nearby tree. “It’s not a wolf, though.”

The second track was even larger than the first, but without claw marks. “That’s feline,” said Rose Red to Artemis. “Don’t you think so?”

“I do,” said Artemis. “It’s a lynx, I believe.”

“So why is a lynx watching a wolf watching Rosie’s house in the middle of the night?” asked Maria. “Lynx and wolves don’t bother one another, do they?”

“Not usually,” said Artemis, “but I think there was a reason you felt threatened, Rosie. You weren’t making it up. These animals were here, close by, and it might be a good thing you didn’t make a light.”

“Thank the Gods you didn’t go out,” said Kunik.

“I felt too scared to get out of bed,” admitted Rose Red. “We’d better make sure the animal pens and sheds are strong.”

“Chattan and I will see to that,” said Kunik. “You look after yourself. Keep that knife on you, Rosie. Don’t wander off alone until we understand what’s going on. I don’t like this.”

“Take this, too, and keep it,” said Heks, handing the amber-eyed marble to Rose Red. “I think Radulf would want you to keep it. Perhaps it will guide you.”

“I’ll keep watch over things,” said Artemis, but Rose Red noticed she appeared less concerned than the others.

“It may be a silly idea,” said Maria, “but I have some aconite.”

“Do you?” asked Chattan with interest, while the others looked at one another blankly.

“What’s aconite?” Kunik asked.

“It’s an herb. It’s also called wolfsbane,” said Heks unexpectedly. “It’s a powerful poison. I suggest you apply it to that knife of yours.”

“Isn’t that a little … ?” asked Rose Red.

“Dramatic?” snapped Heks. “Not as dramatic as being torn apart by a … wolf.” She gave Chattan a long, speculative look before turning away and striding back down the hill, her back stiff with irritation.

“Why is she so annoyed?” asked Kunik.

Chattan chuckled. “Best do as she says,” he advised Rose Red. “It won’t hurt anything. You be careful of that poison, though,” he cautioned Maria. “Put it on the knife blade and sheath the knife. Don’t take it out unless you mean to use it.” His tawny gaze settled on Rose Red, who felt as though events were moving much too fast.

“Isn’t all this unnecessary?” she asked.

“No,” said Artemis firmly. “We’ll come see about the aconite,” she said to Maria, and took Rose Red’s arm.

SEREN

Clarissa’s sudden appearance thoroughly annoyed Seren. He hated surprises. She must be taught to never take him off guard again. He’d underestimated the power of his attraction for females, even one so young and gauche as Clarissa.

He felt satisfied he was the guest of the most important man in Rowan Tree. David was intelligent, literate and comparatively well educated, a man able to appreciate Seren’s reputation and talent. Clearly, David and his circle were the natural leaders of this struggling little community.

He’d been surprised to see one or two familiar faces. The fat woman with the ugly purplish black hair had been at Yggdrasil. She had a strange, unpronounceable name, Youris, or something like that. She, naturally enough, had been attracted to him, but he wasn’t interested in her type. He’d never liked fat people. He remembered how she had mocked his discomfort with the loathsome snake the three old bags at Yggdrasil kept as some kind of a pet.

He’d also seen an old woman who looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t remember where he’d run into her before. She’d stayed in the background, which was just as well. Old people were a bore. She knew her place, unlike that infernal nuisance, Gabriel, who waited around every corner, insisting on engaging him in endless and trivial conversation.

The place was a hotbed of gossip, of course. A cadre of middle-aged women spent their time caring for animals, spinning, weaving, dying, baking, churning and sewing, talking incessantly about personalities, relationships, secrets, rumors and speculating about what had happened, what was happening now, and what might happen in the future. All this he ignored, having neither time nor interest in such trivia.

They appeared conscious of their good fortune in his presence, however, and their undivided interest and attention was gratifying. Much of his material was beyond them, but he performed simple stories and old ballads and lullabies, sentimental stuff they enjoyed.

He had his eye on one or two young women with possibilities. One was a shy little beauty with curly black hair, but her short hair was a definite defect, and she was as wary as a doe with hardly a word to say for herself. She was called Rose Red, like a girl in a fairy tale. She appeared to spend her time on the fringes of the community and was some kind of authority on the land, animals and trees.

The other possessed long red hair and, appropriately enough, was called Ginger. She was evidently unattached, though she was by far the most beautiful young woman at Rowan Tree, lithe and graceful. Unfortunately, she lived with Maria, a weaver who fancied herself the community leader, as if a woman were capable of such a thing! Maria was middle-aged with a lot of silver in her dark hair, and he’d heard it whispered she was a witch. She tended the chickens and a large herb garden. She possessed some kind of unstated authority among certain community members.

Hard on the heels of Clarissa’s arrival had come a second unpleasant surprise. It appeared a group of women had stolen away and repaired the portal during some kind of private ritual. Clarissa herself had been the first to use the mended gate.

David felt both offended and hurt. The whole thing was clearly an underhanded attempt on Maria’s part, who undoubtedly led the group, to maintain her claim to power. Probably, the portal was not in fact repaired, but only worked by means of some kind of temporary and dangerous witchcraft.

The offense against David, however, was as nothing next to the insult to Seren himself. He, the greatest musician and poet, had traveled weary miles through the foulest weather imaginable at great cost and suffering to help these people, and before he had a chance to even gather his wits, renew his energy and make a plan, a bunch of secretive, jealous women scuttled out one night to perform who-knew-what kind of questionable magic as a deliberate act of contempt.

That Clarissa should be the one to prove at least a temporary fix of Rowan Gate was the crowning blow.

He hadn’t known about the fiasco at the portal until after he saw Clarissa, but he felt pleased by the way he’d handled their reunion. He’d been dignified, polite and cool, making her place clear to her and David, who looked on. He’d punished her appropriately for her presumption. He’d felt her hurt and embarrassment at his distance, and he hoped it taught her a lesson. After all, a good dog must learn discipline. It did not hurl itself into its master’s arms, willy-nilly.

The second part of the lesson would be to avoid her for a day or two. He would remain aloof, inaccessible and maintain an attitude of pained patience and endurance toward her.

In the meantime, he’d make a grand gesture to show he was above holding grudges. With David’s help, he planned a performance. He’d make them laugh, marvel, and weep at his brilliance. Perhaps the sound of his voice and music would be enough to keep the unnaturally mended portal open permanently, even somewhat at a remove. Who knew?

He arranged the largest community space available, the kitchen and gathering room, exactly to his liking. Lighting was important, as he knew the mesmerizing effect his fingers on the lyre strings created for the audience, especially the females. Also, it enabled everyone to see him clearly, and he could relish their admiration.

Seating must accommodate the whole community in such a way that nobody’s view was blocked. He himself preferred to stride and gesture, showing off his rich clothing and handsome looks. He enjoyed watching the audience’s eyes follow his every movement. It enhanced his performance.

He made it clear to David he wouldn’t tolerate children and babies unless they remained absolutely silent. He couldn’t bear interruptions. It broke the flow of his creativity and passion too painfully. Anyone too old and senile to stay awake must also be excluded.

The kitchen would be shut. Eating, drinking and clattering dishes were unacceptable distractions. The evening meal would take place early to ensure the kitchen was closed by the time of the performance.

The program took place on the evening of the day following Clarissa’s arrival. In a show of magnanimity, Seren directed David to call the performance a celebration of the portal’s repair. He would rise above the underhandedness of how the repair had occurred, ignore it as though it held no importance.

Seren, David, and a small group of others talked long into the night after Clarissa’s arrival, discussing ways and means of disempowering Maria and discouraging others from forming exclusive groups to perform dubious rituals. Seren maintained a dignified but pained silence, irritated that no one appeared to understand he bore the greatest insult. He spoke with eloquence about his intended contribution the following night, however, asking for their support and assuring them he would demonstrate the inclusivity and structure necessary to a healthy community.

Privately, he arranged for Rose Red, Ginger and Clarissa to sit in the first row of the audience. In this way he could savor the admiration and beauty of two women and the hurt adoration of the third. Perhaps they would even vie for his attentions. If Clarissa behaved herself, he might even allow a reconciliation after the performance as a kind of dessert. He deserved a treat after his recent disappointments.

He also intended to scatter David and his cronies throughout the audience to encourage the proper timing, quantity and quality of applause. His experience with simple, rural people had taught him they sometimes found an appreciative grunt homage enough for a story or song. It was important to demonstrate the correct way to honor such a creative offering, and people were like sheep. It only took one to suggest clapping, standing or cheering and the others followed.

He spent the day in seclusion. As he rehearsed, pacing back and forth in David’s guest room, he noted with satisfaction Clarissa remained in view most of the time. She appeared to be friendly with the lovely Ginger, and he observed her deep in conversation with the witch Maria, under whose influence she must not be allowed to fall. Something about Maria reminded him of Rapunzel.

Clarissa tried to look carefree and casual, but her frequent glances at David’s house betrayed her longing and confusion, which buoyed Seren’s confidence and rehearsal performance.

This would be a night to remember.

***

Seren sat on a stool, which he planned to set aside when he began, wearing a benign smile and watching the audience enter the community building and take seats. David and his friends acted as ushers. Rose Red arrived with a man Seren hadn’t seen before. He was average size but possessed unusually powerful hips and legs, and his eyes were a disconcerting tawny color. His strange looks were ugly and Seren wondered what such a beautiful girl saw in him. She resisted the direction to sit in the front row, but David insisted, smiling and indicating a chair with a good view, and she reluctantly seated herself after a half-hearted protest, her companion settling beside her.

Image by Jevgeni Fil from PIxabay

Mingan, an acquaintance of David’s who was a newcomer to Rowan Tree, headed for the empty seat next to Rose Red but was forestalled by the fat, dark-haired woman, whatever her name was. She slid into the seat right under Mingan’s nose, ignoring his angry look, and spoke animatedly to Rose Red. Ginger took her place in the front row with the witch Maria, and Clarissa sat beside Ginger. Seren avoided her eyes.

The kitchen, as he’d requested, was dark and even blocked off with a few chairs. The lighting was perfect and a low fire burned in the fireplace behind him, which he thought outlined his form and movements flatteringly.

While the place filled and the audience rustled and murmured with anticipation, he sat as though alone, his gaze distant, his face serene. He imagined the white light he’d been born with shining around his head like a candle, drawing every eye. He waited a few minutes after the last straggler arrived, allowing anticipation to build.

When he judged the moment appropriate, he rose gracefully from his stool and set it aside. David came to the front and addressed the audience.

“We are honored to be hosting the greatest musician, poet, storyteller and singer who ever lived. Please join me in welcoming Seren to Rowan Tree, and prepare yourselves for an unforgettable night.” He stepped away, applauding, and the audience joined in enthusiastically.

Seren smiled modestly, dipped his head and picked up his lyre.

He carefully planned his performances. He liked to start with music rather than words, setting the evening’s magical tone with rippling notes and melodies. When the faces of the audience were smoothed, relaxed and dreaming, he added words, first with a song or two, and then a story. He chose the story of how his lyre came to him. He’d told it in outline to Clarissa, but not in fully embellished detail. He thought it a good starting place in his own legend, and he suspected many of the people here had never heard it and knew little about his extraordinary life.

Still cradling the lyre and occasionally adding its voice to the story, he began.

“Once upon a time, before the shining stars learned to sing enchantments, a child was born from a kingly silver star and carried in the sea’s womb.

Adrift in a coracle, wearing a crown of light, he was found by a fisherman. The fisherman and his wife kept the child and raised him. They named him Seren, which means ‘star’. They cared for him as best they could, but they were coarse, rough people and, little by little, the child’s crown of light tarnished and dimmed as he grew up.

With great fortitude, the boy Seren endured the squalor of goats and chickens and a beaten earth floor. His foster father was often away fishing and his foster mother spent her days caring for the livestock and house, and mending his father’s sea-soaked nets.

In spite of the ignorance and poverty in which he was raised, Seren began speaking before he was a year old, and making songs and poems before he was two. Word traveled of the precocious child, and teachers came. Seren learned so quickly it appeared he already knew everything they could teach and more, and only needed to be reminded.

Twelve years after he’d been found, Seren could earn in an evening more than his father did in a month’s fishing, making poems and songs and relating histories of families, kingdoms, battles and deeds. People said he might one day be the greatest bard who ever lived. He was handsome and self-possessed, confident in his gift. His fame spread and his presence was requested across the land, so he left his foster parents and went out into Webbd to begin a man’s life.

Some years before, another man in a far-away place, the son of the muse, Calliope, had also shown some talent in making music, but he allowed himself to be ensnared by a woman, who fatally weakened his creative essence. He was freed by her death, but by then it was too late and he clung to the memory of his destruction and foolishly knelt before Hades to beg for her life. In the end, he proved unable to rescue her from Hades and his talent and prospects, so bright in the beginning, were damaged beyond repair. His puny skill flickered and died, along with his life.

Calliope, in her maternal grief, set her son’s lyre in the heavens to mark his short life and unrealized potential. The lyre had been made by Hermes himself from a tortoise shell, and was imbued with sexual potency, longevity and wisdom.

As Seren grew to manhood and rumor of his enchanted words and music spread, the muse Euterpe, Calliope’s sister, recognized a talent greater than had ever come before and realized the true master of the lyre had not been its original owner after all. Certainly, it had failed to provide longevity. She did not wish to reawaken Calliope’s grief, so she surreptitiously removed the lyre from the heavens, substituting other stars in its place to hide its absence, and presented it to Seren.

The lyre leapt into his arms, recognizing its true owner, a worthy master at last, and the poet’s voice and fingers entwined sensuously with the strings. Ever since then Seren, a star fallen to earth with a tongue enchanted by the Gods and faeries, travels with his lyre. They say his words are starlight and sunlight; the sea, stones and trees whisper their stories to him, and he is the greatest bard who ever lived.”

Seren played a last melody, letting it slowly die away in the silent building. The listening faces were rapt. The fat woman with the unattractive hair next to Rose Red had tears on her cheeks and her dark eyes burned with emotion. Admiration, no doubt. He hoped she was not going to conceive some sort of embarrassing passion for him.

After a moment, someone began clapping, and a wave of applause and cheering washed through the room. Seren, displaying his lyre, smiled and bowed.

He was thirsty. He’d forgotten to ask for water to be provided. He frowned. It was inappropriate for him to walk into the kitchen and help himself. Clarissa, as though reading his mind, rose unobtrusively, skirted the crowd, and returned in a moment with a large cup of Rowan Tree’s excellent water. He accepted it and rewarded her with a smile. She smiled back and settled into her seat again without fuss or calling attention to herself. He approved. Perhaps she’d been chastened enough.

He drank, and then strummed the lyre and began the next story.

ROSE RED

It was finally over. The whole audience rose to their feet, shouting, clapping and stamping their approval. Rose Red stood with the rest, clapped, and felt her face contort into a smiling rictus. Her left hand ached and tingled from the strength of Eurydice’s grip. Eurydice had taken it during Seren’s first story and held it fast ever since, her rage palpable to Rose Red, but held in check. Rose Red felt sick and shaky with tension. She dreaded scenes. She’d never known Eurydice to be so angry. In fact, tension seemed to emanate from everywhere, a strange contrast to Seren’s smooth, confident and polished performance. He was undoubtedly a masterful storyteller and musician. Why, then, did she feel so wretched? She longed for the cool, quiet night. She must get out of the building. She turned, feeling panicked, seeking the door, and saw only a sea of people.

“I’ll walk you home,” a voice said in her ear, and she felt someone grasp her upper arm. It was Mingan, and she recoiled and then immediately felt ashamed of her rudeness.

“No, thank you,” she said, fighting to control herself. “I’ll go with Eurydice and Kunik. Thank you, though.”

The crowd moved, some making for the door and others surging toward Seren, who sat majestically on his stool. Eurydice and Kunik appeared, Eurydice’s eyes bright with tears of rage, her cheeks burning.

“I need to get out of here,” said Rose Red to Kunik, making no effort to hide her desperation. “Please!”

“Come along.” He tucked her arm in his and the three of them pushed their way to the door and out.

The cool air smelled like rain and ragged clouds covered all but a few pools of stars. Rose Red overflowed with relieved tears. Eurydice led them up the hill like a charging bull, temper in every stride. Rose Red could hear her muttering to herself. Kunik retained her arm in his comforting grasp, and she could feel his chest vibrating with amusement.

Suddenly, she felt light and free, almost giddy. She recognized the signs of too much emotional strain.

Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Unsplash

“I think I need to eat, or drink a cup of tea or something,” she said.

“We all do,” said Kunik.

“Is Eurydice all right?”

“She will be.”

“Can we go to my house?” Rose Red didn’t want to go out again, not with the night watchers.

“We’re going to Rosie’s for a cup of tea,” Kunik called to Eurydice’s back.

“How about a cup of poison instead?” she growled.

“We’ll see Maria about that in the morning,” he returned cheerfully, and Eurydice laughed unwillingly. Rose Red felt better.

When they reached Rose Red’s oak tree, she laid a hand on the trunk in both greeting and inquiry. The tree still lived, though its budding leaves were sparse. She dreaded the day she felt no response to her touch. Kunik lit a lantern and the candles in the White Stag’s antlers. He began heating water.

From outside, Rose Red heard the thunk of an ax on wood.

“She’s splitting wood in the dark?” she asked Kunik, amazed.

“She’ll be all right. It’s a good way to work off her temper. Maybe your watcher will stick his neck out and she’ll take his head off for him.”

“Ugh,” said Rose Red, and shuddered.

“Cold?”

“No. Overwhelmed. Confused. Why did he talk about Orpheus that way, right to Eurydice’s face?”

“Because he’s a conceited, puffed-up little toad,” said Eurydice, entering with an armful of wood. “He doesn’t know who I am.”

“But he’s met you! Weren’t you both at Yggdrasil?”

“Yes, but the Grand Pooh-Bah has no interest in anybody but himself. I don’t think he even knows my name, and if he does he probably doesn’t connect me with Orpheus. You noticed he never actually called Orpheus by name?”

“I did notice.”

“He told Clarissa the story of Yggdrasil, except in his story he did everything himself. Heks was an ‘old woman.’ Rumpelstiltskin was ‘the Dwarve.’ Clarissa didn’t know I was there until I told her. That’s why Rapunzel wanted the pair of them to come here, so Clarissa could see for herself what a liar he is. He didn’t know Heks and I lived here. Rapunzel felt certain he’d reveal his lies, and he has.”

“He was cruel about Orpheus, Eurydice. I’m sorry.”

“Rosie, I don’t care who the greatest musician is! I’m angry because he lied about everything. He’s not using Orpheus’s lyre at all. The whole thing is a fabrication!”

“Well, after all, he is a storyteller,” put in Kunik mischievously.

Eurydice rounded on him with fury.

Kunik put up his hands in mock surrender, laughing. Even Rose Red laughed. Feeling steadier, she rose from her chair and produced bread and cheese. The water boiled and Eurydice made tea. Rose Red took a bottle of mead off a high shelf and added a slug to each cup.

“How do you know it’s not the same lyre?” Rose Red inquired after a few minutes.

“When Hermes made the lyre for Orpheus, he gilded the rim and set the tortoise shell with jewels. I’d know it anywhere. I used to polish it after every performance.”

“I was teasing, but that’s what some people will say,” said Kunik. “He’s a storyteller. It’s his business to make up stories and tell them. He’s certainly a gifted performer. I’ve never heard music like that.”

“But stories should be real,” said Rose Red.

Kunik looked at her.

“I mean true,” said Rose Red.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, you know what I mean! Stories are about people, how they feel and what they do. They help us understand one another, feel connected.”

“I suspect Seren would disagree. His stories are about him. He’s not interested enough in others to tell the kind of stories we tell. Clarissa is ten times the teller he is. I could spend days listening to her tell about Sedna and re-tell sea lore and stories from the Rusalka. She’s wonderful.” Kunik shook his head in wonder. “She tells as though she’s invisible, nothing but a conduit. Seren concentrates on being not only visible but the only one in sight.”

“I’ll bet Seren does everything he can to keep her quiet,” said Eurydice in a hard voice. “He’s not one to tolerate competition. I understand why Rapunzel feels concerned about her. He’ll destroy her.”

Image by Nika Akin from Pixabay

“She loves him,” said Rose Red. “That’s obvious.”

Later, after Eurydice and Kunik left, Rose Red crawled under her skins and blankets and curled around the tree. She felt exhausted and overstimulated at the same time. She fell into sudden sleep and then woke abruptly, heart pounding.

All was quiet. She imagined unfriendly eyes in the dark. Wolf or lynx, which was the greater threat? Why were they both watching? Or perhaps no one watched and the night forest was benign.

She felt for her copper knife, tucked under the mattress within easy reach, snugged safely within its leather sheath. Maria had worn gloves while smearing the blade with a paste made out of aconite root.

“You must never get this on your skin,” she cautioned Rose Red. “A scratch with the blade will kill you. When it dries, I’ll sheath the knife. Don’t unsheathe it again unless you’re in deadly danger.”

“Why do you have aconite at all?” asked Rose Red.

“It can be useful, in extremely small doses, for skin and circulation problems. This paste is made from the root, the most toxic part of the plant, and it’s undiluted. That’s what makes it so dangerous. I don’t like using it, and I don’t like giving it to you, but I’m frightened for you, and I can’t forget Juliana. If she’d taken steps to protect herself, she might not have died. If I’d taken the whole thing more seriously, I might have convinced her to carry some kind of a weapon.”

“It might not have made any difference,” said Artemis, who was also there.

“Maybe not. But I reproach myself for not trying. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“I’ll be careful with it,” Rose Red promised. “Don’t worry. It does make me feel better, knowing I can defend myself.”

“Don’t pull this knife unless you mean to use it,” Maria repeated soberly. “Can you deliberately poison a wolf or a lynx?”

“If I must,” said Rose Red. “If it’s them or me.”

“If you pull the knife, make sure it’s them, not you,” said Artemis.

Rose Red had never killed in self-defense before, but she’d hunted many times. She never enjoyed taking a creature’s life but understood eating and being eaten were sacred to Webbd’s natural balance, and felt reasonably sure she could kill a dangerous animal. A human being might be a different thing. She found it hard to reconcile her sense of threat with an animal, no matter how fierce or predatory, but the footprints were certainly not human.

Tomorrow, she must apologize to Mingan, explain she’d felt tired after the long performance, make some excuse for her rudeness. She didn’t like him, but he’d intended to be kind. He was not an attractive man and his approach was clumsy. He probably was lonely. She would make it right.

The amber-eyed marble Heks had given her was with the knife, nestled in its own little hide bag with a drawstring. Holding the bag protectively in her hand, she wondered if the eye was open or closed, but didn’t look to see. She turned and dozed again.

Outside in the spring night, a light rain fell on the unfurling leaves.

Image by Catharina77 from Pixabay

CHAPTER 19

HEKS

Heks, less interested in watching Seren than the audience, took a seat in the back and off to the side. From there, she enjoyed picking out Seren’s and David’s henchman, scattered through the audience, who led the applause and other signs of appreciation. She noted Eurydice’s rigid back and smiled to herself.

She freely admitted Seren’s talent was astounding, but it wasn’t enough to excuse his obnoxious preening and posturing. She found his performance painfully insincere. She wondered if Orpheus had been equally conceited in his day. She didn’t think Seren knew Orpheus’s wife sat in the front row and would know if the first story he told about his lyre was true or not.

She saw the smile Clarissa and Seren exchanged when Clarissa brought him water. After ignoring her since her arrival, it looked as though he was ready to bestow his warmth on her once again. Clarissa had not complained, but Heks knew she’d hardly slept and felt miserable since he’d rejected her open-hearted and joyful greeting when she arrived at Rowan Tree.

He had Clarissa right where he wanted her.

When the program finally ended, she slipped out into the cool, rain-smelling night and waited for Ginger, Maria and Clarissa. She saw Kunik, Rose Red and Eurydice emerge, but made no sign. She grinned as she watched Eurydice stomp up the hill. Kunik held Rose Red’s arm, as though lending her his stalwart support. She was too sensitive for her own good. This business of unseen, unknown danger was wearing her down. She noted with interest Chattan was not with them. Heks possessed her own suspicions about wolves and lynxes. She suspected the danger to Rose Red was not great and Chattan and Artemis both knew more than they were telling. Rose Red was stronger than she knew, and fiercer. She would be all right. Heks felt free to concentrate on Clarissa and Seren.

She had never had anything to do with a young woman before, and she could hardly remember her own maidenhood. Bruno had been his father’s creature since he could walk. She’d loved him, but her love proved ineffectual against Joe’s brutality and influence, and the child soon learned to scorn her and emulated his father’s contempt for Heks and all women.

Clarissa’s strength, confidence and passion were a revelation to Heks. The girl had been shy at first. Heks knew Clarissa had never known an older human grandmother-type figure. In the context of the lighthouse, Rapunzel, Persephone, Ginger and, most of all, storytelling, Clarissa had lost her initial wariness as Heks, as she so often did, faded into the background.

Clarissa was an extraordinary storyteller, and Heks often wondered what her father had been like, as he appeared to be the more influential parent. Clarissa’s unaffected and vivid style made Seren’s posturing even more ridiculous. Completely unaware of her own talent, Clarissa only told stories as a tribute to her father in the beginning. From there she grew to love them for their own sake and began collecting material more purposefully. Her new-found poise and confidence amazed Heks, though Clarissa minimized her ability and refused any comparison to her lover’s greatness.

Except Heks didn’t think he was her lover. Not yet. And not because Clarissa held back, either. He played with her, exercising his power, and that, more than anything, was why Heks was so determined to teach him a lesson. Clarissa, she felt certain, would survive, but not all young women were so fortunate. Seren must not think he could play games with women’s hearts and lives with impunity.

Maria and Ginger emerged with Persephone and began walking toward the little house they shared. Heks stepped away from the tree she stood under and joined them.

“What did you think?” Maria asked.

“I think he’s an insufferable brat,” Heks replied.

“Clarissa is ten times the storyteller he is,” said Ginger. “When I listen to her, I feel amazed and inspired, as though I understand myself and others better. Tonight I feel—”

“Disgusted?” suggested Maria.

“Irritated?” said Heks.

“Both,” Maria said.

“It’s all showmanship with him,” Persephone remarked. “He has no dignity or humility. I’ve heard hundreds of people tell their stories, raw and unedited, and their expression was far more powerful. Seren’s music is beautiful, but the only way I can hear it is with my eyes closed.”

“Is he better than Orpheus?” Heks asked. “You heard him play, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I heard him play. No, he’s not better than Orpheus. Orpheus put his whole self into his music. He played with his heart.”

“I’m not sure Seren has a heart,” said Ginger. “Look how cruel he is to Clarissa. He doesn’t care about anybody but himself.”

“Where is Clarissa?” Heks asked.

“She offered to stay and help put the tables and benches back in place,” said Maria.

“Huh,” said Heks.

“He’s being nice to her now,” said Ginger.

They walked silently for a few minutes. Heks could hear the river talking to itself in a low voice as it flowed.

“Eurydice was in a temper,” said Maria.

“I could tell, just by looking at her back,” Heks replied. “I bet it was the story about the lyre. Have you noticed anything different about her lately?” She sensed a sudden flicker of movement near her head and started. A small weight came to rest on her chest near her right shoulder.

“Heks, it’s me.”

“Ash?”

“And Beatrice,” shrilled the beetle.

“That’s a bat!” said Persephone, amazed.

“Hush,” said Heks. Wait until we get home.”

Image by Cindy Parks from Pixabay

When they entered Heks’s cave-like dwelling, Ash flitted to his accustomed perch in the corner while Heks made a light.

“Do we need a fire?”

“No,” said Maria. “The air is so sweet. I love the smell of rain.”

They sat around Heks’s table and Ash swooped down to Heks’s tunic and hung from the collar, his black eyes shining in the lamplight.

“This is Ash and his friend, Beatrice,” said Heks matter-of-factly.

The fur on Ash’s chest parted and a beetle poked its head and thorax out, waving delicate antennae.

“Ash and Beatrice, meet Persephone. You’ve met Ginger and Maria.”

Persephone, well-used to bats because of her years in Hades, said, “I’m pleased to meet you both.”

“I’ve often seen you, Queen Persephone,” said Ash.

“Why didn’t you speak?”

“You’re a queen,” he said simply.

“I never thought I’d meet a real queen,” murmured Beatrice, “especially such a beautiful one.”

“I’m an ordinary person like everyone else,” Persephone assured them, “but thank you for saying I’m beautiful.”

Heks, impatient, said, “What’s the news? Where have you come from?”

“We’ve come through Rowan Gate from Yggdrasil, and before that from Rumpelstiltskin in Dvorgdom. He wants your help – yours and Ginger’s, if she’ll come.”

He related Rumpelstiltskin’s adventures, Pele’s appearance, and Rumpelstiltskin’s plan.

Heks raised an eyebrow at Ginger, who said, “Of course we’ll come. I’m honored to be asked.”

“I’ll come too,” Persephone offered. “I can drum, and I’d like to meet Pele. We both serve underground, after all.”

“That would be good,” said Ash. “In fact, I intended to seek you and King Hades out, because Beatrice and I heard a worrisome rumor that some of the Dvorgs have their eye on Hades. Slate and his followers feel all of belowground is theirs by right and tradition.”

“Hasn’t Hades always existed?” asked Maria.

“No one really knows,” Persephone said. “I’ve never heard it was taken from the Dvorgs. Have you?” she appealed to Ash.

“No, and neither have the fire salamanders. There’s no evidence I know of, but Slate doesn’t need evidence. He specializes in starting rumors and divisions with nothing but a muttered word.”

“Pele might know,” suggested Heks.

“Yes, but she’s properly aroused and not inclined to participate in a reasonable discussion,” said Ash.

“Poseidon’s worried sick about volcanic vents in the ocean floor,” said Persephone. “Superheating is creating toxic gases and sea life is dying because of rising water temperatures, not to mention the sea withdrawing from the land. I wonder if that’s all due to Pele?”

“She’s incredibly powerful,” said Ash.

“She’s incredibly angry,” added Beatrice. “I think it’s more than the Dvorgs rejecting her. I think she’s a woman scorned.”

Heks smiled at this.

“I mean it,” said Beatrice. “I think there’s more going on than we know about.”

“Can you get back through Rowan Gate to Yggdrasil, and then to Rumpelstiltskin?” Maria asked Ash.

“I think so,” said Ash. “Everything worked fine when we came.”

“I must send word to Hades,” said Persephone. “He should know about what the Dvorgs are saying.

“We want a day or two to rest, anyway,” said Ash. “Beatrice and I are both looking forward to fresh food. I’ve missed hunting over the winter.”

“There’s a lot more to talk about,” said Beatrice. “Are Clarissa and Seren here? I’ve been thinking about her.”

Outside, thunder muttered and a light rain began falling while the four women, the little brown bat and the beetle talked long into the night.

CLARISSA

As the audience filed out, Clarissa lingered. Perhaps if she stayed to help move the tables and benches back into place Seren would speak to her.

Seren’s host, David, and several others she didn’t know also stayed, congratulating Seren and putting the hall back in order while Seren sat on his stool and rested. Clarissa knew a performance like this exhausted him. He put so much of himself into it. Without being asked, she brought him another glass of water and encouraged him to take a seat before the fire and relax while they put the room to rights. He gave her a weary smile and did so.

She felt shy and embarrassed after the scene in front of David after her arrival, so she avoided him. She found a broom and began sweeping the floor of crumbs, wood chips and mud, hoping the others would leave her alone with Seren.

She had decided to make no reference to his coldness and avoidance since she arrived. Her mother had told her men hated women who fussed. She would pretend it never happened, that they were still as they had been when he left the lighthouse. She wouldn’t talk about her own travels and adventures. Now was not the right time. He would be worn out tonight, wanting to relax and perhaps enjoy the euphoria of his performance. He would be in a good mood. She need only avoid irritating him. Seren liked life to be easygoing and comfortable. He liked cheerful, undemanding people.

She swept, taking pains to do a thorough job, stay out of the men’s way, and call no attention to herself. After doing the floor under the tables, she moved into the kitchen, not liking to disturb Seren by the fire.

The tables and benches restored, one by one the men left, Seren accepting handshakes and slaps on the back with dignity. David lingered, and for a moment Clarissa feared he would actually sit down and talk, but Seren did not encourage him. Clarissa exulted silently. He wanted to be alone with her, too!

The door closed behind David. Not wanting to appear too eager or needy, she finished sweeping. Seren sat without speaking, looking into the fire. Clarissa put the broom away and blew out lanterns and candles so the room dimmed.

“Are you warm enough? Shall I mend the fire?”

He nodded, and she knelt on the rag rug and put a piece of hardwood on the bright coals. She seated herself on a chair, not too near in case it annoyed him.

“They’ll never forget this night,” she said quietly.

“That’s what I wanted, to give them a night to remember.”

“They will. I will, too.”

“It felt good to see you looking up at me again, little one. My faithful muse.”

She glowed with pleasure.

“Why are you so far away? Come here.”

She went to him. He gestured at the floor and she settled there, her head against his knee. He stroked her streaky blonde and brown hair.

“David asked me to give another performance in a night or two. Will you come and be my muse again?”

“You know I will.”

He stretched and rolled his shoulders, grimacing.

“Is your neck tight?” she asked. “It’s such hard work for you.”

“Nobody appreciates how hard it is,” he said. “Never mind. The important thing is to serve others by my art, whatever the cost.”

“Shall I work on your neck? You could stay right there and relax, and I’ll stand behind you.”

“If you’d like. I don’t suppose you have birch oil?”

“I don’t,” she said, apologetic. “There’s lavender oil in the kitchen, though, in case of burns. Maria made it.”

“That witch?”

“She’s not a witch, Seren. She’s an herbalist, a healer. She’s very nice.”

He snorted. “Well, if you think it won’t poison me.”

Image by Hans Braxmeier from Pixabay

“Of course not. Lavender is healing. It will help your sore muscles.”

She found lard and mixed a small amount with a few drops of lavender oil.

Seren removed his shirt, revealing the sculpted lines of his chest and shoulders in the flickering firelight. She stood behind him, looking down at his well-shaped head, the firm column of his neck and the light growth of hair between his nipples. Surely no man had ever been this beautiful.

She laid her hands on his shoulders reverently, as though in blessing, and began rubbing, lightly spreading the simple salve and gradually working it in more deeply. The smell of lavender soothed. When her hands were no longer greasy, she paused and pulled her tunic over her head, wanting the intimacy of her bare flesh in close proximity to his and feeling overheated, between the fire and her desire for him. He relaxed and let his head drop forward as she worked on his muscles with her thumbs and the sensitive pads of her fingers. She let her hands speak for her, touching him with sensuality and sensitivity, inviting, exploring, tantalizing. Her hard nipples reached out for his smooth golden hair, longing for touch. Her muscles softened and melted even as his did. Her mouth felt swollen. She remembered with fierce longing the kiss on the cliffs below the lighthouse. If only he would kiss her that way again!

He sighed and turned his head, finding her bared breast.

“Oh,” he said, and kissed its round hardness.

She gasped and guided her nipple to his lips. She felt his tongue and her belly exploded with wet heat.

He made an inarticulate sound around her breast and put his arms up to her.

Clarissa ceased to think. She became skin and lips and warmth, a wanting female animal of moisture and musk. She touched and tasted, worshipped and teased, holding nothing back, entirely natural.

They flowed together, she standing, he sitting, then she kneeling, and then the two of them entwined on the rag rug in front of the fireplace. It felt gritty with ash and wood debris, but she didn’t mind. Texture layered on texture, scent layered on taste, and suddenly he entered her, clumsy and careless in his desire, and she put aside the momentary discomfort and arched up, welcoming him. He thrust once or twice into the sore center of her and groaned. She felt his climax spurt.

Then it was done. He lay collapsed on top of her, heavy and breathless. A wood chip ground into her back. Her body, so supple and lovely moments before, felt confused, her desire overcome with discomfort and a desolate sense of interruption.

She stilled herself and tried to relax. She felt him soften and slip out of her, but the sticky soreness between her legs continued. She held him lightly, trying to express her love without being clingy. He appeared sated and relaxed, even ready to doze. His weight made breathing hard.

Perhaps men needed rest after taking their pleasure before they pleasured their women. She didn’t know. Irvin had never talked about the specifics of sex, and her mother refused to discuss it at all. She hadn’t liked to ask Rapunzel or her other friends. She’d imagined it took longer, involved more stroking and touching and exploring.

Perhaps that’s not what men wanted.

He lifted his head and looked into her face.

“That was unexpected. Why did you take off your tunic?”

She was surprised. “It’s warm here, by the fire. I wanted to be close to you.”

“It’s customary to make sure the other person wants to be close, you know,” he said, and rolled off her.

“Seren –”

“Get dressed, little muse, before someone finds us,” he said, not looking at her, and pulled his tunic over his head.

She wanted to wipe herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to go naked into the kitchen in front of him and find a rag. She pulled on her clothes, feeling dirty and ashamed.

“Seren –”

“Good night.” The door shut behind him and she was alone.

She stood on the rag rug, feeling dazed. This was not what she’d longed for and dreamed of all these weeks. This was not the promise of the kiss on the cliffs. She realized suddenly he hadn’t kissed her at all tonight.

She looked down at the rug she stood on and saw a dark blotch where her blood had stained it. She knelt and rolled up the rug, tucked it under her arm and left the hall, closing the door quietly behind her.

She must get to the sea, where she could rest and think and wash herself clean. She must get there now.

She ran up the hill in the dark. The wind gusted warmly, smelling of rain and green growth. Once under the trees’ shelter, she left the rolled-up rug under some hazel bushes and made her way swiftly to Rowan Gate. Inside the stone walls, the spring burbled gently to itself. She stepped into the water and found herself in the sea. It gathered her in its arms, sighing and rocking. It washed her clean in its foam and played lovingly with her hair. It touched her and held her.

She wept.

Image by Mark Dekkers from Pixabay

***

When Clarissa stepped back out of Rowan Gate, a pink dawn paled the sky and early birdsong filled the air. She walked soft-footed past Eurydice’s little house and skirted Rose Red’s oak tree. No one stirred. Two goats lay with their legs curled under them in one pasture and three milk cows grazed peacefully in another.

Clarissa found her way to the large shed serving as storage for animal feed and hay. There she found Persephone, lying on one wool blanket and wrapped in another, on a fragrant hay mattress.

Clarissa didn’t wake her, but made herself comfortable against a bolster of hay and looked out the open shed across the hill. It was peaceful. She’d never visited Hades, but the idea of living underground and never seeing the sun or sky made her shudder. She could understand why Persephone preferred to be outside when she could.

Her eyes were sore and tired and she felt utterly drained. Her body was her own again. The sea had soothed her pain away and washed the stickiness of blood and semen from her skin. Her mind felt pleasantly numb. She leaned her head back against the hay and a shaft of early sun lay across her lap. She thought she’d be quite happy to sit in the hay and doze forever.

Persephone stirred, stretched, yawned. Clarissa turned her head and met her eyes.

“Clarissa?”

“It’s nice here,” said Clarissa.

Persephone’s eyes were the color of a shallow sea under the sun. She examined Clarissa carefully.

“It is. I like being close to the animals and sleeping where I can see the sky and feel the air around me.”

Clarissa lost interest and resettled her head, closing her eyes.

“I’ve a comb here. I don’t suppose you’d help me with my hair, and then I could help you with yours?”

Clarissa considered this. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be touched. Persephone’s hair was lovely, though, thick and golden.

“I’ll help you first.”

Persephone held out the comb.

Clarissa settled herself behind her and slipped off the leather thong confining the end of Persephone’s disheveled braid. She handed the little leather strip to Persephone so it wouldn’t get lost in the hay, shook out the braid and began combing, starting at the ends and working her way up. She felt glad to be out of Persephone’s view.

“Persephone?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“What was it like when you met Hades?”

“I didn’t like him much, to tell you the truth,” she said, amusement in her voice. “He was sulky and stubborn and he kept ordering me about, saying he wouldn’t have this or that. Underneath he was sad, though, and lonely.”

“Was he … gentle?”

“You mean the way he touched me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he didn’t touch me for quite a while. Once I decided to stay in Hades, and he decided to accept he couldn’t change my mind, for some time we worked together, but we weren’t together together, if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.”

“I began having feelings for him then, and he began having feelings for me, but we didn’t talk to one another about how we felt at first. I talked with Baubo first. Do you know her?”

“I’ve heard about her. She makes people laugh and takes care of children, doesn’t she?”

“She does. She also taught me to dance. She’s like the best kind of grandmother. She knows everything about living in the body and sex and how it is between men and women. You can’t shock her and she’s never embarrassed or ashamed. She was a big help to me. Because of her, I eventually told Hades how I felt, and then I discovered he felt the same way. By the time he did touch me, yes, he was gentle, but also masterful and very, very exciting. It was my first time, you see, and I was a little scared.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes, it did, but it was so exciting at the same time I forgot about the hurt. I was sore for a little while, but not more than a day, and after the first time I was never sore again.”

Persephone’s hair was smooth and free from stalks of hay. Clarissa set the comb aside, divided the hair into three sections and began braiding it.

“Did your first time hurt?” Persephone asked casually.

“Yes, a bit. I sort of expected that part, though.”

“It was different than you thought it would be in other ways?”

“I thought it would be gentler and more fun. Touching and laughing together. Exploring.”

Image by efesa from Pixabay

“Tenderness?”

“Yes, that’s it. Tenderness and … unhurried. And then we’d lie together and sleep.”

“That’s not how it was?”

“Is it ever like that?”

“Oh, yes. Often.”

“But not always?”

“Don’t forget I’ve only lain with Hades. But I’ve heard hundreds and hundreds of people talk about lovers and loving, and many say the hours they spent in physical intimacy were the happiest in their lives. Others search all their days for someone to love and be with in the same way you imagine, but they never find the right person.”

“My mother says desire is wrong; passion is dangerous and unattractive. She says decent men don’t like women like that. She says there are rules about decency and appropriate behavior and sex should only happen between married people in total privacy and never be discussed.”

“Many would agree with her, but many would disagree as well. I think we must decide for ourselves how we express our sexuality. Some men want passionate, expressive women, and many don’t find sex shameful at all. Quite the reverse. Without sexual union, life is not possible. Baubo teaches that sex and sexuality are sacred.”

“That’s how the merfolk talk about it.”

“Are you more comfortable with you father’s philosophy or your mother’s?”

“My father’s, but …”

“Here, let’s switch places. Where’s the comb?”

Clarissa had rinsed the salt from her hair at Rowan Gate before finding Persephone. Now it was half-dry and tangled, but not stiff with salt, and Persephone gently began working the comb through the knots.

“Persephone?”

“Mm hm?”

“I think maybe I’m not good at it.”

“Not good at sex?”

Wordlessly, Clarissa nodded.

“What makes you think that, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t … He didn’t …”

“Did he climax?”

“Yes. I felt him do that. But then he sort of collapsed, and then he fell asleep for a minute, and then he seemed angry, as though he hadn’t wanted to make love at all.”

“I don’t suppose you forced him?” Persephone sounded unconcerned and slightly amused. Clarissa relaxed fractionally.

“No. I … he pulled me down. I thought he wanted to. I wanted to.”

“Clarissa, men are different than women, aside from the obvious differences, I mean. They nearly always collapse and often fall asleep after sex. It doesn’t mean they felt no pleasure or the woman’s no good. Every woman in the world has lain crushed under a dozing man after sex, believe me!” She giggled. “Hades does it all the time, the brute. He’s huge. I can’t breathe with him on top of me.”

“So it was all right for him, you think?”

“It sounds to me like it was. He didn’t reassure you?”

“There wasn’t time for talking. He had to leave.”

“Was there time for your pleasure?”

“At first, when I touched him and he touched me it was so exciting and I wanted him so much. But then it happened very fast and when it was over, he rolled off me and left.” Clarissa finished in a tight voice.

“I see. There, you’re combed and braided too. Thank you for helping me. Have you eaten any breakfast?”

“No.”

“I think we should go see Maria and Ginger and get some breakfast. Maria makes an herb tea I’d like you to try – see what you think. Will you come with me?” She stood up, shook out her clothes and held out her hand. “Toss that comb on the blanket so I don’t lose it.”

They went out into the sunshine. Clarissa smelled meat cooking. Someone forked manure out of an animal shed. A woman left the root cellar with a basket heaped high with vegetables. The door to the community kitchen stood open and people came and went. Clarissa wondered if anyone had missed the rag rug. She saw no sign of activity at David’s house.

They found Maria and Ginger sitting in the sun drinking tea.

“Good morning,” Persephone called cheerfully as they came along the path. “We’ve come to beg for breakfast. I told Clarissa you make a special morning blend of tea she should try, Maria.” Their eyes met.

“I’ll go heat some more water,” said Ginger.

Clarissa sat in the sun, sipping her second cup of the strange tea, which tasted of herbs and sun and green growth. Its flavor was quite pleasant, though odd. Maria had added a spoonful of honey.

She hadn’t felt hungry, but when Ginger handed her a plate of eggs and ham, she ate with alacrity, mopping up the plate with a thick slice of buttered bread.

Warm, comfortable and with a full belly, she grew sleepy. Some people were so comforting to be around. Ginger, Maria and Persephone talked and laughed together, discussing the doings of Rowan Tree and plans for the day. She wasn’t excluded, but she wasn’t required to make a contribution, either. Her father had been like that, happy to talk, or tell a story, or listen, but equally content to sit and watch the fire without speaking at all. Somehow, his silence was even more intimate than his words.

Her mother, on the other hand, was not restful company. She appeared to feel silence was rude, and her constant stream of chatter was censorious and critical. She didn’t share her thoughts and feelings. She shared her rules and limitations. Clarissa left her feeling irritated, defensive and tense.

She dozed, letting the empty cup tilt against her leg.

Image by Matthias Böckel from Pixabay

HEKS

Clarissa had not come home, though Heks lay awake for some time after leaving Maria, Ginger, Persephone, Ash and Beatrice. It was nearly dawn when she finally slept. She hadn’t expected Persephone, who was quite happy sleeping in the hay shed, but she worried about Clarissa. Perhaps she’d simply chosen to spend the night in the sea. But she couldn’t forget the way Seren had smiled at Clarissa during the performance when she brought him water, and Clarissa’s joyous response. She loved him, heart and soul, and Heks doubted he loved her in return. He would always love himself far more than anyone else.

She rose later than usual and set out for Maria and Ginger’s house to see if they knew anything about Clarissa.

She found them sitting in the sun together, Persephone, Clarissa, Ginger and Maria. Clarissa dozed, a cup slipping from her grasp. She looked pale.

As Heks approached, Maria put a warning finger to her lips. Heks raised an inquiring eyebrow and Maria shook her head. Persephone’s mouth made a grim line and her sea-blue eyes looked cold.

Ginger pulled up another chair, Maria poured Heks a cup of tea, and Maria asked, “What are you up to today?”

Heks accepted the chair, tea, and casual opening.

“I want to talk more with Ash and Beatrice.” She looked at Persephone and Ginger. “What do you think we need to do to get ready?”

“Ash says Pele loves bright colors and finery,” said Ginger. “I’m going through my dancing clothes and jewelry, looking for things she might like. Persephone will bring her drums.”

“I thought I’d ask Ash and Beatrice to take word to Hades,” said Persephone. “They can tell him about our plans and also fill him in about the rumors in Dvorgdom, find out if he’s heard anything from the dead Dvorgs and Dwarves who have gone through Hades. If Hades speaks to Poseidon he can pass on the news about Pele and Rumpelstiltskin.”

“I want to go up and talk to Rosie today,” said Maria. “She and Artemis will want to know what’s happening, and I want to be sure she passed a quiet night. We should let Eurydice know to expect traffic through Rowan Gate as well.

Clarissa stirred. “Did you say Ash and Beatrice? Oh, hello, Heks.” She rubbed her eyes, which looked red and sore. “Sorry. I must have dozed off.”

“Ash and Beatrice are roosting at Heks’s,” said Maria. “They arrived last night. Do you know them?”

“Yes. I met them at the lighthouse with Rapunzel. Can I see them?” She asked Heks.

“They’re sleeping now, but you can see them tonight.”

“Good. How are they? Why are they here?”

Ginger explained.

Clarissa yawned as she listened. “It reminds me of us going to Sedna,” she said, “except we nearly froze to death instead of being too hot!” She yawned again. “I’m sorry. I think I need a nap.”

“Go back to my house,” said Heks. It’ll be quiet there. Sleep as long as you like.”

“Thanks for breakfast,” Clarissa said to Maria and Ginger. “And the tea. It was good. I’ll see you later.”

She disappeared around a corner on her way back to Heks’s house, weariness in every step.

When she was well away, Heks demanded, “What’s going on? She didn’t come home last night.”

“That’s because she lost her virginity to Seren last night, who took his pleasure with no thought for her and left her thinking she’s no good at sex. She spent the night alone in the sea, crying. She came to me early this morning to talk. I brought her here for breakfast and Maria’s tea, so she won’t find herself pregnant, on top of everything else.” Persephone sounded clipped and curt.

“Poor thing,” said Ginger. “I wondered. She looked so pale.”

“It’s a good thing Rapunzel’s not here,” said Heks.

“What can we do?” asked Maria. “It was inevitable it would come to this. Maybe it’s best to say nothing and be available in case she wants to talk. He didn’t hurt her otherwise? Physically, I mean?”

“No,” said Persephone. “She’s devastated emotionally, but physically she’s not even sore anymore. She was excited and wanted him, so that helped. She said it was fast, and then he collapsed on top of her and slept a few minutes, and then he rolled off and left.”

“Ugh,” said Maria. “Not very romantic.”

“No wonder she feels humiliated,” said Ginger.

“Maybe she’ll be less enamored now,” said Heks. “Maybe she’ll decide he’s not so wonderful.”

“Or maybe it will make it worse,” said Maria. ‘She’s young. It might give her more reason to try to please him.”

“I suggest we do nothing and see what happens,” said Heks. “Let’s let her sleep. We’ll go about our business and keep an eye on her today. Maria might be right. The best thing might be to stay out of it and be available if she wants to talk. She’s strong, and she’s smart. It’s better to let her figure things out for herself.”

Clarissa slept until early afternoon. Persephone invited her to come with her to speak to Rose Red, Artemis and Eurydice, and Heks felt relieved when Clarissa accepted. Heks had seen no sign of Seren, but she’d heard he planned another program for the next evening. He was certainly making the most of this opportunity to show off, Heks reflected sourly. She would have liked to keep news of the second program secret from Clarissa and thus prevent her going, but she knew it was impossible.

She herself felt no desire to spend another evening being “entertained” by the young poet, but neither was she willing to ignore what daily became a more disturbing situation.

Clarissa did not return to Rowan Tree until evening. She and Persephone had eaten with Rose Red, Eurydice, Artemis and Gwelda, and Clarissa walked Persephone down to her hay-filled sleeping quarters before coming to Heks’s house through the dusk.

Heks was glad to see color in her face. Ash and Beatrice had gone hunting. They had agreed to meet the others at Maria’s house later that evening. Clarissa didn’t want to join them. She was tired and ready for bed. After a few minutes of talk, she lay down and fell asleep within minutes.

Heks blew out the lamp and left the door ajar so the cool spring night could enter. She had not told Clarissa about Seren’s second performance. She felt certain Seren would not seek Clarissa out. It was for others to chase him. For this night, at least, Clarissa could rest undisturbed.

***

Seren’s second performance unfolded much like the first had, only this time he had a glass of water. As far as Heks could tell, every soul in Rowan Tree attended. Ginger and Rose Red had once again been invited to sit in the front row. Heks suspected the most beautiful women in every audience were invited to sit in the front row. Clarissa joined them, but on this night, she didn’t watch Seren with starry eyes. She looked down into her lap. Persephone sat beside her.

Ash hung invisibly from the rafters near the fireplace, Beatrice nestled in his fur. They had insisted on being present.

Image by Cindy Parks from Pixabay

Seren played an old ballad, starting softly and slowly and gradually increasing in rhythm and volume as people quieted. When he finished the ballad, he set aside his lyre.

“Tonight, I’ll share the story of Beauty and the Beast, a tale you’re familiar with – or you think you are. I tell a different version than you’ve heard before, and I think you’ll agree it’s a truer version. It’s the story of Beauty exhausted, Beauty consumed and ravaged by those who cannot appreciate or properly nurture it.”

He paced before them, his boots shining, his embroidered cloak swirling gracefully around his well-shaped legs. Golden lamplight caressed his fair hair.

“Once upon a time, before the shining stars learned to sing enchantments, the Gods gave a young man to the world, and his were the gifts of beauty, music, song, story and poetry. As a mark of heavenly favor, a dazzling white light shone around his head, as though he’d been blessed by a star.

Sadly, the world failed to appreciate the Gods’ gift. The young man was raised among common people, coarse and ignorant, unable to recognize his talent. In their company, he even lost some of his luster and might have become ordinary in his looks, had he been less handsome.

In time, he realized his gifts and entered the wide world to seek his fortune and his rightful place.

He soon realized the world was a hard, harsh place, filled with ugliness, cruelty and greed. Bravely, he shared his stories, poetry and songs, attempting to bring some hope and healing to the people. He traveled many weary miles and labored long hours, practicing his skills.

Gradually, his fame spread and he attained both respect and renown. However, greatness and recognition brought with them darker burdens. Seduced by his beauty and stunned by his talent, every woman and many men exhausted him with their adoration and attentions. Some viewed him as a mentor and importuned him to use his influence to further their own pathetic attempts at music and story. Others begged him to stay and teach what he knew.

The young poet’s delicate creative sensitivity suffered from unwanted attention and demand. His gift was too precious to be handled with such carelessness.”

Seren picked up his lyre and paused, strumming, allowing the liquid sound to move among the audience, soothing, seductive, gently sorrowing. He smiled sadly to himself and shook his head. Heks wanted to slap the smug expression right off his face.

“One day, thieves set upon the young man. He escaped them, leaving behind his possessions and having been robbed of his money, and wandered in the wilderness until he reached a tower. A girl lived in the tower with her father, a strange girl with eyes like the color of the dawn sea and hair like seaweed. Her father was a sorcerer who stole words from others and called them his own. The girl cared for the poet while he recovered from his ordeal. He pitied her odd looks and childish innocence, and he was appalled by her attempts to share the sorcerer’s debased stories and poetry with him.

Inevitably, she fell in love with him and imagined he returned her feelings. He grew more and more uncomfortable, quite restored in health and strength but unwilling to leave the poor thing alone with the sorcerer in so remote and wild a circumstance.

Gently, he rebuffed her clumsy advances, but she persisted, feeding off his creativity (for he must needs continue to practice his art) like a parasite, and he felt worn out with guarding his material from the sorcerer.

One day he discovered, with horror, she was less than human. He observed her leaving the tower and making her way to the sea’s edge, where she dove in, slapping the water with a thick, ugly tail.

He knew then he’d been enchanted and imprisoned by jealous, magical means. The girl was a beast, and perhaps the sorcerer, too. He feared for his life. Did these succubi propose to steal every drop of his talent, his beauty and his very essence?

The young man redoubled his efforts to leave the tower prison. Exhausted with the need to constantly protect himself, he fell into a deep sleep the night before he was determined to leave and woke to find the girl wound about him, her hair like tentacles, her strange silver eyes glowing in the dark. Her flesh was young and firm, her touch insistent, and though he pled for release from her unwanted embrace, she overpowered him with the magic narcotic of her flesh and took her pleasure, though he felt none.

The audience murmured sympathetically. Someone groaned aloud. Black rage rose in Heks. The taste of her dead husband’s barbecued flesh came into her mouth, and she heard again in memory Baba Yaga’s harsh shrieking. She controlled her expression and sat still, but she promised herself Seren would pay for this.

Sated, the beast slept, and the beautiful young man, weak, trembling and depleted, dressed himself and fled the tower. For many days and miles, he traveled only at night, fearful and hag-ridden, moving inland in the hope the beast could not long leave the sea.

As the days passed with no sign of pursuit he began breathing freely again, and gradually resumed some of his strength. In time, his belongings were retrieved from the thieves who had stolen from him and returned, including his lyre. He forgave the beast for its lust. It was only natural such a one would long for beauty. He resigned himself to the unwelcome pursuit of those hungry for his gifts, his attention and his art. As his skill matured, so did his courage and allure. As a final act of healing, he made a story, so others might be warned of the perils of Beauty and the Beast!”

ASH

Ash hissed, a sound he rarely made, as the audience clapped. Beatrice trembled with emotion.

“Isn’t he despicable!” she said, her voice shrill and furious.

They had listened with growing anger, noting whispers, raised eyebrows and sardonic smiles among the audience. Clarissa grew whiter and whiter, her eyes like tarnished holes in her face. Rose Red wept, but the others sat rigid and expressionless.

As the applause swelled, Clarissa stood up, looking around like a trapped animal. She trembled visibly. Persephone, beside her, surged to her feet and took her arm protectively. Eurydice, Rose Red, Maria, Ginger, and two men also rose.

Steering Clarissa, who moved as though blinded, Persephone marched toward the exit, the others in her wake. Heks met them at the door.

Ash flitted deeper into the building, using the kitchen shadows as cover and keeping to the rafters along the wall behind the audience. As Seren took a bow, Ash shot out the open door.

It was a mild spring night. Ash flew above the group. Heks took charge.

“We’ll go up to Rowan Gate,” she said. “Come along.”

Ash thought Heks was wise. Clarissa, a child of the sea, would naturally need its comfort after such a distressing scene.

Heks led them briskly up the hill and onto the path winding through the rowan trees outside the portal. The group stopped at Rowan Gate’s entrance while Persephone, Heks and Clarissa entered. Ash flew in and hung from a branch forming part of the rough roof over the spring.

Image by Cindy Parks from Pixabay

“Promise me you’ll come back,” Persephone said to Clarissa, who hadn’t uttered a word. “You are not to disappear, do you understand? I’ll trust you if you promise.”

“I’ll come back,” said Clarissa woodenly. “Promise.”

“I’ll stay right here and wait for you,” said Persephone. She released Clarissa’s arm and stroked a lock of the young woman’s hair out of her face. “It will be all right,” she said. “It won’t always feel like this.”

Clarissa took a stumbling step, turning, and landed with a splash in the spring.

Nothing happened.

Ash heard Beatrice’s indrawn breath of surprise.

Clarissa stood motionless with bowed head, the spring bubbling around her feet. For a long moment, they were suspended. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.

“The portal is closed,” said Heks.

“Are you sure?” Eurydice asked from the spring entrance.

“I’m sure.” Heks sounded grim. “We’ll go down to the river.”

Persephone took Clarissa’s arm again and they retraced their steps, passing by the hall where Seren still performed.

At the hill’s base, the river had scooped out a crescent of level beach. In the early days of building Rowan Tree, Gwelda had helped move flat, table-sized stones around a rock-lined fire pit. It was a favorite picnic spot and place to tell stories or gather around a summer bonfire. In this season the river rushed by, noisy and full and too cold for the humans to bathe in.

Kunik, who had sat in the front row of the audience with Eurydice, said, “Chattan and I will go get some blankets. Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” said Eurydice. “Thank you. It’s best to let us handle this, I think.”

He kissed her, gave her a smile and disappeared into the shadows with Chattan.

Persephone took Clarissa to the river’s edge. “Will this do?”

Clarissa nodded wordlessly.

“You won’t go anywhere until we’ve talked?”

Again, the nod.

“Say it.”

“I promise I won’t go anywhere until we’ve talked.”

Persephone turned away and Ash flew down and clung to the front of her cloak.

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” he said.

“Thank you, Ash. I trust her word, but she’s terribly shocked.”

Clarissa lay down in the torrent of water, letting it comb out her hair and run over her body. The skin of her upper body shone pale in the starlight and her powerful tail gleamed as she moved it lazily in the current. She tipped her head back and looked at the sky.

Ash swooped and darted above the river, snatching a few insects. It was still early in the year, but he could always find food above moving water.

He could see the others grouped on the rocks, talking. Chattan and Kunik had brought blankets and disappeared again. Someone had started a fire.

Ash flew higher and looked up the slope toward the community hall. Light still shone from the windows. The door stood ajar and he could see people seated inside. Good. He thought it unlikely they would be interrupted for some time. He knew Seren liked to draw out his performances.

Clarissa lay quietly for some minutes in the river. If she cried, it was without drama. She didn’t allow the current to sweep her away. Ash wondered what her thoughts were.

Eventually she stood, the water sluicing from her body, and waded to the shore. Persephone brought a blanket, which she wrapped around Clarissa, pulling her hair free so it didn’t drip down inside the covering.

Ash flew to Heks, who gave him the hem of the blanket thrown over her shoulders to cling to so he could hang comfortably upside down.

Clarissa sat beside Persephone within the circle.

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

“I’m all right,” she said. “I feel better. The water helped.”

Her fingers plucked at the blanket around her.

“I’m sorry to make a scene. I couldn’t stay there after … You didn’t need to leave with me.”

“You didn’t make a scene,” Maria said evenly, “and of course we wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“How could he say that about my father? He never even met him.”

Ash shook his head. Women were amazing. The slur on her father bothered her more than the slur on herself.

“He must not have understood what he was saying. How it would sound, I mean. I think he was only telling a good story. I took it the wrong way, overreacted.”

Persephone said, “Do you remember those days you watched us at the tower? You knew your father was dead, but you weren’t ready to face it, so you watched and hoped you’d see him again, that the whole thing was a mistake. It felt too painful to believe, and you were alone.”

“Now you don’t need to face anything alone,” said Ginger.

“No.” Clarissa shook her head. “No.”

“Seren told that story because he knew it would hurt you.” Persephone was relentless. “There was no misunderstanding or mistake, except you believed he returned your love.”

“But why?”

“Because you’re ten times the storyteller he is, and so was your father,” said Eurydice. “You threaten him.”

“That’s not true!” Clarissa said, making a gesture with her hands as though pushing the words away.

“Clarissa,” said Ginger in a voice of such calm compassion that some of the tension left the circle of women. “What did your father teach you about telling stories?”

“He said telling stories is a responsibility,” said Clarissa. “He said you must never steal another’s story, but the old stories are for everyone who loves them and makes them their own. He said stories are medicine and should never be told to hurt, harm or humiliate. I never understood the medicine part. I thought stories were only for pleasure until I met Sedna. Now I know they’re also for healing. Her story wasn’t fun or entertaining, but it healed her to tell it.”

“Do you think Seren told that story for pleasure or healing?” inquired Ginger.

“No.”

“Did he ask your permission to share your private information?”

“No.”

Eurydice said. “During his first performance, Seren told the story of Orpheus’s lyre and how he came to be playing it, except he’s not using Orpheus’s lyre.”

“He’s not?” Clarissa looked amazed.

“No. Orpheus’s lyre was made from a tortoise shell, but it was gilded and set with jewels.”

“He lied,” said Clarissa flatly.

Nobody spoke. Ash thought it was as though a toad had hopped into their midst and they sat looking at it.

“Why is the portal shut again?” Heks demanded.

“Do you think it’s my fault?” Clarissa asked fearfully.

“Did you act in a way that divided or disconnected one thing or person from another?”

“I did walk out of the performance. That was rude. If Seren feels I forced myself on him, that’s bad.”

“Look at me,” Heks commanded.

Clarissa looked up from watching her hands twist in her lap. The firelight played across Heks’s face, making her ageless and sexless. She sat easily, the dark blanket around her shoulders hiding her slight, wiry figure.

“Did you, in fact, force yourself on him? Think carefully, now. Is that truly what happened?”

For a long moment, Clarissa looked into Heks’s eyes.

“No,” she said at last. “I didn’t force myself on him.” She put her face in her hands and then ran her fingers through her damp hair. “He lied about that, too.”

She heaved a sigh and looked from face to face. “Is that why the portal closed again?”

“I don’t know,” said Eurydice. “I think Seren is part of the problem, though.”

“But I thought he was repairing the portals,” said Clarissa. “He fixed the one at Yggdrasil, didn’t he?”

Beatrice stirred and Ash twitched. Heks raised a cautioning hand.

“There were several of us at Yggdrasil,” said Heks. “We worked together. Seren played a part, but that’s all.”

“It may be they fixed the portal in spite of him, rather than because of him,” said Eurydice.

“He lied about that, too, then,” said Clarissa. She straightened her shoulders. “So, what do we do now? I don’t know what to do.”

“You could kill yourself,” suggested Maria, poker-faced.

“I don’t want to do that!” Clarissa said, recognizing the joke.

“You could kill him and eat him,” said Heks expressionlessly.

Eurydice giggled.

Clarissa managed a smile. “I don’t think so.”

“You could go back to him, kiss his feet and tell him you’re sorry,” said Eurydice, getting into the spirit of the thing.

“Why should I be sorry?”

“You’re sorry he’s not a better lover?”

Image by Mark Dekkers from Pixabay

Heks tensed. Beatrice stirred in the fur on Ash’s chest. Clarissa’s expression was still. Ash could read nothing on her face.

“My first lover was wonderful,” said Rose Red unexpectedly. “Wild and exciting.”

“Juan was a rotten lover,” said Maria. “All seduction and no stamina. Didn’t know what to do with his hands. Strictly a blunt instrument.”

Beatrice giggled as the women laughed together.

Clarissa looked from face to face, obviously torn between laughter and tears.

Persephone put an affectionate arm around her and pulled her close. “What do you think your father would say?” she asked.

Clarissa thought about this while the others waited.

“He’d remind me of ‘Feathers.’

“Feathers?”

“Yes. It’s an old story he picked up somewhere.”

“Tell it,” said Persephone.

“Oh, no …”

“She’s afraid to, after what Seren said,” Beatrice whispered to Ash.

“Exactly what we want,” said Heks. “A good story.”

“Please,” put in Rose Red.

“I wish you would,” coaxed Ginger.

“I don’t know if I can remember it.”

“Try,” commanded Maria.

“Well … all right. Let me see …”

CHAPTER 20

“Once upon a time, before the moons and sea found one another and the silver tide ebbed and flowed with their passion, there lived an old woman with a bitter tongue. She liked nothing better than gossip. She was especially fond of secrets, the more shameful and guilty, the better. She’d lived a long time, this old woman, and it was difficult to hide anything from her. Her beady little eyes noted every change of expression, quick glance and furtive movement in the community. Once she unearthed a secret, she hoarded it, chortling over it with glee, turning it in her hands and tasting its texture and flavor before finally releasing it from her tongue with a wink, a sly dig in the ribs, a sarcastic comment, a rumor or even a pointed story, naming no names, of course.

When people complained, the old woman was hurt. She was old and lonely, she said, and liked a bit of liveliness and humor. It wasn’t her fault if others took her seriously or misinterpreted her words. It was unjust to blame her because others were too sensitive or liked to pass on gossip. She was blameless.

This old woman destroyed reputations and relationships, sowed distrust and suspicion and ruined lives with her malice, and eventually the townspeople approached their leader and asked her to do something before the whole community unraveled.

The leader thought and thought. She could publicly chastise the old woman for her behavior, but she knew any apology would be empty and nothing would change. How could she make the old woman understand the destructive consequences of her words?

At last she thought of an idea.

On the next market day, the leader instructed the old woman to bring a feather pillow to the marketplace.

The old woman thought the leader quite mad, but agreed and appeared at noon with the pillow, a fine plump one, stuffed with the best down.

The leader stepped forward with a knife in her hand as the villagers watched and cut open the pillow. “Each of these feathers is one of your words,” she said, as a cloud of down feathers filled the air. ‘Your unkind words travel from ear to ear and place to place, spreading out in wider and wider circles.’ The leader flapped and beat the pillow until it hung, an empty pocket of linen. Feathers flew through the marketplace, clinging to animals, eyelashes and straw. Puffs of air blew feathers far and wide, up into the trees and beyond.

Erik Stine

‘We’ve prepared a hut in the woods for you,’ said the leader. ‘There you must live, alone, until you collect every feather that was in this pillow and return them to me. Until then, no one will talk to you or visit you. When the pillow is re-stuffed and mended, you may come back to live among us, and welcome.’

Ash imagined the feathers, floating here and there on the whim of every breeze, and felt a moment’s pity for the old woman. It was an impossible task and a hard lesson, though a just one.

“What a wonderful story!” said Maria. “I’ll remember that one.”

“Maybe we can re-create that story,” Heks suggested.

“But we can’t send Seren into exile,” said Clarissa.

“No, but maybe a period of enforced quiet would give him a chance to consider his words and stories more carefully, like the old woman.”

“How do we enforce quiet?” asked Maria.

“Some kind of magic?” Clarissa asked doubtfully.

“Kitchen magic,” said Heks briefly. “I can manage it. Baba Yaga has taught me a thing or two.”

“What can I do?” Clarissa asked.

“You understand this is serious? You consent to binding his tongue, not as revenge for what he did to you, but to protect everyone from his lies and prevent further disconnection and damage to the Yrtym for the sake of all life?

“I understand,” said Clarissa. “I want to help.”

“I’ll need a feather pillow and a beef tongue.”

“I think we recently slaughtered a cow,” said Maria. “I’ll check.”

“Where did you and Seren lie together?” Heks asked Clarissa. “If there was a stain, we could use it. Blood and semen are powerful.”

Clarissa looked away. “We lay on the rag rug in front of the fireplace,” she said. “The rug was stained, and I rolled it up and hid it in the woods.”

“Good girl,” said Heks. “Find it and take it to Maria.

Rose Red, by far the quietest of the group, said, “It’s late. Shouldn’t we get some rest and continue this in the morning?”

Ash realized it was late, and he was hungry. He detached himself from Heks and flew up into the cool, dark air. The community hall was closed and silent. No light showed in the windows. Evidently the performance had ended and everyone had gone home. Rowan Tree lay sleeping under a starry sky. He swooped down again over the circle of women around the fire. They were rising stiffly, stretching and yawning. Eurydice, Rose Red and Persephone headed up the hill together. Maria and Ginger took the path to their house. Ash flitted above Heks and Clarissa as they walked the short distance to Heks’s little cave-like dwelling. Heks shut the door firmly but Ash knew a window was ajar for him. Once the women were inside, he and Beatrice spiraled above Rowan Tree, watching Persephone leave Rose Red and Eurydice for the hay shed where she slept. Maria and Ginger had already disappeared into their house. Ash waited until Eurydice and Rose Red, who lived the farthest away, disappeared under the forest’s eaves before once again turning his attention to hunting.

CLARISSA

Clarissa put out her hand and touched the friendly earthen wall, slightly curved, beside her. Heks’s little house, nestled in the earth, felt sheltered and safe, as comforting in its way as the sea.

She was glad to be alone. She’d thought she would cry, relieving her chaotic shock, pain and anger, but tears didn’t come. Instead she lay, curled on her side, her back against the wall, and felt the night air touch her face as it ruffled in the window, left ajar for Ash and Beatrice.

She was no longer a young girl. Her experience with Seren, as disappointing as it had been, nonetheless moved her fully into the circle of womanhood. The threshold seemed much less important from this side than from the other. She hoped, next time, physical union would be more enjoyable.

But she would not lie with Seren again.

Had he ever truly been attracted to her, or only loved her worship of him? How could he have kissed her the way he did on the cliffs and then rejected her so cruelly, privately and publicly?

Was she doing the right thing in agreeing to temporarily silence Seren? Was it just? Was it necessary? Was she motivated by anger and revenge?

She felt angry, but she felt weary, too. She had no taste for games and manipulation. She had loved and desired and made her love and desire plain. Seren took her desire and twisted it into something shameful and distorted. It occurred to her Seren was like her mother, distrustful of the body’s honest expressions.

As for revenge, she wanted none of it. It would make her feel worse rather than better. Hurting Seren added to her own hurt, rather than healing.

Seren’s behavior affected others besides her. Irvin, she knew, if he were alive, would counsel her to ignore the slight to himself. What did it matter what others said about him or thought of him, he would say, brushing it away with a gesture of his hand. For a moment she saw him clearly in memory, smiling into her eyes, his gentle face alight with wry amusement.

But it was not right to lie about Orpheus. There could be no point to such a lie, except to appear greater and more important than he was. Seren was famous and applauded everywhere he appeared. Why compete so fiercely with a dead man? Why not build his own legend? Clarissa thought of the stories and songs she had gathered from him. How much of it was lies, or stolen from others? She would never be able to listen to him again without suspicion.

The hip she lay on ached, in spite of the generous pad of blankets and sheepskin beneath her. She turned over.

Above any personal considerations was the harm to the Yrtym. She had not known before how much damage one person could do to connection. For the most part, her people lived peacefully together in mutual respect and kindness. She’d seen that kind of cooperation at the lighthouse as well – until Seren came, she realized. He had caused tension with his demands for attention and control. In the birch wood there had been some friction and Baba Yaga was frankly horrifying, but even so, she remembered the feeling of a complicated system striving to understand what was not working, and why, and how to heal it together. Nobody deliberately sabotaged connection. The same had been true in Sedna’s place, where each creature in the picture shared and pooled information, stories, music and tradition to help everyone.

Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

What had really happened at Yggdrasil? Seren had never even named the participants. She hadn’t known Heks was there, for example.

She rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling.

Heks was right. They were, after all, not hurting Seren, merely imposing a temporary silence. Maybe he needed some help understanding how damaging his words were, like the old woman in the story. Maybe she could explain to him about the Yrtym. If he fully understood the importance of healing and repairing connection, he would surely change his ways. Maybe, one day, he would understand how careless and hurtful he’d been with her, and they could begin again …

She turned onto her side again, just as a shadow floated in the window.

“Ash?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

The shadow flitted to her and Ash landed on the blanket over her, flat and awkward in the manner of bats who are not hanging, and peered into her face.

“It’s us,” Beatrice shrilled in her thin voice, and she crawled out and perched on one of the fragile bones over which Ash’s thin suede wing stretched.

“Have you been hunting?”

“Yes. Dawn is coming, though.”

“Haven’t you slept, my dear?” inquired Beatrice.

“No. I wanted to think. Were you at Yggdrasil when Heks was there and they mended the portal?”

“We were there,” said Ash.

“Tell me about it.”

Clarissa had never heard Ash tell a story before. He put his whole heart into it, twisting his small wrinkled face into startlingly good imitations of the characters he spoke of. Nothing escaped his notice and he described the scene in such sensory detail she felt as though she hung in the tree with them and watched it unfold. He stalked back and forth on Clarissa’s blanket imitating Odin blowing his horn, cheeks puffing like a bellows, and imitated Nephthys’s slow sensual dance around the bones, swaying and turning. He imitated the heavily pregnant Seed-Bearer’s waddling walk.

Clarissa became so engrossed and delighted she didn’t notice the sky paling into dawn. It wasn’t until Ash finished and yawned hugely, showing a row of fragile pointed teeth, that she realized it was morning and Ash and Beatrice wanted their beds.

“I’ve kept you up,” she said, contrite. “Thank you. That was wonderful. You made me forget everything else.”

Ash bowed elaborately. “My pleasure.” He launched himself into the air and melted into the shadows in the dim corner where he roosted during the day.

Clarissa turned onto her side, a smile lingering on her face. It had felt good to laugh. Her heart felt less sore. She closed her eyes and slept.

***

“We need an excuse to get everyone together,” said Heks, rinsing the beef tongue thoroughly.

“I’ve already thought about that,” said Maria. “Will this work?” She showed Heks a square of thick, rough paper. “Beth makes it from plants. This batch is from burdock.”

“Perfect,” said Heks.

Maria nodded, satisfied, and set the paper aside. “We’ll celebrate Ostara,” she said. “We’ve done that every year, so it’s not out of the ordinary. We’ve recently slaughtered a cow.” She nodded at the tongue in Heks’s hands. “We’ll cook gallons of beef stew and build a bonfire. It will be our first outdoor meal of the season.”

“The tongue can go right into the stew,” said Heks. “No one will even know it’s there.”

“It wouldn’t matter in any case,” said Maria. “We’ll use organ meat as well. By the time it’s cooked all day with onions and garlic and we add vegetables and mushrooms, it will be a normal beef stew, the kind we always make.”

“As soon as we’re finished with the tongue,” said Ginger, “Maria and I will go to the kitchen and get started.”

“What shall I do?” Clarissa asked.

“Did you find the rug?”

“We brought it down with us,” said Eurydice.

Heks had woken Clarissa after a brief two hours of sleep with a cup of strong tea and a hearty breakfast. The short sleep and food heartened Clarissa, and she and Heks walked to Maria’s house, where they found preparations underway for silencing Seren. Heks sent Clarissa to summon Eurydice and Kunik, Maria to procure paper and Ginger to the slaughtering shed to track down the beef tongue. On her way to Eurydice’s house near Rowan Gate, Clarissa found the hazel clump under which she’d concealed the rag rug from the community hall floor. Heks had praised her foresight in saving it, as it would add power to the binding spell, though Clarissa was guiltily aware she’d acted only out of shame and a desire to hide the evidence of her humiliation, even from herself.

She’d found Kunik and Eurydice eating breakfast and accepted another cup of tea while they finished, and then they’d reported to Heks.

“Cut up that rug,” said Heks to Clarissa. “Cut out the stain and keep it safe. We’ll use that right at the end. Cut the rest into pieces for the bonfire.” She turned to Kunik. “Will you build the fire, and make sure to pile the wood over the rug so it burns thoroughly and nobody sees it? I don’t want anyone recognizing it and asking questions.”

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

“Of course,” said Kunik. “Count on me.”

Clarissa sat in the morning sun and tackled the carpet with a pair of heavy shears. She put the stained fabric in her pocket and took the neatly stacked scraps back inside to Kunik.

“I’m off,” he said, tucking the fabric under his arm. “I’ll go find Chattan and start collecting wood.”

The tongue, rinsed and looking rather pathetic, Clarissa thought, lay curled on Maria’s table. Ginger carefully cut the paper into tiny strips and passed them to Maria, who had a feather quill and ink made from black walnut ready.

Heks, using a sharp knife, cut several slits in the tongue. “Maria, write ‘Seren’ on each piece of paper,” she instructed. “Then, we’ll each write our own names over his name. Clarissa, you write your dad’s name over Seren’s on one of them, too. Eurydice, write the name of everyone who was at Yggdrasil with us over Seren’s. Then we’ll insert a piece of paper into each slit.

As the ink dried, each woman wrote her name over Seren’s. Heks waved the paper strips impatiently to dry the ink and carefully angled them into the slits.

When every woman present had written her name, and Clarissa had written Irvin’s, Maria passed the quill and ink to Eurydice, and she and Heks between them recited the names of those who had been present at Yggdrasil.

“There,” said Heks with satisfaction. “That takes care of us, as well as others we know Seren has lied about.”

“Should I make one for Orpheus?” Eurydice asked.

“You should,” said Heks. “I forgot about Orpheus. Do one for his mother, too, and the other muse, what’s-‘er-name.”

“Euterpe,” said Eurydice.

“Right. Do one for her.”

When every slit held a piece of paper, Heks rubbed the tongue with vinegar and a garlic clove, saying:

“We silence this harmful tongue.

We cleanse it in the wordless heat of our bellies.

We banish its voice.”

She passed the tongue to Maria, who repeated both actions and words, speaking clearly and forcefully. Now they grouped around the table, concentrating, working together, their actions deliberate.

Eurydice splashed vinegar onto the tongue and rubbed it in thoroughly, turning the thick, ugly curl of raw meat carefully. She peeled a new garlic clove with her fingernail, split it and rubbed that in too, repeating Heks’s words.

Clarissa received the tongue after Ginger. Somehow as each woman anointed it with vinegar and seasoned it, the tongue became more recognizable, more supple. She almost expected it to squirm in her hands. It felt unpleasantly warm. Once again, she marveled at the power of women joining together with a single purpose and mind. It was the same kind of power raised during dance.

The smell of vinegar stung her nostrils as she dipped her fingers into it and rubbed them over the tongue. She thought of her father, the width and depth of his tolerance and kindness, and her anger rose against Seren and his portrayal of him. It was right Seren be made speechless for a time. It was just. She was glad to do it. The garlic clove felt firm and slippery between her fingers, slowly diminishing as she rubbed and rubbed at the tongue.

“We silence this harmful tongue.

We cleanse it in the wordless heat of our bellies.

We banish its voice.”

When each of them had added her own layer of vinegar, garlic and incantation, Maria and Ginger threw a linen towel over the tongue and left for the community kitchen. “Leave the paper in the slits,” Heks admonished after them. “It will dissolve in the cooking and we’ll eat them, too.”

“Leave it to us,” said Maria, smiling over her shoulder.

“Now what?” Persephone asked when they were gone.

“Now we need a pillow, and I want to talk to Rose Red. There’s nothing more to do until tonight. Do you have the stained rug safe?” she asked Clarissa.

Clarissa put her hand over her pocket and nodded.

“We usually tell stories around the fire,” Heks said. “If you told ‘Feathers’ it would help people understand what we’re doing, and why.”

“Seren won’t like it,” said Clarissa.

“No.” Heks was calm. “But he’s held two performances, and we’ve told stories and sung songs at Rowan Tree from the beginning. In any event, if everything goes as planned, he won’t voice complaints for long.”

“How will I face everyone?” Clarissa wondered. “After his story, they must know what happened.”

“None of them know what happened,” said Eurydice. “They only know the story Seren told, which was a lie.”

“You’ll face them with dignity, as a woman and a storyteller,” said Heks. “You’ve done nothing wrong and you have nothing to be ashamed of. The story holds wisdom the community needs. Your particular brand of telling is connecting. It might help repair the portal again.”

“They might not listen to me,” said Clarissa, “but I’ll try.”

“They’ll listen,” said Eurydice. “The gossip value is irresistible. You’ll have everyone’s full attention.”

Heks turned away and rinsed her hands. Clarissa knew their fingers would smell like garlic the rest of the day.

“Relax and enjoy the day,” Heks advised. “Maybe you can help Ginger and Maria get the stew made, or maybe a nap?” She shot Clarissa an assessing look.

Clarissa did sleep, but not until she had chopped potatoes, carrots, onions, turnips, leeks and yet more garlic for Ginger and Maria. Maria cut up meat with a business-like sharp knife, chunking liver, kidneys, heart, tongue and marbled meat into the three largest pots the community possessed. Ginger set aside mushrooms and the vegetables Clarissa prepared to add during the last couple of hours of cook time, along with dried herbs, tomato paste and other seasoning. She added a dollop of bacon fat to each cook pot, along with beef stock made from bones.

While the pots simmered, they tidied the kitchen, and then Clarissa sought the hay shed where Persephone slept. A breeze came in the three-sided shed. She made herself a nest in the hay where the moving air could touch her, spread out one of Persephone’s blankets, and slept.

The sky was stained with light and a smell of woodsmoke hung in the air when she woke. The sun’s slant told her it was late afternoon. Kunik must have started the bonfire so it would be robust and roaring when Rowan Tree gathered for dinner. She stretched and yawned, feeling disheveled and thick-headed. She combed through her hair with her fingers, removing the worst of the hay, shook out and folded the blanket and walked down to the river to wash and deal with her hair.

Kunik, Chattan and a couple of other men had gathered a large stack of wood, mostly downed limbs and branches from the previous winter. The fire blazed, pale in the burnished afternoon sun.

Ablutions completed and hair combed and braided, Clarissa went to the kitchen. The door stood ajar, releasing the mouth-watering scent of fresh baked bread and rich beef stew. Clarissa’s stomach gurgled.

One of the tables was stacked with bowls and spoons and several loaves awaited the knife. Six pies smelled of apples and honey.

“Everyone comes and helps themselves,” Maria said as she replaced a lid on a fragrant pot she’d been stirring. “Much easier that way.”

“What kind of pies?”

“Dried apple. The apples are from last fall. Michele bakes them. There’s cream to go with them. Hungry?”

“Starving,” said Clarissa. “How can I help?”

***

Having agreed to tell ‘Feathers’, Clarissa put aside both embarrassment and concern about Seren’s approval or feelings. He hadn’t paid much attention to hers, after all. She watched the people of Rowan Tree with a professional eye as they assembled, enjoying the food, talking and laughing. Seren stood with David and a noisy group of his cronies, including Mingan. He made no effort to mingle or talk to anyone else and ignored Clarissa altogether.

She ate heartily of the excellent stew, in which there was no hint of the strips of paper that had cooked with it. She didn’t try to identify the chunks of flavorful meat, but she hoped she’d eaten at least one piece of tongue.

As the sky darkened and night fell, the fire became the focal point. Everyone had eaten their fill and now she sensed a slightly expectant air. Clarissa judged it was time. She sent a silent plea to her father’s spirit for support in honoring the tale and stood up on one of the large slabs of rock around the bonfire. She didn’t request quiet but stood patiently, allowing the crowd to gradually silence itself.

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

Her hands trembled. She deliberately relaxed her shoulders and neck, clasped her hands loosely behind her back, took a deep breath and began, taking care to project her voice with confidence and authority and falling automatically into the measured cadence and rhythm she adopted when storytelling. She gestured widely, using her hands and body, trembling forgotten. Firelight flickered on the audience’s faces. If some expressions were hostile or jeering, she couldn’t tell, and in this moment it didn’t matter. This was not about her, but about the story.

She didn’t attempt to amuse or entertain. She liked to treat the old wisdom tales with dignity and had learned flowery description and embellishment weakened rather than strengthened their power.

As she neared the end, she realized for the first time the tale ended rather abruptly. Perhaps Irvin had never heard the story it in its entirety. What had, in fact, happened to the old woman with the malicious tongue? For a moment she faltered, uncertain. Perhaps she could make up an ending now, as she told the story? Should she? Would it make the story better? But no. The end of the story in this case was not the end, because they were going to reenact it, and the end was yet to come. It was perfect as it was.

“’When the pillow is re-stuffed and mended, you may come back to live among us, and welcome.’”

When she finished speaking, silence fell, except for the fire’s popping and soft roar. In many ways, Clarissa found silence more rewarding than applause; it meant the story had entered deeply into the listeners. She had told well. She raised her chin proudly.

Someone began clapping, and others joined in. It was nothing like the roar of approval greeting the end of Seren’s performances, where people shouted and stamped. Clarissa noticed not everyone applauded. Amusement bubbled up inside her. She did not need applause. Withholding it as punishment struck her as childish in the extreme.

She found Heks standing beside her, thin as a stick of kindling.

“Well done. Ready with the stained rug? I’ll tell you when,” she said in an undertone.

Clarissa held the stained fabric in her hand. A plump, square pillow flew through the air and Heks caught it deftly. The crowd, which had broken into murmuring and muttering after the abbreviated applause, quieted. Heks held up the pillow, grasping it carefully on opposite sides with each hand and holding it well away from her body. Rose Red stepped out of the shadows onto the rock with Heks and Clarissa. She unsheathed the knife at her belt. The copper flashed in the firelight as she raised it, holding the handle in her fist, and plunged it into the top of the pillow, wrenching it down with one strong movement.

“Now!” said Heks to Clarissa.

Clarissa tossed the stained scrap into the flames as feathers billowed from the torn pillow, swirling in the hot air above the fire. Some scorched and the smell of burned feathers filled the air, choking and hideous.

“Blood and semen burn to ash

Words like feathers fly.

Tongueless, speechless, restless wind

Blow dust and false words wide.”

Heks made no effort to speak loudly, but every word was clearly audible and the stench gave them an ominous weight. The night had been still, but a breeze blew up from nowhere, as though in answer to Heks’s command, and whirled the remaining feathers in every direction, as well as cleansing the area around the fire of the smell. Sparks popped like burning stars and woodsmoke blew in eyes and faces.

Clarissa, eyes watering, saw people coughing, shielding their eyes and faces and turning away from the bonfire. In ones and twos they left the firelight and the rising wind. Seren appeared to be the center of an anxious group, but the fire flickered wildly and wind-blown clothing, hair and smoke made it hard to see anything clearly in the shadows.

The fire hissed and spat. Kunik emptied a bucket of water on it. The evening was over. Clarissa wondered if the magic had worked. On some level, it had felt like playacting. She suddenly felt exhausted, as though she could lie down right where she stood and sleep on the hard rock for a week.

She wanted to leave Rowan Tree, she realized. She wanted to leave now, tonight. For the first time she felt a pang of fear. If the portal was closed, how would she get back to the sea? Would she be trapped here?

Heks still stood beside her, silent and watchful.

“How will I get home?” Clarissa asked, sounding in her own ears like a frightened child.

“We’ll find a way tomorrow,” said Heks, and something about her confident tone reassured Clarissa. “Do you want to come home with me or sleep with Persephone in the hay?”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Come along, then. Our work is finished for this night.”

Neither said another word until safely in Heks’s snug little house.

“Do you think it worked?” Clarissa asked Heks. “Do you think he’s mute?”

“Yes,” said Heks briefly. “We’ll know for sure tomorrow. You told the story beautifully, by the way.”

Heks lit a lamp and heated water. She dropped a pinch of herbs into a cup, added hot water and gave it to Clarissa.

“Drink this. It will help you get a good night’s sleep. You need it. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m proud of your courage, and so would your father be.” Unexpectedly, she embraced Clarissa and kissed her.

The cup was small, and Clarissa drank the comforting tea quickly. She lay down and watched Heks moving around the cozy house, banking the fire, leaving the window carefully ajar and rinsing Clarissa’s cup. Ash and Beatrice were not in their corner.

“Do you think Ash and Beatrice watched?” Clarissa asked, but she fell asleep before she heard the answer.

RAPUNZEL

Spring was long in arriving on the cliffs by the sea. It seemed to Rapunzel the sky was more often grey than blue, and the wind prowled restlessly over the bared sea bed, moaning and plucking at the stony cliffs and lighthouse.

Every day passed like the one before; the sea a distant grey wall, the lonely cliffs, the cloudy sky where birds wheeled like a handful of stones. The night sky, however, was a different matter.

Daylight often brought clouds and fog, but the nights were frequently clear, and Rapunzel spent long hours on the platform on top of the lighthouse watching the slow movement of stars and constellations. Distant Noola waxed, attained her full splendor and waned, while Cion loomed over Webbd like an unchanging silver shadow.

As the slow weeks passed, some constellations slipped out of sight behind Cion, while others revealed themselves to Rapunzel’s gaze. She frequently saw blue light moving from star to star and outlining constellations. Phoenix hung lower above Webbd every night, its stars glowing like jewels. The constellation Draco undulated from behind Cion, first the head and then, gradually, the long neck and body. Its eyes shone with such a strong white light Rapunzel saw their afterimages behind her eyelids if she looked too long. Draco’s stars glimmered and flickered as though the constellation lived and breathed, struggling to move freely through the sky.

One night, as she stood at the tower’s top, Phoenix appeared to touch the dark horizon and sink from sight. One minute it hung, orange and red, flying low above the dark land in slow grandeur, and then, quite suddenly, it slipped away, out of sight, leaving a faint reddish glow that dissipated even as Rapunzel watched.

Below the warm glow, fleeting as an exhalation on a frosty morning, blue light outlined something on the ground moving slowly toward the lighthouse. At the same time, she became aware she herself was illuminated by the violet light, which shone in a nimbus around her and lovingly outlined the stone lighthouse as well.

Rapunzel strained to see the approaching shape. It moved at walking pace and looked square, like some kind of a cart. An animal pulled it … a horse. Someone sat on a high bench behind the horse and she could clearly see the reins, outlined in blue.

“Dar?” she said aloud, knowing it could not be but at the same time feeling a wave of hope and awe. Surely it must be Dar and Gideon. Who else in the world would be traveling in a cart with a horse in the dark in such a lonely place?

He came for her, and the eerie blue light showed them to one another.

She wanted to fling herself down the stairs and out the lighthouse door; to run, calling and laughing, to meet him. Yet common sense told her he was still some way away, and she felt a superstitious fear that if she moved the blue light would go out and they wouldn’t find each other in the dark. She stood, lips parted, heart writhing, watching … watching.

Unhurriedly, the cart came on. She could hear the jingle of the harness now, and the horse’s hooves on the stony ground. The driver appeared to be cloaked, and the cloak caught points of light as though strewn with stars.

It must be Dar, wearing his cloak!

The cart drove up to the lighthouse and the driver spoke a soft word to the horse, a word Rapunzel had never heard before in a strange tongue. Released from her disbelief, she passed through the door at the top of the tower and ran down the winding steps. When she opened the lighthouse door, two figures were climbing out of the back of the cart, one supporting the other.

Image by ELG21 from Pixabay

“Come, my dear. We’ve arrived. Rapunzel is here.”

“Gold Rope?”

“Who’s there?” Rapunzel queried, feeling as though in a dream.

“Minerva and Cassandra.”

“What?”

“And Enzu, of course. He brought us.”

“Enzu?”

For a moment all of Webbd seemed to hold its breath. The wind ceased. Nobody moved or spoke. Then Rapunzel heard a far-off rushing sound, coming closer, like a mighty wind or heavy rain. The sound intensified, filled the night. The violet light shimmered and writhed around the two figures at the door, the lighthouse, the cart, the driver and the horse. The hairs rose on her arms and neck.

“The sea returns,” said the second figure in tones of deep satisfaction, and Rapunzel remembered that voice. It was indeed Cassandra, the half-mad seer whom she had befriended and saved from accusations of witchcraft. It had been Cassandra who led her to Dar and his brother, Lugh.

Rapunzel realized Cassandra was right. The sea flooded over its stony bed, returning to the cliffs and the land. The night filled with its roar and the ground beneath her feet vibrated.

“Come in!” Rapunzel cried, and swept the two women into the warmth and light, shutting the door behind them.

“Come in!” Rapunzel cried, and swept the two women into the warmth and light, shutting the door behind them.

Minerva threw back her hood, revealing pale gilt hair and spectacles. She smiled at Rapunzel as though two days had passed rather than two years since she’d seen her.

Rapunzel reached up and drew back Cassandra’s hood.

She had aged greatly since the last time Rapunzel had seen her. Her hair was more grey than brown now, her skin stretched tightly over sharp bones in her face. She bore Rapunzel’s inspection with child-like patience, her brown eyes moving over Rapunzel’s face.

“Gold Rope gone,” she said.

“Not gone,” Rapunzel reassured her. “I’m right here.”

Cassandra reached up and cradled the back of Rapunzel’s short-cropped head with a fragile, bony hand. “Gold Rope gone.”

Rapunzel arched an eyebrow at Minerva. She had once worn her hair in a long golden plait falling down her back and coiling on the floor; long enough, in fact, to make a ladder from the ground into a tall, isolated stone tower. One day she had freed herself from her prison, and on that day, she cut off her hair. She hadn’t met Cassandra until after that, but the seer had always called her “Gold Rope,” and Rapunzel had accepted both her uncanny ability and the name.

Image by Greg Montani from Pixabay

Now, Cassandra said, “Blue Witch.”

“She’s been calling you that ever since we left Griffin Town,” said Minerva, hanging up their cloaks. “I didn’t know why until we saw you outlined on top of the tower.”

Someone knocked on the heavy door. Minerva opened it and the man called Enzu stepped in.

Minerva took Cassandra by the arm and led her to the kitchen table. Rapunzel saw with a shock Cassandra was pitifully thin before she turned to Enzu.

This man was not Dar. Dar’s eyes had been grey, sharp and humorous. This man’s eyes were soft and brown in his olive-skinned face. Dar’s hair had been black, straight and unruly. Enzu’s hair was black, thickly curling and closely cropped.

Yet there were similarities that wrung her heart. Enzu was not quite as tall as Dar, but slim-hipped and graceful, his legs long and well-shaped, like Dar’s. Over his shoulders hung a cloak of a deep purplish color, nearly black, and the cloak was like a piece of night sky, sparkling with beads, charms, pearls and silver embroidery. On the back of one shoulder a huge glowing feather rested in exactly the same place one of the Firebird’s feathers had decorated Dar’s cloak.

“The Blue Witch, I presume?” he said with a smile, extending a hand.

“Rapunzel,” she said, automatically giving him her hand in return.

“I am Enzu,” he said simply. “The Firebird led me to Griffin Town, and there I met Minerva and Cassandra, who needed transport to a lonely lighthouse on cliffs above the sea. One road is much like another to me, so I volunteered my services. The Firebird guided us until we saw the blue light, an old companion of mine, though I’ve never seen it favor another.”

Rapunzel stood dumbly before him, her hand still in his, torn between the desire to throw herself into this man’s arms, so familiar and yet strange, and making a cooler, more dignified introduction and welcome.

“Cassandra needs a hot drink,” said Minerva.

Rapunzel freed her hand and stepped away from Enzu. “Come in,” she said. “Hang your cloak there, with the others.”

“Have you milk?” asked Enzu.

“Yes,” said Rapunzel, surprised.

“If you will heat it, I’ll bring the tea Cassandra likes.”

He went out into the night, newly alive with the sound of the sea.

Rapunzel poured milk into a pan and began heating it, glad of something to do. Enzu reappeared, hung up his cloak, and set a stoppered jar containing honey and a cloth bag holding a mixture smelling of tea and cinnamon on the counter.

In a short time, they were seated at the table together, sipping mugs of delicious spiced tea and milk.

Cassandra was obviously exhausted. She sipped the tea eagerly, and it brought a tinge of color to her face, but her thin hands trembled and her eyes were shadowed. She looked ill. Rapunzel realized it was quite late. Now was not the time to embark on lengthy questions and explanations.

Enzu drank his tea, looking around the stone-walled room with appreciation, appearing completely relaxed and at home.

“You and Cassandra can share the biggest bed,” said Rapunzel to Minerva. “I’ll sleep in the smaller one.”

“I sleep in my cart,” said Enzu. “I pulled it into your shed and unharnessed Galahad.”

“Will you be warm enough?”

“Certainly.”

Cassandra nodded in front of her empty cup.

“I’ll take you up to the bedroom,” said Rapunzel to Minerva.

Enzu went out for the women’s bundles. Rapunzel and Minerva led Cassandra up the stairs curving along the lighthouse wall to Rapunzel’s bedroom. Minerva undressed Cassandra as though she was a child and tucked her into the downy bed while Rapunzel lit a lantern.

Image by ELG21 from Pixabay

“I’ll bring you a hot stone,” said Rapunzel in an undertone.

She hastened down the stairs and found Enzu kneeling before the stove, wrapping a large stone in an old piece of hide. The fire burned brightly. He had added wood. They took the hot stone and bundles back up the stairs. Cassandra already slept. Enzu slid the stone carefully into the foot of the bed. Minerva whispered thanks, assured Rapunzel she needed nothing, and they left her.

Rapunzel suddenly felt sleepy. She yawned, and then apologized. Enzu laughed.

“I, too, am weary. Your friend is not well, and we’ve traveled a long way. Tomorrow we’ll talk. I leave you now.”

In a moment, he was gone.

Rapunzel washed their cups and tidied the kitchen, wondering what had brought Minerva and Cassandra to the lighthouse, and why the Firebird had led Enzu to them, and then here to her. She blew out the lantern on the table, wrapped another hot stone for the bed Clarissa used when she visited the tower, and climbed upstairs with the rock under her arm and a lantern in her hand. Even breathing came from the bed in her dark room as she passed through. She ascended to the smaller room above the one she usually used, thrust the rock into the bed to warm it and added a couple of rough wool blankets. She kept a window ajar in this room for Ash and Beatrice, and it was cold. The sound of the sea washing against the cliffs filled the night.

Hastily, Rapunzel blew out the lantern and undressed in the dark before sliding gratefully into bed and pressing her feet against the stone. She lay there, listening to the sea, until she fell asleep.

When Rapunzel woke the next morning, the bit of sky she could see from the depths of the warm bed was mother-of-pearl, promising sunshine. She descended quietly through the bedroom below, noting the mounded figure of one person still in bed. The wood stove glowed comfortably and someone had heated water, but neither Minerva nor Enzu were anywhere to be found. Rapunzel put on her cloak against the early morning chill and constant breeze off the sea and slipped out.

Her heart swelled painfully with joy at the sound of the sea, returned to wash against the cliffs. A flurry of gulls screamed overhead. In the shed, Galahad munched peacefully at a fragrant mound of hay. The cart stood snugly along one wall, the open back revealing neatly-packed shelves and hooks and a tidy sleeping pallet made from a thick mattress and tucked and folded blankets.

Rapunzel left the shed and spied Enzu and Minerva standing together looking out over the sea some way from the lighthouse.

As she approached, the sun’s rim rose above the horizon, staining the sky and sea with blue. She could feel the rocks vibrating under the waves’ caress. The tide ebbed and tumbled rocks about the roots of the cliffs gleamed wetly as the birds, looking white and clean as salt, dove and skimmed raucously above the tide line.

“It’s like a miracle,” said Rapunzel when she reached them. “When the sea retreated from the land, it left an ominous wasteland. There was no escaping the wrongness of it. I woke at night and ached for the sound of the sea. Why has it come back now? Did you make it return?” She looked from Enzu to Minerva.

“I wish I possessed such power,” said Minerva. “The water withdrew from Griffin Town weeks ago, and the whole place is in chaos. The harbor is dry, trade has stopped, warehouses are filled with goods we can’t send out, and we hear of shortages everywhere because nothing can come in. The fishermen blame the merchants, the merchants blame the town fathers, the churchgoers speak of witchcraft and magic, and everyone is afraid and suspicious. Oh, speaking of merchants, here’s a letter for you from Radulf.” Minerva reached into her tunic and withdrew three or four folded sheets of paper, handing them to Rapunzel.

“I only hope the water has returned in Griffin Town as well, but it’s a long way from here. Still, if it happened here, maybe it will happen there.”

“But why did it happen here?” asked Rapunzel.

“I don’t know, my dear. You tell me.”

“What do you think?” Rapunzel demanded of Enzu.

He shook his head, smiling. “Cassandra says the pattern is broken.”

“What pattern? How is it broken? Can it be fixed?”

He shrugged his shoulders and held out his hands, palms up.

Frustrated, Rapunzel turned back to Minerva. “Cassandra looks dreadful.”

“I know. She’s dying, I think. She was terribly upset before the sea withdrew. She kept talking about locked doors and leaves withering and endings without beginnings. The more frantic she got, the harder she was to understand. Then, one morning, the sea was gone. It was as though an invisible barrier appeared overnight outside the harbor. We could see a wall of water in the distance, but the harbor itself stayed dry and exposed. For days, huge flocks of birds fought and screeched over all kinds of offal and the whole town stank of rotten fish. After that, Cassandra changed. She quieted and seemed relieved, but her calm was more like numbness and apathy than peace. She stopped eating and sleeping and began talking about you.”

“Me?” asked Rapunzel in surprise.

“’Gold Rope and Blue Witch,’” Minerva quoted. “I didn’t know who the Blue Witch was, of course, but it obviously had something to do with you. I offered to bring her to you, but she refused. She said the Devil was coming, and she’d go with him.”

“The Devil.” Rapunzel remembered, with a pang, how Cassandra had called Dar “the Devil.”

“I know,” said Minerva, watching her face. “I tried to tell her Dar was gone, but she insisted the Devil was coming. Then, one day a couple of weeks ago, the Firebird arrived at my workshop, leading Enzu and Galahad. I thought I understood then what Cassandra had foreseen. Enzu and I talked, and he agreed to bring us here.”

“But what does she want to do here?” asked Rapunzel.

“I have no idea. She’s hardly spoken along the way, except to Galahad, and I can’t understand a word she says. Every day she’s weaker. I have a feeling she’s hanging on because there’s still something she wants to say or do, something here at the lighthouse that involves you and perhaps us, as well.” Minerva’s gesture included both Enzu and herself.

“How do you come into it?” Rapunzel asked Enzu. “Do you know the Firebird?”

“I knew stories about the Firebird, but I’d never seen it until it came to me one night. The stories say the Firebird leads one to treasure. I don’t need treasure, but I followed it out of curiosity and wonder. I’m a wanderer by nature, always on the move, exploring, meeting people, collecting and telling stories and paying my way with trade or barter. I never thought I’d meet either the Firebird or one of the greatest and wisest weavers and businesswomen of Webbd, but the world, I find, is full of extraordinary beings and magic.”

“Where do you come from?”

“My people are desert and sea folk. I have a twin, Utu, who is a Seed Bearer and loves the sun. I love the moons best, and seek wisdom and truth on Webbd’s roads and byways.”

Image by ELG21 from Pixabay

Rapunzel looked from Enzu to Minerva, wordless. The similarities between Dar and Enzu were too marked to be a coincidence. It was as though Dar had been reborn, slightly different, but perfectly recognizable. As though death was not an utterly dark finality, but a dim and enigmatic threshold one might cross and cross again from either direction. Confused, mystified and yet elated, she found nothing to say.

“I think we should go back in. I don’t want Cassandra to wake and find herself alone,” said Minerva.

Rapunzel seized on the opportunity to do something straightforward. “I have eggs, bacon and bread, but we’ll need more supplies.”

“I can help there,” said Enzu. “Minerva and I stopped and bought food yesterday before we arrived so as not to strain your stores too much. We knew you weren’t expecting guests. Galahad and I can go to the nearest market and buy what we need as well.”

While Cassandra slept on, Minerva, Enzu and Rapunzel made breakfast and pot after pot of tea. Rapunzel told them what she knew of Yrtym and what she and others guessed about its role in connection and the upheaval caused by its disruption, though none knew exactly the cause of the trouble.

“It does appear intentionally collaborating and cooperating repairs portals, thresholds and relationships between peoples, at least temporarily, but we’re not sure what started the breakdown,” she said. “Heks sent me here to listen to wind, water and stone and watch the sky and collect news, which comes to me via ravens and crows, Ash and Beatrice, and other visitors.”

“What have you learned?” asked Minerva with interest.

“You mean besides what I’ve told you about the Yrtym?”

Minerva nodded.

“I’ve learned more about what I already knew, that everything’s connected. I thought I understood what that meant, but here I’ve learned the hopelessness and helplessness that lies in the disconnection between one thing and another, the grief and pain of a ripped seam, the lifelessness in the places between when the meeting place is disrupted. Webbd mourns in a thousand voices as connection dissolves and lives and places move apart and into shadow across which no hand or bridge can reach.”

Minerva looked past Rapunzel and said, “Good morning, my dear.”

CHAPTER 21

Cassandra made her way down the stairs, one hand on the curving stone wall as though afraid to lose her balance. Hair disheveled, she still wore her nightdress. A thick, fleecy shawl hung from her bony shoulders.

Enzu gave her his arm. Rapunzel produced a plate of food and a clean cup.

“I slept,” Cassandra said, child-like, to Minerva.

“That’s good. You’ll feel better if you can sleep.”

“The tower sang to me.”

“Sometimes the sea sounds like singing or sighing,” said Rapunzel.

“The stone breathes and whispers and sings,” said Cassandra, her eyes unfocused.

“The stone?” asked Minerva gently.

“The stone lives. The hidden people made it so with their love, but now time trembles and the stones lament coming ruin. Creators and destroyers. Life and death.” Cassandra’s hand trembled, hot tea splashing out of her cup. Enzu, sitting beside her, took it from her and set it carefully on the table.

“Believe me,” she appealed, looking into his face.

“I do believe you,” he assured her. “Can we help the stones?”

“The stones weep!”

“Cassandra, can we help the stones?” Minerva asked.

“No. The tower will fall. The tree will fall. The hidden ones sunder and splinter and shatter. The Blue Witch’s web floats in the withered wind.”

Rapunzel reached across the table and took Cassandra’s cold, quivering hands in her warm ones. “I understand. The tower and trees will fall. I believe you. Will the tower fall today?”

“No.”

“Then why don’t you eat something, and finish your tea? We can talk again after you’ve eaten. Will you do that?”

“Yes. I drew a picture.”

Cassandra released her hands and picked up a fork.

Image by ELG21 from Pixabay

“I brought your drawings in case you wanted to show them to Rapunzel,” Enzu said. “When you’re finished we can sit here together and look at them.”

Cassandra, her mouth full of eggs and bacon, appeared not to hear him.

Rapunzel, deliberately casual, began washing dishes. Minerva joined her, wiping the counter and drying and stacking plates, while Enzu, whistling, went in and out the open door, replenishing the firewood.

“That’s the most sleep she’s taken since we left,” said Minerva in an undertone under cover of the splashing water and chink of dishes. “It’s the most she’s eaten at one time, too.”

“Good,” murmured Rapunzel. “Now if we can understand what she’s trying to say or do here.” She raised her voice to a normal level. “How are things in your workshop?”

An hour later, fed, washed and dressed, Cassandra showed Rapunzel her drawings. They sat together at the table. Enzu was outside and Minerva upstairs, making the bed and tidying the room she and Cassandra shared.

In the center of the first drawing stood a lighthouse, recognizably the stone tower they sat in. It rose on cliffs above the sea. The sky above the tower held both clouds and stars, as well as flying birds and the outline of a bat.

Below child-like wavy lines on the sea’s surface, Cassandra had drawn sea creatures and merfolk, including an arched dolphin.

On the other side of the lighthouse, Cassandra had drawn a barren landscape of stony ground and scrubby growth. A slightly lopsided square cart drawn by a clumsy horse approached the tower. Underneath the land’s surface were two large ovals, side by side, reaching the page’s bottom. One said ‘Hades’ and the other ‘Dvorgdom.’

Over the whole picture a faint web of interconnecting lines was traced. Rapunzel thought she understood what Cassandra had said about a spider’s web.

“It’s the lighthouse?” asked Rapunzel. Cassandra nodded.

“Have you been here before?”

“No. But I saw it.”

“You saw true. It’s amazing.”

Cassandra put her finger on the lighthouse in the picture. “Blue Witch.”

“Me?”

Cassandra nodded. “Sea. Sky. Land.” She indicated each area as she named it.

“And they’re all connected?” Rapunzel asked.

“They want to be.” Cassandra’s voice sounded sad but she remained calm.

“I’m like a spider in the center of a web?” hazarded Rapunzel.

Cassandra nodded again.

“I see. What else do you want to show me?”

The second drawing showed a sphere touching the paper’s sides and bottom edge. Inside the sphere stood a tree with three trunks. A tangle of countless roots beneath the tree filled the sphere’s lower third. The trunks rose up through the circle’s middle and branches reached in every direction, filling the top of the circle, extending beyond it to the paper’s limits. Stars interlaced with leaves and branches above the sphere. An enormous serpent coiled around the tree, and among the roots were what looked like underground streams and rivulets of water.

This picture, too, was covered with a web of fine, thin lines.

“This is surely Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life?” asked Rapunzel.

Cassandra nodded. “The pattern is whole,” she said, indicating the stars and clouds among the branches, and then the roots, water and earth in the picture’s lower half. She pointed at an oval in the tree’s roots, like the mouth of a tunnel. “The gate is open.”

“Is the gate like a portal?”

Cassandra nodded again. She trembled. Fumbling, she folded down the top third of the picture, ran her fingernail along the fold, and tore it away. Tears fell down her face. She tore the roots away from the bottom of the picture, then folded across the portal and tore it in two. She folded and tore, folded and tore, until the picture was in fragments.

“Cassandra,” Rapunzel said, keeping her voice low and steady, “help me understand.”

“It unravels! It unravels. The hidden ones began it, but now it all unravels!”

“Disconnection,” said Rapunzel. “I understand. I believe you. How do we stop it?”

“Warp and weft.”

“Weaving? Like Minerva does, you mean?”

“The warp is sundered from the weft. The web is torn! The loom creaks and groans, rattling in the sterile wind! It calls for the weavers! The weavers must work! The One Who Weeps, Dragon Rider, Bone Weaver, Blind One, the mothers with deep roots, the three old ones at the foot of the tree! The Red Dancer, the storyteller from the sea, the Blue Witch and The Devil! You must dance! You must tell! You must create! You must make yourselves BIG! YOU MUST KEEP THE GATE OPEN!”

Minerva came swiftly down the stairs, her face filled with concern. Cassandra dropped her face into her hands and wept. Torn bits of paper littered the table. Rapunzel, filled with pity for Cassandra’s distress as well as apprehension, met Minerva’s eyes.

“Believe me!” said Cassandra, her voice muffled by her hands. “Please believe me! Tell the weavers!”

Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

“I believe you,” said Rapunzel. “I’ll tell the weavers, and they’ll believe you, too. Minerva and I believe you, and Enzu, too. We’ll keep the gate open.”

Enzu appeared in the open doorway and paused, taking in the scene. He approached Cassandra and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Galahad has eaten his breakfast and wants his grooming. You know he steps on my feet when I comb his mane. He thinks you’re the only one who can do it properly. Will you come and help?”

Clarissa’s sobs slackened. Minerva wet a piece of linen in cold water at the sink. Rapunzel swept the torn paper into a pile and put it out of sight. Enzu sat beside Cassandra, talking calmly of Galahad, the cart and their journey, taking no notice of her distress and giving her time to pull herself together.

When Cassandra had wiped her face, blown her nose and stopped trembling, she accompanied Enzu outside, moving like an old woman but calm again.

“What did she say?” Minerva asked Rapunzel.

“Oh, Minerva, I’ve never understood half of what she says!”

“I know. Let’s write down everything you can remember, and then maybe we can puzzle some of it out together.”

Rapunzel repeated Cassandra’s words as best she could while Minerva took notes.

“Who are the hidden ones?” Minerva asked. “And the Dragon Rider?”

“I don’t know. The Blue Witch is me. The Red Dancer is Ginger, from Rowan Tree. The One Who Weeps might be Maria, from Rowan Tree.”

“Yes. She’s a weaver.”

“Bone Weaver could be Nephthys,” said Rapunzel.

“And the three old ones at the foot of the tree must be the Norns,” said Minerva.

“I wonder if the storyteller from the sea could be Clarissa,” said Rapunzel. “Or I suppose it might be Seren.”

For some time they sat together, reading and rereading Cassandra’s words and searching for meaning. At last Minerva took off her glasses, polished them, and ran a hand through her short silver hair. “I’ll put this away for now. Enzu might have ideas, too. I think I’ll go check on them. They might have groomed ten horses by now!”

They found Cassandra, Enzu and Galahad in a companionable group against the tower’s east wall. Enzu had heaped armfuls of hay on the ground at the base of the lighthouse and Cassandra sat with her back against the stone and her ravaged face in the sun on a cushion of hay. Galahad munched beside her. Enzu sang in a low voice. Rapunzel didn’t recognize the song or the melody.

“This is nice,” said Minerva. “It’s a shame to be inside on a morning like this. Are you comfortable, Cassandra?”

The seer looked up at them, smiling, her face calm. She toyed with Galahad’s forelock.

“He’s singing to me,” she said, glancing at Enzu.

“If nobody wants anything,” said Rapunzel, “I’ll make a list of supplies we need.”

She had not yet read Radulf’s letter. She sat at the kitchen table and unfolded it.

Dear Rapunzel:

As I wrote you before, I’ve returned to Griffin Town. I don’t know when I’ll go to sea again. The harbor is empty because the water has receded from the land, and I had to leave Marella anchored beyond the strange, invisible barrier keeping the water back. I hope she’ll be all right. I’m uneasy when I can’t walk down to the harbor and check on her.

I’ve talked with Minerva and Cassandra, at least as much as anyone can talk with Cassandra. She’s not doing well and I think Minerva is worried about her. She’s aged terribly and she makes even less sense than usual. Minerva is unfailingly patient and kind with her. I don’t know how she does it.

Minerva and I agree business must halt for the time being while we focus on repairing whatever is going wrong on Webbd. We’ve pooled our information, which is much the same. Cassandra speaks of weavers and keeping gates open, but we can’t make much sense of it.

I keep thinking about what Morfran said about the ritual he did with Odin and Rumpelstiltskin: protect, provide, procreate. Of these three, protect seems to me the most important. I feel restless and itchy, on land for who knows how long; I need to find a way to make a contribution where I am and stop longing for where I want to be. To that end, I’ve spent time in the shadowed, ugly places in Griffin Town, where men gather to drink rubble, fight with knives and fists, and conduct black market business. There’s a thriving trade right now in good luck charms and totems, especially among merchants and sailors. With the sea behaving so unpredictably, everyone is nervous. Hunters and fishermen notice a troubling drop in populations of fish and other sea animals. No one knows if this is tied to the withdrawal of the sea from the land or something else.

It seems to me it must all be connected in some way, and as I walk the harbor during restless nights, looking out at the distant wall of water where Marella is anchored, I grope for a way to protect the sea I love and all its creatures.

I’m particularly angered by the despicable trade in sea wolf paws. I saw a man last week with twenty of them concealed inside his cloak, each in its own separate pocket. Credulous sailors believe carrying one will prevent drowning, and the paws are always in demand, which means sea wolves are either slaughtered for the sake of their paws alone, or deliberately maimed. It’s an appalling business, and I’m more and more determined to find the sources and stop it. As you know, I feel an affinity with wolves.

Later:

Rapunzel, a strange thing -- a peddler by the name of Enzu has arrived in Griffin Town, guided here by the Firebird! Cassandra has been importuning Minerva to come and see you, and Minerva’s felt at her wit’s end, trying to figure out how to travel with her -- she’s so fragile now. Enzu turned up with a horse and cart, just like Dar’s, yet he’s not Dar -- not exactly. Oh, I can’t explain it. You’ll see what I mean.

Anyway, they’re leaving today. The Firebird is still here, so Minerva counts on him to guide them to your lighthouse. If he doesn’t, she can leave Cassandra with Enzu and find you on her own. I’m sending this letter along with them. I wish I could spend more time with Enzu, but Cassandra and Minerva both feel some urgency about seeing you as soon as possible. I considered coming with them, but my heart tells me it’s more important to continue with my information gathering here.

I hope they arrive safely and find you well, my dear. In haste and affection,

Radulf

Two hours later she took a cup of tea to Cassandra and found her curled up in a sunny hollow in the hay, Galahad nosing around her as he ate. Minerva and Enzu were not there, and Cassandra was dead.

CHATTAN

Chattan followed the knot of excited men surrounding Seren to David’s house. They jostled through the door, David in the lead, and stood in an angry and, Chattan thought, frightened clot as David lit lamps and produced mead and several wooden cups.

Seren was pale. He repeatedly lifted his hand to his throat, his eyes wide and staring. David pushed a cup into his hand and Seren took a gulp of mead. A tinge of color returned to his face, but his eyes glittered.

“Speak to us, my friend,” David pleaded. “Calm down, gather yourself together and speak! You can do it!”

Seren’s throat and face tensed with effort. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“It’s witchcraft!” said one of the men. “Rowan Tree is damned!”

“That little bitch,” said another. “You should never have gone near her, boy. Plenty of others, more willing and more beautiful. Let this be a lesson to you!”

“Who did this to you?” demanded Mingan. “Was it the work of the wizard, the girl’s father? Or was it the witch Maria and the old woman Heks?”

“Does it matter?” snarled David. “Wizard or witch, there’s evil abroad, powerful evil that can silence the most golden voice under heaven. We must face it and destroy it! We must return our community to law and order. We must put our faith in a wise and God-fearing man instead of that witchy woman and her crones. We must regain our rightful place as masters and teach the women to serve!”

“What can we do against such power?” asked one of the men fearfully.

“Yes, what can we do?” asked Chattan, arranging his own face in an anxious frown. “Tonight the girl Clarissa sleeps under the protection of Heks, and Maria and Ginger are together.” He hoped the reminder that none of the four women was unprotected and alone would forestall any sudden nighttime violence.

“Rose Red released the feathers,” said David. “I’ve known from the beginning she’s as unnatural as the rest of them. She and that Artemis, who hunts like a man and calls herself the keeper of the forest. That giantess is a friend of Rose Red’s, and they tried to bring her here! I’ve heard rumors she gave herself to a fox! Perhaps she’s the leader of them all. I’ve never seen a knife like that. It’s obviously an instrument of dark magic.”

Chattan, watching Mingan, noted a dark flush on his cheeks under narrowed eyes.

“I will speak to Rose Red,” Chattan said. “I’ll make her see reason.”

One of the men sniggered. “You persuade her,” he suggested. “Let me know if you need any help!”

Mingan glared at him.

Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Unsplash

“Make her see she should leave,” said David. “She’s not needed or wanted here. She and Artemis should go away, along with the giantess they’ve hidden somewhere in the woods. Maybe we can convince them to go on their own.”

“And if they won’t?” asked one of the men.

“We’re bigger, stronger, and have more right to lead than they do,” said David. “I’m a man of means and education. Nobody wants witches and women in control. We’ll stand together and cast them out, use violence if necessary. When word gets out about what they’ve done to Seren, they’ll be hunted down and killed like animals anyway. We don’t want to be seen sheltering such evil.”

Seren sat down abruptly on a nearby chair and put his head in his hands.

“You need your bed,” said David. “After a good night’s sleep, you’ll find your voice and this will be a bad dream. Be off, the rest of you. Give the man some peace. Chattan, you come and tell me how it goes with Rose Red in the morning.” He shooed them out and Chattan heard the door shut solidly, followed by the sound of a bolt being drawn.

The night was wild with gusting wind, warm and smelling of damp earth and water. Chattan glanced down the slope to the fire pit and saw no flame or spark. Kunik and the others had doused it thoroughly. He hoped the women were safely home and would stay there. He suspected they were not in danger as long as they stayed together. None of these men would dare approach them unless they were alone and vulnerable.

The men dispersed, muttering and talking in low tones. Chattan paused under a tall beech tree. From this vantage point he could see the river, the fire pit, David’s house, the community building and several small homes. Mingan made his way up the hill.

“Where’s he going?” Heks appeared beside him, silent as a shadow.

“He’s going to Rose Red,” said Chattan grimly. “Don’t sneak up on me like that! You shouldn’t leave Clarissa.”

“Clarissa’s sound asleep. I gave her something. She’ll sleep until morning. I don’t intend to be seen. No one will know I’m not with her.”

“I want to get there before him. I’ll let you follow at your own pace. Be careful.”

Chattan stepped into deeper shadow, closed his eyes and reached within himself for the shape of his soul. He raised his nose into the wind, breathing deeply of the boisterous night and catching Heks’s scent, though she already followed Mingan, keeping to the shadows. His pupils dilated to make the most of the low light and he sprang, thrusting with powerful hindquarters, and bounded lightly up the slope on his wide paws, making no sound and invisible in the night.

He moved past Rose Red’s oak tree and circled back from behind. The wind blew in his face, and he could smell Mingan clearly and Heks less clearly. Light burned from Rose Red’s window. She was still awake. He knew Artemis was with Gwelda.

The hour had come. Rose Red was alone. It was the moment he’d waited for, he and Mingan both, circling warily around one another, neither able to act definitively until Rose Red made a choice. It all depended on her courage and strength. Artemis was sure of her. She had told Chattan Rose Red herself remained unaware of her power and Mingan’s underestimation of her and Chattan would be his downfall. Mingan’s arrogance and hatred were fatal weaknesses.

Chattan knew what Mingan was, but he didn’t think Mingan knew what he was. He’d been very careful. Until tonight, the scent of this form had never been closer to Rowan Tree than the forest beyond Rose Red’s house. Mingan knew a lynx had been near, but he didn’t know Chattan was the lynx.

Image by Jevgeni Fil from PIxabay

On this night, he, Mingan and Heks stood with Rose Red on a crossroad and watched her choose the future.

“Whatever happens, you must not influence her,” Artemis had cautioned him. “She must make a free choice, and she must accept the consequences of her choice. She has everything she needs. She is everything she needs. She’s not a fit consort for you unless she trusts herself absolutely and knows she doesn’t need you.”

“I understand,” he’d said, and he did. He would not interfere, but he would watch, and if Mingan lived this night Chattan would not rest until he had hunted him down and torn him apart, as Mingan had torn apart Jan and, undoubtedly, others.

“Rose Red? It’s me, Mingan. Will you let me in?”

Chattan pricked his ears.

“Just a minute,” he heard Rose Red say.

The door opened, letting out a glow of light. “I was going to take a walk,” said Rose Red, cloaked and with a lantern in her hand.

Chattan drew his lips back in a smile that looked like a snarl. She didn’t want to be alone inside with Mingan. Good girl!

“I want to talk to you privately,” Mingan began, clearly reluctant.

Rose Red set off on the path to Rowan Gate and Eurydice’s house. “Nobody to hear but the trees,” she said.

Mingan fell into step beside her.

“Bit of bother tonight at the bonfire,” said Mingan.

“Did you think so? I enjoyed the stew. And the story.”

“There’s some bad feeling about what happened after the story.”

“Oh?”

“Are you happy here, Rose Red?”

“This is where I belong. I’m happy here.”

“It might be time to consider leaving.”

“Oh, no. There’s no question of that.”

Mingan took her by the elbow and turned her, forcing her to stop and face him.

“You might not have a choice. The witch Maria and her sidekick with the red hair, Ginger, will be forced out, and Heks will likely be killed, along with that girl, Clarissa, who’s cursed Seren, her or her father has, anyway. Rowan Tree won’t stand for it. You were part of it, with your magic knife. You’ll be outcast, along with the rest. They don’t want you here, any of you. When word gets out about what you’ve done to Seren, they’ll come for you.”

“You mean David doesn’t want us here. David and a few others.” Rose Red’s voice sounded cold and Chattan exulted. She wasn’t going to be cowed easily.

“David has power,” said Mingan.

“David’s a coward,” Rose Red shot back, and pulled free from Mingan’s grasp. “He’s threatened by powerful women.”

“You’re in danger!” Mingan raised his voice. “You don’t appreciate how much danger you’re in! I’m trying to protect you!”

“I know you are. Thank you.” Rose Red’s voice softened.

Mingan took full advantage of the opening. His voice became intimate and infused with affection. “I’ll always protect you. You’re so beautiful and so precious, like some shy woodland thing. I never met anyone like you before.”

Rose Red began walking again, head bowed.

“Thank you,” she said again. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m quite self-sufficient, and I like being alone.”

“You can’t mean that. You’re made for loving. A woman like you needs someone to look after her.”

Some of the warmth left her voice and her shoulders stiffened. “I assure you I don’t need anyone to look after me.”

“But I have looked after you for weeks now, and you never knew. Rose Red, I don’t want you to be frightened, but something is watching you at night.”

She paused and faced him again. “I know. What is it?”

“It’s some kind of a monstrous cat. I’ve seen the footprints.”

“So have I. And also prints of something like a large wolf.”

“Rose Red, those are my prints. I’m your secret protector, watching over you through the night, keeping you from harm. I’ve seen cats like that before. They’re vicious and bloodthirsty. They fall upon small, unprotected communities like this and slaughter the people, one by one. I’ll bet this one killed Jan and followed Gwelda here. It will never stop hunting you unless I kill it. It’s watched and waited, getting closer every night, but I’ve held it off. It knows I’m here, and it fears me and my kind. As long as I’m here, it won’t come too close.

“We’re fated to be together, you and I. It’s time you recognize me and my power. I’ll tear out the cat’s throat and lay its body at your feet. Behold the bodark!”

He whirled away from her and thrust a knife into a nearby beech tree. The blade gleamed like copper in the lantern light. Rose Red set down the lantern she carried, carefully and deliberately. Her face was set.

Mingan began speaking what sounded like some kind of an incantation in a guttural language. Chattan wondered if Heks watched and listened. Mingan’s form quivered as he chanted, bulging and oozing in a shimmer of dark orange and rusty red, then becoming the dull black of a cinder. His body shortened and lengthened. Ears pricked above a head with eyes like burning embers and a long canine snout, lips wrinkled back to show powerful teeth.

Image by Shannon Robertson from a Pixabay

The wolf stood higher than a man’s hip, its brushy tail held straight out from its body. The size of its paws made the black legs look slim and fragile. It stood facing Rose Red, not actively threatening, but its snarling face, intent ears and aggressive stance expressing demand rather than invitation.

Rose Red did not gasp or cry out. Her attention moved from the wolf to the knife thrust into the tree and Chattan saw a flash of understanding in her eyes, as though she suddenly solved a puzzle. He and Artemis had agreed to say nothing about the slashes in the tree near where Jan had been killed, and their suspicion they had been made in exactly this way. He suspected Rose Red recognized the copper-bladed knife for what it was, the mate to the copper blade Brigid had forged for her during Imbolc. She normally wore it sheathed at her waist under her tunic, its blade coated with deadly poison.

He hoped it was sheathed at her waist now.

It was time. He stepped out from between the trees and sat at the edge of the lantern’s glow, fully in view but not too close to either the bodark or Rose Red. He swiveled his black-tufted ears forward and fixed his gaze on Rose Red. Their eyes locked. She appeared unable to look away. She showed no fear, only an intense, searching interest.

The bodark noticed her attention turn to something behind him and turned, stiff-legged and hackles rising along his spine. He snarled at Chattan, growling in his throat, saliva dripping from his jaws. Chattan lifted his lip just enough to show the gleam of teeth and met the bodark’s red eyes, allowing his contempt and disgust for the foul creature to show. He continued sitting on his powerful haunches, dismissed the bodark and looked back at Rose Red.

Her eyes traveled again to the knife in the tree, then to the bodark, then to Chattan. The bodark turned back to her, dropped its head and whined in its throat. Its tail twitched in a tentative wag. It took a couple of steps closer to Rose Red. But for the burning, watchful eyes, it looked like a large dog seeking kindness.

Rose Red allowed it to approach, standing with feet apart and knees slightly bent, her right hand close to her right hip. For the first time, Chattan appreciated the courage Artemis had spoken of. Rose Red was not getting ready to run. She was prepared to face them both, lynx and wolf. She was ready to fight. He burned with pride. Once again, she met his amber gaze, as though searching for an answer to a question she hadn’t yet asked.

Chattan made no sign.

The wolf, directly before Rose Red now, reached to lick her hand with its long slavering tongue.

She looked down at it, her eyes cold, withdrawing her hand.

“No.”

The bodark growled and stiffened. Its head came up. The dull hair along its spine stirred again.

Chattan tensed but made no move.

Now the bodark held Rose Red’s gaze, the rumbling growl growing in volume. It drew back its lips and pinned its ears. Rose Red’s right hand flashed under the hem of her tunic and reappeared with the copper-bladed knife. She sank deeper into a crouch, bending her left arm defensively in front of her. She held the knife in a reverse grip with the edge facing away and without hesitation, screaming in what sounded to Chattan like rage rather than fear, she slashed forward and down across her body, right in the bodark’s face.

As Rose Red had drawn the knife, the bodark sprang but overreached, not expecting her to move even closer. Its teeth raked her defensive arm and it fell back awkwardly, snarling and growling. As she wielded the deadly knife, it cut the bodark across lips and tongue and in a moment the creature lay, gasping, slobbering, with bloodied jaws. It shrieked, half growl, half bark; shuddered, and died.

Rose Red stood over it, crouched, knife in hand, glaring down at the body, ungainly and angular in death. She breathed heavily. Blood dripped from her arm.

Chattan stood and approached the dead bodark soundlessly on his wide feet.

“Wait.” Rose Red halted him with a gesture. She knelt and wiped the knife carefully on the ground, first one side and then the other, before sheathing it again. “It’s poisoned,” she explained briefly.

At her nod, Chattan once again approached. He sniffed the bodark and drew his lips back in distaste at the stench of blood and the unholy mingling of unnatural wolf and dangerous man. The creature was unquestionably dead.

Chattan began purring. Rose Red, still kneeling, reached for him. Her hands trembled and tears fell down her cheeks.

He approached her, his body vibrating with his purrs, and she put her arms around him, sinking her hands into his thick salt-and-pepper coat. She laid her cheek against his shoulder and wept.

He changed into his man shape and took her in his arms, rocking and murmuring reassurance. She hardly appeared to notice.

When she drew away, she said, “I knew it was you. I recognized your eyes.”

“You recognized the knife,” he said.

“Yes. Then I understood why Brigid made me mine.”

“Artemis and I found knife marks like the one he made in the beech near where Jan was killed.”

“You mean it was him?”

“Him or others like him; men who choose to become werewolves.”

“Why has he been watching me?”

“Because men like Mingan want power and control. They fear anything more powerful than they are. They hate anyone who is different than themselves. That’s why he killed Jan. Jan and Gwelda’s happiness together, their care for the forest, offended him. When he arrived here and found someone like David, weak and convinced of his superiority, the opportunity to cause trouble was too good to resist.”

“Did Gabriel know?”

“I’m not sure. I think he suspected. He didn’t trust Mingan. That’s why he offered him hospitality. He wanted to keep an eye on him.”

“He always seemed to be there when Mingan tried to get me alone.”

“Your friends have been concerned for you.”

“And you?”

“I am Cerunmos, Sacred Consort, come to take the place of the White Stag.”

“For Artemis?”

“No, Rose. For you. Artemis starts a new chapter now. I come for you. I will fulfill the role of Sacred Consort until it is time for me to go. If you choose, part of that role will be our union and partnership, but only if you choose freely and from your full power. I do not come to you because you need me or I need you. I come with an invitation to join our power together.”

Rose Red shivered. Her eyes made black pools in her white face in the lantern light.

“You must get inside and take care of your arm. You’re shocked. Will I walk you home, or do you want to see Maria for your wounds?”

“I will go home. I’ll see Maria in the morning. Please walk with me.”

He picked up the lantern.

“What shall we do about – that?” she asked, indicating the bodark’s sprawled body.

“Leave it. We’ll deal with it in the morning.”

Rose Red clambered to her feet, weary but steady. They walked, side by side, back to Rose Red’s oak tree.

HEKS

Heks waited until they moved away and she could no longer hear anything but the night whispers of the trees and a far-off hooting of owls.

Ash hung from the collar of her cloak. He had spotted her as she toiled up the hill in the shadows, and he and Beatrice swooped down to join her. They watched Mingan and Rose Red set out together and followed, Heks as invisible in her way as Chattan in his. They witnessed Mingan’s transformation from man to beast, Heks breathing a sigh of satisfaction.

“Did you know?” Ash whispered to her.

“I suspected. Hush. I’ll tell you later.”

“There he is,” said Beatrice a few minutes later when Chattan stepped out of the shadows and sat, his coat dappled with lantern light and shadows.

The three watched the little scene unfold, tense with fear for Rose Red. Heks exulted fiercely when Rose Red drew the knife and crouched. She, like Artemis, recognized the snake-eyed thing buried deep within the sensitive, shy young woman. Rose Red was a warrior, a woman who understood life and death. Her appearance belied the deep well of strength, courage and rage within her. She was quick, too. Heks had seen the dawning of understanding at the sight of the bodark’s copper knife, and she’d seen the long look exchanged with Chattan. Never had Heks seen a man with eyes like that, and she didn’t doubt Rose Red recognized them.

“Why doesn’t he help her?” whispered Beatrice, agonized.

“She doesn’t need help,” said Heks, hardly moving her lips, just as the bodark sprang and Rose Red struck viciously at its face with a wild scream of rage.

In a moment it was over. In another moment, Rose Red was weeping, her arms around the strong, broad shoulders of the lynx, her blood staining his fur blackly.

Image by Jevgeni Fil from PIxabay

Heks turned away.

“Where are we going?” asked Ash.

“To Rowan Gate. I want to see if this night’s work has opened the portal again.”

No light shone from Eurydice’s house near the portal. They passed soundlessly by and entered the three-sided enclosure around the spring.

“Will you go through?” Heks asked Ash and Beatrice. “See if you can get to Yggdrasil. If you can, give the Norns and Mirmir the news and then go through to Rumpelstiltskin. Tell him Persephone, Ginger and I are coming in the morning. I want to see Clarissa safely through the portal and let everyone have a night’s sleep. Then we’ll come.”

Ash stretched out his wings. Beatrice clung tightly to his fur.

“Ready?” he asked her.

“Ready,” she shrilled.

“See you soon,” he said to Heks. “Maybe very soon, if we can’t get through!”

He launched himself into the humid, mossy air, loud with the water’s burble, and dove toward the welling spring.

Heks stood alone in the dark, smiling, breathing the rich air. It was as she had suspected. Mingan and Seren between them had caused enough damage to the community and the Yrtym to cause the portal to close. Once again, working together with a common purpose and goal for connection and healing had opened it.

She left Rowan Gate and made her way back down the hill into sleeping Rowan Tree. No lights shone. She stood on her own threshold, probing the dark little house with her senses. From her bed by the wall, she heard Clarissa’s even, sleeping breath.

All was well.

Without making a light, she crossed the floor and entered her snug sleeping chamber. In a moment she lay naked in her bed. For a time, she lay listening for any disturbance or movement outside her open window. She heard none. Rowan Tree slept.

She turned on her side and shut her eyes.

***

The sound of Clarissa stirring in the next room wakened her. It was still early; the pale morning light filled with the birds’ dawn chorus. Heks rose and found Clarissa heating water for tea.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry. We went to bed so early and I slept so soundly I feel wide awake.”

Heks thought she looked much better. The sleep had done her good.

“How do you feel?” she asked Clarissa.

“You mean about Seren? I feel …peaceful. I feel finished. We did the right thing last night. The spell, I mean. And I’m glad I didn’t run away. I don’t feel ashamed any more, but I’m ready to leave here. How will I do that with the portal closed?”

“The portal is open,” said Heks with satisfaction.

“It is? How do you know?”

“I sent Ash and Beatrice through last night after you fell asleep. I think you should go as soon as you can, before David and the others have a chance to organize and cause trouble. Persephone, Ginger and I are leaving this morning as well.”

“What about Maria and Rose Red and everyone else? Will they be right?”

“They will. Artemis is here, don’t forget, and Kunik and Eurydice. Seren’s in no position to organize revenge and violence, and David will find no one will join in more than ugly talk except a handful of disgruntled men, and they’re afraid of Maria. Things will settle down. People will get on with the work of the community; this is our busiest season. Other events will catch their attention. Most people here want to go about their business peaceably. I have a feeling Seren will soon be an unpopular guest. In the end, many may sympathize more with you than with him. The best thing you can do is leave. Go back and tell Rapunzel about it. She must be lonely there at the tower.”

Image by ELG21 from Pixabay

“I will. That’s exactly what I want to do. I’d like to say goodbye to everyone, though.”

“We’ll go see Maria and Ginger after breakfast. Persephone will be out and about. She’ll either come here or go to Maria. We’ll stop and say goodbye to Rose Red and Eurydice on the way to Rowan Gate.”

Clarissa fried bacon while Heks cracked eggs. When Persephone appeared, Heks broke two additional eggs into the pan. Heks kept the conversation general and light, teasing Persephone about the hay in her thick, corn-colored hair and speculating on what Rapunzel had been doing. Once or twice Persephone gave her a questioning look. Heks was not normally so talkative. Heks shook her head slightly when Clarissa wasn’t looking, and Persephone obligingly chipped in with musings on Pele and what they might find when they visited Dvorgdom.

As soon as they finished, Heks swept them out the door and up the path to Maria’s house. She refused more food and tea, allowed a few minutes for good-byes, and led Clarissa along a tree-lined path up the hill, out of sight of most of Rowan Tree.

They found Rose Red breakfasting with her door wide open and a smell of toasting bread coming out. Blood-stained linen wrapped her arm. Heks, who had managed to pull ahead of Persephone and Rose Red, poked her head in the door first.

“Don’t say anything about last night,” she warned a startled Rose Red.

Then Clarissa and Persephone arrived, and Rose Red made little of her injured arm, saying she’d scratched it climbing a tree. As everyone knew of her delight and agility in climbing trees, they accepted the excuse. Clarissa hugged, kissed, and thanked her, Rose Red returning her affection.

Then they were off to Eurydice’s house and Rowan Portal. Persephone caught Heks’s urgency and realized Heks was keeping certain events of the night before from Clarissa, so she kept them moving through good-byes with Kunik and Eurydice, who breakfasted together.

Eurydice was amazed and delighted to learn Rowan Gate had once again opened, and she and Kunik accompanied Clarissa, Heks and Persephone to the spring.

Clarissa threw her arms around each of them one last time. For a moment, Heks was crushed in her young embrace, smelled the faint sea-odor of her skin and hair, and felt Clarissa’s kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you. I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’ll see you again. Send Rapunzel our love and tell her the news. Keep yourself safe, my dear. I’m proud of you.”

Heks moved back and they watched as Clarissa stepped lightly down into the spring and slid from sight.

They stood silently a moment before Persephone turned, hands on hips, and asked Heks, “What on earth is going on?”

Heks felt suddenly tired. “I need another cup of tea,” she said.

They decided Eurydice would be the one to find the bodark’s body. She, so far as anyone knew, had not been involved in silencing Seren. She and stalwart Kunik were accepted as a couple, which provided her some protection. No one would suspect her of killing such a creature.

They arranged she would go to Gabriel, who had long suspected Mingan, and explain the night’s events. News of Mingan’s disappearance would mingle with news of the dead wolf. While Rowan Tree was distracted, Persephone, Ginger and Heks would leave quietly. Sometime later in the day, Eurydice would pretend to discover the portal was open again. Possibly, no one would notice the absence of Clarissa, Heks, Ginger or Persephone for at least a day, and by the time they did there would be other events to talk and wonder about.

Kunik would see to Heks’s house, shuttering the windows and locking the door. He would make sure Rose Red saw Maria for her wounded arm. Chattan had not returned to Kunik’s house, where he stayed, during the night. He often roamed at night, and Kunik had thought nothing of his absence. He suspected Chattan kept watch over Rose Red after the bodark’s death, either from inside or outside.

“I’ll go see,” he told Heks. “Don’t worry. Will the bite be poisonous or infected?”

“Maria will deal with it,” said Heks. “The sooner the better, though.”

“I’ll tell Artemis, too,” said Kunik.

“Artemis stayed with Gwelda last night.”

“Then I’ll tell them both. Don’t worry, Heks. We’ll look after her.”

“It doesn’t sound to me like she needs much looking after,” put in Eurydice. “Good for her. I didn’t know she had it in her.”

“I did,” said Heks.

Heks and Persephone took the concealed path back down the slope. Persephone slipped away to the haymow for her possessions. Heks had already packed. She left the breakfast dishes for Kunik to deal with, closed her windows and shut the door firmly behind her. At Maria’s, she found Persephone and Ginger waiting and ready to go.

“Persephone’s been telling us,” said Maria. “I’m proud of Rose Red.”

“I’m awed by her,” said Ginger. “What courage!”

“Will the bite be a problem?” Heks asked Maria.

“I’ll manage,” said Maria. “Did it bleed a lot?”

“Like a stuck pig,” said Heks.

“That’s good.”

“I hate leaving you,” said Ginger to Maria.

“I’m not afraid of David,” said Maria. ”He’s a coward.”

“Cowards can be dangerous,” Persephone cautioned.

“Not as dangerous as I am,” said Maria grimly.

Persephone laughed.

“You go and see what you can do for Pele and Rumpelstiltskin,” said Maria. “Leave Rowan Tree to us. The Yrtym is the most important thing. If we can’t repair that, none of it will matter anyway.”

Artemis appeared at the door with Rose Red.

“Kunik’s gone to speak to Gabriel,” she said. “As soon as Eurydice sees you at the portal, she’s going to the community hall with news of the body.”

“Bodies for breakfast,” said Heks.

Persephone snorted.

Heks took Rose Red’s hands in her own. Rose Red’s face was calm, though weary. “Lady,” said Heks, and inclined her head with respect.

Rose Red’s eyes filled with tears. Artemis smiled.

Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Unsplash

Heks leaned forward and kissed Rose Red. “We’ll talk later,” she said. Persephone and Ginger embraced Rose Red and then the three women left for Rowan Gate. From the forest’s shelter, Heks looked across the slope and saw people working among the animal sheds and pastures. The community hall door stood open and people went in and out to cook and eat breakfast and begin food preparation for the day. She wondered if any stew remained. The previous night seemed days away already.

Eurydice waited at the portal. She gave them each a kiss and turned away, hurrying along the path through the rowan trees as they entered the rock-walled shelter around the spring.

CHAPTER 22

ASH

“Mirry! Wake up!” Ash tickled Mirmir under the chin, but the giant snake remained motionless and unresponsive.

“He looks like he’s awake,” said Beatrice. “His eyes are open.”

“His eyes are always open,” said Ash, exasperated. “Snakes don’t have eyelids.”

Mirmir draped in thick loops over a sturdy branch of Yggdrasil. Ash and Beatrice had been trying to wake him for several minutes.

“If you don’t wake up, we’re leaving without telling you the latest news,” Ash threatened. “You’ll miss out!”

He gave Mirmir a slap with his brown suede wing, though he knew it would feel like a falling flower petal to the big reptile.

“Bite him,” suggested Beatrice.

“I can’t bite him!”

“Why not?”

“I don’t bite people!”

“You bite bugs.”

“He’s not a bug, Beatrice!”

“It won’t hurt him, but it might wake him up,” she said.

Ash opened his jaws wide and bit Mirmir on the end of his flat head where his nose would be, if snakes possessed a nose.

Mirmir twitched.

“Wake up!” Ash and Beatrice shrilled together.

Mirmir gaped in a wide yawn. His mouth looked like a tunnel entrance.

“Oy!” shouted Ash, moving back hastily from the snake’s fanged mouth. “Be careful!”

“Did you jusst bite me?” Mirmir inquired with hurt dignity.

“Beatrice told me to.”

“We’ve been trying to wake you up forever,” said Beatrice severely. “We’re in a hurry, but we thought you’d like to hear the news. Ash couldn’t possibly hurt you with his little teeth. You shouldn’t sleep so hard. Don’t be a baby.”

Mirmir’s body rippled and undulated in the snake version of stretching. He yawned again, more politely.

“Very well,” he said, grumpy. “Now you’ve woken me, the newss better be worth hearing.”

“Judge for yourself,” said Ash, and he and Beatrice related recent events at Rowan Tree. In spite of their need to rejoin Rumpelstiltskin, Ash, irritation forgotten, took the time to imitate Seren’s performances, as well as the moment he realized his voice was gone. He mimicked Clarissa’s simple and powerful telling of Feathers, Heks’s spell work and Rose Red’s decisive thrust and slash with her knife of the pillow.

“Ha!” exclaimed Mirmir. “I wish I’d been there to ssee.”

“That’s not the best part,” said Ash, and described the scene between Mingan, Chattan and Rose Red.

“Weeelll,” Mirmir said when Ash stopped speaking, drawing out the word, “thiss iss newss! So Rowan Gate is open again, as is the portal in Yggdrasil’s roots. That’s good. The Norns will be pleased.”

“How are they?”

“Oh, they’re managing. They’re still weaving with the beginnings and endings we made last winter. The quality and quantity of materials and thread are not what they were, but they do the best they can. Skuld is back on her feet, and that’s an improvement. Our portal stays open. That seems a good sign. They do each day’s work and try not to worry too much. They’ll be glad to hear this news. Verdani’s ability to glean current events is sadly diminished with the Yrtym’s breakdown.”

“We must get on to Rumpelstiltskin now,” said Ash. “I can smell morning coming, and I want to let him know Heks and the others are on their way and be safely underground before sunrise. It’s been a long night.”

“I’m glad you sstopped. I hope this bite doesn’t become infected. You don’t by any chance have rabies, do you?” Mirmir’s eyes gleamed sardonically.

“Idiot!” said Ash. Beatrice sniffed.

“I’ll watch for Hekss,” said Mirmir. “Good luck with Pele and those dratted Dvorgs.”

The Dvorgdom portal was guarded by an ancient underground site sacred to Pele. A narrow, twisting rock chimney provided fresh air from aboveground, and generations of Dvorgs had taken advantage of this natural feature, hollowing out a small cavern and carving a shallow pit into the stone floor for fire. Niches were hewn out of the walls. Once they’d held jewels like underground stars and other offerings to Pele, but the site had recently fallen into disuse as Slate and others like him worked to undermine the Dvorgs’ traditional spiritual framework.

In spite of this, fire salamanders still favored the cavern, and when Ash and Beatrice came through the portal and flitted into the cavern, they found a burning pile of the little creatures lying comfortably together in the shallow firepit like a heap of cooling embers.

Ash flew low over them, emitting the sonic sound he used to locate insects and letting them feel the stir his wings made. A salamander raised his head and looked at Ash out of shining black eyes.

“Hello, Glowing Brother,” said Ash formally.

“Winged Brother,” returned the salamander, equally polite.

“Others will follow us through the portal,” said Ash. “Will you and your people light the way and guide them to Offrir Cave, where the Dwarve Rumpelstiltskin makes offerings to Pele, Earth-Shaper?”

Image by Sabrina Belle from PIxabay

“For those who still remember the old ways, we will do this,” said the salamander.

“Thank you,” said Ash. “Perhaps the old ways will return.”

“In Pele’s name.”

“In Pele’s name,” said Ash, and flitted away into a tunnel.

Ash and Beatrice flew into the large cavern where they had seen Pele emerge from the crack in the floor. The cave smelled faintly of roast pig and tobacco but was empty and quiet. They found Rumpelstiltskin outside under the paling dawn sky, smoking his pipe on a porous-looking chunk of rock overlooking the sweep of a bay, lined with bare rocks. The humid air smelled strongly of the sea.

Next to the Dwarve sat the figure of a man. His dark hair, slightly long, fell tangled and wet above broad naked shoulders. He too smoked, a pipe clenched between his teeth. He sat in the relaxed fashion of a big cat, sensual and at ease, secure in his own power and beauty. A trident lay on the ground near his hand.

“Poseidon!” said Beatrice softly to Ash as he spiraled above the two.

“What brings him here, I wonder?” said Ash. He spied a convenient wedge-shaped crack near enough to eavesdrop and they settled down to listen.

“… after we left Sedna, I couldn’t stop thinking about what it is to be a woman,” Poseidon said. “So powerful and vulnerable at the same time. I like women, you know.”

“Humph,” said Beatrice.

“Hush,” said Ash repressively.

Rumpelstiltskin grunted.

“I like them, but I’ve never thought much about what their experience is until now. Sedna and her lover, Akhlut, shared such passion and joy, and then he was gone and her suffering is unending. Her power frightened me, the power of her love and the power of her suffering. She is life and death to those people, an angry, bitter, vengeful goddess. And why not? How could she be otherwise, outcast and alone with her grief and her mutilation? Yet at the same time she’s like any other women. If you could have seen her come back to life with a bit of kindness and attention. Combing her hair and letting her share her story healed her more than food, water and new hands. She only wanted to be seen, to feel she possessed value beyond providing for the needs of her people. She wanted to be appreciated for who she was, not only what she could provide.”

“Mm-hmm?” said Rumpelstiltskin encouragingly around the pipestem.

Ash heard a single sleepy bird call.

“Well … Sedna made me think … she made me remember …” Poseidon squirmed uncomfortably like a small boy.

As they talked, they both looked out at the distant wall of the arrested sea. Now Rumpelstiltskin turned his head to look at Poseidon and cocked an interrogative eyebrow.

“Pele and I were lovers,” said Poseidon in a rush.

He puffed fiercely on his pipe.

“We were lovers,” he continued on slowly, “but we argued. And I left. And I haven’t spoken to her since. I’ve always thought about her, though. There’s no one like her. Then the Yrtym began to break down and I began thinking about connection and disconnection. I even visited my brother, Hades, who I hadn’t talked to in a long time. We’re not … close. My fault as much as his. But I started thinking about the way I left things with Pele. Then I persuaded Baba Yaga to allow me to participate in the fertility ritual at Imbolc, and the new Sacred Consort revealed himself.”

Beatrice snorted.

Image by Mark Dekkers from Pixabay

“The Rusalka welcomed me. It was an amazing ceremony. And beautiful. And powerful. And it fixed the portal at the bathhouse. Then Vasilisa, Clarissa, Morfran and I met Sedna, and again I understood the power of connection and interconnection.”

“Mmmm,” said Rumpelstiltskin.

“Sedna made me wonder what kind of a story Pele would tell – about me.”

“Mmmm,” said Rumpelstiltskin again, as though wondering too.

“I thought about the volcanic activity and vents in the sea, and I thought about everything breaking down and going wrong, like the way the sea withdraws from the land. I wondered if Pele’s angry – at me.”

Rumpelstiltskin removed his pipe from between his lips and shook his head. “She may be angry with you, but not only you,” he said. “Some among the Dvorgs are attempting to erase her. She’s maligned because she’s a woman, and Dvorgs dislike and distrust anything female. They view all of aboveground as dangerously female, in fact. There’s a new and rising hatred for anything having remotely to do with females, deepening the distrust between the Dvorgs and Dwarves. Few continue to make offerings to Pele, and they must do it in small groups and secretly for fear of being punished and outcast.”

“But the Dvorgs and Dwarves are her people!” said Poseidon, astonished.

“Yes. But some no longer want to recognize her. There’s talk of male purity.”

“But male and female define each other!”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded his head and put his pipe back in his mouth.

Poseidon drew his heavy brows down into a frown. “Pele is not one to take an insult lightly. How long has this been going on?”

The Dwarve shrugged, inhaled one last fragrant breath of tobacco and laid his pipe aside.

“That’s why I’m here. I wanted to see what was happening for myself. I’ve watched and listened to rumors and talk. I’ve ferreted out at least one of the leading troublemakers. The Dvorgs are a proud and stubborn race. They’re easily led and manipulated by fear and pride. I persuaded a few, a very few, to participate with me in a ritual offering to Pele, and then I requested her presence.”

Poseidon sucked in his breath. “You’re brave. Did she come?”

“She came. She accepted the offerings I made. I sent to Rowan Tree for Heks and Ginger, a dancer, to come and help soothe Pele. Women understand women, and Pele has no quarrel with the humans. While I’m waiting for them, I’ve made other offerings, with the help of some of the people here. Last night we roasted a whole pig in Pele’s honor, and the people brought brandy and silk and tobacco. For a long time, we ate and drank out here, and when I returned to the cavern, everything we’d left for her was gone.”

“She was unaccountably grouchy at the end of our time together. I wonder if she was already hearing rumor of the Dvorgs’ nonsense even then and didn’t tell me. We fought. She threw rocks at me.” Poseidon grinned reminiscently. “I doused her with a wave. She screamed and I roared.”

“It sounds to me as though they were made for one another,” whispered Beatrice dryly.

“Sshh! I bet, he’ll tell the story,” said Ash.

“Who won?” inquired Rumpelstiltskin.

“Just between you and me, she did,” said Poseidon. “She got right under my skin and made me care about her. I’ve always laughed off female histrionics and tantrums, but she was the most exciting, passionate, infuriating woman I’ve ever known. The truth is, I ran away. I didn’t want to deal with how deeply I felt and her power to hurt me made me furious. So, I blew up a storm and left in a crash of waves and chaos of wind to distract myself from my own cowardice.”

“Just like a man,” muttered Beatrice.

“What did you fight about that last time?”

“Nothing. Everything.” Poseidon sighed. “Shall I tell you? I’ve never told anyone.”

“Look,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “The sun’s rising. Let’s welcome Yr with a story.”

Poseidon chuckled. “Very well. Perhaps if I make a clean confession to you, I’ll find it easier to make one to her.”

“Long ago, when the world was young and I with it, the sea became my domain. I was careless and restless, uninterested in the responsibility of looking after my new realm. Among the merfolk, certain revered and respected elders became sea kings by long tradition, and I left most of the difficult work and organization to them. I was more interested in racing Fasari Barahi, breeding sea wolves and pursuing females.

My travels and exploration had unintended benefits. I met many strange peoples and creatures. I discovered hidden connections between the sea, land and skies. I met humans and learned about their ships and merchants who sailed back and forth across the waters, buying, selling and trading goods. I heard stories and songs, rituals and poetry, oracles and portents. I saw deep magic. I was building a foundation from which to watch over my realm with some measure of wisdom and justice in my maturity, though I didn’t know it.

One day I came here to explore the turquoise waters and steep cliffs and caves. These waters are looked after by Nama, who is Pele’s sister. Nama welcomed me –”

“I bet she did,” muttered Beatrice. Ash chuckled.

“Nama told me about her sister, Pele. They had fallen out over a man they both wanted, and their bitter rivalry long outlasted the man himself, whose affections were only temporarily won by Nama. In a jealous fury, Pele left and searched for a place where the sea could never again touch her. When she came here she felt at home and settled down to continue her work as Earth Shaper. She vowed to have nothing to do with the sea, though her sister followed her and begged for reconciliation.

Nama’s description of Pele intrigued me, and I began searching for her. Nama longed for renewed unity with the earth and realized her power diminished with the loss of her sister. I thought Pele might feel the same way and be too proud to admit it. Perhaps I could soften her attitude.”

“Altruistic,” said Rumpelstiltskin gravely.

Poseidon chuckled. “Well, I do like to see families getting along. But I admit I felt curious about and attracted by the powerful woman Nama described. She sounded like a challenge, and indeed she was, more of a challenge than I bargained for.” He shook his head, rueful.

“I first saw Pele through a crack in the rock,” he continued.

She stood in her kitchen, stirring an enormous sooty cauldron of soup. Her skin and hair were black as cinder, a deep, velvety color of endless depth. She was naked, her body lush and gleaming with heat, her hips magnificent, her thighs like columns before a temple, her breasts jutting and proud, solid as melons. A thick yellow and brown snake coiled around her neck and broad shoulders. Her nipples were jeweled, and she wore an orange garnet in her navel and a ruby in her nose.

Over the years, I’ve seen her adorned in ferns and flowers, in silk and jewels. I’ve seen her dance, in the ecstasy and abandon of lovemaking, in fury, and in her full and fearsome power as the mother of her people. But I always think of her as she looked that first time, so proud and beautiful, stirring her soup and singing like the purring of a steaming kettle.”

Poseidon sighed, his eyes full of memories as he looked out across the bay, streaked by the first rays of sunlight.

“I spoke to her. She was as shy as any young maiden. Her snake, fire salamanders and bats were her only company. Her people revered her, but they feared her mighty power and her rage. For long ages she’d lived alone, dwelling in Webbd’s center, shaping the land and building mountains, sleeping hundreds of years at a time. She was old beyond age.

She’d been alone since she broke with her sister, and she’d never had a consort.

I courted her the way I’ve never courted another, before or since. Her passion equaled her vulnerability. I asked her about her soup, her snake and her fire salamanders. I asked her about her rocks and her songs.

Her curiosity about me equaled mine about her. I told her about the sea, cool and restless, the violet, green and blue of it, the salt, the ceaseless murmur and the kinds of life I’d discovered within it.

For a long time, we met and talked through the crack. I did not go to her every day, but I always returned. She was not always there, either, but I knew I’d see her again.

As I explored, I looked now for vents in the ocean floor where Pele’s heat warmed the water and strange creatures dwelt. I noted the cone-shaped volcanoes on the ocean floor with new eyes. Sometimes land volcanoes erupted, sending columns and clouds of ash and smoke into the sky, and molten rock flowed like orange and red rivers into the sea, hissing and boiling. Now I knew these were Pele’s expressions, her passion, her violence, her power. The land is never truly still, just as the ocean isn’t, but shaping land takes ages upon ages and power upon power.

One day I told Pele I loved her and she put her hands on either side of the crack and pulled it apart, muscles bulging under her midnight skin, and I fell into her mighty arms.

That was how it began. We fascinated one another. She inflamed me, and I quenched her. We made the earth shake and the waves surge with our passion. Tendrils of fiery rock crept from volcanoes when I put my lips to her navel and tasted her jewel and her dusky skin.

Image by Jack Drafahl from Pixabay

Centuries passed, and sometimes we were apart for long periods, she on her business and I on mine. She necessarily worked alone, and she was jealous of the people I knew. I didn’t dare tell her about Nama, who was equally beautiful in her own right. We were lovers only briefly, Nama and I. Once I saw Pele, I wanted no other.”

We fought now and then. She screamed, sulked and threw things. She tortured me by refusing her body. She withdrew to halls of her kingdom so deep not even the salamanders and bats could find her. But we always reconciled, until the last time.

Pele grew preoccupied and gloomy. I was used to her rages, intense but brief, but I’d never seen her smolder and glower for such a long period of time. She stopped singing and humming. She took no interest in cooking, drinking, smoking or dancing, as though her sensuality withered. I asked her what was wrong, but she refused to tell me. She turned away from my advances and avoided my touch.

She hurt my pride. I lost my temper and told her she was a tiresome woman and if she wouldn’t have me, plenty others would, including her sister, Nama. That roused her. She made the earth shake with her rage and she began throwing rocks at me, breathing on each until it flared red-hot before hurling it. Her snake writhed around her until she looked like a scorched Medusa.

I dove into the sea and left, and I never returned.”

“Huh,” said Rumpelstiltskin after a long pause.

“I acted like a fool,” said Poseidon, gloomy now.

“You’re here now,” Rumpelstiltskin pointed out.

“She’ll probably throw me into a lake of molten rock,” said Poseidon.

A band of bright sunlight moved nearer and nearer the crack where Ash and Beatrice were concealed. The brightening light hurt Ash’s eyes. He squinted. A gargantuan yawn nearly split him in two.

“I need some sleep,” he said to Beatrice. “I’m going back to the cavern.”

He launched himself soundlessly into the morning air, hasty and fugitive as a night shadow overtaken by dawn, and sought a roost in the cave’s cool darkness.

They slept.

HEKS

When Heks stepped out from among Yggdrasil’s roots, she found Verdani seated in her accustomed place under the tree before her spinning wheel, which steadily whirred as Verdani spun thread. Urd sat on a broad branch above Verdani, skinny legs dangling. Mirmir’s giant shield-shaped head rested in her lap. Skuld lounged on the grass at Yggdrasil’s foot, her scissors behind one ear.

Upon seeing Heks, Skuld leapt to her feet and embraced her eagerly. Released from her bony arms, Heks found Persephone and Ginger standing beside her, Persephone looking amused and Ginger rather intimidated.

The wheel stilled and Verdani bustled to Ginger and took her in her arms, stroking her rich red hair with a maternal hand.

“What a joy, my dear, to meet you at last! I know your whole story, your mother and all those sisters and Radulf, good man that he is, helping you find a new life. Yours is one of my favorite stories! Mirmir enjoyed it too, didn’t you Mirmir?” she shot a quick look at the snake, who nodded his head.

Ginger’s eyes widened. Heks had told her about Mirmir, but seeing was believing, Heks thought. Words were really inadequate to describe Mirmir.

“Don’t worry,” Urd said to Ginger, springing down from her branch. “He’s quite harmless." She turned to Persephone and bowed her head. “I’m Urd, Queen Persephone. You are welcome.”

“You must not bow to me,” said Persephone, smiling at her. “Call me Persephone. I don’t feel like a queen.”

After introductions, Heks refused anything to eat or drink or even to sit.

“We must go on,” she said. “Rumpelstiltskin is waiting.”

“We know all about it,” said Verdani. “Ash and Beatrice came through during the night and woke Mirmir to tell him the news. How is our dear Eurydice?”

“Everyone’s well,” said Heks.

“I’ve spun all morning,” said Verdani. “It appears Poseidon is with Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Poseidon!” said Persephone. “I wonder what he’s up to.”

“He’s your brother-in-law, isn’t he?” asked Urd.

“He is. He and Hades have lately reconnected.”

“The news is patchy now, what with one thing and another disturbing the Yrtym,” said Verdani. “I can’t always see the details. Poseidon has some connection to Pele. That’s all I know.”

“And Pele herself?” asked Ginger shyly.

“Pele is there, my dear, and in a fine temper, too, especially with the Dvorgs. Silly creatures. They’re doing a great deal of damage right now.”

“We can’t stop,” said Heks. “We must go see if we can help.”

“I was hoping for at least one game,” Skuld said mournfully to Heks.

“No time. Perhaps I’ll come back with some new toys.”

Skuld brightened. “Poseidon plays too, doesn’t he?”

Heks grinned mischievously.

Persephone laughed. Ginger looked mystified.

Image by Dean from Pixabay

“Come along,” Heks said to Ginger and Persephone, allowing her face to fall into its usual expressionless lines.

Persephone picked up her bundle and a pair of drums, and Ginger followed suit.

“Stop on the way back and tell us about it!” said Verdani as the three women stepped down among the tree’s roots, Heks leading.

“Goodbye! Good luck!”

Heks ducked her head and stepped into darkness, framed by Yggdrasil’s roots, the other two women close behind her. She took three steps forward, a hand outstretched in front of her in the absolute darkness, and stepped into a dimly lit cavern.

Niches were carved out of rock walls, and a shallow pit chiseled into the floor. The air was dry and scentless, but fresh. There was obviously an outside outlet for air movement.

“Fire salamanders,” said Persephone. “We don’t use them in Hades, but I’ve seen them before. They work with Pele, I believe.”

“Can you speak to them?” Heks asked.

“I don’t think we need to,” said Ginger, who had ventured a few steps to an arched opening in the cavern wall. “I think they’re lighting the path we need to take.”

“Ash and Beatrice knew we’d need a guide,” said Heks.

The salamanders placed themselves every few feet along the tunnel wall. As the women walked along, Heks glanced over her shoulder and saw as soon as they passed salamanders left their places and fell in behind them.

The tunnels were broad and reasonably smooth underfoot, as though well used, but no sound of voice or tool broke the silence. Heks wondered how many miles of tunnels and caves stretched under the Green World, and how many dwelt there, invisible, unthought of and unknown. It felt like a different galaxy. The first time she had walked these tunnels, she felt blind, vulnerable and helpless, trapped in a world of stone.

Her steps slowed and Persephone came to walk beside her. “It’s good to be underground again,” she said happily. “It makes me think of home, but this rock is different than what I’m used to. Look, see how porous it is? Like a stone sponge. I suppose that must be old volcanic rock.”

Her obvious ease and interest comforted Heks, and she quickened her pace. Fire salamanders rustled behind them in an ever-larger crowd.

Image by Sonja Sonjaa from Pixabay

Heks could not have said how long or far they traveled through the maze of tunnels. Without sunlight and moonlight she couldn’t measure the passage of hours, and without known landmarks miles were uncountable. She felt both hungry and weary when at last they stepped into another cavern, larger than the first one, and smelt the humid breath of the sea, along with a mouthwatering odor of cooking meat. A shaft of sun fell onto the cavern’s stone floor, and Heks could see a path among jumbled rocks climbing a steep slope and exiting out a large gap.

Eager for the sun, she paused only to put down her bundle, which had grown heavier and heavier, before following the path up and out onto a high hilltop above what had once been a curving bay, though now the sea bed lay bare and dry. Moisture thickened the air, along with a fecund mixture of exotic flowers and rampant green growth from the jungle. She could see a distant blurred blue wall of water, sparkling and glittering in the sunlight.

Rumpelstiltskin squatted over a stone-lined fire pit turning a skewer threading lumps of meat. Heks’s mouth watered. The Dwarve grinned up at her.

“Good afternoon. Hungry?”

“Starving,” she said.

The Dwarve rose and greeted Persephone with dignity.

“My Lady Persephone.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” she said, sitting down near him so he needn’t look up at her. “Rose Red has told me about you.”

“How is Rosie?” he asked, his green eyes warm.

“She’s well and sends her love. Artemis is with her. Rosie killed a bodark last night.”

“And the Sacred Consort?”

“Chattan is there as well,” Heks put in.

Ginger sat beside Persephone, listening silently to the conversation and examining Rumpelstiltskin with interest.

The Dwarve turned to her.

“My dear,” he said, taking her hand. “Thank you for coming. You are who I most needed.”

Ginger smiled. “I hope I can help.”

“Verdani said Poseidon was with you?” Heks inquired, looking around.

“He is. He showed up last night. It turns out he and Pele were once lovers. They parted on bad terms. He’s come back to try to make amends.”

“Has she seen him yet?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“I thought it best to make a plan first,” said Poseidon, appearing from around a rock face.

“Are you procrastinating?” Persephone teased.

“Absolutely.” Poseidon lay down his trident and sat beside her, leaning to kiss her fondly on the cheek. “Lovely as ever, I see.”

“This is Heks, and Ginger,” said Persephone.

“The Red Dancer,” said Poseidon to Ginger. “I’ve heard about you, my dear, but they didn’t tell me how beautiful you are.”

“I’ve heard of you, too,” he said to Heks, his eyes keen. “I understand you’re something of a mibster.”

Heks smiled. “I like a game now and then, my Lord. I’m sure I have nothing like your skill.”

Persephone laughed. “All right, you two, save it for later. Watch out, Posey. She’s very good.” She turned to Ginger, who looked bewildered.

“Marbles. They both play marbles.”

“Would you be interested in seeing some new ones?” inquired Rumpelstiltskin, eyes gleaming.

“Certainly: Seeing, buying, winning, trading,” said Poseidon airily. “In fact, I was hoping you’d ask! But Persy is right. Business before pleasure. What’s the plan?”

Rumpelstiltskin and Poseidon between them had made friends among the islanders, and the practical Dwarve had collected a store of fresh water, fruit and meat. The five of them spent the afternoon bringing one another up-to-date with events in Baba Yaga’s birch wood and Rowan Tree. Poseidon told Rumpelstiltskin about Sedna and her successful reconnection with her people, a story Persephone, Heks and Ginger had already heard from Clarissa. Rumpelstiltskin then told them what he had discovered in Dvorgdom, including the far-off catastrophic tunnel collapse, and of Pele’s response to his offerings.

“So,” Heks summarized. “It appears the Dvorgs are in a state of uncertainty and chaos. Some will follow your lead, at least some of the time, and others are with Slate?”

“That’s it,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “I hope Pele will show herself. If she proves herself to be real instead of an old story or hoax perpetrated by the nefarious –” he grinned “– fire salamanders, it will help. Even if only a few see her, word will spread.”

“Will that be enough to repair the damage Slate’s done?” asked Persephone.

“No.” Rumpelstiltskin frowned. “It’s gone too far, and Dvorgs aren’t quick. Getting them to change their view is like moving a mountain a pebble at a time. I think the best we can do is weaken Slate’s position and put doubts in the minds of the others.”

“You want to destabilize Slate as well as repair the relationship between Pele and the Dvorgs.”

“As much as I can, yes. I’ve spent some time talking to the local people. The abovegrounders haven’t forgotten Pele. They still make offerings to her. I asked them to come up here and we roasted a couple of whole pigs. They performed a sacred dance in Pele’s honor, wearing traditional clothing and flowers. They have chants and stories and use special instruments for their Pele ritual. I put their offerings in the cavern for Pele, things like flowers, brandy and tobacco, and when I checked later, they were gone, a sign of acceptance. The abovegrounders are affected by the withdrawal of the sea, of course, but what has them most worried is the increased volcanic activity in the area. There’s been quite a bit of rumbling and smoke lately, and now and then an ash cloud. They’re anxious to placate Pele if they can.”

Image by Sabrina Belle from PIxabay

“The real problem is the Dvorgs,” Persephone mused.

“Pele thinks of the Dvorgs as her people,” put in Poseidon. “The abovegrounders are not so important to her, although she accepts their honor and respect. Pele is much bigger than this island, though. She is everywhere, and all Dvorgdom lies in her kingdom. Since the beginning of time Pele has shaped the land, and the old stories tell it was she who taught the Dvorgs to use tools and shape and quarry her stone in the service of others. In exchange, she expects honor and gifts, including the finest gems and stones.”

“She must be hurt,” said Ginger, “and lonely. No wonder she’s so angry.”

Poseidon looked abashed.

“I wasn’t blaming you,” Ginger said.

“I’m partly to blame,” said Poseidon. “You’re right. She is lonely. She’s lonely in the way Sedna was lonely. Everyone wants something from their mother. They give in order to get. Yet Sedna and Pele are the sacred female making life possible for their people. They give everything they are. I suspect they’d both prefer love to offerings, but offerings are they best they can get. To have even those withdrawn, to feel completely unloved and unwanted and yet still be expected to nurture your children – no wonder she’s angry!”

“That’s why I thought about dance,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “During the Imbolc ritual with Baba Yaga I understood how powerful dance can be. We Dvorgs and Dwarves don’t dance. I never did until Imbolc, but I discovered movement expresses deeper truths than words. Pele is passionate. Perhaps she can dance her passion and shed some of her hurt and anger in the company of other dancers. She can do more than receive the offering of dance. She can be part of it, dancing with those who want nothing from her but her dance.”

“I understand,” said Ginger. “I think you’re wise. I can help with that.”

“I want you to start playing the drums, Persephone, as a sort of a call,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “Pele has come to the cavern before, so I’d like to set up there. When it gets dark and Ash and Beatrice wake up, I’ll send them into the tunnels to spread the word among the bats and fire salamanders to come to the cavern and join us. I’ll persuade as many Dvorgs as I can to come back and watch, in the hopes Pele will show herself. They needn’t dance or be seen at all. I only want them to witness.”

“I think the best thing for me to do,” said Poseidon, “is join the dance. I’ll wait until you’re well started,” he nodded at Heks, Persephone and Ginger, “and then I’ll simply appear and share the space and energy, adding my own, and see what happens.”

GINGER

As the sun touched the horizon and covered the empty bay with a thin skin of glassy light, Ginger helped Persephone find a shallow alcove from where she could play the drums and watch the dance.

They had eaten and drunk well, talking until Rumpelstiltskin yawned hugely and expressed the need for a nap. Poseidon left them and went down into the sea, promising to return at sunset. Rumpelstiltskin curled up comfortably in the shadow of a rock, and Heks and Persephone stretched out in the sun.

Ginger, who had not traveled until coming to Rowan Tree, explored.

The cavern entrance was situated on the volcano’s flanks. The cone towered above them, a pale wisp of steam and heat hanging above the caldera. Jungle climbed the volcano’s lower flanks. Ginger walked to the edge of the trees and stopped, amazed by the rich scents and sounds. The dense growth appeared impassable, and she didn’t venture under the trees, though she examined a thick vine bearing a riot of red flowers, sticky and heavy with perfume.

The area of the cavern entrance was part of a bare chute down the volcano’s side, shaped, perhaps, by a more recent lava flow. Ginger climbed, and eventually found an outcrop from which she could see much of the island spread out below her, the hazy wall of sea on every side.

It was a queer feeling, perching on this piece of land in the midst of so much ocean. She imagined the sea purring rhythmically on crescents of sand and pebbles like a contented cat, in a thousand shades of green and blue.

Ginger bared her skin to the sun and stretched out on the rock, her sensuality fully awakened. The power of dance, she knew, dwelt in the fullness and honesty of expression. Her ability to create and hold space for others depended on her ability to fully inhabit her own experience and allow it to be seen by others.

Now, she did not think of Pele, the Dvorgs or Poseidon. She ran her hands over her body’s familiar landscape and relaxed in the sun. She drew in deep breaths of the humid, perfumed air, stretching luxuriously and then relaxing. She had not swum in the sea, but she imagined doing so now, the water’s cool touch and its lovely colored embrace. Perhaps Poseidon would take her swimming before they left this place.

She thought about recent events at Rowan Tree. She remembered Clarissa’s face in the firelight as she told her story, Heks’s expressionless determination, the strength in Rose Red’s face as she divided the linen pillow case with the poisoned copper blade and released the feathers into the night. Had it only been last night?

She would dance with the smell of burned feathers. She would dance a prayer of victory for Rose Red. She would dance the ugly shudder that crept over her when she’d glimpsed the hair under Mingan’s tongue in a moment of open-mouthed coarse hilarity. She would dance the astounding hidden strength of women and the mysterious union of the Sacred Consort with the female caretakers of the earth.

And she would dance for rage, for grief and for betrayal. She would dance for the long history of the Dvorgs and Pele, for rock and fire, for the underground tunnels and caves and the fields and forests lying over them. She would dance for the glowing fire salamanders like animate jewels, and the bats, soot and velvet shadows nestled among the stones.

She would invite Pele to dance a woman’s dance of red tide and milky seed, of sparks and steam, of breast and belly and a lover’s insistent body and demanding mouth.

She would invite Pele back to life, back to the unfolding story, back to a fine lust and passion, back into connection, even though her own children turned aside.

Ginger closed her eyes and slept.

The strange call of some exotic bird wakened her. She lay naked in shadow now. The sun touched the sea’s far-off surface. She pulled on her clothes, feeling relaxed and refreshed, and walked along the jungle’s edge, gathering lengths of the flowering vine.

Dusk stained the sky when Ginger stepped into Offrir, her arms full of flowers. Persephone was testing her drums and adjusting the tightness of the heads. Rumpelstiltskin, Heks and Poseidon gathered around a rock pedestal, heads bent, examining something on the flat surface.

Ginger, curious, joined the group around the table-shaped stone. They were examining a double handful of small round spheres.

“I recognize the amethyst, jasper and agate,” Poseidon said. “We see those in the sea.”

“These,” said the Dwarve, rolling several examples in his palm, “are precious gems in the colors favored by Pele. Here’s ruby and garnet, and these two were cut from an especially fine citrine.”

Ginger knew nothing about marbles. She nudged Rumpelstiltskin and asked for the loan of his knife, which he handed her absentmindedly. She left them to it and went to talk to Persephone.

“Not a marble fan?” Persephone asked with a smile.

“Not just now,” said Ginger firmly.

Persephone laughed. “Priorities. What a pretty flower!”

“I found it on the edge of the jungle and I thought we could wear it. I borrowed Rumpelstiltskin’s knife. The vine was so tough I gnawed it to get some loose.” She cut the long vine into shorter lengths, and Persephone shaped circlets for their heads and to hang around their necks.

“Use the rest to decorate the offerings,” said Persephone. “The flowers smell heavenly. I wonder what they are?”

“The sun is down,” said Ginger. “Shouldn’t we be starting?”

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

“Rumpelstiltskin has already sent the salamanders into the tunnels,” said Persephone.

A small shadow alighted on one of the drumheads. The dim light made it hard to see it clearly.

“Good morning,” Ash’s shrill voice said.

“Good evening, for them,” Beatrice remarked reprovingly.

“Hello, both of you,” said Persephone. “Will you go into the tunnels and see if you can get as many of your people as possible to come back here? We’re going to dance.”

“Certainly,” said Ash. Without further ado, he launched himself into the air and disappeared in the gloom.

“I’ll start playing,” said Persephone. ‘Go see if you can tear Rumpelstiltskin away. The marbles will wait. It’s time he headed into the tunnels to invite his people to come. Oh, look!”

Ginger turned and saw a line of fire salamanders enter the cavern from one of several tunnels. They crept along the cavern walls, some going left from the entrance and some right. Although each creature gave only about the same illumination as a candle, several together brightened the cavern significantly.

Persephone began playing a slow, measured heartbeat and for a moment awe seized Ginger. The glowing lizards; the humid air, scented with the red flowers; and the drums, like an elemental heartbeat, combined to create an atmosphere of sensual power and expectance.

Rumpelstiltskin stowed the marbles in a bag and tucked it away. “I’ll see if I can round up an audience,” he said. “I’ll be back.” He looked at Ginger. “This stone is where I leave offerings for Pele. I’ve brought a handful of gems for her. Will you see if you can make it pretty? Maybe use a couple of those flowers?”

Ginger handed him his knife. “Go on. I’ll take care of it. I brought a silk scarf for her.”

Heks lifted fire salamanders, which continued arriving in a steady trickle of warm light, onto every ledge and niche she could find, illuminating the cavern in low light, perfect for dancing.

Ginger took a fragile silk scarf out of her bundle and opened it carefully. It was the color of ripe cherries. She folded it in half, rumpled it slightly and draped it over the pedestal’s flat surface, scattering gems across it. She added three blossoms from the flowering vine and lifted a salamander onto the pedestal, setting it carefully on bare rock rather than the delicate scarf, which she did not want to scorch. In Rowan Tree she had asked Maria to cut a lock of her own red hair and she added this to the offering now. It was tied with a length of black wool. Ash and Beatrice had told them Pele favored an offering of hair.

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

A small weight alighted on her shoulder. “Very nice,” said Ash in her ear.

“Thank you,” said Ginger. “Did you persuade some bats to come?”

“A few,” said Ash modestly.

Beatrice snorted. “Hundreds, I should think,” she said. “They didn’t need much persuading.”

“That’s not all,” said Ash. “Don’t look, but a couple of Dvorgs have come as well.”

Rumpelstiltskin had warned them about trying to speak to or acknowledge the Dvorgs. “If they come at all, you mustn’t take any notice of them. You’ll be doubly offensive, not only abovegrounders but women, too. Don’t look at them, and don’t speak to them.”

“Should we warn Heks?” Ginger breathed. “I don’t want to turn around.”

“She already knows,” said Ash. “She’s moving the fire salamanders so as to leave the walls by the tunnels unlit. One of the Dvorgs has come in and found a dark corner to watch from. Here comes the other. Good. Once they’re settled, they’re completely invisible. Nobody’s paying any attention to them.”

“I usually dance topless, but maybe I’d better not,” said Ginger, feeling suddenly uncertain. “I don’t want to make anything worse.”

“You’re not dancing for them,” Beatrice pointed out crisply. “You’re dancing for Pele. The whole point is to allow a few of them to actually see Pele with their own eyes. It doesn’t matter if they’re offended at the same time. Pele is passion. She won’t join you if you make yourself small. These stony folk forgot their place in the web of Yrtym and imagine they can stand alone. Remind them of the sacred female. Be the dancer you are.”

Ginger took a deep breath. “You’re right. I think I’d better go change. Are they still coming in?”

“Yes,” said Ash. “Bats, fire salamanders and Dvorgs.”

Without looking around, Ginger scooped up her bundle and exited the cavern. Stars filled the sky.

She had brought a long gauzy skirt and simple tunic of turquoise shot with fiery green, colors of sky and sea and the Green World. She hung large golden earrings from her ears, fastened a bracelet of bells around an ankle and slid several thin bangles of copper, brass and gold on her wrist. The final touch was the simple flower circlet for her head and around her neck.

For a moment she stood under the night sky, feeling the rock beneath her bare feet, the whisper of fabric against her skin and the sensual anticipation of dance.

“May Pele come,” she breathed to the night.

“If she doesn’t, it won’t be your failure,” said Poseidon, standing up. He’d been sitting in the rock’s shadow, so silent she hadn’t seen him. Ginger’s cheeks burned, realizing he’d certainly seen her changing her clothes and adorning herself.

“Nothing I have heard does justice to the Red Dancer,” Poseidon said. He took her hand, pulled her to him and kissed her on each cheek. “I’ll be honored to dance with you. Let’s hope that honor is not cut short by Pele murdering me.”

Ginger laughed. His charm and humor were irresistible. Poseidon was known for his appreciation of women. Why be self-conscious?

“You might have told me you were there,” she said, a smile in her voice.

“But then I wouldn’t have seen,” he returned, unrepentant.

“Will you watch from out here, then?”

“Yes. Until the time seems right.”

“A few Dvorgs have come.”

“Good. Go and dance, my dear. Don’t worry.”

When Ginger re-entered the cavern, she had the impression it was filled with rustling, squeaking, scratching and breathing. The fire salamanders pulsed subtly to the drums’ rhythm. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed several shadowed figures clustered against and near the cavern wall containing tunnel entrances, and suspected additional Dvorgs watched from outside the cavern.

Heks wore a simple skirt the same color as the scarf with Pele’s offerings, topped with a light sleeveless tunic of cloudy grey. She, too, wore a crown and necklace of red flowers.

“You look wonderful,” said Ginger. “I haven’t seen you wear red before.”

“Red is the color of life,” said Heks. “If an old woman like me can wear it and dance, a passionate woman in the prime of her power certainly can. Are you ready?”

“Do you think we should start? Should we wait for Rumpelstiltskin?”

“He’s there,” said Heks, pointing. “Ash and Beatrice are above him on that ledge.”

“Then let’s begin,” said Ginger. Firmly, she put away her fear and uncertainty. She walked to the cavern’s center, taking in the fire salamanders, Persephone’s alcove, and the dark gap of the cavern entrance from the mountainside, from which she knew Poseidon watched. She let her gaze pass vaguely over the Dvorgs clustered in the shadows.

Persephone picked up the rhythm and transitioned into a flowing, more complicated beat. Ginger closed her eyes and stopped thinking, letting the drumbeat enter and fill her body until it began moving in response.

Image by efes from Pixabay

She hadn’t danced underground before, or in the company of so much stone. Every setting influenced the dance taking place within it, she knew. The rock called from her body a kind of passionate strength, a desire to shout with a guttural sound. She crouched low, dancing from her center, moving like an animal. She felt as squat and strong as the Dvorgs themselves, stubborn, obdurate, enduring.

Heks joined her, upright, self-contained, her dance muscular and wiry, her arms raised above her head, turning like a column of grey and red, and a cloud of bats formed a spiral shadow around her, circling up around her body, flying from her fingertips into darkness and flitting down to her feet before repeating the pattern.

Ginger heard a nearly inaudible murmur from the direction of the Dvorgs and Persephone slid into a more sensual, slightly faster rhythm. Ginger, having started with a dance of stone and cave, straightened her back and stood tall, anchoring her feet in the energy of the rock and reaching for the sun, the sky, the moons, and the stars. She whirled and stepped, dancing the trees, the silvery falling rain, the dawn sky’s pearly colors, the Green World and the turquoise water.

She found herself dancing in a moving spiral of fire salamanders on the cavern floor. She allowed her feet to follow their guidance. Heks moved ahead of her in the spiral, turning and stepping, arms outspread, smiling like a child at play. Bats swirled around them, tilting and whirling in their own dance. Ginger wondered if Ash flew among them.

Heks reached the spiral’s center and the salamanders merged and flowed, leading her back to the far edge of their formation, and for a moment it seemed to Ginger she stood still and the cavern itself danced.

She felt warm. She unbuttoned her tunic and threw it into a corner. The flowers around her neck brushed her bare skin. Watching her feet as she danced the salamanders’ spiral path, she saw a crack in the cavern floor begin glowing. She remembered Ash and Beatrice’s description of Pele’s arrival to accept Rumpelstiltskin’s first offerings and felt a surge of excitement mixed with apprehension. Had Pele heard the invitation and come? How could she lead such a powerful primordial figure in dance?

The fire salamanders broke their spiral and formed a large circle around the crack, rippling and pulsing with orange and yellow. The drums commanded, intoxicating and irresistible. Heks threw back her head and let out a shout, half exultation, half demand. Ginger felt the drumbeat in her belly and her hips, felt power blossom in her body’s core and danced from it.

The crack widened. Ginger heard excited male voices murmur as the Dvorgs stirred in the shadows. It grew steadily hotter and sweat coated Ginger’s skin and dampened her hair. Two vague hand shapes appeared at the crack’s edge, followed by the soot-black figure of a voluptuous woman. Two burning blue eyes took in the scene as Pele stood on the lip of the crack, her figure wavering and shimmering in a haze of heat.

A snake wrapped around her like a lover, yellow and black, scales glistening in the salamander light. Unlike Pele, the snake showed itself in clear detail. Its head, at the level of Pele’s shoulder, bobbed to the drumbeat.

Ginger, sensing the moment of truth, poured her soul into her dance, her hair a red mist, her bare breasts shining as if oiled, her body strong and proud. She let out a fierce, wordless cry, which Heks echoed.

Pele’s figure began clarifying. Her skin was night velvet over muscle and firm flesh, her hair dark snakes. An orange gem winked from the mystery of her navel, and another glimmered in her nose like a red star. Ginger, on impulse, approached Pele, dancing and whirling. She removed the flower crown from her own head and set it lightly upon Pele’s stormy locks, let the drumbeat take her a few steps away, and then returned and draped her flower circlet around Pele’s neck.

Image by Sabrina Belle from PIxabay

Pele took a step forward. Ginger faced her, smiling in invitation, rolling her hips. She felt her breasts bobbing. Pele’s gaze focused over Ginger’s shoulder and Ginger turned and danced away, allowing Heks to take her place.

Heks had removed her tunic as well. Her small breasts were soft, and she had the androgynous figure many wiry women achieve as they age. She possessed none of Ginger’s lush, smooth curves or youthful power, yet she drew every eye. She looked like an old empress with the flower crown on her pewter head and the skirt flaring around her legs, red as wine, black as raspberries, dark as cherries. She made Ginger feel soft and childlike.

Heks grinned ferociously at Pele, baring her excellent teeth. She gathered her skirt in one hand, raising the hem coquettishly, baring her stringy leg to above the knee. She danced before Pele like an insect sheathed in a garnet carapace, like a thorny bramble budded with berries, like a late-blooming rose the velvety color of old blood.

Pele smiled, her teeth shockingly white in her dark face, bent her knees and rolled her hips seductively. The drums vibrated through the cavern. The snake twining around Pele writhed with ecstasy.

Pele held her arms out gracefully and rolled her belly and hips as though they were independent from the rest of her body. The orange jewel glimmered seductively above the wiry hair at her groin. Her ankles, though strong, were surprisingly well-formed, and she stepped lightly on the stone floor as she danced.

Ginger, with an effort, stayed in her dance, though she wanted to stop and watch the scene. Now that Pele had joined them, it was more important than ever to lead the dance until the end. She glanced toward the corners where the Dvorgs huddled, and thought with satisfaction they had accomplished Rumpelstiltskin’s goal. Pele had come, and several Dvorgs had seen her with their own eyes. Word would spread.

Pele and Heks danced among a shifting cloud of bats, flitting in silent formation like smoke. Ginger moved closer to them and the aerial dance of velvet and suede engulfed her. Each of the three dancers stayed in her own dance, but the gravity of the dance they created held them together and the drumbeat anchored their mutual power.

A soft commotion arose among the watching Dvorgs, and for a moment Ginger thought they were actually going to join the dance. Persephone’s drumming didn’t falter, but increased in tempo and resonance, sounding almost triumphant. Ginger, glancing at her, saw her grinning delightedly at someone entering the cavern.

As Ginger danced, straining to see in the soft salamander light and underground shadows, an enormous flat head thrust itself between her and Pele. Pele’s snake, which until now had remained wrapped around her, fastened its gaze on the newcomer and in one sinuous movement crawled down Pele’s muscular arm and twined itself around the head and neck of a giant snake, as thick as Ginger’s thigh, who could only be Mirmir.

No wonder the Dvorgs had been stirred up, she thought, smiling to herself. Surely none of them had ever seen a snake this size, and to have it come upon them in the darkness while their attention was fixed on the scene in the cavern must have been quite a shock.

But why on earth had Mirmir come?

Heks laughed as Mirmir undulated luxuriously to the music, the smaller snake frisking around him like an affectionate puppy. Pele actually giggled, her feet flying to Persephone’s drums as she stood nose to nose with Mirmir and the two of them tried to outdo each other in speed and grace. Mirmir’s mouth stretched in a wide grin.

Image by Sabrina Belle from PIxabay

Then another figure approached from the shadowed tunnel mouth from which Mirmir had emerged. The Dvorgs stirred and hummed like angry bees. A shadow like a man moved toward the dancers, but Ginger had a confused impression of a wing. Was it a man or a man-sized bird or bat? Still dancing, straining to see the newcomer, an unexpected pang of joy shot through her.

The figure danced now, an athletic, strong-muscled dance, disciplined and economical. A hand moved to the throat, unfastened a long cloak and threw it aside. Skin shone palely, and Ginger saw a lean, well-made man with a muscled chest and powerful-looking shoulders, but on one side, instead of an arm, a dark wing curved gracefully from the level of his chin to below his hip.

He approached her, dancing, his eyes fastened on her as though they were the only ones in the cavern. She hadn’t seen him before, but at the same time he felt altogether familiar. Amazed wonder filled her.

As she turned and moved back from the loose triangle which she, Pele and Heks had formed to include Mirmir and the winged man, she saw yet another had joined the dance.

Poseidon, naked but for a strip of cloth around his hips, sweat gleaming on his olive-skinned chest with its dark curling hair, crowded Mirmir and Pele’s snake aside and took their place before Pele.

Pele bared her teeth in a ferocious grimace. She looked ready to bite Poseidon in half. His own face was alight with mischief and a sort of rueful charm.

The drums rolled in a suggestive, sexy beat. Pele hissed like a kettle, hips and belly undulating. Poseidon let his gaze wander over Pele’s gleaming body with appreciation and open lust. He licked his lips.

Pele spat, hitting Poseidon’s chest, and he put a finger to the blob of spittle and raised it to his lips. Pele glared. Poseidon raised an eyebrow and grinned flirtatiously.

The drums vibrated.

Ginger felt the stranger’s wing brush against her arm and waist. He whirled around her so she saw arm, wing, arm, wing. He did not brush her with his skin, but the feathers on his wing caressed her shoulders, her arms, her torso and her breasts. The feel of it lit a fire in her belly and made her nipples harden into tight peaks.

The dance was like a battle now, a contest of power, an act of seduction. Ginger felt swept away, no longer a leader, no longer a civilized, thinking person working with others to achieve a goal. It was Persephone now who anchored the dance with the drums, Persephone who guided, who picked them up by the scruff of their necks and demanded the expression of their bodies.

Ginger herself was nothing but female, as elemental and passionate as Pele. She threw herself upon the music, displaying her body and dancing her lust and desire without shame or thought for who watched.

Photo from Pixabay

As though in response to her thought, Persephone’s rhythm changed again into something lighter, more lyrical and playful. The rhythm slowed. Ginger became conscious of breath, sweat and her pounding heart. She smiled at the winged man, at once grateful and wistful at the slow release of sexual tension.

Mirmir had coiled much of his body inside the cavern, and the fire salamanders perched along his length, moving as the great snake moved. His head and neck rose to eye-level with the humans and a low reverberation came from his throat, a combination of hum and hiss. His mouth curved in his inscrutable smile as he swayed and rippled to the drums. Pele’s snake writhed around her neck and wound down one arm, its flat head snuggled blissfully under her chin.

Pele still glared at Poseidon, but Ginger thought a hint of a smile lurked in the corner of her wide mouth, though her glowing blue eyes remained cold.

The drums begged for playmates, and Pele turned away from Poseidon, closed her eyes, and danced as though she were alone, her snake winding ecstatically around her as she gave herself to the music, turning and stepping, hands and arms floating, breasts and buttocks bobbing. She widened her steps and danced nimbly across the cavern, moving lightly over the loops of Mirmir’s body. Ginger, feeling childlike and free, followed her, and Heks came after, cackling with old-woman laughter.

The winged man danced with Mirmir, stepping over and around his body with controlled grace. He and Mirmir grinned at one another like old friends. Poseidon joined them, clapping with Persephone’s rhythm, which she altered slyly, throwing him off-beat until he caught it again, and then running ahead of him once more. He threw back his head and laughed at her teasing.

Gradually, the drums slowed and quieted. Ginger felt languorous, unwilling to stop dancing but sated with passion and sensuality. Her throat was dry. She wondered what Pele would do when the dance ended.

The bats, as though acting on a pre-arranged signal, flowed one more time around the men and Mirmir, and then streamed out the narrow cleft into the night to hunt.

The beat slowed, and slowed again. The dancers separated, each bringing his or her dance to a private end, coming back to themselves slowly, donning the rags of civilization, moving from the body’s language, feeling, and instinct back into words and thoughts.

Ginger stood near a cavern wall, her back to the others, her arms wrapped about herself, eyes closed, quiet and renewed after the storm of dance. The drums stopped, and with them her feet. She wondered if it had been a dream. When she turned, would she see Mirmir and the winged man?

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and moved to face the cavern.

The Dvorgs, like the bats, had exited, although more quietly. Without their presence the cavern felt peaceful and spacious. The dancers stood as though awakened from separate dreams. The intimacy of the dance was broken, the winged man withdrawn, Pele and Poseidon divided by several coils of Mirmir’s body. Rumpelstiltskin perched on a high stone near the cavern’s outside entrance. Persephone remained motionless in the shadowed rocky alcove.

Heks moved first. She stepped briskly over Mirmir, picked up her discarded tunic and donned it. Ginger, feeling suddenly self-conscious with her breasts bared and slightly chilled after the heat of dancing, regained her own tunic. As she pulled it over her head, she wondered anxiously what to do next. Was she still the leader? What should she say? How could she bridge the gap between the inarticulate honesty of dance and the aftermath of constraint, inevitable when people feel overexposed? She ran her fingers through her tangled red hair, trying to decide how to proceed, and felt relieved when Persephone left her drums and approached Pele.

Ginger, watching, thought Persephone was amazing. She could be as artless and natural as any country girl, comfortable with animals, field and forest, sleeping in a hay mow by choice, friendly and affectionate with her friends. At other times, she appeared every inch a queen, dignified, confident in her own power, respectful without being smarmy in the presence of Artemis, Pele, Poseidon and old Baubo.

“Lady Pele, Mother Earth-Shaper,” said Persephone to Pele, bowing her head, “I am Persephone, Queen of the Underworld. We are honored to have danced with you.”

“I have heard of you,” said Pele. “You play well, Queen Persephone.”

“It is the dancers and the dance that play the drums,” said Persephone modestly. She indicated Ginger. “This is the Red Dancer, Ginger, and this is Heks. The Dwarve Rumpelstiltskin requested our assistance in inviting you to come forth and join us. I believe you know Poseidon. This is Mirmir, the serpent who guards the Well of Urd and Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life, and his … friend. We have prepared offerings for you.”

Pele’s glance swept each of them as they were introduced. Rumpelstiltskin rose on his boulder and bowed.

“It is you who has been stirring up the Dvorgs and abovegrounders,” Pele said to him. “Some of my people were here tonight.”

“Yes, Lady,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “I have heard some Dvorgs are questioning the old ways and even the existence of Pele, Mother of All. I have come back to my birthplace to persuade my people they are part of a greater whole; above- and belowgrounders need one another, and without the sacred female our race will die.”

“And have they fallen at your feet and confessed their ignorance and pig-headedness?” Pele inquired dangerously.

“No, Lady,” said Rumpelstiltskin imperturbably. “As you know, Dvorgs are as stubborn as the rocks they live among. However, the abovegrounders believe in you and recognize your power, and tonight several Dvorgs saw you with their own eyes. The news you are not merely a myth will spread. That was my goal.”

“Hmmph,” said Pele noncommittally.

She turned suddenly on her heel, lithe as a panther, facing Poseidon. “What do you have to say for yourself?” she demanded.

“I’ve come to make a deal,” said Poseidon at once, “a business deal.”

“And why would I do business with a lying, impotent, blind worm such as yourself?” The snake around her neck hissed.

Poseidon winced. “Not impotent, surely?” he appealed.

Pele glared.

Poseidon straightened his shoulders, looking resigned. Ginger smiled, watching him prepare to eat crow.

“I was wrong. I was careless and selfish and …”

“Immature,” put in Pele.

“…Immature. I apologize. I had no idea of these problems with the Dvorgs. In the last months we’ve heard of disconnections all over Webbd, and I suspect your experience with your people is a further symptom of the wider problem. My friends and I,” he indicated the others,” are trying to understand and repair the breakdown.”

“What is this business deal?” Pele arched an eyebrow suspiciously.

“If you’ll step this way,” Poseidon indicated the rock pedestal Rumpelstiltskin perched above.

Pele approached cautiously. Poseidon picked up the marbles shaped from gems and poured them into Pele’s sooty palm. He rummaged at the base of the pillar and spilled another handful from a bag with a string around its neck into his own hand.

“Every jewel needs the right setting,” he said. “Here’s slate and flint and obsidian, brass and copper and steel. Best score, three out of four games of Trouble. If I win, you forgive me and keep what you win. If you win, you can punish me as you see fit, forgive me and keep what you win. I can’t say fairer than that!”

Ginger did not allow the laughter bubbling up to escape her lips.

Pele made a show of examining the jeweled marbles in her palm. Her mouth curved in a slight smile.

“I remember a nice flat place in the caldera,” said Poseidon suggestively. “From there we can see the stars and the sea. Remember the night we watched full Noola rise and dimmed the stars with our sparks and steam? Remember the way the lava overflowed and trickled down the volcano’s flanks and the ground shook? Remember the blood-warm sea and how the water hissed against our shuddering skin?”

Pele swayed, her hips tilting. She nodded, her blue eyes far away.

“Let’s play there,” said Poseidon softly, coaxingly. “Come play with me, Pele. I want to hear about your snake, and your eel soup and what you dreamed last night. Come now!” He took a flower from the pile of offerings and tucked it behind her ear. He picked up an engraved silver flask containing brandy in one hand and took Pele’s hand in the other, pulling her out of the cavern and into the humid tropical night.

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

For a moment after they’d gone, everyone looked at one another blankly.

“Well, that’s all right, then,” said Rumpelstiltskin at last with deep satisfaction, “but it won’t be a restful night.”

“Mirmir, what on earth are you doing here?” Heks demanded. “And who are you?” she asked the winged man.

Thanks for reading A Stone, a Web, a Story! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.