Chapter 6. A faery ring
By the time I got to college the following day I’d dismissed almost everything Shanty said from my mind. Though she did inspire me to doodle a picture of Mother Gaia when I was supposed to be writing an essay for my English class.
The idea that the ice caps were melting because of a goddess who was feeling slightly offended struck me as ridiculously far-fetched. In any case
Shanty wasn’t exactly the most reliable of sources. It’d been interesting talking to her but I’d already decided to file her under ‘amusing eccentric’ rather than ‘possible muse.’
Miss Payne had set the title of Transitions for our fall art project, and Millie and I agreed to spend the afternoon together taking pictures, finding inspiration from the forest.
“Seems to me everything alive either transforms itself or gets transformed by something else,” Millie observed. She was lying face down on a patch of earth at the base of a tree snapping a picture of the way thick strands of ivy were clinging to its trunk. I looked around at the surrounding forest. She was absolutely right, from the rotting branches on the ground to the leaves gradually turning from green towards the reds and browns of fall, everything was changing.
“You know, I could take a picture of you Thea,” she said rolling on one side and pointing the camera towards me, “your skin cells are constantly shedding off and replacing themselves. In fact, I think I read somewhere that we replace all the cells in our bodies about once every seven years, so you’re literally not the same person you were when you were nine.”
“That’s for certain,” I stuck out my tongue as Millie took a couple of shots in quick succession.
“Perfect, you should do that all the time it’s so becoming,” she joked, “I sometimes wish I was though.”
“Was what?” I asked.
“The same person. It’s not easy having to grow up.”
“No.” The image of dad getting into the car and waving at me passed through my mind.
Millie got to her feet and brushed leaf mold from her jeans and sweater.
“My parents are splitting up, and they’re fighting over who gets custody of my little brother and me.”
“That sucks.”
“Uh huh. Tim, that’s my baby brother, doesn’t have a clue what’s going on, but I’m old enough for them to try to persuade to support one side or the other.”
I crossed to her and put a hand on her shoulder. Millie smiled gratefully as I gave her a hug.
“It’s no biggie. I just sometimes wish I was nine again.”
Almost on cue I heard the faint sound of a child’s laughter echoing through the woods. I looked towards the direction it had come from.
The sunlight through the trees seemed to be filtering down into clearing some distance away giving it a warm glow and I thought I could hear the sound of voices being carried towards us on the breeze which whispered through the foliage.
“Come on!” I said, taking Millie’s hand and leading her towards the voices, “let’s see who it is.”
Millie looked blank. “Who what is?”
As I led her through the trees the voices became clearer and clearer. I could hear the sound of at least three young children playing together, laughing and giggling with glee at whatever imaginary adventure it was they were engaged in.
Millie kept asking where we were going until suddenly we emerged into a breathtakingly lovely forest glade. There was an expanse of soft moss-covered grass scattered with small hillocks making it seem both smooth and uneven at the same time.
The branches of the trees bowed overhead providing some dappled patches of shade, whilst the majority of the space was bathed in bright sunlight.
At one end of the glade was a large pool of crystal-clear water surrounded by a narrow beach of shingle and sand. A stream ran from the pool off into a line of weeping willow trees which covered it with an arched green tunnel of branches and leaves.
Large uneven rocks lay half submerged along the narrow rivulet of water making it the perfect place for splashing about while trying to catch the tiny silver fish which darted to and fro in shoals through the transparent water. It was here that the children I’d heard were playing.
Three toddlers; a small boy, and two slightly older girls were squealing with excitement as they tried to capture the elusive little fish in their brightly colored plastic buckets.
Two women, presumably the mothers, sat on the bank of the stream directing the proceedings whilst sharing a picnic in the surprisingly warm September sunshine.
Something at my feet caught my eye. I looked down to see a peculiar construction of twigs and branches, twined together and leaning against the base of a tree. It appeared to twinkle in the light and looking closer I saw that it was decorated with tiny beads, marbles, feathers and plastic jewels. It wasn’t the only one either.
Dotted between the trees surrounding the pool and along the edges of the stream there were dozens more of these strange looking objects made of twigs, dried mud, grasses, and mosses, and prettified with all sorts of decorations. There were tiny china cups and saucers, earrings, buttons, pieces of colored glass, jam-jars with candles in them, there were even sets of wind chimes hanging from the branches.
The effect was as if we had stumbled upon a nest of jackdaws, with an eye for a sparkly jewel, or the village of a tribe of tiny forest dwellers.
As I looked around the glade, seeing for the first time that there were also complicated webs of string knotted between the trees, I also realized that this was the place I’d been looking for since I’d arrived in Baring.
“I know this place,” I murmured almost under my breath.
“So do I,” said Millie, moving towards the pool and slipping off her shoes, “I used to come here all the time when I was little.”
Stepping into the shallows she began rolling up the legs of her jeans. I unlaced my walking boots, pulled off my socks, and then walked to the edge of the water.
As I dipped my toe into it something happened to me, something I couldn't possibly understand at the time. For now let's just call it part of the Wyrd - my fate. Another of the strands was about to entwine me.
The moment I set foot in the water I had a sudden and intense vision of a woman’s face.
“Come on Thea! It’s lovely. Freezing, but lovely!” Millie's voice carried to me, but it wasn't her, or the pool I was seeing.
The vision should have unnerved me, seeing things that weren’t there was definitely not a good sign for me, yet the face was accompanied by a feeling of such peace and wellbeing, and the woman was so beautiful, gentle-looking, and unthreatening that I felt surprisingly unconcerned, safe even; truly safe.
The vision evaporated as swiftly as it had appeared, and I saw Millie waving at me to come in further.
After a second or two I felt able to move again. Stepping out into the water properly I enjoyed the powerful contrast between the chill around my legs, and the heat of the sun on the back of my neck. My headzappers were in my bag on the sandy beach. I would have to make sure I took one the minute I got back to the shore.
“Are you OK? Millie called over,“fine,” I told her, “what are all those twig houses about?” I asked, wanting to distract her from any further questions.
I didn't want to have to discuss my vision with her. I still hadn't been able to get myself to bring up the subject of my 'condition' with any of my new friends.
“They’re for the faeries,” she said laughing and splashing the water with her hands, “this place is called faery’s ring. You’re supposed to make them a place to live in, and then you scatter sweets, or pour a drink into a tiny thimble for them. If you do it right they’ll make sure no harm comes to you. If you’re very lucky they might even grant you a wish.”
As she spoke the toddlers scrambled out of the stream, and skipped towards their mothers for a snack.
“It’s the best place on earth for children.”
&n
bsp; “Ow!” I’d trodden on something. Reaching down into the water I pulled up an empty beer can.
“Mind you,” Millie sniffed, “it has other visitors at night.”
While Millie took pictures around the pool I decided to collect some of the pebbles lining the bed of the stream. They were another example of something being transformed, as the relentless current had gradually worn them away over millions of years until they were smooth. Each of them was so different I thought it would be interesting to try to do a painting of a handful of them or perhaps make them into a sculpture.
The children’s voices gradually faded as I moved further upstream. I sat and sketched a boulder for a while before moving on again.
Beltane Page 6
