Voices of the Stars

by Rowena Whaling

  None of this mattered to a Mother. All I know is that from the first Time I held the ugly little squirming dark thing in my arms, he had simply been my beloved son.

  The Bear was not taught to read, for his Mother was illiterate, and his Father was more concerned with his physical prowess. He did, however, learn very well all of the battle-tested formations and strategies of Roman warfare.

  Yes, the Bear was brilliant in his intellect and so hungry always for knowledge. Because of this, my sweet Morgan felt sorry for him.

  All the children seemed to get on with each other very well, at least in the early Days.

  Even Morganna, who was the eldest, paid attention to the two boys. However, I often wondered about her motives in this, for it seemed to me that it was more as if she was always watching them, not unlike her Wildcat stalking a Rat! The strange thing was that even at a young age, I could not read Morganna’s thoughts the way that I could read everyone else’s around me. This distressed me... what secrets had she learned that went beyond the teachings of my people?

  The thing that began to concern me as the years went by, was that when I looked into The Bear’s eyes and read his heart, I found within him a great developing Love for my beautiful daughter Morgan. Even by the Time he was only seven years, it was there. I thought; how sweet is this, that they have grown up together, have become great friends... and there he was falling in Love, with a child’s Love – or was it more than that?

  When the Bear had reached his eighth year-turn, Morgan was nearing her fifteenth and was becoming a young woman. Her breasts had formed, she had a curve to her hips, and she was beautiful!

  It seemed to me to be a bit precocious, because usually boys have no interest in girls at that age. But I dismissed it as just a childish infatuation.

  I was wrong. That was by no means the last time that my judgment was faulty regarding my children. But what could anyone have done to change what the Weavers had already spun?

  Many times I would watch them go into the Woods together. He followed her everywhere that she would allow. She did not mind. She told me how she had tried to teach him to speak to the Animals, but he would just smile at her and say “Morgan, you are the one with the Sight and the one who knows of all things mysterious. I however, who have no Sight of things unseen, am the one most blessed, to be able to walk along in the presence of one so wise and beautiful of countenance. Please Morgan, just tell me the stories, will you, of the Dark Tribes?”

  And so she did.

  She told me of her asking him if he would like to become educated.

  “Bear, would you like to learn to read and write?”

  ...and that he had answered, “Morgan, it would be the second greatest desire of my heart.”

  “The second… what is the first?”

  “That is something I may never be able to tell you – or mayhap I will some Day.”

  They left it at that.

  Morgan told me later – much later – when the significance of the Bear’s words were completely understood, that had she realised what was brewing in his dear heart, she would have gone to the Lady of the Lake earlier.

  You see, it was like this...

  When Morgan reached her fourteenth year-turn, she had a choice to make.

  It was a tradition amoung the Tribeswomen that a young woman of her age, whose Mother was a Seer or Healer, would be asked to decide whether she would stay within the Tribal villages to serve in one of these vocations – or, if she had not these Gifts, to marry and make a family of her own. Or, she could ask to be accepted by the Lady of the Lake – in which case she must travel Eastward to the Isle of Apples on the Inland Sea – to the University of the Order of the Great Goddess – where she could become well educated in the Arts of literacy. There also to be taught the Cosmic Mysteries.

  I had raised my daughters to follow as many of my family’s traditions as was possible in our unique circumstances. This was one of them. They knew that they were expected to make one of these same choices upon reaching the appropriate age.

  Morgan came to me herself when she knew it was Time to make her decision. She was heartbroken to leave me. She wept in my arms and said, “Mother, I would not leave you for anything! Must I truly go?”

  “Morgan, it is Time. You were not chosen by your Father to inherit this great house, for although he Loved you well, Morganna was his firstborn – and in his family the eldest always inherits. Upon my death, I plan to honour his wishes in this.

  “What do you choose my darling... to marry? Or would you go to the Grandmothers of my Tribe, to live primitively and learn more deeply the ways of Nature, to go within the Drumming and the Humming, to enter the Other Realms, to learn the Healing secrets of the Tribes and to Divine where the Herds will be for the Hunters? There you would also learn to ‘Sing the dying to Death’ and the newly dead to peace. For these are the ways of the Tribes. I know, Morgan, that for these Arts you are well suited.

  “The problem with this choice is that you have been raised in a much different culture and environment than that which is amoung the Tribal folk. You are used to many comforts that are not to be found there. I was but fifteen years when I came to Gorlois’ house and it was, at first, a difficult change. I think it may be even more difficult to go from this life to theirs.

  “There is another choice Morgan; you may ask the Lady of the Lake if she would accept you as a postulant, to dedicate yourself to the Order of the Goddess on the Isle of Apples, where you would receive a long and excellent education... however, once committed to remain at the Order, you may not marry. Oh yes, you may have lovers, however you will never live beneath their roof or share the intimacy of a long life with them. So choose carefully, Morgan.”

  “Mother, please, I beg of you to allow me one more year to contemplate these choices?”

  And so, I allowed it...

  When her year had passed, I again asked for her decision.

  Morgan surprised me. Perhaps, I had seen only her talents, not her innermost desires. For truly, I thought she would wish to go to the Tribes. Instead, she said, “Mother, if I must choose between them, I would choose to go to the Isle of Apples and there become a Priestess of the Goddess. For there I may continue my literary studies and learn more of other places in this world. I do respect and embrace the Arts of the Walkers, but I believe that the Spirits will allow me to approach Them wherever I may be.

  “Mother, will you try to arrange this for me? And promise that, if I am accepted, you will come to visit me often? I know that you would be so greatly honoured there.”

  “I will send word – and I will come as often as I can Morgan. You may also beg leave of The Lady to visit your family, for she holds none captive on the Isle.”

  Thus came the Day for Morgan to leave…

  On the Day that Morgan left, the Bear wept bitterly.

  He had formed for her a necklace of Stones and shells – it was quite beautiful. When, at the last, he felt sure enough of having his emotions under his control, he approached her.

  “This is my gift to you Morgan – may it ever serve as a bond between us. For you have been like a... sister to me.”

  He had choked on the word ‘sister.’

  “And Morgan, I Love you.”

  She accepted the necklace. I could see that it touched her heart, for she Loved the Bear, as well.

  By that Time, to my astonishment, the Bear could read and write – in Greek, Latin and to some extent the language of the Clans. He had amazed Morgan with the swiftness of his learning and I knew that Morgan must have felt good about her part in his accomplishments.

  Her intended parting words to him were, “I give to you my Love and blessing, Bear.”

  But then her eyes – her beautiful eyes – clouded over and they looked like the “Swirling Seas” and whirlpools into infinity. Whenever this happened, she drew everyone into them; and what words came from her mouth were not from her own thoughts:

  She whispered to the Bea
r, “You will be ‘The Bear of the Britons’... Like the Great Bear in the Sky.”

  Then her eyes again became her own.

  Morgan put the necklace around her neck and kissed the Bear on the cheek.

  I am not sure that she ever knew that she had spoken thusly to him.

  She had whispered to the Bear alone, so that no one else would hear. However, I had heard – and there was Morganna, staring from a distance. I knew not ever what she did or did not hear.

  Then Morgan left... and took half of my heart with her.

  The Bear was devastated!

  Thinking back now after all that has come about, of course her words spoken upon that Day make perfect sense, but at that Time they had puzzled me. I wondered what they meant... “Bear of the Britons”?

  At that Time, Morganna was near to her twenty-second year-turn, but she had forsaken all other choices and simply refused to leave. She said, “I will stay in my Father’s house, as is my right, at least until I decide what will be my adventures in this life.”

  There was no persuading Morganna otherwise. Of course, she had chosen to ignore the fact that I had been named “owner of this house.” Nevertheless, I allowed her to remain.

  Morgan travelled to the Isle of Apples, was presented to the Lady and petitioned her to become a dedicant of the Order. The Lady graciously accepted her.

  In less than one year it came about that, in addition to becoming a “Huntress Maiden” initiate, Morgan was given the responsibilities that had been those of the old Beekeeper – as the former one had recently passed through the Veil. Morgan was sorry for the loss of the old woman – who had been so kind to her by allowing her to help in caring for the hives. But since the “Taker of Breath” – who visits all in good Time – had come for her, Morgan found her comfort in knowing that the old woman would have chosen her to take her place, if she had had good enough warning. As it was, Morgan had always wished to be a Beekeeper. Now her wish had come true.

  In the blink of an eye seven years had flown by. Besides her becoming the Beekeeper of the Isle of Apples, Morgan had become a great and renowned Enchantress and Seer.

  Yes, I was very proud of my Morgan of the Woods.

  Regarding Bedwyr…

  My son, Bedwyr – in addition to his prowess in all the Arts of war, had proven himself to be a great Hunter – and, as I have said, he had the ‘Sight.’ He had the Gifts of the old people, but his greatest gift was the gift of Love and the object of his greatest affection was The Bear. He Loved me, too, and Morgan, of course.

  But he was cautious of Morganna. She was 13 years older than he and there was somewhat more that caused him to keep a distance between them.

  Bedwyr did well enough in his studies of reading, writing, and speaking properly. I taught him to speak in the old tongue of my people, and he had also learned some Latin. But he was not proficient in these things the way the Bear was. It is interesting how two people can be so different. Yet in their Love and devotion to each other they were the same. I knew that theirs would be a lifelong bond.

  The Bear

  The very first memory of my life is of Morgan, not of my Mother or my foster brother Bedwyr, but of Morgan – kind, Enchanting, beautiful Morgan. I was sitting on her lap in the children’s quarters looking up at her beautiful face as she, in her whimsical and wonderful way, was telling a story to us. I remember that Bedwyr was sitting at her feet. There was a chill in the Air along with the sweet and pungent smells of Cedar, Pine, Juniper, Apple, and Rosemary. Ah, yes, it was the Night past the Longest Night, upon which we had celebrated the pinnacle of darkness and the return of the Sun God’s rule. The Son of the Great Goddess... Igraine had also reminded us that upon that very Night four years past, had Bedwyr and I been born. The floor rushes of our chamber had been strewn with fragrant Herbs and greenery. Long ropes of Cedar branches had been braided by Igraine and the household servants. These she had hung from the doorposts and had had her attendants wind them around the crossbeams.

  Upon this Night of my first remembrances, in the chamber all the torches were lit and their flickering cast dancing shadows all about the Stone walls. The three of us were wrapped in pelts for warmth. Morgan shared her hot honeyed wine with us.

  Her tale that Night was one told by the Old Tribes – the small Dark People of the Woods – of whom she, Bedwyr, Morganna, and their Mother, the Lady Igraine, were kin.

  I do precisely remember that this story was about a very ancient God named Nodens.

  She began: “I would tell a tale to you... a tale of great mystery... of fear... of Sacrifice... and of joy.

  “Now on these Fair Isles, Nodens is the God of Healing and Divination, of Brooks, Streams, Springs, and Caves. He is a secret God... an old God – a God of dark and silent places. The God of deep and still Waters.

  Then she lowered her voice, whilst we were rapt in attention and said, “Each God has a purpose and function. And, each one represents principals of Cosmic Creation. Do you understand?”

  She looked into my eyes and probably read the incomprehension. Her eyes twinkled. She smiled and tousled our hair.

  Well no matter...

  Hers were big and long words to us and filled with the promise of so many things yet to learn.

  She continued: “Sometimes he is the Son, betimes the Brother or the Consort of the Goddess. But all is aright with this,” quoth she, “for such things as blood ties are different in the realms of the Gods. And as everyone knows, the Great Goddess is Mother of all.”

  I remember being completely amazed when next she said, “Nodens disappears – or dies, some say – at the end of every year-turn. Then He retreats into his Cave of Madness and into the depths of his darksome Wells. All the while, the Sun is retreating and the Leaves of Red and Gold are falling from the Trees. When Earth has turned to brown and gray, all the green around us descends with Him into Her Cauldron of Chaos, there to return to the Mother’s womb – awaiting Her call at Winter’s End.”

  I frowned...

  “Oh, but not to worry, Bear, for He will spring forth again, all in the proper time. The great wheel must turn to continue Earth’s cycles.”

  Then Morgan sang a song of ancient words and haunting melody... still today, it pierces my heart.

  “For Everything She changes, changes, changes...

  Will change and change and change again...

  And all will return... return... return...”

  Of course, this does not rhyme in my written language. But when she sang these words in the tongue of the Old Tribes they were melodious as the song of Birds.

  Morgan continued to Weave her tale of mystery. We, Spellbound, hung upon her every word.

  “Now, Nodens knows that, as we watch Earth’s bounty wither whilst He has retired for the cold and dark Time – we will worry and fear that the end of all life is at hand and that the light will not return. Also, that the Grains, Apples, and wild Berries would not grow and the Beasts of the Fields and Forests hunger and die. Even would the Bees, without Flowers, perish and no more should we have honey or mead to nourish us and warm our hearts. Then, alas, would we all die without sustenance. For indeed, do not even his Brooks and Streams freeze over whilst Nodens sleeps?

  “Oh, dreadful hour...

  “So, in His boundless Wisdom and Love – recognizing our grief, long and long ago He Spelled the Evergreens to always remain green – as a beacon and a promise, that nothing is lost forever. All things in Green Nature rest, but for the Evergreens, which seem never to sleep at all.

  “And this is why it has been our custom to ‘Bring in the Greens’ and to hang the halls and hovels with Evergreen and Holly, as Mid-Winter’s Eve draws nigh – whilst we all await the returning of the Light.

  “All of these things happen to remind us that although She changes Her cloak and Her faces, the Goddess never dies. For, in just the blink of an eye beyond the depths of the Longest Night, a newborn God arises to become the Sun Mother’s son. The Sun God waxes! The l
ight returns! Hail to the Sun God!

  “But what of old Nodens? Does He return with the newborn light?

  “Well, no – not quite yet. A Day comes at about the Time of the new milking of the Ewes when the small creeping furry ones come out from their dens and logs and just about at that same time do we, too, have a feeling of a quickening within.

  “Nodens yawns and stretches. He breaks free from the dark icy deep, to emerge refreshed; a young God.

  “It is at the Time of The Stirring when we celebrate our Festival of the Returning Light. And here does end the tale of Nodens.”

  “Oh Morgan, tell us more!”

  So Morgan continued, for even with children small as we, she could not but help to teach the meanings of the Sacred Festival cycle of Igraine’s blood kin.

  I cannot say that I remember the rest of the words she uttered, or that I did not fall to sleep in her arms, however, Bedwyr and I must both have been snoring.

  “Can you guess what happened next?”

  At this change of her intonation I awoke or recovered from my reverie.

  Morgan laughed again. I remember thinking that her laugh sounded as beautiful to me as the bells on Lady Igraine’s ankles.

  “To go on with my story...

  “Nodens is the God of Healing Wells such as the one my Lady Mother, the great Seer Igraine, watches over in our fortress’ courtyard.”

  “Oh...” said we.

  “So, if ever you should become very sad or ill of heart, my dear ones, seek out a Well of Nodens, for there you shall find comfort and solace. Should you come upon a Sacred Well by chance, you must pay homage to Him and offer a sincere offering. Also ask of Him the desire of your heart. For those who approach Him with pureness of heart and honest intention will be blessed three Times three!”