Marei - book one. Part three: Shadow. Chapter 12

Laying here in the dark on my last night in this body; the shapes of couples pass by me, enacting the sacred rituals of spring and seeding, eager and hot with the blood that pounds through their veins like the pulse of the very universe itself. And who has not felt this searing need; this all encompassing desire to be filled, to be emptied, to be the vessel through which all life passes?

My body has long ago stopped feeling the swell of the spring tide, or bleeding at the turn of the moon; has stopped clamoring for the touch of a hand in the dark. But I can still remember him; the taste of his mouth, the smell like distant flowers that lingered on him, even in death and then beyond. Even now, when I recall how he felt, that tangible memory imprinted onto my very soul, I shudder and quake deep within the center of my being with a surge that still cannot be denied. Who except him could touch me with such passion and tenderness that it seared me to my very soul? Truly, I have not longed to be with another since that fateful night when he became my husband, not just in name but in body, and in spirit.

Yet long before he came to me, before I burned nightly with a need for him beside me, inside me; before I dared to challenge the Gods, the forces of fate, and nature if only to have him be mine, even if only once. Before I was tied to him body and soul, I once knew innocence and love. You who know only a portion of my story will caw like meddlesome crows that I was not innocent when he came to me, oh no. And to that I will agree; I was far from innocent and glad to bring that experience to my wedding bed. Before I knew the joy of being with the one I was intended for, I knew both physical and emotional love. Before his hands healed me, I knew the touch of other hands, sometimes willing, sometimes not. Before I became a dedicated Priestess, serving only one Priest, I served the call of the God and Goddess with my body as both temple and joyous sacrifice.

Even I, once innocent, had to learn how to heed the call of the rushing tide, how to become both strong and pliant simultaneously. There was a time when my name did not mean wanton, a time before I knew the searing pain of the broken hearted and betrayed. A time when I learned that my body was a sacred vessel, not just a means to an end, and when my heart had yet to wear the scars that love brings.

The bitterness of that pain and brokenness was washed away when he came to me, when he rescued me from the loneliness and depression I had fallen into and made my scars my strengths. For that saving grace, I would have followed him anywhere. Yet there was more to our love than indebted gratefulness, for he spoke the language of the mind, knew the patterns of magick that roamed the earth, truly believed in his God, and mine. And I had been trained by loving hands not to be the docile, impassive, pliant helpmate, but to stand beside him, challenge him and love him as an equal in his work; as Priestess to Priest.

I know now, after years of wandering and wondering that I am not responsible for the death of the Christ. Yet later this night, when my body breathes its last breath here in the hallowed fields of my adopted home, I will finally have the chance to review a life time’s worth of action. And if after my story is finished, I must take the blame for his suffering and pain I will stand proudly as a woman who fought hard to know love and answer it’s bitter sweet call. I will cry out in defiance to those who would condemn me, “He was worth it; our love was worth it.” Which of you who have touched even briefly on the addictive agony of love would condemn me for loving a man countless generations of souls have recognized as beautiful? And after hearing time and again his heartfelt messages of love and joy, how could you deny that he should also enjoy what little pleasure was afforded him in his brief and beautiful life?

I will say it again; every moment that led me to him, and every moment thereafter was worth it.





Life as a shadow wasn’t much different than it had been before the cauldron’s initiation. Grandmother and I rose with the dawn, prepared breakfast, did chores, baked bread, took naps and did crafts. My reading lessons had to stop as I could no longer read aloud to her, but Grandmother would spend some time each day with her books, reading silently to herself and soon I followed suit, struggling to decipher the words I was unfamiliar with. I could see no reason to just sit and watch her read, especially if I was supposed to be a shadow and do everything that she did.

I tried to match my rhythms to hers perfectly, only using the out-house when she did, drinking and eating what and when she did – and exactly as much. I slept when she slept and woke when she woke, regardless of the time. I moved a pallet onto the floor of her room so I could share not just her daily rhythms, but her space. I knew I was successful in matching her when my blood moon cycle changed and we bled together.

Before the garden was ready to be harvested, Grandmother led me on long ventures into the forest, sometimes overnight, to find and cull herbs that grew under the canopy. At least once a week we ventured into the dense underbrush in pursuit of the herbs which were being hung from the rafters to dry on our return. Often on these treks into the forest we would weave our way into the grove beyond the well for a few silent moments before continuing to harvest the herbs Grandmother was seeking.

While we walked, only the natural sounds of the woods around us could be heard; Grandmother did not reveal her thoughts to me in a walking monologue as she sometimes did when we were tending the garden or working side by side on household chores. The herbs we gathered were identified by only a few words; just enough so I knew the proper name for what we were gathering.

After we had taken three trips through the woods, I started to recognize landmarks and locations for the plants; some only grew in damp, darkness. Others wrapped like choking vines around other trees. Still others would line the floor like a green billowing carpet in small, almost circular patches in the sun. Grandmother would test my retention by speaking only the name when we were nowhere near the location and allowing me to lead her to the harvest spot. I soon became just as familiar with the more common forest herbs as Grandmother, though I did not yet know their uses.

When we were not engaged in the gathering and gardening and regular housework, there was an almost stead stream of people who ventured up the hill to seek Grandmother’s advice, healing skills, and potions. Usually they would come one at a time, but sometimes they came in groups if their problems were similar enough so they could all benefit from one question and answer. Grandmother listened patiently to every person who ventured up the hill. Some she had to turn away with no answer, or with admonitions – she both refused to work spells and potions for love and to pretend an answer when she was unable to divine one.

Typically, though, most issues were ones she could solve or offer healing for. She brewed a potion that helped a young girl to shake a fever that had lingered for over a week. A young man who had lost the use of his arm when he fell off a horse was given a poultice and a series of exercises to restore the arm to its original strength. Women who wondered about the prospect of children or husbands were given divinations to lead their hearts to peace. Men came to her for divinations on the fortune of battling a neighboring tribe, or how best to avenge what they considered a wrong. A young woman who did not wish to birth the child growing in her belly was given the proper herbs and care to safely cast it forth, unformed. A man who had taken an infection in a sword wound received a poultice and tea to draw the infection forth.

As the shadow, I had the unique opportunity to hear private conversations and to witness what Grandmother did to solve the problems presented to her. Some were cured with a mixture of potions which lent me insight into the many uses of the herbs we gathered in the forest. Others were answered by a mixture of simple divination techniques and trance speaking. Yet sometimes, though Grandmother performed a divination, the answer she gave was more detailed than the divination was capable of; I suspected that she was supplementing the information she received from the other worlds with her own experience and wisdom. I began to develop an appreciation for the depth of knowledge that Grandmother wielded on a daily basis.

The harvest came and went. The larger garden we had planted yielded great heaping piles of vegetables which we shared with the Woodsman family. Twenty of the chicks I had let live had survived the summer and when John and his family came up with their cart to fetch the vegetables, he butchered all but a few we planned to keep laying through the winter and we spent several days boiling, plucking and cooking them to share. Grandmother and I kept 6 and gave the others to John, Ursa and Little John. They also brought us several rabbits and a deer, to cut and hang in the smoke house.

Soon the harvest moon waned away into darkness and Samhain approached again. I thought often of the year I had spent alone in the House and compared my days then to my days now on several occasions. Smiling, I realized that I had been bleeding as a woman for an entire year’s time. For some reason, this thought made me feel proud and I stood a bit taller as I gathered the morning eggs. As the moon rose through its familiar cycle from new to full, I wondered how I would spend Samhain this year; surely Grandmother would celebrate the cross over day. I needn’t have worried.

The night before the full moon, after the sun had set and the world was lit by the candle like light of the lunar illumination, we walked barefoot in the dew dampened grass to the grove. Once inside, Grandmother raised her arms to the dark sky. I followed her lead and raised my arms as a warm breeze rippled through my unbound hair.

After a moment of silent reflection during which I was surprised to find myself consciously monitoring the rhythm of my breathing and chanting my cauldron mantra “Just one more,” she walked sun wise around the grove, plucking a leaf from each of the thirteen trees. Before she took a leaf, she would bow her head as if asking the tree’s permission to pick. After she had deposited the leaf in a small basket she was carrying, she would bow her head again, as if to say thank you.

I had learned early on in my shadowing that nothing Grandmother did was without purpose so when she had fetched a small basket before we left the House, I found one as well. I followed her around the circle, bowing and plucking. I found that as I bowed to each of the trees, I was asking permission to pick the leaf with my thoughts. After the third tree, I noticed that the breeze would rustle only that one tree as I stood in front of it, and again after I had thanked the tree for the leaf I had taken. I wondered if this was what was meant by “talking to the trees.”

When we had each completed the circle and had our full collection of thirteen different leaves, Grandmother placed her palms together, touching her fingertips to her forehead. I immediately followed suit and together we bowed to the circle. In my mind I was thanking the circle for allowing us to take what we needed. Though I did not know why we needed the leaves, I was still grateful to have them and sure that Grandmother would have a use for them.

The following morning, before the fire had been stoked, Grandmother and I hurried with our baskets of leaves to the stone bench that was outside next to the garden. Using a blackened stick from the fireplace, she drew two circles on the bench and cut both circles into eight pieces with four intersecting lines as if she were cutting a pie. As the sun broke over the horizon and touched its rays to our earth for the first time that day, she reached into her basket and pulled out all the leaves in one big handful.

Tossing them carefully onto the circle nearest her, she studied them intently. As she contemplated hers, I reached into my basket and cast my collection of leaves onto my circle.

“Each tree has meaning, Marei. And as each leaf falls onto the circles we have cast, we can read the next turning of the year by their positions not only to each other but within the quadrants. Look here,” she continued, pointing at the upper left section of her circle. “This is the corner for the season that will follow today, the section of time until we reach Yule and the days become long again. Within this section I have cast Willow and Holly. Willow is for enchantment, fertility, and moon magick. Holly for foresight and defense. They both landed with their spines facing us. To me this means that I must be cautious in my romantic entanglements as my moon may yet bring me another child. If I choose not to bear another, and I think at my age I should make the choice not to, I must use foresight to defend myself from fertility.

“The next section is the distance in time between Yule and Imbolc, as the days grow longer and the sheep ready themselves to milk and nurse. Here there is nothing but the Oak, which leads into the next section, touching both Birch and Hawthorn as spring progresses and circles to Ostara. Oak is for power, endurance, strength and triumph in life. Birch for beginnings and encouragement, and Hawthorn for Fullness and Ripening. Here as Spring blossoms and ripens, we will find that life is difficult, but with endurance and strength we will be able to overcome any obstacles and nurture something new to fullness. Perhaps it is a good year for raising more chickens!” She laughed merrily.

“From Ostara to Beltane, the Vine and Elder touch, but you can see here that Ash has fallen outside the circle. Vines are for joy, mirth, merriment, exaltation. Elder represents completion of a cycle and fullness of night. It would seem that we will have company in the nights that brings us great joy and mirth. Ash is Knowledge and rebirth, the tree of water and floods. That it has fallen by the wayside might be a warning that a person testing in the cauldron may not be ready and would not survive if allowed to try.

“From Beltane to Litha, Hazel stands alone and Rowan straddles the circles’ edge. Hazel means healing and wisdom, poetry and music. As spring gives way to summer, it will be a fine time for music and poetry, soothing our souls with the sounds. However, Rowan – the quickening of life and magick – on the outskirts of our circle tells me that we must have caution to slow the pace of the teaching and let the muses have their way lest we hurry too greatly and miss out on where the true magick lies – in the music and poetry of the days and nights.

“Litha to Lughnassad is crossed by the Alder, the tree for strength, light and connections between women. As the fall progresses we will be called to be a stronger female force, making connections not only between you and I, but with other women who follow our ways. We must be cautious, for Ivy is again on the border. Ivy is attachment, fidelity and eternal friendship. It will be important that the friendships made during this period are ones that can span time.

“The last two sections, from Lughnassad to Mabon and from Mabon to Samhain again are empty, save for the Yew, which falls out side of the circle. Yew is for established power, wisdom, protection and death. We may see the death of a powerful protector during this time.” She touched her forehead with her fingers and blew the leaves to the ground. Wiping away the circle she had drawn, she turned to my augury and began to read.

“Goodness! It seems that while I am busy in the spring and summer, you have portents in the fall when mine are silent. First though, Yew and upside down Holly are touching between now and Yule. Power, wisdom, protection, death meet the lack of foresight and defense. You must be very cautious in the next months that you are carefully guarding yourself as we work together magickally.

“However, after that, you have from Yule to Imbolc to Ostara in relative peace. There are no portents of import in these seasons for you. This makes sense as it is a busy time for me, and as my shadow, you would share the portents I have, but have none of your own.

“From Ostara to Beltane you will be influenced by outside sources as the Ivy and Alder touch each other. Attachment, fidelity and eternal friendship are met with strength, light and a connection between women. Since my augury indicated that we would have company that brings joy, it would seem also that this guest is one who is destined to be a great friend of yours.

“Beltane leads to Litha with the Vine on the edge of the circle. Joy, mirth, exaltation, thanks. As I slow the pace of your learning based on my reading for the year, you will give thanks and find joy in the days as they pass.

“Litha is flanked by Ash at the outer edge of the circle and leads into Lughnassad with Rowan crossing between the two seasons. Ash, again, is knowledge, rebirth, waters and floods. The time of your anniversary with the cauldron will be drawing near and you will be allowed to speak again; to share the wisdom of your rebirth and to ask the questions that will assist you in gaining further knowledge. Birch falls to the outside here, and you may find that there is a gentle new beginning, encouraged by a woman’s blessing as you find your voice again.

“This final season after you have regained your voice holds the most of import for you. Five of the thirteen leaves have fallen here. Hawthorn and Oak upside down on top of each other, touching the Willow, also inverted. At the edge of your circle is Elder and Hazel, both of those are also back to us. You must have great caution here – it will truly be a time of turbulence with many potentially negative influences. The opposite of fullness, ripening, endurance, strength and triumph is a not so gradual fading due to weakness in character that may well cause a great rift or rotting of a friendship. It will certainly feel like utter defeat when it happens but only time will tell if the friendship is truly lost, or just hibernating in a long spiritual winter. Be wary of an outside influence of dark magick that seeks to undo healing. But know that the completion of a cycle is at hand for you, not just in the passing of another year, but in the turning of a new era of your life.”

She bowed and touched her forehead with her finger tips and I did the same, then I brushed the leaves to the ground and smudged the circle until it was an unrecognizable smear of soot on the stone bench.