I wanted to vow that every Day until the hour of my Death I would spend some Time there speaking to him and caressing him. But, of course, I had many responsibilities that kept me from being with him every Day. But almost... Even though he lived with his heart and breathing greatly slowed, and seemed beyond all awareness, I hoped somehow he would feel my presence, my Love and perhaps even hear my words. So, when my work for the Day was done, I went to him and Wove my Magic into the wool of our white-faced Sheep.
Gwenda aided me in Arthur’s care. She was a well-trained Healer by then. For more than twenty years she had dedicated herself to this Art. Arthur was rolled from side to side and front to back twice a Day to prevent skin sores. His scabbard, which was keeping him alive whilst on his person, was often moved in position for the same reason, but never removed. I nourished him, although I never really knew if this was necessary or even helped. I knew it could not hurt, so every evening I dropped one Enchanted drop of my Bees’ honey upon his sweet lips and three drops each of the Sacred Waters of the White and Red Springs. This was a simple enough thing to do for my Bear.
I went to the Springs myself or sent others to fetch fresh Water each Day.
I made sure that the White Spring, running out of the Cave’s mouth, was kept freshly dressed with pretty cloth ribbons and Herbs, as well as leaving bread for the Birds and Squirrels and milk and cheese for what other Creatures might come to accept the offerings. This in thanksgiving for its Magic – all according to the old ways.
As for the Red Spring, it had of late been named Chalice Well by the women’s Monastery, and was visited more and more by the Christian folk living in the environs. Mostly they were the ones who dressed it now – still according to the old ways. I told my children of the Order to allow this to them. Of course, we were not banned from its beautification either.
The Christians have added yet another layer of significance upon it – as representing the Carpenter’s cup from which their God’s earthly son, Yeshua, had drunk wine with his faithful companions on the evening before his Death. They, all having been Jews, celebrated their oldest Ritual of a meal shared in honour of being passed over by an Angel of Death – long, long ago. What a beautiful tradition. As they practice their Blood Mass, the cup or Chalice of each Church holds the blood of Yeshua the Christ – their Priests having said their Magical Incantation, turning wine into his blood.
Yet others believe that the Chalice symbolizes the womb of Yeshua’s companion, Miriam of Magdala – who came from Old Jerusalem to Vivianne’s Mother’s land with her child, and that they were brought here by Yosef of Arimathea to honour our Sacred Springs. Whichever way they believe, the Red Spring has now become a Holy place to Christians, too.
Chalice, cup, Well, womb, blood, Creation, destruction, salvation, and the Child of Promise – are all very old themes with ever a new twist. Blessed be the Creator of all Sacred Symbols. To us the Springs remain – red and white, Moon-blood and semen – the eternal hope of life renewed.
One Day as I walked up to the source of this Magic – the Chalice Well – there were two of my sisters already sitting there in silence, as well as were two of our brothers. Stars’ Son was quietly filling a jug of Water and sitting upon the Dragon’s Stone was my brother Ember, who officiates as Priest in many of our Rituals. He is one the kindest men I have ever known. As to the rest of Ember’s name, “Keeper of the Fire” – well he does that too, and in more ways than one. He keeps many of our sisters’ hearts a-flame whilst tending our evening Fires – and after – and seemingly all are happy with these dalliances.
Two young women from the Monastery were there also, collecting Water from the Well. They said their names were Mahr and Arrianell. They were all quite comfortable with one another – as was I with them.
With quill in hand now, I wonder why I thought to write of this encounter.
Perhaps it is because it seems to me that far too much is made of the differences between people and not enough of the similarities. I hope never to fall into this trap of disrespect and prejudice, as it has been the ruination of many a culture.
Lying just beneath my grief for the loss of Arthur and of our Dream is my great concern for The Merlin. For month after month he has lived within himself; sitting slack mouthed and unaware of drooling or mumbling unintelligible words meant only for himself. Our once-great Merlin – diminished to a demented old man. Still, Nimue helps him to their bed each Night where I am sure she holds him close to her breast for their mutual comfort, although I seriously doubt that there are any sexual acts between them. So sad... So sad is this – an obviously lusty and passionate, great Love such as theirs, fallen somewhere between the cracks of earthly matters.
Poor Nimue. So fleeting is life’s experience. Golden Days come and we live them ecstatically taking for granted that they are forever to be ours. But holding onto these Times and situations is like trying to hold Water in our hands. Inevitably, irreversibly, they slip through our fingers, never to repeat themselves. Were these thoughts for Nimue and Gwyddion, or were they for Arthur and me?
It is said that the Goddess changes all she touches. This is just the way of things. Truth is truth, and this is one of the most bitter truths. I should be able to embrace change by now. At least, this is what is expected of me. Still, it is so hard. Is everyone fooled by what and who they think I am? Truly I am but a child inside – Morgan of the Woods. Still I sing with the Bees and the Birds. But more and more of late, my child’s song is a dirge. Where has the joy of living gone?
Chapter 40
Awakening of The Merlin
Morgan
One Night, Nimue came running to me.
“Gwyddion is dying!”
“What?”
“His hands are cold and he has the Death rattle in his chest.”
“I will be right there, Nimue.”
I ran to fetch Caledfwlch from where it lay wrapped in skins beneath my bedding – thinking all the while – “Caledfwlch, oh Caledfwlch, what greatness and what catastrophe you have caused.” Quickly I ran back to Nimue’s cottage. “The sword should be his” – said I, motioning to Gwyddion. Nimue began to respond. I interrupted – “No, Nimue... I have decided. Help me move him to a more seated position.”
She obeyed. Then, with words of great power, I lay Caledfwlch across his lap and wrapped his left hand around its hilt. His left, as that was his Making hand – the one he used to write with. As I stepped back, I noted with some alarm that I had placed it so that the blade read “Chaos”– representing the Great Originator and the forces of drawing in.
“Chaos...” I gasped.
Nimue answered, “The Dark Mother calls him home...”
Just as the last echo of her voice faded, Caledfwlch began to glow. The room filled with an emerald hue, then changed to Flame the brightest of blues. The Air surrounding us became heavy with heat and moisture and all became Misty. Here were Ancestors. I said so, but Nimue smiled wryly.
“Dragons, Morgan – and Ancestors, too.”
Just then The great Merlin opened his eyes. No longer were they vacant, but filled with excitement and life.
He looked at me, then at the sword and then at Nimue. He smiled a smile filled with Wisdom and power, Love and humility.
“Where have I been?”
Nimue answered, “Within yourself, my Love, or in the Otherworlds.”
“But I am here now!” He looked at me – “Why do I hold Caledfwlch?”
“Because it is yours. Bedwyr relinquished it to me and now I, Lady of the Lake, have given it to you – or perhaps as it is glowing so brightly, it has willed itself home to you.”
“Yes, I believe you are right.
“Nimue, my heart, my beloved, my desire, I am only here in the flesh these few more hours. I can feel it. It is the sword that has awakened me. No, do not argue or pretend. This you know, as well. Come, quickly – make a scabbard from one of your shifts so as to wrap Caledfwlch upon me. Do not tarry. We three will go to
the Cave within the Tor.”
“But…”
“Do not take the Time to question me. Our moments together in the flesh are precious and irreplaceable.”
Something in his absolute determination of cause bade us follow his every direction. Nimue tore one of her shifts into a useable scabbard, long enough to tie the sword to Gwyddion and then we leapt into action.
He grabbed her hand and she mine and then we ran to where the White Spring flows out of the Cave’s entrance – the Cave of Gwyn ab Nudd or of Nodens, the crossroads betwixt life and Death, the place where worlds collide – the entrance to the womb of the Dark Mother.
Outside the Cave, the Waters of the White Spring – all dressed in her ribbons and Herbs – bubbled an ancient tune. To be here gave my countenance a moment’s respite. But to enter the forbidden Cave...
“My girls” – said Gwyddion – “The tales told of this Cave are but superstitions, which will serve me well, for where even the Magi fear to enter is a place well met for hiding a thing.”
“What is your plan, Gwyddion?” I asked. “What will you hide in the Cave?”
“Listen, my darlings, it is my Day to die.”
Nimue groaned. He continued.
“But only in the flesh. I will live on in your Dreams, where I will come to you as often as I am able.
“Morgan, my body and the sword of Kings will be hidden here together. You must let out the word that Caledfwlch was returned to the Watery realm and lives at the bottom of the Inland Sea, awaiting the true High King’s return. Oh, that is – if you will, my Lady” – allowing deference to me.
“What is your reasoning, Gwyddion?”
Just then, as I spoke, a flash of lightning and a long low rumble of thunder menaced the land.
He responded, “The sword in the wrong hands would spell disaster. None but one chosen by the Gods will ever find it here, buried with my body.”
Nimue gasped, but she covered her mouth quickly, so as to be brave – or to seem so.
Gwyddion continued: “Perhaps the Time of Enchanted swords, Merlins, and Dragon Callers is coming to an end. Only the Weavers know and the Stars can tell. But I believe that they will live on in legend. We must do our parts to let the dignity, honour, and innocence of our Days – our Time – live on in the hearts of all true romantics and Dreamers. Let them live on through the quill of the Poet and the voice of the Bard. You must choose, Morgan, what of this you will say in your histories.”
We entered the Cave and then walked along a path through a dark crevice, which led us into the bowels of the Tor – and a chamber completely covered in Crystals.
Gwyddion spoke: “Nimue, I will fill you with all of my Grym Hudol and Wisdoms. Let this Magic be through an act of Love – our last coupling in this life’s flesh. This Magic of all Magics, I bestow upon you, my beloved, if you will accept it, for you are deserving of it.”
There was a question in his voice. As the lovers’ eyes locked into eternity with each other, I heard her whisper, “Yes.” His silver spirals began their mesmerizing spin. They embraced each other and lustily kissed.
I quickly looked away and turned my back to them to give them their privacy. How childish of me to feel embarrassed. This was pure Love, the Goddess’ greatest gift, and all the more so in this Rite of uniting woman with man, Goddess with God. The transfer of all the power, knowledge, and Wisdom of the one Druidical Merlin of our generation, to Nimue – Walker, Dragon Caller, and Enchantress of the Isle of Apples – was a joining of blood, peoples, and traditions.
The chamber was small, about the size of Nimue’s hut. I could not get far enough away from them to not hear – even feel – their Lovemaking. I stood as still and as quietly as I could so as to not remind them of my presence. I leaned my forehead against the Crystal wall. My senses were heightened, my head spinning. I heard the sound of moist lips kissing, sucking, the murmurs of passion rising, two entwined lovers breathing ever more rapidly – the sounds of hands groping, caressing, Loving. My own breathing began to rise. “Stop it!” I told myself. But I could not help being swept along by their tide. Then, at the height of it, a steady rhythm began – the thrusting of his phallus into her wet, yearning entrance. I swallowed hard. “Be quiet!” I reproached myself again.
Were all things in this Earth in tune with the rhythm of their Lovemaking? Was this the rhythm of life? The Humming and Drumming of my dark kin, the creaking of the boughs of the Trees, the buzzing of my Bees, the Wind in the leaves, the bubbling of the Sacred Springs, the dance of Wolfs, the running of Deer, the calls of Birds, the vibrating of this Hill, this Cave, these Crystals – everything? Was this the song of the Goddess?
Now the sounds and their tempo became more and more frantic. I heard the suction of a sweating chest against breasts. Their sounds echoed and swirled about the chamber and when their Lovemaking seemed almost to reach its climax, I heard her whimper –
“No, slow down. Stay still. If this is our last Time, do not let it end so soon.”
As though frozen, everything stopped still – except for their breathing and her quiet weeping.
Gwyddion whispered hoarsely through his gasps, “I will always Love you, Nimue.”
My thoughts repeated… “Last Time... Always Love you...”
I flew like an arrow backward in Time. There I was again beneath a canopy in the Woods, adorned with flowers, experiencing once more the ecstasy of what I have pushed farther and farther away from my thoughts...
So safely and deeply had I kept this memory locked away so as never to threaten a reawakening of its passionate desire. Of course, it was the memory of Arthur’s and my ecstatic Lovemaking.
Oh, no – I could never let loose the binds in which I held safe my predictable life – my own judgment of what was right and what was wrong and what was all in a proper order. I could never have wanted my own half brother as lover. Perish the thought! Arthur was the child – albeit not six years younger than I – whom I had always Loved and felt such pride in. He was my Bear, a cub, until I was confronted with the man – the man who has never stopped loving and wanting me. What had the Voices of the Stars said? “Yours is an eternal Love...” Eternal?
Had I thrown away my golden chances? I remembered the words of Gwyddion’s poetry...
How it makes me cry
When I think of all the Golden Chances
That have passed me by...
Yet I am taught that this world and all things in it come to an end with each new epoch of the Cosmos and then return to the Mother. Does this mean that Love lives on within Her?
Here I was again, my thoughts taking shelter within the Cosmic Mysteries. Who was I lying to? I suppose this had been my refuge from what things I could not allow myself to acknowledge or explain. But now, standing in the naked harshness of realization, I must acknowledge and embrace my own Human frailty. I am now Lady of the Lake – no longer do I have the liberty of living a lie.
Pushing my self back into the here and now, I again became intensely aware of Nimue and Gwyddion. I could barely breathe for the heat in the chamber.
Finally their natures overtook their desire to make their Lovemaking last forever. As all came to the final pitch and frenzy, Gwyddion said hoarsely “With this climax, I, Gwyddion – The Merlin, give to you, Nimue – Dragon Caller and Enchantress, all that I know, have, and am.” Then she wailed like a Beast, an enthralled release, and he groaned a very masculine expression of paradise found. But at the end of his groan came a smaller, higher pitched moan. With this, his life force left his fleshly body.
Nimue sobbed…
I have, in my life, heard the sounds of agony and loss, but never have I heard anything so sad to me as this. I ran to embrace her and we both cried and cried for all we had ever lost.
Some long Time later, Nimue arose and laid his cloak over his body. She asked me to place Caledfwlch upon him. This I did, wrapping his hands around the hilt. Then Nimue took over. She bade me step back into the crevice through wh
ich we had entered. I silently obeyed. She came to stand in front of me, then stretched out her hands and sang the song of Dragons. “Eee-Ah-Oh!” I saw and felt Fire power coming from the open palms of her hands. She made a gesture as if drawing or creating a bubble of protection around The Merlin’s body. Next, she screeched a note higher in pitch than any Bird. With this, the Crystals that covered the ceiling, walls and floor of the chamber began to vibrate. The longer she held this note, the more they vibrated and shook until the whole chamber imploded to completely cover and surround The Merlin – yet they did not crush him nor dent the sword. It was a mighty, terrifying, and wondrous thing to see.
When she silenced her voice, all things settled. She then, to my further amazement, held those hands filled with power – her own power, which now included all the Grym Hudol formerly possessed by The great Merlin – up and out toward the mound of Crystals. Almost imperceptibly she muttered in a tongue I could not understand. Then she focused a searing heat toward the mound, one spot at a Time and then broadened the focus. Was that the shadow of a Dragon I saw hovering above her? I watched as she fused all the Crystals together. By this action the great Merlin’s body and Caledfwlch were sealed in a crystalline grave – the heat of which had dissipated in an instant.
We walked toward it. She peered inside and beheld her lover. She laid her hand against it and said, “Farewell, my beloved.”
I touched the Crystalline shroud. It was as cool as the Waters of the Inland Sea in deep Winter. In utter wonder I looked into her eyes, and in that one moment, without a word spoken, we two – who had never been close to one another – formed a bond that I knew would exist for as long as we lived. I also knew that soon she would be gone back to the Picti Dragon Callers, who she had embraced as family.
Then I remembered Chronos. “Where is...?” I said. She pointed toward The Merlin’s far shoulder and there was Chronos, also sleeping in Death. How had he come to be there? Well, so be it and good, thought I.
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