Marei - book one. Part three: Shadow. Chapter 15

From Samhain to Yule, Gurek’s presence at the House on the Hill became a regularity that was greeted by both of us with eager interest. I was learning more and more about the nature of relationships between men and women by being allowed, as a shadow, to witness their intimate moments, conversations and that one sacred act that seemed to be constant but always varying.

As the moon rose in the sky for the second time since Samhain, the days had become short and dark. Grandmother and I had long ago brought the chickens and goat out of the pasture and into the enclosed shed for winter’s safe keeping. I was preparing the blood moon tea for us, because our cycles matched that of the moon and crested when the moon was at it’s fullest.

Grandmother had been feeling ill lately, especially in the mornings, and often she would ask me to begin the morning’s breakfast preparations while she waited for the morning’s sickness to abate. This morning was no exception.

I had the oatmeal cooked and on the table, with the moon tea brewing to full potency when she finally came back to the kitchen from the out house. Seeing that I had switched from our regular morning tea to the moon tea, a small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

“Marei, fy wyres, I will not be drinking that tea this morning. Would you kindly brew some of the tea we have most often for my breakfast?” I must have looked surprised and for a moment I almost forgot my vow of silence and asked her why she would not be drinking the moon tea. Even without vocalizing my question, she answered me.

“I am beichiog, my darling. Pregnant. Do you remember the augury we did at Samhain? I had warned myself to be cautious or I would catch a child once again but I was too eager in my desire for Gurek.” She paused here, a wistful smile playing across her tired looking face. “I did not drink the tea to prepare me to be barren and now we have created new life within me. Tonight at the full moon I shall divine to see if this is a child that should be born or cast away with the herbs, as Ursa showed you.”

Quietly she sat at the table and ate the oatmeal I had prepared. I studied her from across the rim of a steaming cup of tea to see if she looked any different. Her face was pinched and a bit pale, but I knew she had just been sick out side so that explained the peculiar coloration. She was not yet showing any signs around the belly of having a baby inside her, but I knew that the characteristic roundness of a baby developed slowly.

We finished breakfast in silence, and completed the usual chores with no variation on the norm. Gurek was expected later that afternoon so we added more vegetables to the stew that was being prepared for dinner. After a lunch of cheese and leftover bread, instead of sitting down to quiet reading and nap time, Grandmother pulled out her chair and sat back down at the table. I followed her and saw that she had covered the table with a light coat of finely crushed wheat that was usually used to prepare the bread. She had a handful of seeds from the garden and a hard boiled egg at the table with her.

“Fy wyres, I want to explain to you how babies are made, more thoroughly than Ursa did, though I’m sure she did an adequate job of it. But to be a priestess you must know the truth of all things life and death, and not rely on fictitious women’s tales meant to explain those things which seem most mysterious.” She gestured to the flour and drew a cauldron like shape in the flower. “This is a woman’s womb. As Ursa told you, it is deep inside you and can be reached by way of a passageway that stretches to allow the entry of a man or the exit of a baby. Inside the womb are many tiny eggs, as rich and full of potential life as well tended Earth in the Spring.”

“It is this egg that causes the moon cycle of blood that all women of breeding age experience. Like the Earth during the turn of the year, the egg also has seasons; it is at times ready for planting, and at times ready for the harvest, or to appear dead. When it appears dead, your cycle of moon blood comes to you and your body prepares for the next time when you could grow a child within you.

“You have seen how a man and woman join together to create the opportunity for a baby to be born. When that happens, the man’s shaft shoots forth a liquid that is like thousands of tiny seeds to be planted within your Earth-egg.” She drew a penis shape in the flour, sticking into the cauldron shape she had drawn previously. She dumped the handful of seeds into the cauldron and picked up the egg.

“When the egg is not yet ready to be planted, immediately before or after your moon’s blood, gwaedoliaeth am-y lleur it is as if the egg is not even there and the seeds are not implanted, as if they had been tossed onto frozen earth in the winter. But when an egg is ready to receive the seed, the baby can be started. The seeds will rush to the egg,” she pushed the seeds with one hand over to where the hard boiled egg was laying in the center of the cauldron sketch. “When this happens, they will go within the egg, and plant themselves deeply to form a new life within.” Using one tiny finger she pushed one of the seeds inside the flesh of the egg.

With a mocking half smile she looked from the egg to the flower to the seeds. Using one hand, she pushed several more seeds inside the egg and rolled the whole thing in flour. Sighing with a contentment I could not imagine being caused by such a strange concoction, she popped the entire egg in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. It was just as she was finishing that the front door opened as Gurek let himself into the kitchen.

He took off his muddy boots and slipped on the fur lined slippers that Grandmother had made for him when he started visiting regularly. Crossing quickly to the table, he slipped his arms around Grandmother from behind and kissed her neck. Glancing casually at the table, he froze, looking from Grandmother to the rough sketch and pile of seeds on the table. As was customary, he did not address me, but his eyes did briefly scan my face for any sign of what we had been discussing before he arrived. He took his arms from around her shoulders and sat down at the table beside her, one hand on hers where it rested on the table.

“Láidáin,” he said her name softly and she met his eyes. As she did, that familiar undercurrent of communication began again, as if they were talking with only their eyes and did not require the convention of words. “Láidáin?” He questioned her softly and she nodded once, almost shy.

With a whoop of pure joy he jumped up from the table so quickly that his chair fell over backwards behind him, clattering to the floor. He lunged towards Grandmother and scooped her up off the chair where she was sitting and spun her around in a circle, laughing with delight like a boy at a country fair. Grandmother could not help but laugh with him, the sound was so joyous and infectious it tugged at your soul, lifting out any feelings of sadness or doubt.

He set her down carefully on the kitchen floor and kissed her deeply and thoroughly, his strong hands roaming possessively across her body, pressing her against him. When finally he pulled away, he was still grinning, but looking at Grandmother tenderly, a swell of pride puffing up his chest.

“Láidáin, anwylyd, today I am a proud man, made very happy that our love has been blessed by the God and Goddess to bear such fruits as a child, so late in our lives. You know that I have long been alone, and have longed for that which warms a man in the night, and through the long winters of his age.” He leveled a long and serious gaze at her and she smiled fondly at him, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks in response to the heat in his eyes.

Kneeling on the floor in front of her, he removed the dagger he always carried at his waist from its plain leather sheath and laid it at her feet, hilt facing her and blade facing him. Putting the backs of closed fists together, he bent forward in a low bow, placing his hands and forehead on the floor in front of her in a low, reverent bow. From this prostrated position he spoke.

“M’khindẻǽ, I have served you as a priest to a priestess for many years, alternating this happy duty with others of our circle. Yet if you had not already guessed, though it was duty to act as the God to your Goddess, for me it was also pleasure. As our mutual faith believes, a quickening between two people indicates divine favor in their continued association. Between us is now this sign. I would give myself to you fully, not just as a priest to a priestess, or as God to Goddess, but as man to woman. As husband to wife. I pledge all of myself to you, my strong body, the depth of my faith, the strength of my convictions. My time, my home, my body and my heart all belong to you, if you would but say you’ll have them. If you would have me.”

Silence, as full and as ripe as a fresh apple, filled the room. Gurek remained where he had bent, bound by the laws of propriety to remain there until he received an answer from Grandmother. His shoulders were shaking as if with great strain and when I looked at Grandmothers face, a trail of tears led from each eye as she smilingly looked upon Gurek’s bent form. She knelt in front of him and picked up the dagger he had carefully placed in front of her.

“Gurek, M’khindẻǽ, I hope you know that for me, too, it has been pleasure more than duty when it was your turn to fill the role of the God here at the House on the Hill. You bring me great joy with your strength and tenderness, and melt me within like the metals you forge during your days work. If I were free to accept your offer, I want you to know that I would do so, and gladly, at this moment. But I am still bound here, as the mistress of this House with none yet ready to replace me and I am not free to make that decision without consulting those whom we both serve. I am not even free to decide if I should birth this child we have created, or if it should be brought forth early and cast aside.”
She returned his dagger to the sheath on his belt and lifted his chin so he could look her in the eye. He ducked his head briefly before rising to his knees to face her and I could see the mark of tears in his eyes. “Tonight is the full moon. Tonight I ask the gods if I should allow this child to be born. Please come with me and share your strength with me; I am afraid of what answer I will receive.” His jaw clenched with unsaid words and carefully masked emotion as he glanced away from her earnest eyes.

“Please, M’khindẻǽ. Though I know my duty and will follow the edicts that the Lord and Lady decide, I know where my heart lies, and who my body wishes to hold in the night. I know that if I were free, you and I would marry and have a child to dote on in our age.”

He turned to look at her again, carefully considering his words. “I will come with you cariad. Though my body can endure countless tasks, my heart may break if the Gods say we should discard what is between us for our duty. Yet I cannot tell you not to follow the laws we are both bound to. We have both spent our lives in service to something that is larger than we are; we cannot now change that path, or alter our convictions because of our desire.”

Though he had agreed to go with her, the refusal of his proposal had obviously taken a great toll on him for he did not linger behind Grandmother when walking, nor did he casually touch her as he was wont to do. Instead he kept a careful and calculated distance from her, sitting politely at the table as if an unfamiliar guest and not someone we were both so used to seeing that he might as well have been family. Grandmother too was obviously feeling ill at ease for instead of her usual light banter, she was silent, worriedly chewing on her bottom lip.

After a dinner that was more endured than enjoyed, Grandmother slipped into the magick room to retrieve the augury bowl. Together we went outside in the frosty night air, watching as our breath formed clouds of mist as we breathed. The night was mystical looking – frost glazed all surfaces like celestial decoration, glistening in the glow of the brightly risen full moon. Crunching on the frozen grass we made a silent, nervous parade to the well for fresh water and clockwise through the bushes and into the grove.

In the midst of the circle, Grandmother faltered, pausing and swaying slightly as if she were going to fall. Gurek stepped up quickly, putting his arms around her to steady her. The glance they shared at that moment forgave all that had been said or done previously. Together, arms to waists, they continued to the center of the circle where the crystalline glow of the moon was just cresting the tall trees and bushes that encircled the sacred grove. Grandmother filled the bowl with the fresh well water we had just gathered and fumbled at her belt for the small, white handled dagger she usually wore there. Before she was able to retrieve the dagger, Gurek had again taken his from the sheath, and offered it to her.

“This question is as much mine as yours, Láidáin. Make the cut with my blade, and seal my fate with yours.” She nodded at his words and with one quick stroke, cut a slice into her third finger on the left hand. Squeezing the bleeding wound, she coaxed three crimson drops out and into the augury bowl of water.

Bending low over the bowl, she breathed twice onto the slivery surface of the water.

Gurek was on her left, holding her tightly as if in an amorous embrace, or as when they slept together in each other’s arms. I was on her right. All three of us stared intently at the bowl and though I could tell by the change in her energy and by the slight ripples that marred the surface of the augury bowl when the moon oracle decided to speak, I could not see the vision that was there for her. From the look of concern and concentration on Gurek’s face, he could not see it either and eventually he gave up staring at the bowl and just gazed worriedly at his lover, a frown creasing his wide brow.

Grandmother was leaning over the bowl, so close to it that it looked as if she was trying to rest her forehead on the glassy surface. Her eyes were dripping tears in steady rivulets down her cheeks, splashing off the cheek bones and into the water. Her mouth was moving in what appeared to be a steady conversation though neither Gurek nor I could hear what she was saying or make out the words by staring at her lips.

She began to chant, mumbling softly, just loud enough to be audible, but quiet enough so that we could not understand what she was saying. The leaves on the trees rustled in response, the mild breeze turning to a strong wind from the north, blustering into the grove and lifting cloaks and hair as it swirled and twirled almost playfully. Darkness settled into the grove; a cloud had passed over the moon, obscuring its silvery light. Grandmother gasped, a sob escaping her throat as she sat up and looked at Gurek.

His face was a careful mask of neutrality, but even with the effort he was putting forth to maintain that impartial veneer his concern and impatience for an answer was evident in his eyes, and in the way he reached for her as she leaned towards him. Sobbing, she fell onto his chest, burying her head in the crook of his neck like a small child. He wanted to ask her, to demand the answer from her but his years of training enabled him to simply hold her, patient, and wait for her to speak.

When finally her breath stopped catching in her throat and she was able to sit up, she took his face between both of her hands and kissed him tenderly on the lips. The question furrowed his brow and he put both of his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me, Láidáin. What did the moon’s oracle say to you?”

Shivering as if with cold from the gusty North Wind that still blustered about the grove, she rested her forehead on his. “We can keep the baby, M’khindẻǽ. We can be together as husband and wife for after this child is born, I will no longer be the mistress of the House on the Hill.”

Though Gurek’s face broke into a grin and Grandmother was smiling as he again picked her up and spun her around, I felt a chill run up my spine at that proclamation and I wondered who would be the priestess here?