Children of a Different Earth

Children of a Different Earth(Yvonne Roche-Harth) Children of a Different Earth

Iobhan



Prologue
There are voices in the river and I can hear them. Some are softly spoken almost whispering, others are loud and brash becoming incoherent as they tipple, tumble and disperse. I have learned to interpret their conversations. Cooradarrigan knows this and so they have me followed. I must be vigilant, alert. And yes, I will play their game of pretence, deliberately avoiding the familiar alley ways and paths. I can wait. Wait for Cooradarrigan to return to its stringent routine and its pious superficiality. However, I can taste their hate. Feel their eyes narrowing behind my back. She has the gift, they seem to say. Just like her mother did! The harlot!
We have always been strangers, outsiders in Cooradarrigan. No one visits and no one invites us over. Dressed in our elegant tunics, jewelled limbs, bare of head and feet, we are alien to them. Trapped in their bigoted minds and incestuous traditions it is more prudent for them to ignore us. ‘What is it they fear?’ As for mother, she never once minded. “I Morrigan am happy anywhere!” She would say. “Who cares about THEM!” It was she who instructed me, taught me the language of the river. Together we would lie in the ancient grass to listen to the gurgling rush of its words. “Water talking!” She would say. “It holds all the secrets of the universe just like the stones and rocks around us. Listen! Listen to the water. Translate its lingo.” After that, she would fall silent.
My home reigns high above the unholy town. Here amongst the cathedral trees the mighty branches hold me sway, keep me safe, bending and parting to allow me passage, snapping back as soon as I am within their realm. From here I may observe how the river runs. Perceiving its current uneasiness, I leave the safety of the mound to follow the winding ways to the water. I sense the river is embracing a convergence, mirrored in the oscillations coming and going on its surface, an unravelling, as if something invisible has decided to taunt it. Sheltering beneath the Hawthorn tree I listen intently.
“Hark!” Someone calls. “Hark daughter of Morrigan!
“Who calls me?” A name assaults my senses.
“Mabon. I am Mabon, the dark voice of the river.”
I move closer.
“What is it you wish to convey, Mabon?”
Her response is lost in a soft wave skipping over the surface of the river. I wait. An eel like creature wriggles under the glassy flow at my feet. It spirals, bursting through the royal blue surface. I step backwards, almost stumbling. Before me, the eel like creature shifts it shape to become a beautiful woman hovering above the water. Great opulent wings unfold to steady her.
“They must be slain.”
“Who, Mabon? I am quite alone.”
Mabon slides closer wrapping me in her mighty clasp. Her pale translucent face is in my face, her eyes are pools of swirling water. I stand glued to the spot unable to respond.
“The human kind cannot defile the syntax of the ancient river.”
With that, she releases me to transmute once again into an eel like creature and sink back into the river in a splinter of colours.
Spring is now come and the river is still cloaked in a fine shroud of ice. The path from the mound is slippery where the oak and ash stand bare. I venture alone in tune with the melody of the river. The walk along the path is treacherous and all the fauna and flora are deeply asleep. I stand to absorb the frozen quiet and follow the patches of light blue ice thinning in some places. Then I see them. The faces. The faces of pure innocence forming in the water.
“Hark!” They beckon. “We are the unwanted changelings. Cooradriggan’s deadly secret.”
For no particular reason, I turn on my heels and run.
This May first Eve I sense a ripple of change so walk the familiar path aligned with the shadows. My ears are alert, ready to pick up any sound. Every now and then, I stop. There is an eerie quiet. From afar the steady lull of guttural water breaks into sporadic waves of syllables, uttering sounds. I sense that the water is burning with something. ‘Could it be angry?’ Treading softly on the moist grass, I attune to a unique pitch, a keening swelling in the bowels of the sacred mud. Suddenly, the water folds, holds back.
“Come in,” It commands. “Please, Come in Fea, Morrigan’s daughter!”
Mesmerized, I step off the bank, to follow the enticing voice, sliding into the shallow waters to wade towards the middle of the river. Suddenly caught in a glaring light, I shield my eyes.
I am now surrounded on all sides by burning torches. The village folk of Cooradarrigan are waiting, on hold to drown my secrets.
“Abide!” compels Mabon.
I watch transfixed as her ghost like image breaks the surface of the water.
“Come closer, Fea.”
I obey, step forward, melting easily into her spawning effigy. My body begins to vibrate. A mighty force invades my being to spiral from beneath my feet through my spine, up to the crown of of my head. My arms are raised upwards to command the elements and lift the turbulent water. It forms a row of white prancing stallions. My arm slices through the air like an invisible sword to flag the charging army, now galloping forwards to quench the rows of torches in a deluge of rage, washing into bodies, to flood the village of Cooradarrigan. There are screams of fear and destruction as the water falls in a wall of unrelenting revenge. Then there is silence.
Now, alone I walk through the sludge, past what is left of the half timbered houses, the quaint old market place and the bake house. The crops are bold black and a stench of decay hangs in the air. I am followed by a little dog eager to be my friend. I take the familiar path to the river to talk to the water but it remains silent. I listen. I call out. “Mabon?” But, there are no more voices. All words have been washed away. And so I choose to stay, to remain in Cooradarrigan, and become the ghost of the girl I used to be.

1. Huath
The cathedral trees bend and part to allow me to pass, snapping back into place as soon as I am within their circle. It is here I attempt to learn, to perceive the different geometry in the tapestry of all leaves. Lured by their diversity I seek a special tree.
“Are you the one?” I ask, moving from tree to tree. “Are you the shape-shifting tree? Well, are you?!”
At some point in spring the river bursts its bank to drench the fields as if atoning for its actions in a baptism of reconciliation. The days are now getting longer and warmer. Apart from some early bees who have come to suckle on the wild sage, Dog and I are still alone. ‘Where are you Morrigan? What is keeping you?’
Adept now at catching fish with my bare hands I enjoy the challenge of wading knee-deep at the bend in the river to surprise and trap them. Dog is indeed my very best companion, one with no name as yet. Not that I have not tried but she remains heedless, cocking her little ears in disapproval.
At the height of summer, we venture towards the deserted town. My go-cart built from planks of wood on four wheels wobbles all the way down the winding ways. Stepping gingerly on the squishy mud, I bang head long into an invisible wall. On the other side, I observe swirls of greenish cloud, pale puffy faces being dashed against the force field.
We are caught in this world. Set us free! Fea! Set us free.
Dog growls. Grabbing my go-cart, I head back up the hill and to the safety of the holy mound.
2. Coll
The autumn wind refutes to kick up the dusts. Dog barks, running wild about the bushes. High in the sky I make out four shadow-shapes of purple, screaming in a frenzied circle.
“Dog! To the mound! Make haste!”
It is here, I intrude upon a curious magic. The four creatures, wings out spanned, swerve easily to land on the branches of a mighty tree, to shift shape, one by one, to become human. Dazed at first I do not instantly recognize her, my mother, Morrigan, standing before me, regal and beautiful.
“I thought you’d forgot me, Morrigan!”
“Never, little one!” We embrace, laughing and crying at the same time.
“So, come and meet my friends,” Morrigan continues, walking towards the three strangers. “This is Lugh and his two siblings Connla and Deichtine.”
I nod to acknowledge the little group seemingly stunned at finding themselves in strange woodlands.
Morrigan smiles reassuringly. “Come! Let us find a place to settle down.”
Quitting the realm of the trees, we walk down the hill towards the river.
“It is now silent.” I reveal as we come closer.
Morrigan stoops to greet the rushing water reciting something I do not understand. For a moment I hear a rumble emerging from the heart of its bed as if it were recalling something poignant and sad, this is followed by the quiet gurgling of flowing water.
“The river has spoken!” she declares. “Come, we have things to do!”
Following obediently to a clearing at the bottom of the mound, Morrigan suddenly signals for us to stop. Moving her hands outwards and inwards several times, she eventually turns about to smile at us.
“This will do.” she announces. “Now, form a circle, and hold hands, if you please.”
Again, we follow her instructions.
“Visualize a shape, one created out of the nothingness of energy. Tell me when you are ready.”
Since nobody is forthcoming, I presume a response.
“A cocoon, then.” I offer in a voice subdued by scepticism.
“A cocoon it shall be. I now ask you all to visualize such a form, its size and, not to forget, its comfort.”
Concentrating on the picture of the hut in my minds eye, I squeeze my eyes tightly. Nothing happens. I reopen my eyes. Within a stones throw, the air thickens into a fog of energy slowly honing itself into a cocoon. Overwhelmed, I break the circle. Morrigan comes to stand by me.
“Visualization is a most powerful tool!”
With that, she walks through the power field in complete control, as do Deichtine, Lugh and Connla, leaving me outside. Time and time again, I try to whoosh through the field but to no avail. In the end, they create a vortex just for me, a door I can use until I find a way to make my visualization stronger. On days when no one is looking, I strive to whoosh through this field managing to bang my head against its force. To worsen matters, I observe that Dog can penetrate this field effortlessly.
“Never mind,” Morrigan declares in an amused voice. “You are not yet come of age. There is still time.”
Lugh is the one who oversees the chopping and storing of the wood for the coming winter and I am sent to search for warming shrubs and hedging to replant near the dome-like cocoon. Reluctantly, I admit to knowing no such plants.
Morrigan smiles patiently. “Each warming plant, each warming tree has its own Wight. But, remember to ask first before you pull it from its bed.”
“A Wight!”
“It is akin to a blob of colour.”
And so I head off. Never having seen a Wight, I know in my heart and soul that it will take forever. Nearing a ditch and some trees, I search in desperation for blobs of colour. Resigned to the fact that I somehow do not share my mother’s abundance of talents, I sit on a nearby rock feeling sorry for myself.
“Only our kin has the ability to perceive the essence of the flora.”
The voice nearing me is that of Connla, who loves an opportunity to scold, never missing a chance, she follows behind to reprimand me whenever I fail.
“Without my help, you will be here forever and a day. I wonder at your profound ignorance.”
I wait patiently for her to explain. She takes her time.
“These are; spruce, bee balm, blanket flower and marijuana, and over there you will behold the Artemisia.”
She places them in my weaver basket, smiles a bitter smile, before skipping off to return home.
Ordained with a variety of mundane chores, my day becomes less demanding as I pursue my tasks in the knowledge that I have little understanding of my new world. ‘Why do I not know things that are obvious to the others?’And so each day I keep, for the most, to myself joining my new family come evenings to lounge around a bonfire, and watch it throw giddy sparks into the starry night. As always, we sit around just talking, sometimes even singing. Connla makes some lanterns which she places outside the cocoon hut. I wonder that they are siblings as there is no great resemblance between them. Lugh’s skin is dark lending him an air of the traveller and he wears his long raven hair tied back. But it is his eyes that capture my girlish fantasy. They are deep blue, almost black and reflect a soul wise and kind. He is strong and lithe of body and full of fun unlike his kin, Connla and Deichtine. Both girls have nothing to say for themselves, seemingly still locked away in their own tragic stories. I too have little to say to them. It is Morrigan who insists we make an effort.
“You will be instructed, little one.” she declares pushing me towards Connla. “It is Connla who will teach you.”
However, Connla shows little interest in this task, and even less in me. I find her cool and aloft manner strange and off putting. One might say she has a face of beauty, with dainty even features, but it is a hollow beauty, a haughty countenance, a cold and calculating demure, well veiled behind shrewd hazel eyes. Sometimes, I catch her staring at me. From time to time she comes up close behind me to hiss;
“You are not one of us!”
Knowing that my coming of age is nigh, I decide to put up with the taunts, and although, I strive to make friends with her, the cutting remarks do not cease.
“The river will deny you. You are not deserving of its knowledge.”
It is Deichtine who comes to my rescue. Her stern and sometimes surly face is redeemed by her proud and gracious gait. Deichtine does not walk, she dances in tune with her own music. She wears her rich auburn hair tied back in a tight plait lending her a gaunt appearance but her button blue eyes shine like little lamps through a being still paled by tragedy. I learn to trust her. It is she who takes me to the sacred wood to recite and recall the names of the trees.
“Each tree.” she explains, “is a symbol. One day, I will teach you to read the trees.“
I watch as Deichtine stretches her arms and sucks in the crystal air.
“I am inhaling their chemistry,” she reveals, “and they are exhaling mine. It is a wondrous and holy act!”
3. Triskele
On the morning of my twelfth birthday, I am escorted to the river where both Connla and Deichtine undress me. Standing back to supervise the ritual, they sing in monotonous chanting, strewing petals and blossoms over my head. Mother walks with me to the middle of the river where random ripples rise and wane to caress my naked breasts. It is here I am anointed and renamed.
“I now bestow on you the name Guinevere,” proclaims Morrigan, dipping my head in the water, thrice. “Now! Observe the bed of the river, little one, it has a message for you,” she declares importantly.
At first, I notice nothing unusual and wonder what it is I am to look for. I resurface.
“What is it you wish me to observe, Mother?”
I notice my statement causes her face to turn pale.
“Look properly,” she commands, “it is near impossible not to notice the markings.” Her grey almost turquoise eyes slant in anger as she pushes my face impatiently under water. Once again, I study the sandy river’s bed, and notice not a thing except for some pebbles and jutting fish.
“I see nothing!” I shout, resurfacing for air.” Nothing!”
“Have I not told you to look properly?” Morrigan commands with a hint of desperation in her voice.
Once again I search the bed of the river. Desperate to find something, I take my time. Eventually, severely out of breath, I resurface, this time gasping for air.
“She is not the one!” Connla screams from the river bank. “she is not the one!” she repeats in a hoarse and shrill voice.
Morrigan swings around to hold my face in her hands.
“You are to look for a set of symbols. Understood? Do it now!” With that she releases me.
Taking a long, deep breath, I dive once again, this time swimming more towards the river’s centre.
“Mabon? It is I, Fea. Are you there?”
Above my head, a ring forms, an oscillation of pale yellow. Standing in its middle, I take a new breath before diving beneath the surface to scrutinize every stone, pieces of flowing hair-like plants, and the sand now shifting of its own accord. Almost out of breath, I perceive a ghostly hand sketching a row of images within an arena of slippery stones. Again, I come up for air, and relate what I have seen.
“Good! Go back. Learn the symbols by heart! And do not ever forget them!”
With that, Morrigan returns to the bank of the river to join Deichtine and Connla. I watch as the little group heads for home. At the turn in the path, Connla turns around to give me her very best scowl.
Sucking in the mild spring air, I dive once again. On the rivers bed the symbols form, one at a time. The first one resembles a key locked within a circle. The second symbol is one of a bird, wings outstretched but locked in a square. And the third symbol is a sketch of what resembles a scales. It contours are lined with silver stripes. It is contained within a triangle. Although I do not understand the meaning of their architecture, I fathom the sense of power they hold. I trace each one in my minds eye. This I do easily, closing my eyes tightly in concentration. ‘I’m ready, Mabon. Thank you!’ The symbols dissolve one at a time, leaving no trace. About to resurface, I perceive something thrashing in the water. It is a boy. His red-blond hair is spread wild and bellowing around his fear ridden face, his eyes are wide and staring as he stretches his arms towards me. Behind his thin and shaking body, I observe a shadow, gills outstretched pushing him down. I lunge forward in an effort to save him but am blocked by an invisible force. Instinctively, I call up the symbol of the key.
“Unlock the worlds!” I command. “Now!”
The water listens and obeys, parting to allow me passage and grab hold of the boy.
“Go back!” I insist hitting out at the shadow spirited in the water.
As if struck by an invisible hand, it releases its hold and with a thundering jolt of its wriggling mass, it rises up from the water and retreats. I breathe into the young boy’s mouth and wait for his lungs to refill.
“Resurface!” I signal easing him upwards.
Slowly, I push the boy towards the bank of the river, releasing him back to his own earth before heading back to cross the boundary that separates our worlds.
4. Cooradarrigan
Drenched to the skin, and shaking involuntarily, I race back to the house, heading for the back entrance, overtaking RoboMina who is busy whizzing about, sweeping the kitchen floor.
“Guten Abend, kleiner Herr. Guten Abend!”
Ignoring the robot’s greeting, I bolt up the stairs. Rounding the corner I bump into an agitated housekeeper and tumble headlong into her laundry basket.
“What the . . . no matter!” Mrs Lovett yells helping me up. “Get changed. You’ve visitors! Fine folk! Go on! Off with you.” she adds drumming her fingers on the balustrade.
I change in record time, and run a comb through my hair. ‘What visitors? Someone from home?’ Checking myself in the mirror, I swing around as a sudden draught throws the window wide open. ‘Weird!’ The sunlight shifts to throw odd shadows on the wall. Shutting it tightly, I observe a raven perched on the branch of the beech tree beneath my window. Pulling the curtains back into place, I leave the room to follow Mrs Lovett down the stairs.
“And this is Bastian!” I hear her say, closing the door behind me.
I flinch. Someone had switched on the elaborate chandeliers above the dining table throwing the room into a blaze of light. Adjusting my eyes to the sudden brightness I find myself staring into the face of a woman, dressed in black, which only served to emphasise the paleness of her skin. She is smiling. Shrewd hazel eyes look me up and down, intensely.
“Come! Take a seat!” she demands, pulling back a chair. “Setz Dich doch! And this is Vincent,” the lady adds nodding towards a young suave gentleman.
I acknowledge him, nodding briefly. His stare is intense, his button blue eyes hold a childish type of curiosity. Eventually he smiles at me, it is an odd smile, I look away to stare down at the table cloth. To my relief, a familiar face enters the room. It is Fräulein Still, the general dogsbody. Posing at each person’s shoulder with a platter of trout and crispy potatoes, she frowns down at me, waiting. I call her Fräulein Still as she has a habit of showing up outside a door as soon as I open one, or lurks behind lace curtains to follow my every move. At eleven, every morning she brings me eggnog watching patiently until I empty my glass. “That’ll fatten you up!” This was her all time favourite sentence. Looking into her ruddy country face, I catch her squinting at me. Taking the hint I scoop up more than I usually do and chew each bit slowly. The atmosphere in the room is tense, even Granny looks put out. As for the lady at my side, she seems edgy and nervous, her hand trembles as she stirs her tea first clockwise, then back again. She smells nice. ‘Is it lavender?’ I drop some egg yoke on my white top and pretend not to notice. ‘Should I say something?’ Finally, the suffocating silence gets to me. I push back my chair, it falls.
“Easy does it, son!” Vincent says putting the chair back on its four legs.
Out of the corner of her eye, Granny winks at me.
“May I be excused, Granny?”
“You may, Bastian.”
“No! Wait!” the woman insists. Please, just for a moment.”
I sit back down.
“You have something for me, I believe.”
Having only an inkling of what she might be referring to, I remain stubbornly silent.
“The chain. I would like to have it back. That’s all.”
“What chain?” I hear myself say instantly recalling my Grandfather’s words just before I

boarded the train to Bonn. “Make sure she gets it, Bastian!” he had urged placing it around

my neck. It’s hers! It’s your mothers.’
“I know nothing about a chain, Madam. Sorry.”
“Have you lost it boy?” the man Vincent says obviously annoyed at my answer. “if you have, just tells us. Nothing will happen to you.”
“No Sir! If I don’t have it, how can I lose it!” I reply heading for the door. “Eh, . . .I promised to help out in the sheds. Nice to have met you,” I add closing the door behind me.
For the rest of the afternoon, I make myself scarce. ‘What terrible people!’ Since I had no memory of my parents it was useless to speculate about the two strangers. ‘Why didn’t they just get on with it?’ Eventually, having dawdled about long enough, I head back to the house and Mrs Lovett storming towards me.
“If you think I have time to go traipsing after you all day boy, then think again! Come along, you’re to say goodbye to your visitors,” she insists pushing me towards the hallway. “Honestly!”
Once again I come face to face with the two strangers. To my surprise, the woman squats before me and smiles.
“Next time, we’ll have a proper talk,” she promises running her cold hand fondly along my cheek.
With that I watch them board the waiting taxi-drone-pod now igniting to take off. Lifting upwards, the pod circles the grounds before heading off in a straight line towards the city, its tail lights disappearing into the night sky. I return indoors and go straight to my room. Sitting on the bed, I pull the chain over my head and sit back to examine it more closely. ‘Is it valuable? Why else would they want it?’ The charms are finely crafted: a square, a circle, a triangle and a coin. Except for the coin, the shapes are filled with tiny images, a bird, a key and a set of scales. ‘A family keepsake?’ Holding it in the palm of my hand, I feel it vibrate gently. ‘Just your imagination, scardie cat!’ I mutter to myself stuffing it in my trouser pocket. About to close the curtains, I am drawn to something happening on the mound. Recalling Mrs Lovett’s account of the place on the first day of my arrival, I am curious to find out.
“See, up there? she had said pointing to the hill. Can you see them? The stones? Quite a sight aren’t they? The folk around here say that the mound is a peculiar place. And that the stones store a forceful energy. Silly nonsense, if you ask me!”
Silly or not, something was happening there. ‘A May ritual?’ I had read something on the old Celtic traditions. ‘Is the whole village there?’ Why wasn’t I invited?’ Grabbing my pocket-laser, I sneak down the stairs to leave by the back door. The hill looming before me seems on fire, eerie. Severely out of breath, I stop to find my bearings, careful to stay out of sight. The dancing, circling crowd are dressed in white robes, masks and carrying blazing torches. Moving to and fro, they chant a mantra. Suddenly, I am in the air, being carried by a strong pair of arms and placed gently in the middle of the circle.
“Hail Mabron.” they shout, closing in, moving back.
Looking frantically for a way to escape, the crowd suddenly breaks up. Dazed by the moment, I linger to watch them head back down the hill where they seem to disappear and dissolve into the river. Feeling the night chill enveloping the mound, I pull up my collar and stick my cold hands in my pockets touching the chain I had put there earlier on. It feels like it has come alive, vibrating like some thing maddened. Instinctively, I drop it. Squatting on the grass, I take my pocket-laser and fumble my way until I find it. Rubbing it free of dirt, I stuff it back in my pocket. A strange crunching noise disturbs the moment. Startled, I remain glued to the spot and switch off the pocket-laser. One by one, the standing stones are changing into tall magnificent trees. I rise. ‘What’s going on?’ Attracted by a pencil of light, I turn to see a group of people huddled around a blazing fire. With a start, I recognize the girl from the river. ‘Are they nomads?’ I wave. She turns to look my way. Walking towards her, I bang into something invisible. A wall of nothing. The chain in my pocket is vibrating madly once again. Confused and frightened, I stumble and fall desperate to find my way out. Straight ahead, the trees bend and part forming an arch. I run under. More than relieved to find myself in a familiar spot, I hear the trees snap into place behind my back. Bolting down the hill at break neck speed, I arrive in the kitchen and race along the narrow corridor, up the stairs almost knocking Granny off balance.
“Why you’re flushed, child!” she remarks.
“I’ve been running.”
“At this time of the evening? On your own!”
“No worries, Gran. I can take care of myself.”
“Honestly child! Not everyone can not be trusted. These are trying times.”
“But everyone is kind to me,” I say to reassure her, knowing full well I am a reminder of the fragile world beyond the village. Not that it bothers me, really. ‘So, what are they afraid of?’ In any case, here in this secluded part of the world they have no idea of the barren land I escaped from just like millions of other starving children.
“Be that as it may, mein Schatz, scarcity can bring out the worst in greedy people. They’ll want someone to blame.”
Together, we climb the remaining stairs to stop on the landing to take in the moonlit river framed by the large window.
“So, you’re quite a swimmer, I hear.”
“Yes. Yes, I am, Granny.”
“The river is treacherous in places, lots of underground currents, you know. I’ll walk there with you sometime soon. Show you my favourite haunts. That is, if you’d like me to.”
“I’d like that, Granny. I’d like that, very much.”
“Sleep tight, then. Off you go.”
*
From my bedroom window, the morning mist lifts to uncover a wealth of luscious fields being tended by several bots. Above their heads, a drone is sprinkling some fine powder-like substance that envelops the gold of the barley stalks. Eventually, tired of hanging out in my room, I go off to the sheds. From time to time I like to help out there. It smells of ripe fruit and its many wooden tables are stocked with bulbs for planting. As usual, Mino the robogardner is heading for the shed. His white, shiny and smiling face stares unblinkingly from two large orbital circles.
“Not swimming today, Master Bastian?”
“Not today, Mino.”
“I could do with a hand.”
I follow the one metre tall robot into the larger shed.
“Here lad,” he says handing me an apron. “It’s peaches, today.
Programmed to speak several languages, RoboMino puts me in touch with my home in Germany and times spent picking grapes with my best friend, Rosalie. In fact, I find myself talking to her, but it is a conversation in the quiet place my grandfather would call a soul.
Water talks. Everything has a voice. The earth, the sky and the yodelling hills.
This was a typical Rosalie sentence, and one she liked to repeat whenever we plunged into the river. No one minded us dashing about in our birthday suits or crawling from the river bank like two soaked badgers to pounce on the old folks strolling by. No one, that is, bar Pater Schmidt who found offence with our behaviour brought on by Rosalie showing her bare bottom to the dead on her way home through the graveyard. After that incidence, he renamed her a ‘A heathen Jezebel.’
“What’s a heathen Jezebel, Bastian?”
“Something biblical.” I had answered, having no idea exactly what was meant.
“Biblical? Well, that’s Ok then.”
“Her only saving grace,” he had proclaimed was her talent to recognize every bird song in the vale. Everyone knew, of course, that this was not the case. Her singing voice was exquisite, unforgettable. But fearful of being ousted, the community had remained silent. After some time, his dislike of Rosalie began to take on a fanatical edge. Angry and tired of this, Opa Wolter had kept us home on Sundays to tidy his practice for the coming week, sterilizing the instruments, marking them, folding the freshly washed towels. Both Rosalie and I preferred to do this. Her parents ran the local hardware shop, selling Dies und Das, and its door opened and closed with the tinkle of a bell. They were immigrants, speaking a different language and praying to a foreign God. Then, one particular Saturday, Herr Müller who ran the local post office, brought back pamphlets from his approved visit to the city, sticking them on the windows of the little shop selling Dies und Das. At school, we learned about Der Schatten Reich and their brilliant plans, to attain and secure resources, sweeping us up in a rush of terrible excitement. We were given an abundance of food stamps, and the promise of fresh clean water, everyone, except Rosalie and her family. At school, our teacher Herr Moser told us that Rosalie could no longer attend school after the summer break, marking the ledger with a capital ‘D’ next to her name. “Rosalie has to return to her country of origin. She will be deported along with her parents,” he had announced. “There is no longer enough food for everyone!”
“Careful! Don’t squash them peaches, mind!”
Mino’s warning voice pulls me back to my present task of packing fruit into boxes.
“Most of the simpler bots are banned from here, Master Bastian! Peaches need a soft touch. Last year, they ruined a whole batch, they did.”
I nod in sympathy.
“We had vineyards. But the mildew got on to the vines, Mino. We couldn’t use the grapes.”
“Here I measure the moisture in the earth” he says proudly patting the blinking tablet spread across his chest. “Keep an eye on things. Diversity. That’s the secret, Master Bastian.”
“You’d like my Opa, my Grandfather, Mino. You remind me of him.”
“Is he a robot?”
“No. In what you’re saying.”
“Is that so? Well I never.”
His counterpart, Mina manages the kitchen, a slim robot, whizzing about, cleaning and sweeping floors. I like being there, enjoying the cosy warmth of the range burning day and night to heat the whole house in pipes running above the skirting boards in all of the rooms. Apart from Mino and Mina, there’s Doris, a local girl who comes by every day to help out. Doris, is a chatty sort, usually full of gossip of gruelling stories about people I do not know or ever likely to meet. Today, the river is on her agenda.
“Terrible things happened there, Master Bastian,” and, if you ask me, it spooks,” she adds wincing as if remembering something uncanny. “haunted, little Sir!” she offers throwing some scraps into a bucket. “I actually saw it once. An eel like monster. Half fish, half human. That . . . thingy would stop a clock!” Doris shivers involuntarily.
“I’ll watch out, Miss Doris. Eel-like monsters. Right!”
“Who’s Rosalie, Master Bastian?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You call me Rosalie sometimes. By mistake. Is she a friend?”
“Yes, Doris. Yes, she is. My best friend.”
“So, she’s still in Germany, then?”
Recalling a dreadful moment, I struggle to answer.
“Don’t know.”
“Lost then? Not accounted for?”
The sight of the post-drone heading for the runway outside the large bay window stopped any further explanation.
‘Maybe there’s a parcel,” Doris says softly, getting up to leave the room.
*
Wrapping my togs in my towel, I head off for a swim, making my way along the winding path, this time taking the one at the other side of the river. It is less travelled and the grass there is higher. In the middle of the field a lonely Rowan tree stretches into the sky. It looks old. Gnarled. ‘If only you could talk.’ Sitting under its canopy of fresh green, I relish the sunny day, start to feel drowsy. With my eyes half shut, I see someone coming towards me. The person is unusually tall with a long jewelled limbs, a flowing red tunic dipping to its slender ankels. Its face is pale, and the elegantly shaped head is hairless. I rise quickly, eager to say hello. To my utter surprise, she walks past, almost walking through me.
5. Ngetal
“It is not my task,” Deichtine replies with a patient sigh. “Your mother is the one to show you how the symbols are to be applied. Not I. In the meantime, I will explain about that the Tree Spirits. You see, each tree has its own one.”
Although I can name the trees that circle the mound, I have little knowledge of their spirits. Reading my face, Deichtine smiles knowingly and her solemn face lights up with giddy pleasure.
“I am certain you have encountered the tree mother?”
Pondering this, I know that some trees exude a power, strength. ‘But a tree mother?’
“Use your eyes, Guinevere. Your enhanced perception. Then you will, with all certainty, see who dwells in each tree. Come! Walk with me.”
Before entering the circle of trees, Deichtine removes her sandals. I do the same. The trees bend and part to allow us to enter. In the middle of the circle, she sits on the ground inviting me to sit with her.
“Now, concentrate. Tell me, which tree you perceive. I mean who do you see in the tree?”
I stare at the mighty Oak, then at the Moon tree, then back to the oak. With a start, I perceive a wizened old dwarf dwelling in its bark. About to mention it, I am drawn to the Moon tree and actually see a slim willowy lady embedded in its bark.
“He does look fierce, does he not?” Deichtine says, watching my face.
She then goes on to teach me about each single one. I learn that the Ash is called the world tree, and that the Beech is the future tree enabling me to achieve the second sight.
“The tree near the river you perceive to have a different energy is the Rowan Tree. It attracts those who are good at heart. A meeting place of kindred tree spirits and the kingdom of the Dryads.”
“It is my favourite tree, Deichtine.”
Together, we stroll about stopping every now and then to acknowledge the tree spirits. Deichtine turns to take my hands in hers.
“One must endeavour to protect each tree. Should the tree be damaged, then you will also damage its spirit. Should the tree be felled, then you fell too its elementals. Then it is lost forever.”
*
In time, I understand more and more, likened to a quickening, a coming alive, as if a spark is being ignited in my mind. My senses, my perspective sharpens and I am more drawn to the river now, as if we share the memory of each others existence and secrets. It too changes. Arching above its extensive bed I observe a rainbow enhanced by other colours, vivid, translucent and glowing. On days when the sun is shining, the dazzling water flows like molten silver, a ribbon of continuity. The trees on either side seem different now, shadowed by a bluish aura. I relish this new awakening. It is vibrant and magnificent. Almost like being fine tuned, an instrument sharpened for performance. Still in awe of my discovery in the river, I am keen to understand the power embedded in each symbol. ‘What am I to do with them. How should I apply them?’
“The symbols serve as a fortifier,” Morrigan explains. “they will augment your visual imagination. Your intention requires honesty of thought, one found in the purity of a prayer.
*
Today, standing under the Rowan tree, I observe how the river runs, perceiving its mood, envisaging, once again, the key locked within a circle and am instantly aligned to a temporal state taking place within my space, a sprawling building, hidden in a rippling haze looms before me. From time to time, I observe the boy from the river walking on his own. On days when he takes my path, tracing my steps, leaning against my tree, I stand to stare at him. He is indeed a beautiful boy with his shining red-blond hair, his bright azure eyes, and a tall body, haloed by a clear and glowing aura. But it is with mounting concern I notice he is being followed, it goes with him as soon as he takes the path along the river. It is a raven. The bird, however, seems to have its own mind, its own intentions on keeping pace with the boy. This is a puzzle to me.
*
Summer has duly arrived and there is much to do. With make-shift wooden forks, we toss the hay and plait it into thick strands. Connla gathers berries, stewing and concocting them to a sticky delight filling the air with a promise of harnessed summertime. Although, my appetite for solid food is waning, I still cannot resist some of nature’s tasty gifts. Connla seems happy to stand for hours stirring the cauldron, turning the ladle clockwise and anti clockwise as if engrossed in a meditation. It is the first time I see her content and from time to time I even catch her smiling. Morrigan is growing herbs in a patch of land drenched in sunlight. I watch as she fondles a handful of soil allowing it to trickle between her delicate fingers back to the ground.
“See? This earth is alive,” she continues as if talking to it, “it has its own mind, its own consciousness.”
Stopping for a moment, she sits back on her heels and studies me.
“The river is our oracle. You must, at all times, adhere to its voice.”
“I have encountered the dark voice, Morrigan.”
“Be that as it may, Mabon restores the natural order, the equilibrium of our earth.”
Deichtine beckons to me to walk with her. We wander up to the mound, entering the circle of cathedral trees to lie on our backs and follow the drift of clouds above our heads watching them form into strange shapes, looking from time to time like faces. I give ear to the breeze wooing the sacred trees.
“There is a world of other things,” Deichtine whispers, “it is invisible.”
Wondering if Deichtine is aware of my encounter with the boy, I choose, for now, to keep this to myself.
“All that you now see, Guinevere, does not exist,” she laughs, and “in fact it is only in your minds eye. Everything!”
I ponder this for a moment.
“But I can see the trees! I can wade in the water!“
Deichtine smiles a Deichtine smile.
“Your trees are a pattern of the finest and tiniest of energy particles. An invisible architecture of creation.”
Attempting to fathom this, I stare down at my skinny legs. Deichtine guffaws gulping for air.
“Everything is nothing and nothing is everything! Remember that!”
This is not the first time Deichtine surprises me. With all of her young years she holds such an immense knowledge. It leaves me puzzled and questioning.
“You are so enlightened,” I tell her admiringly “you must have been taught by a very powerful master. I envy you!”
Deichtin stares at me, her button blue eyes filling with fear. For an intense moment I watch as she recalls some terrible thing. Moving towards her, I embrace her fear and we both begin to cry. It is then I know we are destined to be become the very best of friends.
Apart from my conversations with Deichtine, there is not much for me to do. Dog drives me onwards to run and skip along the path near the river, however, she is not partial to water and barks angrily when splashed. She is content to wait for me as I disappear below the surface to crawl on the river’s bed. ‘Observation!’ Morrigan says over and over again. ‘This is how we all learn.’ Clearly there is not a lot to observe, no shapes, no drowning boy, no faces archived in the chronicle of the river, just slippery stones and hurrying fish. All back to normal. ‘And my symbols?’ I resurface. Looking about I study the trees along the river’s bank and spontaneously walk to the Rowan tree remembering Deichtine’s description. ‘It attracts those who are good at heart. A meeting place of kindred tree spirits.’ I stand, and bring my hands together, then move them apart in rhythmic pentameter aware that the energy is becoming more forceful, dense. I then call up the world I wish to visit, the house among the trees. Mentally enhancing it with the symbol of a key, I wait for something to happen. The air disperses to form a thin line of wavering energy allowing me to whoosh through it. The river too flows with me, however, its colour is muted as is its voice. In the far off distance, I take in the sprawling old house. It is quite a long walk away. ‘Another time, perhaps.’ Just before re-entering my own earth, I notice the boy walking towards me. Standing almost in front of me, he reaches out. Startled, I disappear behind the thin veil, relieved to be in my own space, my own earth, once again.
6. The House of Cooradarrigan
I find Granny sitting in her favourite armchair enjoying the cosy warmth of the evening fire.
“Ah, there you are,” she says on seeing me hesitate at the door. Patting the seat of a near by chair, she invites me to join her.
“Are you settling in ok?”
“Yes, thanks Granny.”
“You’ll get used to us, eventually. Well, at least, you’ve fattened up a bit. Meine gute! I sound like the wicked witch in Hänsel und Gretel!”
Grabbing a photo album, she browses slowly through the book. “ I only have a few photos, mind.” she announces apologetically, “but at least it’ll give you an idea of who’s who.”
Turning a page, I am shown a young couple, both exquisitely dressed and groomed for their wedding.
“Wow! Opa Wolter looks really smart. You both do.”
“I kept the dress, you know. It was specially made for me.
Indeed it stood out. But Granny would have been beautiful in any old rag!
“There! See that collar? Lace from Brussels. Cost a small fortune.”
For a while she loses herself in the memory of the moment, as if recalling the day to mind.
“Am I related to anyone else?”
As there is no immediate answer, I turn to look at the sad face now staring intensely back at me.
“As, you know we had . . . have a daughter, Bastian, your mother.”
She turns to the last page of the album.
“This is Elisabeth. I’m afraid the photo is stained a bit. She was twelve at the time.”
I find myself staring at a girl who is boyishly dressed, hands in her overall pockets and smiling straight at me. Immediately, I recognize her as the lady who came with the man Vincent.
“Were the visitors my parents, then?
She waits a few moments before answering. “Elisabeth is your mother. Vincent is my son, her brother.
“And the man in the uniform?” I ask, pointing to the stern looking gentleman.
“He’s . . . “, she stalls as if searching for the right thing to say.
She leafs through the book once again as if fighting with herself, only to return once again to
the photo.
“The man in the photo is Alexander, your father.”
She closes the album, seemingly lost for words.
“But, he died, didn’t he Gran? Of an illness?”
She straightens, removes her glasses.
“That is not entirely true. In fact, it is a big fat lie. Alexander is very much alive. There was . . . is a reason for all the secrecy. You see, Bastian, your father is a bad person,” she continues in a slow and weary voice. “In fact, he is evil to the core!”
7. My Twelfth Birthday
“Happy birthday, mein Schatz,” Granny proclaims handing me a gift wrapped up neatly in coloured paper. I tear it open. It is a book. I wonder why she has given me an old one, one that has been read several times as far as I can see.
“Elisabeth would want you to have it,” she comments on noticing the disappointment. “It will help you to understand a few things. And maybe, if circumstance allows . . . But . . . off you go! There’s a surprise for you in the kitchen.”
Glad to get away, I find Mrs Lovett and Doris waiting for me with a delicious fudge cake. Fräulein Still shows up for a cup of tea. RoboMino presents me with a basket of ripe strawberries.
“Watch out for mid summers, Master Bastian,” warns Doris, determined to put herself in the limelight. Mrs Lovett reprimands her instantly, shaking her head from side to side.
“People go missing then! Drown.” says Doris. “On mid summers night. In the river. And, if you ask me, it’s never an accident.
I smile as Doris squeezes up her face determined to drive home a point with the proper mimic to match.
“My grandmother used to work here. She told me. It happens over and over again.”
She is interrupted by a beep.
“Time to sweep the landing!” RoboMina proclaims and waddles off followed by RoboMino.
This prompts the others to rise and return to their duties. Only left with Doris to entertain me, I sit back to listen to her talk, help her peel the spuds, and throw them into a bucket of fresh water. Towards evening I am summoned to the sitting room. On opening the door I am met by a whiff of lavender. ‘Elisabeth?’ And there she is, standing with her back to the fire place waiting nervously. She appears different to what I remember. Her cloths are more cheerful, expensive, her shiny red-blond hair is tied back neatly in a modern fashion, her whole appearance reeks of a rich and spoiled lady. A wave of resentment rises to stick in my throat. ‘You left me to starve! I had nothing to eat!’ I scream inside. As if aware of my anger, she motions for me to sit.
“Happy 12th. Happy birthday Bastian.”
The door opens, the man Vincent enters sporting a remote. To my utter surprise, a machine like creature enters the room with him, a dog like robot on four legs. It walks towards me waging its tail.
“It’s for you, son,” says Vincent proudly, handing me the remote. “Happy Birthday.”
Bewildered, I think I muttered something.
“So, what will you call your companion, Bastian?”
The ‘dog’ barks suddenly. I jump.
“You’ll get used to it. I find it ingenious. But then I’m a bit of a teckie. Come son, I’ll show you what else it can do!”
Mesmerized, I watch as it performs tricks.
“It can run a bit. Not too fast, mind.” Vincent explains.
“Thank you Sir,” I say with sincere gratitude.
“Vincent! You can call me Uncle Vincent.”
Elisabeth walks towards me. I make a bee line for my Grandmother.
“I want to explain, . . . try to explain.” Elisabeth urges.
With that, she attempts to fill me in on her life, her terrible marriage to my father, a prominent and elite member of Der Schatten Reich. Her decision to leave me with my Grandfather in Germany. Her escape to Cooradarrigan.
“You know who they are? Don’t you?”
Remembering my Grandfather’s feeble efforts to protect, not only me, but my best friend Rosalie, I nod.
“They have a goal. Their mission is to wipe out entire races of people.” Elisabeth explains pacing the room like a restless leopard. “ones, they say, that are a burden on the earth and its resources.” Elisabeth pauses for a few minutes as if recalling something from her past that fills her with a new emotion.“you see Bastian, I created a code, an algorithm that can round them up. In double quick time. This terrible innovation is mine.”
Elisabeth comes to stand near me. Her face is flushed.
“If this is found, this formula, Der Schatten Reich will have the means to take the whole of Europe, the land, the food, the water, all and every resource know to man in record breaking time. And the horrible truth about my part in this will out!”
Exhausted by her outburst, Elisabeth returns to her armchair and leans back “ The truth will out!”
Granny rings for Mrs Lovett to take Elisabeth to her room. Vincent accompanies them.
“She needs her sleep, mein Schatz,” Granny says in a quiet almost hushed voice. “it’s all been a bit too much for her!”
‘What’s it to me?’ If the truth be known, I am mortally disappointed in the person who is my mother.
*
At bedtime, Mrs Lovett knocks, steps into my room to pull the curtains.
“You’re wanted in the sitting room.” she announces turning back the duvet.
Reluctanty, I make my way to the stairs to find Granny on her own. Relieved, I sit and wait as she walks to the dresser to unlock a drawer, and remove a sheet of paper from a box.
“Elisabeth cannot think of anything but that damn formula. In fact she has no other thought. One might say, it is a type of illness.”
Although I try to feel sorry for her, I cannot. Her unpredictability makes me anxious, her bursts of emotion, her constant repetition, her wild eyes and wild gesturing. I find myself wishing she had never come. ‘And my father?’ I think I must have scowled.
“Not such a happy birthday, is it?” she says, taking a seat to settle back into the cushion placed at her back. Granny hesitates for a few moments before continuing. “So! I never thought for one second that I would be the one to do this. But Kismet has decided otherwise.“ she adds opening a scroll. Instantly, I recognize the symbols.
“But I...” I stop up abruptly. Granny looks at me questioningly.
“I’m listening, Bastian?”
I remove my chain, and hand it to her. She holds it in both hands to examine it.
“Well, I never! How beautiful they are,” she declares studying the charms. “how clever of her to have them crafted. Then Elisabeth is of an intelligence that borders almost on insanity, I fear!” she says, handing me back the chain.
“What do they mean, Granny?”
“The symbols are ancient, been in the family for generations, passed down from daughter to daughter. Usually the first born daughter in the family “
“Daughter?”
“Let me continue. Should no female member exist, then the symbols are ‘lent out’ to the first born son.
“So, this is rightfully mine!”
“ Indeed, it is.”
I instantly clutch at my chain. “But, it’s just a keepsake, anyway? I mean, you can’t do anything with it.”
“Here-say has it that they enable you to travel in time. However, I doubt you can do much with them, any more.”
“And this one?” I ask excitedly, showing her the bird.
“Ravens were considered unlucky, they foretold death. But they were known to what people referred to as the shape-shifting tree. This one, though,” she adds holding the copper coin up to the light, “now this is new to me. Never seen it before.”
“Was there really such a thing as a shape-shifting tree?”
“Here, in this village, people believed in the power of the trees. Each one had a task, as it were. In fact, many of the old folk could tell you the strangest of tales.”
“So, how do these symbols work? Is there a spell? A mantra?”
”Unfortunately, the power attributed to them has waned. I suppose one could say, they were polluted, stained by the passage of time. But, having said that, things come round in circles. So, who can tell!”
“So, they are not absolutely useless, are they?”
“No idea, child. In any case, they have a value beyond their dwindling power. They belong to us and only us. Generations upon generations have passed them on.”
“I lied to Elisabeth. Told her I don’t have the chain.”
“Yes, I know.” Granny smiles. It is a faraway smile. “She probably wanted to give them to you personally. A special birthday gift. You spoiled it for her.”
I put the chain back around my neck. The charms feel cool on my skin.
“Well, at least I know where they are. And, I won’t tell a soul.”
Knowing that she indeed means what she says, I smile.
“One more thing,” she says in a firm voice. “We . . . I will always protect you. As long as I have breath in my body, nothing or no one will harm you!” With that, she makes an effort to rise.
I help her up. Her beautiful grey, almost turquoise eyes are sad. Without warning, she opens her arms, and I then find myself locked in her warm embrace, we both cry a little.
*
Something disturbs my sleep. Half awake, and half asleep, I notice the chain becoming cold, pressing against my throat. Hungry for air, I race to the window, to wrench it open and inhale the night air. About to go back to bed, I observe a figure draped in a long dressing gown walking dangerously near the river, shouting at the water in a wild and terrible tantrum. Sensing an unwelcome observer, Elisabeth turns quickly to look back in my direction. I duck. After a time, I peer over the window sill, I no longer see her. Presuming now she is beyond the curve of the river, I decide to follow her. The charms begin to burn into my skin. ‘Is this a warning, some omen?’ I move back into the room to dress quickly, opening the door to bolt along the corridor, the walls of which close and open in waves before me. At the top of the stairs I feel dizzy and hold on to the balustrade. The stairs appear wonky. ‘What’s going on?’ I walk carefully down the stairs towards the kitchen, pull open the back door and sprint down the path along the river. The powerful light of a waxing moon shines on the smooth surface of the water. It runs with me. I stop and go very quietly until I catch up with Elisabeth. As if expecting me, she turns about. For a moment, we stare each other down. Lost for words, I stand transfixed as something slides from the river, spawns to inhabit her body, her eyes become glassy points of swirling water, her whole being shifts into an eel like creature rising, wriggling towards me to look beyond at something. Without warning, it lurches at me, we both tumble headlong into the river. Taken utterly by surprise, I cannot escape some enormous strength as it grabs the hold of the chain around my neck, dousing my head non stop, pushing me under, lying on my flaying body to keep me down, down, down until I feel my lungs will bust. In the churned and murky water, I see something floating over me spread out like a fallen sail. In a trance like state, I watch my chain float away from me as if it had a mind of its own. I am aware I am suffocating. The pain is persistent. My lungs have nothing to inhale but the water. I sink further, eyes wide open and staring. Just before my body reaches the bed of the river, I am sucked upwards by some unknown force. I focus on a light, a maze of colours. ‘Is it the rainbow? A colourful moon?’ My limp body follows its diffracted path without question until it breaks the surface of the water. I inhale the night air in steady gulps. Someone drags me to the river bank. I lye on my side for a moment spitting out water, then am moved by firm hands to sit up. On opening my eyes, I take in the benevolent face of a very old and grey haired man bending over me.
“Are you God?” I ask still ringing for air.
The old man smiles down at me. “His older brother!” he replies shaking with mirth.
I find myself laughing too. It is a relief.
“I think, this is yours,” he says handing me my chain. “and, if I were you, I would refrain from wearing it in the water. You see, the river owns this code and so will seek to retain it.”
I sit up and put the chain back on around my neck.
“The code?”
“Later, child, later.”
“And the . . . woman?” I enquire and notice my voice is trembling. The old man shakes his head from side to side.
“You are safe now, my boy. I, Master Cador will protect you. No one can harm you here!”
8. Mabon
Once again, Connla is following me, holding back to see what I have in mind. Reluctant to teach me anything, she makes a point of walking closely behind me to either hiss or whisper something untoward or upsetting. I stroll towards the Rowan tree, and leaning against it, I remove my sandals. The day is rich in nuances, fleeting colours and sounds reminiscing, once again, another springtime. The tufted grass has grown back and the wild sage is once again scattered in abundance along the muddied track. I sit and dip my feet in the water, splashing about, relishing the sensation of water on my skin. To my surprise, Connla comes to sit with me, and immerse her dainty feet in the water.
“I know of him,” she says, “the grown ups talk and do not notice I am listening.”
There is a potent silence as Connla endeavours to keep tension afloat. I wait.
“They say, he can transmute. Then, he will seek you out, and having no knowledge of who you really are, will destroy not only you, but all of us.”
I turn to look at a beautiful face filled with resentment.
“Now I am compelled to teach you,” she continues, “and you still know nothing!”
I imagine the word nothing to echo, like a stone skipping over the water. I ignore her taunting and instead turn my head to observe the summer bees, busy scurrying from blossom to blossom. True, I am not yet familiar with the hidden world, or the whereabouts of a father. Should he be ignorant of my existence, I am not to blame. Connla moves closer. ‘Will she push me into the water?’
“Listen,” she says, “Take heed!”
With no word of warning, she inhales deeply, sucking in the air and exhales in a soft shushing sound.
She opens her mouth to repeat the exercise. I listen to this perfect note, surprised at its strength and precision.
“That is the frequency of C” she declares in a haughty voice. “it resonates with the hum of the bees,” she explains.
Once again, she inhales deeply and pressing her diaphragm, she squeezes the last remnants of the tone into the air.
“Their song is the key of C. At this level we resonate with all living things.”
With that, she abruptly removes her feet from the water, stands to look down at me.
“I am to teach you of colour frequencies and sounds. But, I do not do this of my own accord. Morrigan insists. I am doing it for her sake, not for yours!”
Taken aback, at her animosity, I watch as she saunters barefooted along the path tripping over a stone, almost falling into the water. Smiling to myself at her mishap, I do not, at first, notice the eel-like creature wriggling its way towards the middle of the river. With a start, I watch it spiral to rise like a mighty snake throwing off its skin to divulge a beautiful body. Her beautiful face is embedded in a tessellation of cosmic patterns. Mabon slides elegantly towards me.
“Fea. The boy Bastian must be deterred.”
“I know of no such boy, Mabon.”
“No Earthling may interfere with the architecture of creation,” she warns. “Only one pattern resonates with the universal order of things!” Mabon adds before slipping back below the glassy surface in a splash of splintered colour.
My thoughts instantly travel back to the boy I saved from drowning. I am certain he can perceive me. ‘But how is this possible?’ Connla is convinced that we are to be harmed and is persistent in her accusation. ‘Is the boy a danger to us? Is he of a darkened nature, a thing transformed or a soul who chooses to dwell in the shadows of a different earth?’
Removing my sandals, I decide to walk upon the grass, then the pathway. The path is firm and warm under my feet. Deep in my own thoughts I wonder if I resemble my mysterious father. Morrigan has a natural elegance I do not possess. Nor do I have her grey, almost turquoise eyes. In actual fact, I am quite unlike anyone I know. Noticing my confusion, Mother takes to strolling with me by the river or walking up the hill to the sacred mound and its family of trees.
“Do I resemble my father?”
Thinking Morrigan has not heard, I repeat my question.
“Yes, little one, you do. But he is not an evil person. You see, he belongs to the human kind. Nothing more, nothing less. You shall, with all probability never meet him.”
“Why is this?”
“It is impossible for an Earthling to cross into our sphere, into our Earth.”
“And what is of me? May I pass into the other sphere? Will I be safe?”
Morrigan signals for me to be silent, as if she is considering something. She rises to converse with the flowing river as if conversing with an old friend and wishes no interruption.
“One more thing, little one,” she says quite suddenly. “should you enter another sphere, a place outside our energy field, no one will be able to perceive you. You are, so to speak, a white shadow.”
Pondering this, I consider the consequences, finding favour with the idea of being invisible. We proceed along the path to sit under the Rowan tree.
“To experience time-travel, little one, travel as a raven. Yes, ravens are best. They pose no problems and are not eaten by humans! These ancient birds are known to the shape-shifting tree.” she says turning to look towards the mound.
I follow her gaze.
“The Hazel will shift you back into my little Guinevere, my beautiful aspiring daughter. This secret is ours! You see, everything is as it should be. I shall leave you now,” she continues and rises to go back home.
About to mention my encounter with the boy, we are interrupted by a raven’s raucous cry. Looking towards the sound, I behold two elegant birds in flight. They are headed southwards to journey with the river.
9. Returned
Something shifts and I find myself in a familiar place. In the valley below, Cooradarrigan House is just as I remember it. The sheds, the orchard, the lovely gardens are all in their rightful places. But something else has shifted, a feeling inside of me. Walking towards the river, the gurgling rush of the water amplifies within me. It is a strange feeling.
“Bastian!” someone suddenly calls.
I turn towards the voice. Seeing no one, I continue my sprint towards home. At the Rowan tree, I stop to catch my breath.
I am what lies beneath the unturned stones.
Once again, I turn towards the voice to take in an eel-like fish pushing through the surface of the water. Feeling stunned, I remain glued to the spot. There is a strong smell of decay, a pungent stench fills my nostrils. Feeling sick to the stomach, I wretch. Above my head, the sudden flapping of wings brings me to my senses. A raven is veering swiftly towards the monster now making its way, sliding towards me. Screaming above the creature’s head the bird picks relentlessly until the thing disappears back into the water. ‘Sabbath? Is that you?’
“And the symbols belong to me, and I to them. I am.” the river whispers.
Screaming wildly, the raven lifts upwards to disappear into the nearby wood. Eventually, I reach the manor. Feeling loopy, I take a short cut through one of the sheds where I accidentality bump in to RoboMino.
“Why, Master Bastian!” he shouts toddling towards me, “I thought you had drowned.
I follow him towards the kitchen.
“How long have I been away?” I ask tentatively.
RoboMino scratches his head thoughtfully.
“For seventy two hours, three minutes and forty seconds.”
“That long?”
“The Mistress will be relieved to see you. Indeed, she will.”
He stops for a moment as if retrieving something from his memory.
“We lost many folk to the water. It is unpredictable.”
“I’m sorry, Mino.”
“Just as well the river has no appetite for foreigners, eh!”
In the kitchen Doris and Mrs Lovett rise and rush to meet me.
“There’s Victoria sponge,” says Doris hurrying towards the pantry. “we was keeping it for a special occasion!”
“Later, guys. I have to report to Gran.”
In the hallway, at the foot of the stairs, I run into Uncle Vincent, who smiles brightly on seeing me. He is holding a remote.
“Well, well, this is one little dog happy to see you again.” he declares, blocking my way.
I look up to see Granny standing in the landing.
“That will do, Vincent,” she announces. “Let the boy pass.”
My robo dog bows its wobbly head and walks backwards down the hall, barking and wagging its tail. The absurdity of the action makes me laugh.
“Silly gadget” Gran says, smiling ruefully.
I wait for my Grandmother to take the stairs in easy fashion, one at a time, as is her way, almost like a dancer, stepping it out.
“Come!” she demands, releasing me from a warm and tender hug. “let’s go to the sitting room, and the fire!”
I walk ahead to open the door for her, we go inside. It feels good to be back in the old familiar place with a good fire burning in the big fireplace. I wait for her to sit in her favourite armchair.
“Well?” she insists, leaning back against the cushions. I pull up a chair.
“You’ll never believe it!” I tell her.
She leans forward. I notice she is smiling, almost smirking.
“Try me!” she replies. Before we settle down to our conversation.
A knock at the door disturbs us. Mrs Lovett enters.
“Beg your pardon, Madam,” she announces moving into the room as if embarrassed about something.
“Dr Kingston is here. Should I take him straight up?” Granny nods.
“Ask him to come in, when he has finished, she adds, dismissing Mrs Lovett to her duties.
“I thought she’d drowned.”
Granny shakes her head.
“She tried to . . . “Elisabeth, is . . . “ I break off not sure what I want to say.
“They have her heavily sedated. And when she seems stronger, we will look for a home, a residence for her.” she pauses. “everyone searched for you, Doris, Mrs Lovett, Vincent, everyone!”
I listen to her account of that terrible night. ‘Vincent, searched for me?’ Granny looks me in the eye.
“Something told me, you were safe. All this time, I knew you were safe.” she bows her head, overwhelmed. Removing her handkerchief, she dries her face.
“I am,” I say quickly, patting myself on the chest. “look! I am!”
In great detail. I tell her everything. The other Earth, the old man who saved me. It feels good. I talk and talk until I run out of something to say. Exhausted from my efforts, I lean back, to wait for her reaction.
“Well, I never!” she states, “unbelievable!” she repeats several times.
“It’s all much brighter! The natural colours are really strong. But there are some other ones, other colours, ones I’ve never seen before. As for the ground, it’s kind of transparent.”
“What?”
“You can see what’s happening. Crazy! There is a network beneath the earth, roots bind, extend themselves. You can even see the impulses running up and down the trees from their crowns all the way along their barks to flow below the forest floor. It’s like everything is networked, everything is inside out, and upside down.”
“Meine Gute?”
There is a timid knock at the door and Mrs Lovett comes in to admit Dr. Kingston. He is older than I had imagined.
“Ah!” he declares on seeing me. “looking the picture of health, I’m glad to see! Shame about that country of yours! I was in Cologne once, you know. Now, I suppose there’s nothing left of it! I don’t suppose you know the Hamacher family? Fine people. Yes, indeed! Fine people!”
I shake my head, and decide to leave them alone, closing the door quietly behind me, bumping in to Fräulein Still, as usual.
“Well, well! Good to see you my little Fritz.”
On the way back to my room, I stop at Elisabeth’s door, it is ajar. Propped up against a bolster, she reminds me of a rag doll. Her eyes are glazed. Although she is looking my way, she does not seem to recognize me. I enter the room, sit in the chair next to the bed.
“I wish you were someone else, Elisabeth, and not my mother!”
She turns to look at me, trying to focus.
“But, they say you are mad! I don’t understand what mad is!”
She turns her head away. I notice it is no use continuing. I do not have enough words. Staring down at this stranger, I remember the woman in the photo album, a pretty girl full of pep, full of ambition with her whole life before her.
“I used to be someone else too, Elisabeth.
Elisabeth turns back to look at me. She seems restless, uneasy. Something tugs at my heart. My mouth dries up.
“You see, I did something wrong, too. You are not the only one feeling guilty. I let go of Rosalie’s hand . . I was careless, and so . . .
Elisabeth nods. For one brief moment, I think she is listening. She looks me in the eye, fully focused.
“I suppose you could say we are evens, then!”
Not sure how to reply to this unexpected, truth, I watch her struggle to sit up. She eases closer.
“Mabon! Mabon is to blame!” with that, she plops herself back into her pillow.
“There you are, Son,” Vincent interrupts standing in the doorway. “look! I have something important to tell you. Downstairs, if you don’t mind.”
Closing the door behind me, I follow him down the stairs and in to the sitting room. There is a smell of cooking, of frying bacon from the nearby kitchen. My tummy rumbles. I sit back in Gran’s favourite chair and wait.
“The chain! Bastian. If you have it, hand it back. In the wrong hands, it could do terrible harm, terrible wrong.”
Vincent paces the room, hands folded behind his back. Although, I understand his concern, I decide to remain ignorant. Except for Granny, no one knows I have it. ‘Why should I trust him?’
“Your Grandfather promised to give it to you. Well.. . did he? Did your Grandfather give you a chain of charms?”
I shake my head in negation.
“I don’t have it, Uncle Vincent.” I lie.
Vincent looks at me closely. “Very well. Off you go, then.”


10. Lus Na Cnamb Briste
Of a sudden, I feel a terrible discomfort, a type of suffocation. Bewildered, I step out of the river, dry my feet, and slip into my sandals.
“I’ve been looking for you, Guinevere. Come. We must confer.” Lugh insists.
Relieved to see a smiling face, I follow him to our cocoon, whoosh through, and take a seat. Looking at each of us intensely, Lugh’s eyes abide on Morrigan for a longer time. He clears his throat and in a voice strong and adamant, he bids us to lend our ears and full attention to what he is about to say.
“There are changelings abiding behind the waters fall. I think they might be children of Camlann.”
I listen in bewilderment as he utters the word ‘Camlann!’ Having understood that no one can enter my Earth, I stare in utter disbelief. Lugh continues once again.
“They are within an hour’s journey of here. I came across them quite by chance.”
Morrigan and Lugh turn to stare at each other, then at me. I bow my head. ‘Have I done something wrong?’ Deichtine and Connla turn to look my way, both waiting for some explanation. In the end, I have no other choice save to tell them. To confess. ‘Should I have locked the worlds after usage? What are the consequences?’ There is a terrible silence. ‘I will speak! I must.’ I rise.
“From time to time, I journey between the Earth spheres,” I confess in a defiant voice.
Both Deichtine and Connla look at me aghast, holding me in a fixed stare.
“She will draw danger to us,” spits Connla, straightening up to emphasize her point. “it is she he seeks. We shall all be . . .”
Lugh cuts her off. “They are but children, sister. They will pose no real danger. Hungry children, at that!” Lugh declares standing before us, his athletic body throwing a long shadow on the walls of our little home. He looks, once again at all of us and smiles warmly.
Once again, I wonder who Connla is referring to, ‘as He?’ “Who should wish to harm me?”
My query is followed by a disturbing silence. “Pray tell me, who is the person Connla refers to?” I repeat.
Morrigan takes a step to stand in the middle of the room displaying her swollen belly almost at bursting point beneath her velvet tunic.
“The Kingdom of Camlann is ruled by a despot.”
“You! You have exposed us!” Connla shouts, hysterically, pacing the room.
Lugh raises his hand, demanding silence.
“I fear it is entirely my fault.” Morrigan says in a tired, weary voice. “you see, time-travel opens a vortex to other worlds. For some reason Guinevere, you have managed to re open an old one. We all presumed it to be locked! The Kingdom of Camlann was, we assumed, no longer a threat to us.
Lugh stands next to her, placing an arm around her shoulder. “These changelings have somehow managed to escape. As for Guinevere’s mishap, well I think it was not conduced with any evil intention.”
“Ignorant!” Connla says in my face. “you will never be one of us! No matter how you try.”
‘Hush!” Lugh whispers pointing. “Look! It is an omen.” We all turn around to look.
The Hazel tree on the mound is black with ravens, all sitting quietly together. I have never seen so many birds in one place.
“Shush! Do not frighten them away!” Lugh commands.
“Where have they come from?” I whisper. “are they dangerous? What are they?”
Morrigan motions for me to rise. Standing arms outstretched, I wait. First, it is one raven, then two, then three until I am covered from head to toe by these birds. I do not move, I dare not move.
“Ravens are the promise of death,” she explains. “they will accompany you to the thin veil that separates the Earth worlds whenever you need to leave. The ravens will keep you safe and point the way.”
With a wave of her hand, the ravens lift and fly upwards to perch on the branches of the mighty tree blending into the night and its blackness.
*
At dawn, Lugh wakes me.
“Come, Guinevere! You shall accompany me.”
Within the hour, Lugh and I set off to bring in the children accompanied by Dog who enjoys riding in the go cart. It is a long walk on the trodden path taking us beyond the rows of silent trees, the flowering meadows, the rolling hills and our lake. I notice the swans have returned. In the distance, I hear the waterfall. Its sound is clear and pure, spilling as molten crystal before falling in a delightful splash into the constant river. Eventually, we find the little group standing in a shallow part of the water determined to catch fish. This reminds me of my time spent alone and I feel no animosity towards them. I stride in the direction of the little group of five now standing in a straight line together. They make room for me.
“I am Guinevere,” I tell them, spontaneously.
After some time, Lugh calls, bidding us to follow him. Two of the children sit on the cart, the youngest ones. Lugh and a short stocky older boy pull them up the hill towards home. The two girls and I walk behind, striding smartly. They are, I think, much younger than I am. They laugh and skip along chasing Dog who barks and runs about like some thing maddened. Arriving at our hut, the children stand for a moment to take in their new surroundings. Without a word, they open a nearby pen and walk inside.
11. Guinevere
Although the library is generally out of bounds without permission, Granny is pleased I am keen on reading. The books, she tells me are old and valuable, and are to be treated with great care. ‘No sticky fingers, mind!’ The whole of the space is filled with books, walled like a fortress of staunch knowledge on all sides of the room. ‘Terrified of being read, are we?’ Sounding very much like Rosalie, her lovely voice pushes in.
“No one will bother us here, Basti!”
Apart from her poetic outbursts, she had weird ideas of where we should spend our free time, and so we usually ended up in the local cemetery.
“Nobody, absolutely no one, will bother us here!” she would say. “Think of it! Who would bother to bomb a graveyard?”
It was Rosalie who spotted it first, the raven perching on one of the slating stones. It seemed happy to spend its time watching us, unafraid. Day for day, it arrived as soon as we showed up, and would lift and fly off as soon as we quitted our playground. Amused by this, Rosalie had insisted it was an omen, and had christened it Sabbath!
“So, Master Bastian, thought you might like to whet your whistle,” Fräulein Still announces standing in the doorway. “But,” she whispers, “don’t let anyone catch you drinking tea near the computer, mind.”
Placing the tray on a nearby table she pours me a cup of golden tea lacing it with cream and smiles. Stocky in shape, with a ruddy face and cropped red hair, she reminds me of a soldier. Apart from her thick boots, she wears clothes reminiscent of an army recruit.
“Thanks, Miss. That’s nice. Really nice.”
“You’re welcome, little Fritz.”
We both laugh.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she says, heading for the door. “that’s grand, now! Don’t let it go cold, mind,” she adds closing the door quietly behind her.
Sipping my cuppa and nibbling a biscuit, I turn the pages of an old family manuscript. The script is ancient, the letters pompous and the content difficult to understand. ‘Surely, they have photos? There must be some mention of my chain!’ Careful to turn the pages with care, I discover several images, drawings of what look like precious stones, family jewellery. I pull the silver chain over my head, and spread it on the table to examine each charm. ‘Is its story here?’ Rummaging through several more books, I finally give up. Resigned to the fact that my chain of charms is probably just jinxed, I place it back over my head, stuffing it under my tunic. Disappointed, I rise to leave the room. Something tapping at the window pane attracts my attention. Puzzled at seeing nothing, I wait a second or two. The tapping at the window continues, growing louder. ‘What the . . ?’ I pull it open. Plonked on the crown of the beech tree below the window is a creature wearing very large black wings, one of which is stuck in a branch. Looking about the room, I discover a poker and ease it towards the wing, pushing gently until it comes free. The bird glides elegantly indoors to land on the floor and shift its form.
“You’re the girl from the river!” I mutter in a strange voice.
She smiles. it is a brilliant smile, one that touches something deep inside my soul. For no reason I can understand, I begin to cry and I cry. I cannot stop.
“I shall be your new friend,” she says putting a wing gently around my shoulder. “I am Guinevere, daughter to Morrigan.”
I nod, sniffing back my tears. “Bastian. Bastian Wolter. I think I’ve met your Grandfather.
“Who?”
“Master Cador?”
“I know of no such a person. It is something you have dreamed, perhaps?”
We both fall silent.
“Is Bastian a common name?” Guinevere asks looking at me, her head turned to one side.
“In my country, yes, I suppose so.”
“How is it you perceive me? Morrigan says it is not possible.”
Spontaneously, I take the chain and hand it to her. For a long moment, Guinevere says nothing intent on examining it.
“I own but three. What is the fourth one?”
“No idea. I’d have to ask Elisabeth.”
“Elisabeth?”
“My . . . mother.”
“Has she not enciphered the symbols for you? Are you not yet twelve?”
Having no idea where the conversation is leading, I decide to tell her the truth.
“She doesn’t know I have it, the chain, I mean.”
Guinevere stares at me in utter astonishment.
“Then return it to her. It is not yours to keep. It is stealing.” Guinevere urges. “I should not wish to be friends with a thief.” she continues heading for the window.
Somewhat bewildered, I watch her lift upwards to disappear into the twilight.
Part 2
1. Bonn City 2030
As soon as the final student had left the auditorium, Professor O’Flaherty switched off the equipment, put the stack of exam papers in a folder, pushed the light buttons to off, and stuffed the folder in his leather briefcase. Locking the door behind him, his code key confirmed the process with a sharp beep. Sauntering along the corridor towards his office on the second floor, he stopped at the window to look out at the Hofgarten, a recreational park at the rear of the building used mostly by the students attending the Bonn University. Glad that only a few people were taking advantage of the Spring weather, he headed for the kitchenette to make himself a sandwich.
Making his way towards his favourite bench, Professor O’Flaherty heard the tell tale noise creeping up from behind, dispersing the illusion of peace, cracking like splintering glass to invade his space. Unwrapping his sandwich, he bit into the thick wedge of rye bread and Gouda. ‘Too late!’ he hissed at the half eaten piece of bread, knowing it would only be a matter of minutes before either the police or the climate change activists would march by to clash before his very eyes. “The world’s on fire, guys,” he said wryly, sweeping the crumbs from his good trousers. Behind his back he heard the all too familiar sound of the marching androids. The locals had named them ‘ Shadows’ because of their aptitude to ape movements. Today, they were accompanied by a procession of border police conducting daily visits to climate refugees kept locked away in make shift camps in and around the City of Bonn. O’Flaherty turned around to watch them soldier on, smiling to himself at the futility of it all.
*
Back in the office, he switched on his computer. Restrictions on electricity were strictly adhered to, and so he worked as fast as he could to complete a few important tasks. The live ticker confirmed his worst fears on more food rationing as did the long queue at the City hall. Soon, he too would probably have to apply for food stamps, or worse, be deported, back to his own country. For now, he was deemed systemically relevant, but the shortages were apparent everywhere he looked. The once affluent Bonner market place was as good as empty. Indeed, he missed strolling between the stands and haggling with vendors. Rumour had it that massive war robots were rolling from Germany through neighbouring countries confiscating fertile land, driving the people out of their homes. However, the scorching summers would eventually burn any effort to grow new crops not to mention the mildew. ‘Back to work, O’Flaherty,’ he muttered to himself checking the pile of photos on his desk. On the back, Vincent had scribbled their names. Without his old friends help, things would be a proper disaster. They had met for the first time at the Climate Change conference in 2021, spending many hours discussing sustainability, water shortages, the future in general, and had kept in touch ever since. Rummaging for a fag, he sat back to think. Obtaining digital passports would be easy enough. He inhaled deeply, sucking back the smoke into his lungs. Getting them out would be the challenge. ‘Christ!’ Flinging the remains of the butt on the ground, he stamped on it viciously and once again studied the snapshots of the children. ‘I’ll find you! I promise,” he vowed to the image of the two gaunt faces and their hollow eyes staring back at him.

2. The river of secrets
After almost a week of listless rain, we have a spell of lovely weather, so Gran and I take a stroll down the ancient track along the river. I enjoy her company as she saunters along, walking stick in hand. It has an ivory handle carved in the shape of a claw. Always insisting on wearing an elegant robe, she is indeed a sight for sore eyes, a timeless princess.
“My cushion, young man,” she demands, smiling at me.
I fluff it up before placing it on the bench.
“Thank you, my dear. Well, RoboMino has indeed made a fine job of the seat. Quite comfy.”
Knowing that her favourite place was resting under the rowan tree, I had persuaded RoboMino to build a wooden seat around the old tree.
The day is perfect, not a cloud in the sky. We sit back relaxing, faces in the sun.
“Water talks. Did you know that?”
I feel my chain vibrate. ‘Does the river recognize her voice?’
“Some even say it has a memory.”
Knowing that Rosalie would agree with that, I nod.
“When I was a young girl, something strange happened here. I remember it very well. The water rose like a mighty wall and burst like a wall of thunder to cover the fields, the houses, the dwelling places, even the old mansion didn’t escape. I was lucky to survive.”
Finding it difficult to imagine this, I look towards the house mentally gauging the distance from the water to the building.
“Surely, the water did not reach the manor?”
“Ah,” She says. “The kitchen, the store rooms, the servant’s quarters, everything on the ground floor was covered in water. We carted as much as we could to the second floor. As soon as I noticed that the water was still rising, I ran to the hill of the standing stones. I stayed there for quite a time. This whole place was a mud field.”
“Wow, unbelievable!”
“See that?” she says pointing to a small island and to what looks to be a ruin of some sort.
“Totally wiped out! And when it finally resurfaced, the damp had seeped into the walls of the old fortress.”
“So, no one lives there, now?”
“Totally empty. The locals find the island strange, avoid it at all costs. In my day, it was inhabited by a cult. They had strange ideas, the weirdest of customs, and it was ruled by a despot, a type of guru. He was evil. It is said that he sacrificed animals, children, even. Quite horrid!”
She sits once again.
“I used to be part of an esoteric group back then. It was the Order of the Dawn. We even used to hold seances. Imagine!”
Content to listen, I am surprised at her stories of symbols, séances, and tarot cards.
“There are some things best left unveiled,” she adds in a decisive tone.“Yes. This old river has its own mind, so it seems. It floods the islands every fifty years. On the dot!”
“When was the last time, Gran?”
“Well, Bastian, the fifty years are up. So, this year a flood is due. Yes, probably in Autumn or early Spring, as a matter of fact.”
“The river looks quite harmless, to me.”
Gran turns her attention to the water, and rises once again to stand at its bank. I hear a sound, a rumbling from the depths of the water. ‘Is the river actually talking to her?’ Curious, I rise to stand beside her. We both stare at the water rushing by.
“Why every fifty years?”
Thinking she has not heard me, I repeat my question.
“Some say that the river is obeying a code. A command etched in its very chemistry.”
With at start, I realize I need to warn Guinn. Since the river flows through both Earths, we are all in grave danger. But how?
3. The Birth
“Morrigan is giving birth,” Deichtine whispers. “Come with me and learn.”
As we approach the chamber, Mother nods her welcome and rises to squat near the fire, holding on to the bed rest. Connla moves to stand at her side placing the palm of her left hand on Morrigan’s lower back and her other hand on her stomach while Deichtine goes into position holding a large clean piece of linen.
“Come Guinevere.” Deictine insists. “come place your hand on here. Connla needs to assist me.”
I obey. My hand touches a rotating energy field on her lower back, and on her belly. Morrigan begins to sway, turning her hips this way and that, whilst bending her knees, straightening and pushing downwards with all of her might, then swaying once again. I too begin to sway as do Connla and Deichtine. We dance to the rhythm of Morrigan’s music, an inner tune, ancient and resonant with life itself. I observe with awe as Deichtine pulls forth the head of the babe from the opening between my mother’s thighs. There is an angry cry brought forth by a babe eager to announce itself. With a great sigh of relief, Morrigan straightens and smiles warmly down at the new born child.
“Welcome, little brother.” I call out spontaneously to the little bundle now being handed over to its mother.
Being far too awake to sleep, I decide to walk to the Sacred Mound, taking my time still overwhelmed by the birth of my little brother. There is nothing and no one about save the hush of expectation, one anticipates before the dawn. Feeling privileged and whole, I have a longing to embrace this new emotion within the realm of the holy trees. The babe is perfect, and Morrigan emanates a trust I understand as something instinctive, as old as time, the bond between mother and child. Indeed, Deichtine and Connla are smitten, as well as the children who gather round to hold and fondle it. I climb the hill towards the mound where the branches open up to form an arch, allowing me to pass. Before entering their realm, I turn back to appraise the rising sun on one side and the rising Earth on the other. Wrapped in its glow I take in the silhouette of the many animals abiding peacefully together, likened to cut outs, on meadows and fields drenched by the morning mist resting above the grasses, in the distance my ear takes note of the river’s flow, moving tranquil and eternal. I bow my head and know I am blessed. The air that I breathe tastes pure and rich with vital energy; I inhale its nourishment, as it travels deep into my throat, down into my breathing apparatus, causing my whole body to tingle. I am filled and satisfied. I turn around to enter the holy circle. The swift movement of something whooshing between the trees catches my attention, a vapour-like thing adorned in white apparel akin to a shifting cloud. ‘Is it a spirit of the dawn?’ What ever it is, it is lurking, wishing to remain unseen.
Acknowledging the shape-shifting tree, I move inwards to lye on my back on the dew filled grass and peer up at the pale yellow light illuminating the sky. Above the trees I observe a circling bird, its raucous cry breaks the Godly quiet of this beautiful moment. It is a daw, a white crow. As if sensing my presence, it comes to land, perch and shift its shape to unfold and stand before me as a very tall young boy draped in a brilliant white cloak, tinged by studs of silver. Unsure whether it is real or a ghostly thing, I rise quickly to brace myself.
“I am Guinevere,” I call out in a clear and confident voice to the imposing apparition. He steps forward.
“So, she changed your name, Fea!” he responds striding towards me. “We meet, at last, sister!” he greets smiling down at me.
*
I wonder what I can do to offset the encounter, but am at a loss to consider the impact of having a brother and the effect of his presence on my family. The bond between all of us all is strong, and our survival depends on trust. True, I have no great liking for Connla, but something in me understands that she would not harm me. ‘Does she know of my brother? Is he the one she fears?’ Instinctively, I feel I should not divulge anything about myself or my family to my proud and elegant companion. Resigned to my fate, I walk with him, in silence.
Morrigan is the first to rise and greet the man who calls himself Medtraut, as if actually anticipating this visitation. She acquaints us, in a cordially fashion, with the person whose elongated shadow enters the room first, to announce his presence. I notice Deichtine cowering on the window seat, but she collects herself to stand proud and confident before this tall imposter. Now and again, she discretely looks about as if seeking the whereabouts of her sister who is busy feeding the chickens, unaware of the visitor. We note, of late, that other animals seem intent on abiding with us, eager for company, knowing we mean them no harm. The children are content to eat eggs and drink the milk of the goats that wander about near the rocks beyond the mound. Indeed, Connla has taken it upon herself to care for them. I wonder at this! Then again, she has never revealed her past, there is never a hint, not a tear, nothing. I sometimes catch her confiding in Deichtine, this is perhaps the best refuge for her obscurity. I do not, as yet, comprehend the nature of her being and so am surprised at her kindness in tending to the children. Every evening, she heats a cauldron of water, fills the tub and sponges the young ones down with soap she has made from the scented oils and fat she hoards in her special place. She even sings to them until they fall asleep. In a sudden moment of truth, I realize that our perfect world is about to be disrupted, and that Medtraut is to play a part in dispersing the illusion of contentment.
Lugh returns from hunting with Saul who, on seeing Medtraut, scurries wordlessly into the hut, head bent, eyes focused on the ground. Lugh acknowledges our guest with a brief nod, before bringing forth a skinned rabbit to mount on a skewer above the fire, blazing inside a circle of flat grey stones. The air is chilly but around the fire we quickly warm up. The fat from the roasting meat spits into the flames and the crackling of roasting skin fills the void of uneasy silence. We sit around waiting, knowing that the moment of some terrible revelation is nigh. Connla does not keep company with us preferring to remain indoors with the children. I observe my brother out of the corner of my eye. Striding in my direction, he takes his place next to me and with a short cough, begins to unveil the reason for his visit.
“I Medtraut son of Morrigan shall not outstay my somewhat inopportune visit, and so will speak to you directly. I have come for what is duly mine,” he states, holding Morrigan in a stare. “Well, mother, I shall have the third symbol. The scales of equilibrium. The leveller. And, I shall have it now, lest you intend a mere babe to inherit it.”
I watch as my mother focuses on the face of her oldest son, a young man she has decided to oust for reasons she has never revealed. ‘He does not know!’ I hear myself say to an inside voice. ‘He has no idea I have inherited all three symbols’ Strange, I do not have Medtraut’s blue azure eyes, his ruddy colouring. Although his hair is fair, it is streaked with copper red, whereas my head is bare. My eyes are black as that of a sloe. This is what they tell me. ‘Do we really share the same father?’ Morrigan’s rising disturbs my train of thought. She takes her time to respond. Finally, she stands before her first born talking down at him.
“For generations, the symbols have been endowed to a daughter. The first female. Why is it you presume to claim them?”
“To right a wrong, mother! A female owner has proved to be unworthy. Not once, but thrice. It is time to change the order of things. I shall be that change.” he rises to parade around the fire, stopping behind me.
“Too late, Medtraut! I have already chosen.”
There is a deadly silence as my brother digests this.
“Is that so?” he questions.
I feel his heated, soured breath on my neck, conscious of a wave of anxiety mounting through my entire body, as I am dragged from my seat into a standing position, feet dangling in the air. The fired emotion of fear runs through me. ‘Am I to be harmed?’ My tongue dries up.
“If that be the case,” he hisses, “then my sister must come with me. I will find a way to make her speak!”
Lugh rises to stand aside my mother. Morrigan looms before me like a mighty warrior, twice the size of her normal self.
“Never!” she screams, her voice sounding like a mighty trumpet bellowing into the universe. “Never!”
What happens next is beyond my comprehension. Behind him, we hear a voice repeat her word. ‘Never!’ It resounds in a powerful and almighty echo! As if struck by lightening, Medtraut drops me. I find my bearings and swing about to stare into the face of an ancient man with a long flowing beard, his face is flushed and reddened by anger.
“Why, Master Cador!” Medtraut says genuinely surprised. “I thought you dead.”
“Very much alive, Medtraut.” the old man replies raising his hands in the air, at the same time chanting something.
The sound of the oncoming Ravens drown any further conversation. Amplified a thousand times, their voices call to each other, as they form a mighty cloud, black and threatening, now racing towards us. I turn back to look at the little group of people huddled together and just in time to see my brother retreat like a flash of lightening to bolt up the hill towards the sacred mound. Above our heads, high in the sky, we observe a dazzling white bird flying erratically upwards. It circles several times before gathering momentum to accelerate, and retreat. The ravens follow it for a time, then circle and disperse.
4. The enhancement
Once again, I am in the library. At the window, I search the morning sky for Guinevere. I call her name in the hope that it resonates into her Earth. Feeling restless, I make my way along the corridor. The old clock chimes the hour as I go by. I pick up my swimming gear from the downstairs closet and head off for the river.
At the Rowan tree, I sit to have a think. From this very spot, I have observed Guinevere, and she me. I remove the chain and examine it closely. Having obviously a mind of its own, my chain is unpredictable. From this spot, the river flows onwards opening up onto the woodland and the smaller island. I approach the water and look down through its translucent surface. If water talks, then maybe I should listen properly. From now on, I decide to spend every coming day sitting here for an hour or two in the hope of meeting Guinevere.
*
This morning I come across Vincent in the morning room checking the computer. He switches it off suddenly on seeing me, and rises to stand before before. I spontaneously take a step backwards. Vincent grabs me by the shoulders.
“I’ve been making enquiries, Bastian,” he tells me, his voice rings agitated, almost angry. “Alexander didn’t find you at your Grandfather’s place, so obviously, he’s guessed as to your whereabouts.”
“Then I’ll just have to disappear, Uncle, won’t I?” I say pulling away from the stranger. Full of nervous energy, he seems preoccupied with things that he keeps to himself. Every now and then I find him staring at me, it is unsettling.
“I am hard put to find a solution. I cannot allow this man to harm you,” he says looking me straight in the eye.
“But, I don’t have the stupid algorithm!”
Vincent stares me down.
“I think you do, son. Elisabeth hid the information on a coin she hung on a chain of charms. And if I were you, I’d get rid of it. Or better still, give it to me.”
I watch as he returns to his favourite chair to plonk himself down. Closing the door softly behind me, I leave the room.
*
On my way back towards the Rowan tree, I forge a plan. I will hide the coin in a hollow in its bark. It is so tiny, no one will discover it here. Deep in thought, I almost bump into Guinevere walking towards me. She seems unusually anxious. From snippets of her conversation, I learn that they are being threatened by her brother, Medtraut. To worsen matters, Guinevere is certain that Medtraut is out to take her prisoner.
“Please, come and abide with me!” Guinevere says suddenly. “I will be your best friend. The very, very best. Together, we will be strong. Master Cador will be in favour of this, I know he will be.”
Taken aback, I do not reply.
“And Deichtine. She will teach you. She is the best teacher, ever.”
I move closer. Her beautiful eyes are filling with tears. Ashamed of this outburst she hides her lovely face in her tunic sleeve.
“Think! How? Guinn, how?”
“You must learn to face your fears. Why is it you will not utilize the mighty power of your symbols. And, the Hazel Tree will obey your request. Anyone can transmute. Why it is the simplest of things.”
“I can’t just show up! I’d scare the lot of you. And I’m pretty sure, your Mum would object.”
Guinevere shakes her head.
“Morrigan has much to do. The babe would annoy a rookery.”
We both laugh. ‘Now is the time.’
“Anyway, Guinn, like you, I too have a mysterious father.”
“A father? Why do you tell me this, now?”
“Anyway, his plan is to take me back with him to Germany.”
I stare straight ahead as Guinevere stands up abruptly to pace the pathway with an anger that takes me by surprise.
“This Germany was never your friend, you say. But I am your friend! So, now you must choose! It is a simple choice!”
Something about her sentence opens an old wound. ‘What if Rosalie shows up here?’
“This Germany you speak of, where is it? Where can I find you? My wings are strong. I do not tire easily.”
Guinevere looks at me pleadingly.
“Your father! Is he too without a shadow, now? Will he strive to steal your light, flood you with a dark energy, until you become a thing that is shrivelled?”
As ever, Guinevere’s perspective is more than accurate even if she uses a different analogy. ‘Can people change?’ If the truth be told, I have no stomach for Germany. The thought of the rolling ship is enough to deter me.
“Maybe, your father will choose to remain here.” Guinevere says out of the blue. “if that be the case, then we may remain friends forever.”
“I don’t know, Guinn! I can’t say for sure.”
“We are a future people. We can teach you. You see, we are a step ahead.”
Guinevere takes me by the hand.
“Your Earth is a sad place. It cannot fend for its inhabitants. It is exhausted.”
As usual, I am stuck for an answer so prefer to say nothing. Eventually, we say our goodbyes, both left with a feeling of dissatisfaction.
5. Truth
We are once again gathered together under the night sky studded with the reminder of our existence in its past form, an ancient keepsake, a universal trinket of time. A gentle breeze lifts to embrace the fire and taunt the merging flames. Lugh calls for our attention, and nods towards the man he refers to as Master Cador. The old man enters the circle, acknowledging one and all with a soothing smile. I think him to be a holy man and so am intent on learning from this enlightened soul. The children come to sit with us, seeking solace between the staunch figure of Lugh and Master Cador. Saul seems far away, staring vaguely into nothing, his bewildered expression lending him an air of helplessness and uncertainty. He seems so frail. Dog barks a few times making us all laugh.
Master Cador rises, he speaks.
“I wish to confer with Guinevere.”
I find myself locked in his scrutiny.
“Let us walk together,” he offers pointing the way.
We stride in silence along the river’s path.
“Fear is a poison, little one. It eats away at the soul.” he declares turning to look at me.
At the Rowan tree, Master Cador signals for me to sit.
He speaks.
“Beware of Bastian’s code! It has succumbed to the darkness. It is powered by shadows.”
“But, he is not to blame!”
“Be that as it may, I must tell you that in the sphere of duality, the light and the dark will converge to find their own level. This in turn should forge the way for a new enhanced consciousness. Bastian’s code cannot be permitted to re design a world of gain, plundering and destruction.“
“Bastian has no inkling how to align to his code.”
“Then, it is up to you little one, to keep him ignorant. Who, but you Guinevere, can protect the shield of the trinity embedded in our forests, the soil, the water and crystal clear air?”
Aware now that I have more than once encouraged Bastian to utilize his symbols, I feel greatly embarrassed.
“And Mabon?”
Master Cador rises to dust down his long white tunic.
“The river acts as an oracle, Mabon’s instrument. You and Bastian are both known to the river. It is aware you both possess its code. The river has conversed with you both. And so I presume, that it is the river that will choose.”
We continue our walk.
“The river knows!”
“I have see the purple shadows, Master Cador. I have seen the faces that dwell in its memory. They seem forlorn, lost forever.”
“Oh, little one. Nothing is ever lost in the universe. It is almost like a great mansion. One will always find lost things in a mansion. However, one must seek to look in the right places. “
He bends to run his hand playfully along the surface of the moonlit river and cups his hands to scoop up some water, handing it to me.
“I, you, we all of us are of the elements, the water, the earth, the wind, even fire. Eventually, I too will return to the source of all life. The beginning that holds no beginning. The end that holds no end. It is here, I will be replenished. This is my most profound truth. Come,” he continues, “I wish to show you something special. There!” he says, pointing.
I look down at the bed of the river and into a sea of little faces. They emerge out of its belly where they shrink to become petals of glittering stars before they surface and become buoyant, flowing on like a ribbon of eternal light.
“World without end.” he whispers.
6. Bonn
About to close up and lock the main door, Professor O’Flaherty was prevented in doing so by a thick black boot sticking through the opening. He pulled the door back open. The small stocky young woman standing before him was in an arm-like uniform and looking very smart despite the lack of facilities in the city.
“I promised little Fritz I would give you this personally, Sir. Actually, I wanted to give it to the Chancellor himself, but they stopped me.” she added with a cocky smile.
“And you are?”
“A friend from Cooradarrigan. I believe you know the family?”
Struggling with exhaustion, Professor O’Flaherty was now wide awake to quickly pull the door wide open, inviting the young woman inside.
“Nope! I have to get on,” she said holding out a smeared and crumpled letter.
“So, you’re related to my friend Vincent Wolter? Well, I never!”
“Nope, I work for him!”
“Fritz? Sorry, but I don’t remember a Fritz?”
“Bastian! I call him Fritz, you know, just for fun.”
“So, he managed to get to Cooradarrigan in one piece. Thank God for that!”
“Came half starved. We fattened him up. You wouldn’t recognize him. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off!”
With that the young woman saluted and sauntered off towards the market square. The professor stepped back into his office to read the letter. ‘So, the girl is still missing.’ He would give the request priority. According to his spies, the hunger camp Uacad was being evacuated. All he could do was to contact someone in charge and hope for the best. Should Rosalie be alive, at least she had a home in Cooradarrigan. He would personally see to her safe passage there. ‘Careful, O’Flaherty!’ It was only a matter of time before the authorities would question his part in smuggling people out of the country. At least, Cooradarrigan offered a viable escape.
7. Saille
One cannot admonish me for eavesdropping. The walls of the cocoon-hut allow for sound, although muffled, to escape through the cracks in the energy dome. I hear Connla and Deichtine whispering about their nightmare, their sordid life, and am deeply put out at the excruciating tale they relate about the fate of the children, in stifled sobs, and all at the hands of my brother Medtraut. ‘How can it be that Morrigan and I are akin to such a beast? And what of the children who still abide with the ogre?’ Deep in the depths of my being, I feel we will find no rest as long as my brother knows where I dwell. ‘Will he seek us out?’ I shall speak once again with Master Cador.
I come upon him under the giant Oak tree, the one whose branches dip into the river to bounce up and down in the wayward wind, lending the river a pattern, a mosaic of light and shade in many parts. He is lost in himself, his face serene; his rigid body is resting against the stem of the tree, he is deep in meditation. Just before I disturb him, he opens one eye and smiles his usual brilliant smile.
“My little Guinevere!”
He invites me to sit. For a short while we both remain in the quickening of the energy field he has created.
“I know of Medtraut’s plans,” he says unexpectedly. “I too have my resources.”
I nod in mute agreement.
“What am I to do?”
Master Cador sighs deeply, contemplating a response. “Medtraut has no real power. Just some inferior magic. However, you should brace yourself. Gather your resources. He will stop at nothing to maintain and fortify his dark soul.”
Without realizing it, I cringe, recoiling from the image. Master Cador stretches as he turns to look at me. His eyes narrow, his face takes on a gnarled and morbid appearance.
“We shall conquer this!”
*
It was something far off at first, a noise, raucous and invasive, swelling, ebbing and waning in volume. Looking upwards, I perceive a flock of birds fast approaching, getting closer and closer, coming at me with incredible energy, emitting a deafening scraping scream as they traverse the sky! “Lugh! Lugh!” Bolting down the hill, I run headlong into both him and Saul as they step outside the hut to follow the massive cloud of ragged white descending on the mound. Morrigan hurries to join us.
“Call up the ravens!” she commands. “Now!”
Unsure of how to accomplish this, I stand helplessly to stare back at her.
“Change of plan! Run to the shape-shifting tree,” she urges. “Tell it to deny any command uttered by the white crows. I shall summon the ravens.”
I run as fast as I can up the hill towards the mound where the branches yield to open and admit me. Pausing to catch my breath, I bow deeply to the tree. “He’s coming! Please help us! It’s Medtraut!” By now, I can see the elongated trail of the advancing crows and my blood runs cold. Above the monotonous pitch of the oncoming birds, I look about to observe an army of black ravens perching on every branch, on every bush, on every stone, some flying in concentric circles to raise momentum, lying low, in wait to attack the ominous white, expanding bubble. I knell at the foot of the shape-shifting tree. “Please, I pray you, forbid Medtraut to shift his shape, I implore you. He is evil. He will destroy all that is good and wholesome.” Looking towards the crown of the mighty tree, I am aware that one of the white crows is breaking off to change its direction and veer towards me. It seems to shine brighter than the others as if studded by silver stripes. With little hope left, I brace myself in anticipation of the worst. It is then I hear it, a curious grinding sound. I open my eyes. The trees have disappeared. In their place I behold staunch pillars of stone. Rising quickly, I run all the way back to the hut as the sound of flaying wings thunder over our heads.
On my return, I am met by laughing children who seem oblivious to the danger. Connla has persuaded them it is but a silly game, and taking place out of doors. The babe, I notice is asleep in its cradle and Deichtine is busy fortifying the energy force that is our home. Again, I run outside to climb up into the tree house, one Lugh had built for the children. The scene I take in is one of Morrigan and Master Cador standing side by side in the water, chanting, calling. Deichtine is suddenly behind me in the tree house.
“They will require your help, Guinevere. Morrigan’s strength’s has weakened.”
In breakneck speed I run to join them in the water.
“Come, Guinevere! Master Cador commands. “Take charge. Call up the elements. Together, we are strong.”
“What is it you wish me to do, Master Cador?”
“Storm clouds. The river will obey. Come, Guinevere, I shall help you.”
In the space of a few moments, we are enveloped in a force field of arcane pink. Master Cador recites something, repeating it several times.
“Now you! Repeat after me.” I obey, and thus set a powerful spell in motion.
The elements obeys. A multitude of storm clouds rise upwards, higher and higher to soar into the blue above the flocks of white crows. Far, far up in the sky the clouds cease their upward journey to stop for the split of a moment.
“Cyan!” Guinevere.
Calling up the lightening, it releases a mass of energy in broad dramatic streaks smothering all of the birds in a shroud of fire. The sky shifts to a bright orange. The bitter stench of scorching feathers takes my breath away. As the crows plunge downwards, they are accosted by a mighty swarm of avenging ravens. Weakened by their burning flesh the white crows succumb to the attack free-falling onto solid ground. Out of the corner of my eye I notice Saul heading for the mound. He is carrying a large and heavy club.
Feeling exhausted but exhilarated, we meet back at the hut. It is early evening and the sun is about to set. Deichtine starts a bonfire near the river to rid our space of the fallen creatures. Inside the hut, the fire is burning bright, we sit together. Morrigan is nursing the babe, Master Cador is snoring softly, Connla is preparing some food, Deichtine is staring into the flames.
“As long as Medtraut is alive, we will always be in danger,” she says suddenly.
A quiet lull fills the space of the unsaid. I consider the consequences.
“We are creative,” I respond, “we will always find a way.”
Once again we fall silent. Master Cador opens his eyes and stretches.
“Should Medraut have been slain, who shall we anoint to lead his tribe? Who can heal the terrible wounds? Who can teach them empathy, unite them?” he questions in a voice tired and weak. “I, for one, am far too old!”
Listening to his sing song voice reminds me of someone, there is but one answer, and I am surprised I have not given it thought before now. I recall my own teacher, her insight, her quality of mercy, and her sincere respect for all things.
“Deichtine!” I say with great confidence. “Deichtine is the one to lead them forward.”
I turn to look at her. Smiling, she rises to come and sit with me.
“And Medtraut?” she questions? “am I expected to battle with him to the end? Me? Why, I am half his size!”
Something in her defiant statement makes us laugh.
“But consider this! Who is the custodian of the symbols? Who has now acquired an enlightened mind? Who has commanded the elements? As far as I am concerned”, Deichtine proclaims, “the answer is staring us in the face!”
“Indeed!” I hear Master Codor reiterate, from his cosy corner near the fire.
“Indeed!” call the children in chorus. “Indeed! Indeed!”
We laugh once again, stopping abruptly at the sound of footsteps approaching. Instinctively, we cower bracing ourselves for the worst. Two shadows whoosh through the door. Relieved, we recognize Saul followed by Lugh. Both are smiling.
“Saul has slain a mighty enemy today!” Lugh announces. “A special feat, as far as I am concerned!”
With that Saul holds up the battered body of a bird whose plumage shines with streaks of silver. Walking to Connla, he drops it at her feet, taking a long and slow bow.
“I believe, am certain,” adds Lugh, “this is the white crow, named Medtraut.”
With great difficulty, Saul tries to speak but it is intelligible. It is then I realize why Saul has never spoken. He has had his tongue removed.
*
We form a threesome, and make our way up the hill. The plan is to explore the dreaded kingdom of Camlann, to search for abandoned children, and to reassure ourselves that there is no further danger to us from this unholy ground. On reaching the sacred mound we are greatly surprised to discover a circle of standing stones.
“What is it you have done,” barks Connla walking to examine the stones. “Where are the trees?”
As usual Deichtine comes to my aid.
“Guinevere is quite capable of changing it all back! She is a born leader!”
“It is perhaps possible to have one tree disappear,” Connla admonishes, “but a whole circle?!”
Not knowing what to say or do, I retreat, head bent low to enlist Morrigan’s help. She is sound asleep and not pleased at being wakened.
“What should I do?” I ask despairingly. “How can I summon the trees back?”
Rising quietly, she dons her long morning robe and we both walk back up the hill to the where Connla is pacing impatiently to and fro. She stops on seeing Morrigan who strides to the stones requesting them to reshape. Nothing happens.
“My power is indeed waning,” she says regretfully, and turns her whole attention to me. “It is up to you. It is your task, now.”
Not knowing exactly what to say, I do as I always do and inform the stones where I wish to go and the purpose of our journey.
“There are three of us,” I add, quickly.
Once again, my request is rejected. Nothing happens.
“Unbelievable!” Connla comments, “you have deafened the powerful trees and our ability to transmute.”
“I shall try again later,” I offer in a feeble voice, and make my way back down the hill to the hut fully aware of my failings. My only solace is knowing that Bastian too commands the stones. I will have to seek him out. With this in mind, I venture each day to the Rowan tree. “Where are you?” I am loath to walk the long distance to the house. Without my wings, it is a perilous adventure. The weather is against me, the heavy rain might distort my pathway and destroy my wings. “Bastian,” I call, “where are you?” Blaming his preoccupation with the girl Rosalie, I once again sit down to wait.
“Hark Fea! Hark daughter of Morrigan!”
“Who calls me?”
It is I, Mabon.
Easing from the river, she glides silently towards me.
The human kind must not be allowed to blemish this beautiful Earth as they have darkened their own one. Their Earth is severely damaged. It has lost its fertile soil, and above all, its determination for change. The problems are abundant It’s people have defiled the sacred temple of their own earth.
Knowing that what she says is true, I retreat within myself to find the right words and plead my case in an effort to offset any plan to harm Bastian. About to speak, Mabon silences me.
You cannot change the sequence of events. You cannot interfere with the order of the universe. It is impossible. It is a perfect technology. An intrinsic system, mapped out for all eternity.
The ripple on the water’s surface wanes as Mabon disappears. Deep in thought, I know what I must do. No matter what everyone says, I must warn my friend. He is innocent. He is not to blame.
*
After waiting seven sunsets, I perceive a jagged shape running towards me at breakneck speed. Relieved, I recognize Bastian. Sensing me, he looks about in anticipation. Easing through the matrix, I embrace my best friend. It is then I notice his tears. My beautiful Bastian is in great pain. He wastes no time in recounting his morning and the contents of his letter, one from a place called Bonn and on the other side of his earth. I learn that his friend Rosalie is no more. Not knowing how to respond to this, I say nothing. ‘The girl Rosalie means nothing to me.’
“She has . . had such a magnificent singing voice. Unforgettable!”
Presuming this to be some feat one should honour, I smile.
“Black people lost out. Yup! They lost out.”
“Black?”
“The colour of her skin. Black.”
“But that is of no matter?”
“On our earth, it changes everything, Guinn. It shouldn’t, but it does.”
“How peculiar. You must tell your people that we all come from the same energy source. The building blocks are just mixed to different shapes, sizes and colours, that’s all.”
After some time in thoughtful silence, Bastian goes on to tell me that his father is on his way to Cooradarrigan. With a sinking feeling, I know that I have but little time to persuade him. Now not being the right moment to do so, I change the topic.
“But Bastian! I must tell you. We have banished the white crows. Medtraut is no more. “
Bastian listens to my account of Saul’s noble deed in slaying their leader.
“Wow! You are a brave lot. I knew you would succeed. I just knew it.”
Basking in his praise, I enjoy the feeling of being acknowledged for something other than my incompetence and height.
“I require you to talk to the standing stones.” I blurt out, quite by chance.
“What for?”
“To return the trees. My beautiful trees are no more. It is home to the ravens. They too have disappeared. And I alone am to blame!”
In great detail, I recount my mishap and Connla’s destain begging Bastian to apply the symbols. His hesitation unsettles me.
“You can borrow it. The chain. And when you’re ready, you can give it back.”
Although I find favour with the idea, I am fearful of Mabon’s wrath.
“No Bastian. You command the chain. It is yours.”
“I can try, I suppose. What if we end up as blooming birds?”
We both laugh.
“Well. Tell you what Guinn. I’ll practise a bit, first. Let’s see what happens.”
8. Neannthos
Walking around the grounds, I am aware autumn is kicking in and with it a biting wind. Although sunny, the clouds whizz by in break neck speed. On such a day, I do not want to be burdened by my future, so grabbing my duffel coat, I take the path by the river to empty my mind. “It’s Gran’s birthday, after all.” Her ninetieth birthday. And she wants to celebrate in her favourite place, in her beloved conservative, amongst her exotic plants. Doris has done herself proud by decorating the terraces with lanterns and colourful balloons. Despite the nippy weather, the gardens are festive and beautiful. On my way back to the house, I notice people beginning to stroll in, coming and going to offer their congratulations and bring her gifts. In the early afternoon, my mother, Elisabeth arrives escorted by Vincent, seemingly content to be a silent spectator. By the by, the house and gardens are full of music and fun initiated by Fräuline Still who brings her latest conquest, a pretty girl from the city. She too is fun loving and witty. We play silly games and sing silly songs. Towards evening, out of the blue, it begins to snow. From the sitting room window, I watch the flakes being tossed about by a sharp unexpected gusts. Suddenly, everything is sent flying. Doris and I bolt about to retrieve what we can, watching helplessly as the balloons take off to disappear in all directions. RoboMino waddles about complaining. The snow flakes change to heavy sleety rain which prompts the remaining visitors to head off home in a hurry. That same night there is a violent storm and the rain lashes relentlessly at the windows. The howling wind twists and turns around the sturdy house. Finally, towards dawn, I fall asleep to awake at midday and destruction. The garden is turned into a sorry sight of broken boughs and shrubs half buried in mud. Several trees have been uprooted. In the aftermath of the torrential rain, we are painfully aware that the river is swelling rapidly, and the jetty, on the smaller island, has temporarily disappeared. Some mud from the mound is sliding in lumps of earth down the hill and into the water.
With a start, I realize that I need to warn Guinevere to stay away. Making haste, I head for the Rowan tree and continue along the path until my body picks up the electricity in the air. Before me, the energy field appears fuzzy, distorted. I push against its form with the palms of both hands and am met with a solid resistance. ‘Bother!’Taking a step backwards, I call up the key symbol and venture forward, pushing the palms of my hands against the field. Again, I meet the solid surface of cracked glass. Looking about, I see that the river has soaked the ancient path. Thinking this might cause the energy field to weaken, I return back in the direction of the house and make my way towards the hill of the standing stones. Up until now, I have never tried the second symbol, and am slow to do so without supervision. ‘What if I disappear?’ Guinevere says that I am truly aligned to its energy and need not be afraid. I wonder if she too is blocked by the distorted field. With a jolt, I realize what this would mean for the future. The thought of not being able to say goodbye to Guinn would be unbearable. With my father almost on the doorstep, there is no time to waste.
Draped in a dome of energy, I wait for something to happen waving my chain in front of the larger stone. Nothing happens. I try and try. About to give up, my ear attunes to a grinding sound and the whist of a sudden wind stirring some leaves. Suddenly, the slabs change their form and I watch in awe as the mighty trees bursts through the earth to stretch towards the sky.
“Eh, thanks.” I mutter somewhat terrified of my own power.
Without wasting any time, I run around the circle to stand before the tree with catkins and nuts shaped much like the beak of a bird. ‘Are you the one? Are you the shape-shifting tree?’ Out of the corner of my eye, I spot something moving. Flying upwards out of the circle, I see a bird veer towards one of the trees. It is a raven. Landing in a sleek manoeuvre it shifts its shape.
With a start, I recognize the old gentleman, Master Cador. My vision blurs. I am unable to concentrate. On opening my eyes, I find myself, once again, surrounded by standing stones.
9. Vincent
The word ordinary sprang to mind. The man enjoying his cup of coffee was just an ordinary bloke, hair thinning, heavily rimmed glasses, smooth sallow skin. Although dressed in an expensive rain coat and accompanied by what looked like an expensive suit case, his whole appearance was simply ordinary. In expectation of an aura of evil, I am taken aback at this. ‘Here sits an ordinary person in the waiting room, quietly whiling away the time before the night train arrives.’ I buy a newspaper and go off to sit in a corner. Hiding behind it, I study the man opposite me wondering what my sister ever saw in him.
At first, everyone was taken with her brilliant fiancé, everyone that is, bar Samuel. The fact that he openly shunned him was so unlike Sam that I too began to suspect Alexander to be a dark horse. True, he was suave, intelligent, and extremely ambitious. Eventually, there was talk of marriage. And so we all came together in Bavaria to the wedding. Samuel refused to join the party. So it was left up to me to walk her down the isle. After her marriage, we lost touch. Being used to felling decisions with ‘big sister,’ I certainly missed her company. Mother insisted that Alexander was jealous of the bond between us and would do his utmost to stop any correspondence. Eventually, I travelled the world until most of my inheritance was spent. Somewhere in Afganistan I was told about a pending war, one that was to be generated by Der Schatten Reich. Thus, I decided to head for home. On reaching Cooradarrigan I was glad that such a quaint old place would probably remain forever unscathed, a welcoming refuge. I was surprised to find Elisabeth there. Eventually, she told me she had run away. Fearing that Alexander would be given custody of her son, she had persuaded me to leave him with Sam, in Germany. Bastian was but three years old. Later in the year, Elisabeth and I travelled for a time, eventually parting in Baveria where I reluctantly left her with an indifferent Alexander. Seemingly relieved that his son was safer in Cooradrrigan, he never enquired any further. A year went by without a word from her. Finally, the prolonged silence became an issue. Mother too had her doubts, fearing that her daughter might have been put to work against her will. In time, I decided to investigate her whereabouts, keeping incognito as best I could. For days, I surveyed the house. Except for Alexander, no one entered or left it as far as I could see. After three days of observing the place, I decided to make myself known. My welcome was cold, dismissive. Alexander was not forthcoming, about my sisters whereabouts. Let’s say I punched the truth as well as an address out of him. In a home for the mentally ill, I found my sister half starved, almost unrecognizable. Bribing one of the carers, I eventually smuggled her out. In the middle of the food war, I arrived back in Cooradarrigan with my distraught sister.
*
Hearing the whistle of the approaching freight train, I down my newspaper, taking my time to fold it neatly, I rise to follow Alexander out onto the empty platform. The high speed train is nearing at a steady pace. Lurking behind a sturdy pillar, I stand directly behind Alexander, and await my chance.
10. The changes
On my way back to the house I am met by Doctor Kingston who wastes no time in telling me his news.
“A stroke! She didn’t suffer, I can assure you of that, young man, not for one minute. I am sorry, young fellow. Indeed I am.”
In the days that follow, Gran is laid to rest under the shade of a willow tree. Once again, the village arrives to pay their last respects and mourn her passing. Remembering Master Cador’s words, I understand that families are part of a quantum entanglement, and that we shall always find each other even in the deepest depths of the cosmos. ‘She never betrayed our secret.’
In the days that follow, Vincent asks to see me. ‘Has my father arrived?’ Entering the sitting room, I find my uncle standing with his back to the fire. He signals for me to sit.
“Well, Bastian, I suppose you’re eager to know what we’ve decided for you.”
By we, I instantly think of my deranged mother, and flinch.
Vincent smiles.
“This is your home, Bastian. It will always be your home.”
“And my . . . father?”
“Alexander? I . . . let’s say I persuaded him to change his mind. He won’t be showing up, here.”
I think I must have smiled.
“I’ve never had children myself. But, I can learn to be a father of sorts. That is if you’ll let me!”
Not waiting for an answer, he continues.
“Elisabeth put a copper coin on your chain of charms. I take it, you’ve got rid of it?”
I nod in mute agreement. Surprisingly, I find it a relief that he knows.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Vincent. I shouldn’t have lied about the chain. I honestly don’t know why I did it.”
“As Shakespeare once said: ‘What’s done is done!’ Nevertheless, both of us want you to get a proper education. We feel you’d do well at boarding school.”
The thought of a boarding school, far away from here, without Guinn is something I don’t want to think about.
Noticing my despond face, he adds; “You’ll come home at the weekends. I promise!”
Patting me on the back, Vincent leaves me to stare into nothing.
*
Tired of being stuck indoors, I venture outside. The path to the river is narrowing by the minute. The fields around the house are soggy. Towards the end of the week, the weather shows itself from its worst side and we are treated to sleet, snow and heavy, torrential rain. RoboMino voices his concern and is instantly consoled by Doris.
“It has to stop sometime, Mino!”
10. Burdock
At day break, I walk the familiar path to the river. Sitting under the rowan tree, I meditate to fashion my request, I then rise and move to the water’s edge.
“Mabon! It is I, Fea.”
Except for tiny ripples on the surface of the water, the river remains unheeding.
“Mabon! He is not to blame. Bastian is innocent! I pray you, do not harm him.”
Again, I wait in vain. Knowing that I must find Bastian at all costs, I brace myself for the worst. Calling up my key symbol, I attempt to whoosh through the force field. Nothing happens. Bewildered, I step back and try once again. ‘What is the reason?’ Enhancing my sense of hearing, I take in the sound of a howling wind, the pelting of hail stones on the other side. ‘Fortify!’ With that, I whoosh through the veil that separates the worlds to take in a river that is wild, distorted by the dissolution of a memory transforming it into crazed momentum. I strain my eyes. There is no sign of Bastian. Reluctant to move on, I choose to wait, keeping an eye on the path leading from the mansion. Time passes. About to consider my next move I am aware of several figures moving erratically along the river’s bank. They are still very far off as if walking behind a thin gauze of light. Above my head, the raucous cry of a raven attracts my attention.‘You are a white shadow.’ it calls. ‘Move forward, Fea.’ With that, I push forward against the gale force wind, onward bound where I encounter upheaval. The people of Cooradarrigan are frantically heaving heavy sacks to mount on either side of the river’s bank. The sky above the flow is hung with burdened clouds standing in wait to spill and empty themselves of their rain. Large drops plop onto its surface creating oscillating holes on the smooth flush of the water. But it is the voices that penetrate the air. Deep in the belly of the river, they have been disturbed to rant and rage in the churning mud. Their keening prevails above the lash of a stormy gale being carried on the wings of a wind advancing from the East. Taking forever, I push against the wall of a charging storm. Nearing the jetty to the smaller island, I am witness to the chaotic efforts of a people fighting a powerful foe. I stand as close as I dare to Bastian, trying to make myself know.

“Go back Guinn, he urges. “it is too dangerous.” His lovely face is paled and filled with fear as he continues to work hand in hand with a strange looking mechanical human.
“The boat, lad! Get it out of the water!” Someone commands.
“Will do, Vincent!” Shouts Bastian dropping the sand sack to run towards the small jetty, grab hold of the rope and pull with all of his might.
“Take heed, Bastie,” I scream on noticing an eel-like creature wheeling, wriggling beneath the river’s surface.
My warning is drowned in a crack of thunder, in a resounding voice, tossing the elements at her will. Repulsed, I wretch at the stench of rotting fish, a putrid foul smell filling the space around me.
“Come Bastian!” she beckons.“Come in.”
Bastian stands transfixed.
“Rosalie? Is that you?” he demands of the spawning image.

Helplessly, I look on as he is drawn towards the mass of water swirling around a ghostly face.

“Come Bastian. Come!” I hear Mabon call.
In utter despair, I watch Bastian blindly follow the ghost of the girl in the water, like a sleep walker obeying the call of the dream. I try with all of my might to pull him back.
“Look! Someone cries. “Look out!”
Taken aback, I look towards the mound. To my horror its drenched earth is disintegrating before my very eyes, and erupting to slide in a mass of mud towards the group.
“Run!” they shout racing towards the house.
“Bastian!” I call out in horror as I witness the slick manoeuvrer of a snake-like creature easing its way towards my friend, to rise, pounce, and attempt to suck at Bastian’s neck closing in on his larynx. I watch him fight for air, choking. Above the crashing sound of oncoming boulders and rock-debris, I hear it. It is a song so beautiful, so magnificent, Godly, emerging from the bowels of the river, a music so profound that it reigns in the wind, the flaying trees, the lashing rain, and the tormented river. In that moment of absolute surprise, I wretch the chain from Bastian’s neck, and hurl it into the air. A ghostly arm punches through the river’s surface to snatch the chain of symbols and sink beneath the calming river. Bastian takes hold of my outstretched hand to crawl back onto the river’s bank, just as a monstrosity of mud slides downhill to pass within inches of his feet to crash into the water. At the same time, we are lifted upwards as if being pulled by invisible strings. Then, all is deadly quiet.
“Guinn?”
“Here! I whisper. I am here next to you.”
A gentle gust of wind bends the boughs we stand on in a mighty sway as if underpinning the statement.
“I’m a bird . . .. . a blooming bird. What have you done?”
“I have no idea, Bastian, I respond honestly.”
We both laugh.
Flapping my wings to test their strength, I am apprehensive. ‘Which direction should I take?’ There is no landscape to guide our journey. We are surround by water on all sides.
“You must stay very close to me, Bastian. Should we be parted, I promise I shall return to find you. I will always find you.”
“I know, Guinn. I know!”
“Are we ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, Guinn.”
About to take flight, I hear a strange noise, and turn towards the hullabaloo of an approaching flock of birds flying high in the sky. They swoop to circle thrice above our heads before breaking up to form a straight line.
“The ravens! The ravens have come. Come Bastian! Follow the trail.”
Lifting upwards, we join the flock of ravens and follow in their wake, homeward bound on the wings of a promise, gathering momentum to rise and crash through the matrix, and into my world, my Earth.

End