The Fox

by Arlene Radasky

  But, together we could not heal Cerdic.

  It was Imbolc. Darkness came early on these days. We lighted our oil lamps before our evening meals. Again, the season brought labored breathing to Mother. One night, as I followed my mother into the cool night air again, Sileas’ plea rang in my ears. I told Lovern about her request, and the next day we went to see Cerdic.

  Cerdic, Harailt and Sileas lived in the home together. Harailt’s sisters were married and gone. Sileas and Harailt were outside feeding dried corn to their hogs and chickens when we arrived, but urged us to go in.

  Cerdic sat on the floor near a low fire. His hands grasped the edges of a blanket that covered his shoulders. His head low, he was folded over his chest as if to protect his heart from the dampness and smoke that filled the home. An oil lamp flickered a sickly, yellow shadow across his face. His neck stretched forward and jaw jutted open. His eyes were squeezed closed and his brow furrowed with lines of strain. His deliberate breaths escaped his body in liquid groans. I kneeled next to him and Lovern in front. There was no recognition of us in Cerdic’s haggard face.

  “Cerdic.” I touched his shoulder, but he did not open his eyes. “Cerdic. Why are you up? You should be lying down,” I asked.

  “Can.” He stopped to inhale between every word. “Not – breathe – lying –down.”

  A groan turned into an explosive cough that shook his body and sprayed blood to the dirt in front of his crossed legs. The floor was sticky with this spit. While he coughed, I rubbed his back, not knowing what else to do. I looked to Lovern. He watched Cerdic’s spasm. When the coughing eased, Cerdic reached one arm out from under the blanket and wiped the frothy blood from his lips, his eyes still closed with the concentration of his breathing. The fresh and dried blood on the sleeve of his tunic scared me. I turned to Lovern, silently asking him whether we could help. He nodded, his eyes never leaving Cerdic.

  The room echoed with Cerdic’s ragged inhales and rough exhales along with the soft pops and hisses of the peat and dung fire.

  “Cerdic, you know you are dying,” Lovern said.

  I looked from Lovern to Cerdic my mouth open in surprise.

  “How can you say that? He is a strong man, he may live through many more Samhainns,” I argued, not admitting what I had witnessed. Cerdic’s fingertips and lips were blue and stained with blood. His white face was slippery with sweat and pulled from the struggle of living, neck ropey with the battle for breath and his head bowed as if surrendering to the war for life that was being waged in his body.

  “Yes,” said Cerdic, “soon.”

  I looked at Cerdic, not wanting to believe. Where was the strong man I had known all my life; a farmer whose sheep produced wool that my mother and I wove? A man who was a valuable member of our clan and the father of Harailt? I did not recognize the coughing shell of a man, readying himself to cross to the spirit world. His once proud eyes did not leave the floor of his lodge.

  Sileas and Harailt stepped through their doorway. I stood and moved next to Sileas, my arms around her. Harailt took my place on the floor next to his father.

  “He has been this way for three nights,” said Harailt. “We have not slept, but stayed up to give him comfort. How can you help?” he asked Lovern.

  “I cannot help him live. I can help him die,” said Lovern gently. He turned back to face Cerdic. “I will try to ease your breathing, to ease your crossing.”

  Harailt grasped his father’s shoulders with white knuckled fingers while Sileas stiffened in my arms with an “Oh.”

  Death was not unexpected nor feared by us. Our fear was a difficult passage to death, or dying alone. While we all traveled this path, no one wished to die helpless, with great pain, or alone.

  Cerdic’s passage promised to be difficult. He would not give up his soul easily. He had been a stubborn man in life and I knew he would be a stubborn man in death.

  “We need to move him outside. It is easier to breathe in the fresh air,” said Lovern.

  I recalled my mother’s trips into the cold nights, searching for relief.

  We created a fire pit outside his home, in the protection of the corn drying area. The thigh high, three-sided walled space opened into the yard of the farm. Thatch-roofed and wind-protected, it allowed Cerdic the breezes and fresh air he craved. We built a small fire to bring warmth to him. He did not need it as much as we did; his body was hot with his struggle. Wrapped in heavy cloaks, dried grasses stuffed into our shoes and hands tucked under our arms to stay warm, we sat with him day and night.

  Word spread that Cerdic was dying and our neighbors and friends came. For the two cold, damp, grey days he was outside, all who had known him, hunted with him, and traded stories with him said goodbye.

  Beathan’s father and Cerdic had grown up together. Cerdic helped Beathan’s father become our clan chieftain. Beathan honored Cerdic by singing songs of the days when his father and Cerdic were boys. A smile crept across Cerdic’s strained face.

  Lovern went to our sacred pool with a jar and returned with some water. He asked Sileas for a dried apple which he cut into small bits. He put it in a pot, brought the water and apple to a boil, added wild garlic and the lus mor we gathered several days ago. The mixture was cooled and then held to Cerdic’s lips to drink for relief. When he was too weak to swallow, I dripped it from my fingers into his mouth, the way I had fed my lamb. We laid mistletoe on his chest, a piece of salted pork over it, and bound a cloth around him.

  Lovern’s low murmurs and chanting were constant. He appealed to the gods of the Otherworld to make this passing, Cerdic’s dying, a kind one.

  After two days, his breath came in short, torturous gasps and Lovern told us Cerdic’s death was close. Cerdic, lying on his left side, faced east, toward the sunrise and the door of the Otherworld. He could not talk. Lovern sat, touching Cerdic’s forehead. Sileas and Harailt were seated, holding his feet. I laid down behind him so my body was next to his and hugged him to me with my hand over his heart. I felt the struggle in his rapidly beating heart and shallow rising chest. I whispered in his ear over and over, timed with my calm breaths,

  “Breathe in for life,

  Breathe in for death,

  Breathe in,

  Breathe.”

  Cerdic struggled less, but he still lived. His worn soul, stiff with resistance, still refused to pass. We sang and prayed to our god of all nature, Cernunnos, and our goddess of the underworld, Cerridwen.

  “Oh great horned one.

  Oh Cernunnos.

  Oh moon goddess.

  Oh Cerridwen.

  Cedric is traveling to you.

  Help him build his boat;

  He will cross the water.

  Allow him into your lodge.

  Seat him next to your fire.

  Share food and mead with him.

  Promise him successful hunts.

  Show him the treasures of your abode.

  Help him make this crossing to the next world,

  To his next life.”

  “Cerdic. What stops you from crossing?” I whispered. He was growing restless again. My own breathing grew labored, matching his. I forced my mind to follow Lovern’s labyrinth. It was one of the things Lovern taught me. I wanted a way to ease Cerdic’s crossing of the river of death. I had never seen it done but in my heart and my mind, ideas came to me. I knew I could help. Just follow the labyrinth’s path.

  I whispered, “Cerdic. Who do you want to see on the other side?” All the animals in the farmyard quieted as if to hear his answer. Even the birds in the trees were silent.

  I prayed to Corra, the goddess of the underworld crossings, and a vision came to my eyes. At the end of the labyrinth’s path, Cerdic stood at the edge of the rushing, black river, looking to the other shore. He saw darkness. He was afraid. No one was there to meet him. In my vision, I brought his wife into my mind, Machara, as I remembered her when I was young. She stood on the opposite shore of the river. Whispering to him, I gave the vision
to Cerdic.

  “Open your mind Cerdic. Breathe and open your mind. Let me in to show you.” I felt a small release in the tension of his shoulders. “There, Cerdic, she is there. Machara is waiting for you. She will help you across the river. It is safe for you to go now. Go with Corra and Machara in peace. You will be well there and breathe with ease. You will be young and in love again. You will own many sheep and have many cups of mead to drink. We who remain here will sing your song and remember you in our stories. You are free to go, Cerdic. You are free to follow Machara.”

  His struggle softened, then his racing heart stopped beating under my hand, and welcome tears of relief fell from my eyes. A few moments after Cerdic stopped his struggle for breath, Lovern came to me and helped me up. I was drained. It was as if I had carried Cerdic across the river myself. Lovern carried me to a cot to rest while Harailt and Sileas took care of Cerdic’s body.

  “You have done well, my love,” said Lovern. “You have found your gift.”

  Lovern, Sileas and Harailt later told me Cerdic smiled just as his soul passed.

  The hogs began to root again. The sky grew dark with another rainstorm.

  Cerdic, buried with the others of our clan, lay in a meadow below the sacred pool.

  Soon after Cerdic’s death, Harailt and Sileas had gone to Beathan during a clan council, and asked that they be released from raising sheep.

  “I will give my sheep to Crannog, my neighbor, in exchange for food for three years,” Harailt said. “He has a good pasture and they will do well. The clan will still get their wool. I have told him he can use my land to grow food for us and corn for his hogs. We will have no time to work it now.”

  “WHAT?” I was sure Beathan’s bellow was heard across the lake.

  Sileas stood proudly next to her husband Harailt, and in a quiet tone said, “I had a dream, my chieftain. I dreamt that Cerdic came back. He stood next to our firepit and looked around the home where he raised his children. I was in bed but sat up as I saw him standing there. He looked at me and there was a spark in his eyes. He spoke with me.”

  “‘This is to be the place all in need will be carried. For those who require healing and for those who are dying. Our gods and goddesses will be close here, ready to offer their spirit. The druid will be here. Jahna will be here. You and my son Harailt will be here. All will be doing the work of the gods and goddesses. There will be no more sheep raised here, only praises to the otherworld. Lovern will heal and Jahna will aid the eventual passing of all. Bel and Morrigna send this message. It is through this work that our clan will be allowed to carry its bloodline into the future. Heed this message or all will be lost.’”

  “We must do what he told us or Morrigna and Bel will be angry. The morning after this dream, a flock of crows, at least one hundred strong, came into our yard. Many saw them circle our abode and land in our trees.” There was a murmur of agreement from the people at the council table.

  “They sat quietly,” she continued, “for a short time, while Harailt and I looked out our door at them. We fully expected them to eat the corn we stored for our hogs but instead they sat and stared at us as we watched them. I finally understood they were waiting for our answer and I yelled out our doorway for them to take the message to Morrigna that we would do as she commanded. As they all lifted off at once, a wind was raised that carried the smell of new cut grass. I knew we had done what was asked.”

  Beathan looked at Sileas and Harailt as if the crows had just landed on their heads. His face grew red and his hand clenched the short sword lying in front of him until his knuckles turned white. Beathan turned to Lovern and I as we stood listening. Harailt had bidden us to be with them while he and Sileas made this request. It must have been because they thought I would bring favor to them, being Beathan’s niece. I wondered if this was a safe place to be at this moment, Uncle or not.

  The dream was not an easy task, and one filled with hardships. I understood the call of a dream, however, and knew this one we had to follow.

  “How are we to allow a farm that is one of the largest of the clan to go fallow and not produce? How do we just turn it over to the gods? Druid, is this your doing? What am I supposed to do?”

  Lovern laid his hand on Beathan’s shoulder. “It is a calling we must follow. The future of our clan depends on it. So say the gods. The fields will not lay fallow, Crannog will plow and harvest them and raise the sheep. There will be no change in the wool or food supply, we lose one farmer but gain a home for the sick and dying. If we are together we can be better at easing their struggle. I ask you, no beg you, try this plan for one year. If it is a hardship and you do not see that it works, we will go back to our old ways.”

  “Druid. You can talk milk out of a bull,” said Beathan after running his hands over his face and beard for several minutes. “I will give you one year.”

  And so Lovern and I lived and slept with my mother but worked with Harailt and Sileas in the abode that became a hospice.

  73 AD April

  The winter darkness had passed, the fields were sowed, and the harvest was expected to be good this year. Many farm animals were with young and of the clan only Cerdic died. We had no threats from neighboring clans. The dark season, Geamhradh, was gone but had been kind.

  To celebrate the spring, the coming of new life, Lovern and I asked Beathan to hand-fast us.

  At the feast for the hand-fasting, I wore my green dress, Lovern’s favorite.

  “Jahna. You create a fire in my soul,” he whispered during one of the few moments we shared alone. “Our lives will be joined by the gods and we will travel our path together. As I stand here tonight, I promise my life in trade for yours, at any time the gods ask it of me.”

  I could ask for nothing more, yet I felt a need to not let go of him. I knew our journey would not last long. I craved a vision of our grandchildren, of Lovern teaching them about the plants and gods of our land.

  I could not say what the future held for us but only go through each day working with him and the gods and goddesses. We were strong in each other. For now, I kissed him with a love-filled heart.

  As he turned to take greetings from others, I noticed he had recovered from his travel here. He had gained muscle and carried a look of calmness in the corners of his eyes. My mother cut and stitched his new clothing. She also gave him a light cape of our plaid. She welcomed him to the clan with this gift. She told him he should burn his old clothes for luck, but he folded and stored them.

  “There are too many memories woven in them,” he said.

  Lovern had given me a gift before the ceremony, a sacred drilled hazelnut strung on a leather cord to wear around my neck. With it came his acceptance of my knowledge of the Otherworld. I saw myself reflected in his deep blue eyes, as a woman and mate. I sighed with content. I was not a girl trying to find her way. Through the help of Lovern and the gods, I found my new life. I was now an immrama, a soul friend.

  At the feast, we danced and drank Beathan’s mead. My mother baked my favorite, salmon in eggs and herbs. All who came brought food to share, a cup of milk from a white goat, or a hog to be slaughtered and roasted. Kenric played music on his pipe. Hundreds of feet danced with us, even Mother’s. Lovern spun me off the floor and I laughed.

  “I bind the three threads of unity around your wrists. With this hand-fasting I ask that Morrigna, Bel and Lug bless you. Now go into the community and all will know you marry in one year,” Beathan said as he tied the three strands of yarn around first my wrist and then Lovern’s as we faced each other. “Druid, it is good that the plan you had for Jahna worked. She remains my niece, my sister’s daughter and I will still hunt you if she comes to harm in your care,” he said. His eyes were fierce.

  “Her soul has been promised to the gods but I will protect her while she is on this earth,” said Lovern.

  I stood in the center of the circled clan. To be here as Lovern’s colleague and hand-fasted with him as his life partner was an honor. The clan
accepted me as a healer, and at the same time Beathan acknowledged Lovern as a clan member. We moved into our future.

  Beathan invited both Lovern and me to his evening meals where we shared stories, music, and food. I did not serve any more, and I did not allow my mother to serve me. She sat beside me with honor. Grumbling, Beathan made do with one slave to serve his meals.

  Lovern taught me much about healing. We gathered the plants and herbs that had been available in the cold darkness of winter, but we were ready for the plants that had been hiding to burst through from ground and reach for our hands to harvest. My mother’s home, now our home too, became our storage and drying shelter.

  We decided to make our abode larger to accommodate and store the herbs, plants, and other supplies we used and gathered more of each day. We traded with Straun, our neighbor. He built our room and we promised to care for his family’s health, with no more recompense, for one year. It was a good trade.

  “Straun. Our doorway must have this lintel and I wish it to be installed before we re-enter the house,” said Lovern.

  “Of course,” said Straun.

  Lovern crafted the lintel from yew and hazel and carved it with druid letters. He read it to me. “May our love invite health, good spirits and peaceful dreams.” Peaceful dreams. A shiver slid down my back. The heavy feeling in my heart would not be eased. I knew not what the gods asked of us in the future but knew we walked to the end of our own labyrinth.

  “Here will be the shelves to store the dried plants. We can keep a box of the stones we need for healing, here. And over there we can hang the mistletoe,” said Lovern as he walked through the space that Straun would be enclosing with our new wall.

  Straun had opened up the back of our home, breaking the stone wall out and stacked it nearby, ready for reuse. The outline of the room pushed out to touch the wall of the fort behind us. Straun dug three more support holes. The walls and the new thatched roof would be done in a few days, if the weather held. Mother, Lovern and I were sleeping at Beathan’s and would be glad for an enclosed, weather-tight, quiet abode again.