by The Awethors
“We don’t have a good reputation, we make you fall for us and then get ourselves killed.”
I laughed at that. “Don’t be silly, you’re not going to die.”
He shrugged, “If not that, we take you away to some foreign land, force you to make friends with other wives, and then bugger off and leave you again.”
“Other wives?”
He blushed. “You know what I mean.”
I did and when he eventually proposed, I was over the moon especially as I had my own little secret. That first Christmas together, not only was I living on an army base in Turkey, but little Maddie had been born.
Life was good, I may not have been a young mum, but surprisingly I wasn’t the only one. I made many friends and despite the heat, Christmas was good. My tree stood proud and tall and we shared our Christmas with those families whose loved ones were deployed. No one would be lonely at Christmas.
“I love you,” Martin said, as I was preparing the table and placing Christmas crackers next to each place. I leaned into him. “Now why do you love me when I am so busy?”
He laughed, “For organising this, it makes a difference to the lads who are not here.”
He kissed me and I marvelled again how this man had chosen me, a widow twice over. “I love you too, Martin, and I’m so glad we’re here, spending Christmas with our friends. Maddie is growing up in a great environment.”
Time went on and just I was bumping along, going at a pace I knew and under stood, my world came crashing down. Martin had become a casualty of war. I was a widow again. The heartbreak was more than I could bear, but for Maddie’s sake, I had to try.
My one true love had gone and we moved back to England and Maddie started school. I had a house and a job and joined the ranks of the Women’s Institute. They were my life-savers and Freda Franklin, a war widow, took me under her wing. She and I became great friends. I had no idea she had any family until her son came home one day, and she introduced me to Flight Commander Richard Franklin. I was never going to get married again, let alone to another soldier, but you can’t help who we fall in love with, can you? He took Maddie on as his own and although he would never be Martin, Richard was a good father and husband. He eventually retired and we had a good life together.
“Mum, are you all right? You look a little pale,” said Maddie, who was sitting opposite me at the Christmas table.
“I’m just a bit tired, love.”
Young Martin jumped up, “Come on, Gran, come and sit by the tree.” He helped me to my feet and sat me down in the armchair. “We’ll do the clearing up, you have a little rest.”
He is a good lad who has all the traits of his father.
The lights on the Christmas tree flickered and I could hear Maddie clearing the table and David, her husband, helping. Martin’s girlfriend was doing her bit by serving the Christmas pudding.
The Christmas tree felt like the same one I had been looking at all my life. An evergreen. As I stared, the lights seemed to flicker a figure shimmered in front of me. Martin looked so handsome in his uniform as he held out his hand towards me. It was time and I had no hesitation in taking it.
Midwinter under the Bridge: Another Swedish Tale
Lisa Veldkamp
This is the time to be still and slow our pace
After the harvest, the hunt, the race
We celebrate the returning of the light
Though the coming months could go left or right
The snow, the wet, the bitter cold
It makes us weary, truth be told
Midwinter under the bridge brings us hope to warm the heart
And creates the circle that every end has its start
Just remember, when you think all light is gone,
It’s always darkest before the dawn
“You may think you’re hallucinating, but you’re not. You’re really seeing it. I’m allowing you to see it. My name is Eydis and I’m a bridge-builder. Not that this means something to you, but it’ll explain why you’re able to see my land. I can reach you through your dreams. I can guide them and make you remember. I’m also a troll.”
“No, don’t be scared! We’re actually quite cute. Well, I think so anyway. Look into my eyes. They’re pretty, aren’t they? Almost golden. See—you like me. I also have a lovely soft tail with a tufty bit on the end. I’ll give it a wave. That’s funny, isn’t it? Made you laugh. We’re going to get along just fine. Now look closer. Do you see the bridge high above us? It’s very special. Only the shamans are allowed to cross it. It leads into your world, you see. The world of humans. I am one. A shaman, that is. Like my grandfather, Amandus. He’s the troll with the long white hair in the centre of the circle, round the great bonfire. Doesn’t he look formidable? Someone of your kind said to me my grandfather reminds him of Albus Dumbledore, if he would have been a troll, but I don’t know who this Mr. Dumbledore is, so I don’t know if he’s right. I value this human’s opinion though, he’s important to me. He’s the only one who knows we exist. Well, and now you.
“Why I asked you here? We’re celebrating Jul. That’s your Christmas, sort of. We don’t have a baby Jesus or anything, although we do have our own holy trinity. We call them Thor, Odin and Freyr. We celebrate the returning of the light. I know it doesn’t really feel like that in December, but after the twenty-first, it really does get lighter. You just have to pay attention. I love our forest. Not only does it contain the most luscious green moss mixed with birch and ash trees, it’s also covered in crystals. They give this magical glow from the forest floor. My home contains a lot of crystals. It’s up on that hill. Do you see the big, brown bear? He’s guarding the entrance to our dwelling. His name is Beka. I love him very much. Better to stay away from him though. Beka’s not very good with humans.
“Come, we’ll go down to sit by the fire. Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you. They don’t know you’re actually here. This is my dream I’m sharing with you. So even though everyone will be able to speak to you and interact with you, they won’t remember. They only do if I let them. The only one you can’t talk to is Amandus, my grandfather. Because he’s a shaman as well. Actual conversation and he would know you’re here. And I’m not allowed to bring humans. You’re not supposed to know we exist. He’ll be leading the ceremony, so it works out perfectly. He won’t be anywhere near us. Take my hand. Watch your step, the crystals can be quite sharp if you step on one. Just let the light guide your feet.
“Oh, this looks like a nice spot. You can sit on the moss, it’s warm and soft. Do you have a good view? Good, Amandus is about to begin. Oh, I’ll give you a crystal. You’ll need it later. Here, hold on to it. What stone it is? Well, maybe you should look it up in a book. Shhh… Quiet now, you can ask me questions later.”
“Welcome, my dear tribe on this Midwinter’s Eve.” His eyes twinkle as he smiles at the small troll-children in front of him. “Tonight we will celebrate the returning of the Light. This is a special moment. Not only for us, but for the earth as well. We recognise the shadows as they give way to the light. We honour the darkness. The quiet, the stillness of the earth. For twelve days we will celebrate and help nature to reawaken. To softly guide both plant and beast. This is what we do. This is what we have always done. This is what we will do for many years to come. We are the protectors of the land, guided by the great forces of the three. Thor, Odin and Freyr. They will walk among us on this first night.”
Amandus raises his staff. It’s almost white and the crystal on top glows. When the staff touches ground, the crystal beams rotate round the forest, shining their light upon the faces of those surrounding him. A mumbling rises from the centre of the circle. Three figures arise from the light, looking down on the trolls gathered.
“Welcome, holy trinity. We ask for your guidance and to witness the returning of the light. Will you grant us your blessing?”
The forms of light give a respectful nod. Amandus continues.
&nbs
p; “Then the time has come to recognise and honour the dark once more. Reach out to your crystal. Take a moment to look back. Think about your fears, think about your hopes. Let your fears go. Guide them down your spine, into the earth, where the Great Mother will consume them. Let your hopes take shape, then guide them into your crystal. Focus now.”
Amandus falls silent.
“This is why I gave you a crystal. Just do what he said, it’ll work. I promise. In a moment or so, all crystals will go dark. Don’t panic. That’s supposed to happen. It will be totally black around us, but the light will return. I just know it will work the same for humans. So focus on your fears, send them down into the earth and then focus on all your hopes and guide them into the crystal.”
~~~~
Suddenly all lights go out. No glowing of crystals, no little fairy lights, no candles, no godlike creatures coming out of the crystal of Amandus’ staff. Even the stars in the sky seem to have gone out.
The only sound is the breathing of the trolls and animals in the circle. It’s oddly peaceful. Time is hard to define in the dark. A couple of minutes could have gone by, it could have been hours, but just as suddenly the crystal in Amandus’ staff starts to glow again. It seems to glow brighter with each breath we take. The holy trinity, Thor, Odin and Freyr reappear. They speak in one voice.
“The Light has returned. A blessing on your life, a blessing on the land.”
“Oh look! Well done! Your crystal glows. See, I knew it would work for humans as well. Did you put all your hopes in it? No—you don’t have to give it back to me. You can keep it, take it home with you. I’m sorry, but you can’t stay. Amandus will give us assignments for the coming twelve days and he will go round to do that. We can’t let him see you. Like I said, he’s a shaman like me, so he will remember and I will be in big trouble. Again. I have a knack for getting into trouble, but you liked it, right? Then it’s worth it.
“Normally I wouldn’t let you remember, but I don’t know. I have a feeling about you. I think you’re special. So I’m going to leave it up to you. If you want to remember, you’ll remember. And if you don’t, you’ll forget all about this. You’ll think it was just a dream. Oh, you didn’t realise? Yes, you’re dreaming. I don’t know if we’ll see each other again. Like I said, I’m not supposed to visit humans in their dreams. Because you humans cannot know we actually exist. The crystal won’t be there in your world, but somehow I have a feeling you’ll find it again. You’ll know which one it is, when you come across it. Just trust your instinct. Now it’s time for me to leave, Amandus has almost reached us. That means it’s time for you to wake up. Time to choose. Will you remember or will you forget?
Three…two…one…Wake up.”
Clara’s Button
L G Surgeson
Iona didn’t like the Festival of Lights. Apart from the fact she was required to parade about like Lady Muck of the Manor, which she found tedious, the whole thing had been someone else’s idea in the first place, and that was never something she enjoyed. She’d already done the official rounds last night.
In a way, it was quite a delightful spectacle. Bards cast light displays into the sky, street performers wowed the gathered crowds, there were braziers on every corner and hundreds of candle lanterns strung up over anything that couldn’t object. She’d have preferred to save the candles for the long winter nights, but there you go.
She had only come back to the festival because she was looking for someone. She had something to pass on, and she was certain that she’d find who she was looking for somewhere in the crowds with very little effort. Clara Cropper and her associate Pudding the Goblin were bards - really bad bards - and therefore would be working the festival like every other bard in the city, and the worse the bard the less salubrious the pitch. She had trawled every tumbledown cul-de-sac she could think of, looking for them, but so far no luck. All she seemed to be able to find were Life Temple Clerics and nuns, there seemed to be dozens of them. There were two more on the corner of this street, and they must have started young because one of them was barely bigger than a child. She chuckled under her breath, why was she surprised?
Shaking her head, she went over to the Sisters and dropped a groat into their bowl. The small one looked up to say ‘Goddess Bless you, Ma’am’ and stopped with her mouth open. The habit’s cowl fell back and after a moment of staring like a stunned rabbit, Clara grinned at Iona, displaying her rickety teeth, and said, “Awright guv’nor?”
“I might have known,” said Iona after a moment, then reaching over to Clara’s companion, yanked the cowl back and found a goblin with an unnerving smirk giving her a very suggestive wink. “What do you think you’re doing?” Iona punctuated this question with an eloquent look that said not only ‘don’t call me guv’nor’ but to also ‘start explaining very quickly before I call the militia’.
“Collectin’” said Clara unfazed, showing the bowl, “for the horphans.”
There were quite a few coins in there, mainly groats although someone who fancied themselves as a philanthropist had chucked in a slightly mangled looking florin.
“For the orphans,” repeated Iona dubiously. “You’ve collected this for the orphans?”
“In a manner of speakin’, yeah,” replied Clara, tilting her head and squinting out of one eye.
“In a manner of speaking?” echoed Iona, “So that would be not at all then.”
“Well, technically,” interrupted Pudding, “We’re both orphans.”
“You are collecting dressed as Clerics of Life,” said Iona trying not to find this funny. “Which may I remind you is an arrestable offense - obtaining charitable donations under an assumed religious belief. Can you two sink any lower?”
She had adopted her school-mistress tone, which never quite had the desired effect on these two.
Pudding just snorted, and said, “Yest’de Clara pretended to be one of them temple orphans.” Iona made an effort to look shocked, Pudding just carried on - chortling to herself. “She was doin’ quite well too, until Sister Hildegaart got hold of ‘er and spent ten minutes scrubbin’ her face with a cloth, Look.” The goblin pointed at Clara, who scowled and thumped her friend. Iona could actually see scrub marks on Clara’s face, but she didn’t dare smile.
“Well, you should be ashamed,” she said.
“We need the money,” said Clara flatly. “It’s bloody cold now and this coat is all I’ve got.” She pulled her green habit up over her head to show Iona her threadbare overcoat, that had previously belonged to someone a foot larger than her in all dimensions and had no buttons.
“Oh dear,” said Iona, trying not to smirk. “that’s a bit pathetic. It doesn’t even have any buttons.” Clara looked offended.
“It does have buttons!” she exclaimed, “big brass ones.”
“Where?” snorted Iona, barely stifling a snigger.
“In the pawn shop on Market Street,” said Pudding haughtily, “we got a very good price for them too.”
“Oh did you?” said Iona. “Well in that case, you won’t need this.” She tried to take the bowl from Clara’s hand but the girl’s reflexes were sharp.
“We aint got none left,” continued Pudding, “City life is hexpensive you know. Apart from those groats, that florin and a slightly suspect piece of Paravelian Gold with the paint peeling off, we’re flat broke.” Suspect clearly meant fake in this context.
“Well,” said Iona, well aware that in a public gathering such as this she needed to be seen to ‘do the right thing’ and try to get these two miscreant to see the error of their ways, “have you tried earning money in an honest fashion? By performing perhaps?”
“We did,” was Clara’s sullen reply. “Day before yest’day we were moved on cos some snot-nosed Cleric took offense to ‘You can tell she’s a lady by what she charges’.”
“Day before that,” chimed in Pudding, “We was actually arrested for singin’ the extended version of ‘She likes it like a well b
oiled ham’- happarently that isn’t suitable family hentertainment,” Pudding pulled a haughty face in imitation of the po-faced militiaman who’d dragged them in.
All Iona could think of to say was, “She likes it like a well boiled ham?” The songs the pair sang never ceased to amaze her.
“Yeah.” replied Pudding earnestly. “She likes it like a well boiled ham,”
“Pink and firm and juicy,” chorused Clara.
“I see,” said Iona. She could see where that was going and arrest seemed inevitable. “Well, you can’t keep that money,” she said high-handedly, mainly because she was in public and she had to be seen to be honest at the very least. “Come on. Hand over those habits and we’ll sort this all out.”
With a certain degree of moaning and goblin-handling, she managed to drag the pair of sorry-looking urchins three streets down to where the real Sisters of the Chalice had a large stall set up. They were handing out soup and sanctimonious advice to anyone who would take it.
“Go on,” said Iona, shoving Clara forward towards an enormous burly nun with a hooked nose and a squint. Sister Hildegaart looked down at Clara and opened her mouth to berate her errant charge, met Iona’s gaze and shut her mouth again.
“Here,” grunted Clara emptying her bowl into the Sisters’ clay pot without making eye contact with the nun.
“For the horphans,” explained Pudding theatrically, without anyone asking. Clara turned to go but Iona stopped her, spun her back around and cleared her throat expectantly.
“Sorry,” mumbled Clara looking extremely sour.
“Yeah, what she said,” added Pudding, showing no respect or contrition whatsoever. “Nice scapular by the way, your holiosity.” She then winked at Sister Hildegaart and the nun bristled. Iona clipped Pudding around the ear before handing Hildegaart the two stolen habits that she was holding.
As they walked away from the Sisters, Iona leaned in and whispered,
“Try some juggling or something next time. Now clear off will you?”
