Reflections of the Past A Story of the Guardians of the Well By Vanda Inman These words are written in honour of the guardians of the past,
And those who journey in the name of love,
Light and all that is good.
The answers to all the questions we might ever ask can be found in the ground beneath our feet.
Part 2 Air The Story of St Cledoris The Holy Spring and the Village Church Chapter 15 The valley was adrift of yellow,
White and green.
All around,
The flowers of the blackthorn mingled with the gold of the gorse and the fresh spring green of hawthorn.
The pinnacle of rock guarding the valley was crowned with gold,
The pathway a carpet of green strewn with flowers of gold and white,
Celandines and daisies,
And in the distance the slope of the hill was covered in a shimmering grey-blue hue as bluebells swept across it.
Dainty primroses nestled in clefts of wooden rock,
And overhead the ravens croaked their raucous cries in ecstasy of the spring-filled days.
Rhiannon hurried along the path towards her mother's hut,
Hoping to find her grandmother taking a turn for the better,
Wishing she had paid attention and asked more questions in the past.
For once she was grateful to leave the church and the brothers behind,
Not even the chance of a stolen word with Cleda causing her footsteps to falter.
There is nothing more I can do,
Murmured her mother as Rhiannon entered the tiny hut and sank quietly to her knees beside the frail figure.
Is there no one who can help?
She began,
Her mind racing to the women of the village,
Wise in her blood,
Or even the brothers.
Brother Dominic especially was known to aid the sick more than anyone else.
There is but one who might have the skill to bring her back,
Replied her mother,
But I would not ask it of him.
Rhiannon was about to question who and why not when her mother,
Unbidden,
Continued.
Because of times long past,
She murmured,
Because of what he gave and that which he took away,
And because I did much the same to him.
She paused and Rhiannon was about to ask who this person was,
What he had done,
And if it bore any relation to the contents of the leather pouch,
When there was a soft sound at the doorway,
The light shifted and she turned to find brother Dominic standing before them.
What puzzled Rhiannon was the way her mother,
Who hitherto would have nothing to do with any of the brothers,
Calmly accepted his appearance and moved to one side as he knelt beside the old lady,
Placing a hand on her forehead and closing his eyes.
After some time,
During which no one moved at all,
Her mother raised herself gently to her feet,
Pressed one hand on Dominic's shoulder and gestured for Rhiannon to follow her from the hut.
What,
Why,
Rhiannon began,
But her mother simply put a finger to her lips,
Causing Rhiannon to subside into silence.
Dominic is not truly like the others,
Murmured her mother eventually.
He has healing hands,
A gift which cannot be explained and is,
In truth,
One of the old way.
Believe him to his work and we will be all the better for it.
But you will have nothing to do with the brothers,
Insisted Rhiannon.
Why have you invited him in?
Why?
Something clicked in Rhiannon's mind,
A feeling difficult to put into words,
But which lay in the complete trust and unspoken understanding which passed between her mother and Dominic the moment he entered the hut.
She thought of Dominic's skill at carving,
The fact she had never known her father,
But had only heard him referred to as a man of the woods,
Or should it have been wood?
The realisation her birth had fallen shortly after the arrival of the brotherhood,
And the delicately carved pendant in the pouch.
What was it he gave you and what did he take?
Rhiannon asked suddenly,
The question forming on her lips almost before she thought of it.
They had been sitting in silence for a while,
The sun warm on their faces and the birds busy with their nesting in the spring sunshine.
Rhiannon glanced at her mother,
Wondering if she had overstepped the mark or if this was a rare time her mother might answer some questions.
He took my guardianship of this spring,
Began her mother,
For I was no longer a maiden able to carry out my duties,
Even if I had been allowed when the brothers came.
In times long past it might not have mattered,
But with all this talk of heaven and hell,
Fire and brimstone,
But.
.
.
She paused and smiled,
Taking Rhiannon's hand in hers in a rare gesture of affection.
He gave me you,
And I in turn took his faith from him,
Yet also gave him something to live for.
There was a silence for long moments whilst Rhiannon digested this information.
Why didn't he marry you?
Her mother smiled sadly.
It was impossible.
We would have been outcasts.
Where would we have gone?
What could we have done?
One of the Brotherhood and a mere village girl?
No,
It was better as it has been.
I remember well the scandal caused by one of the other brothers falling in love with a village girl,
And I would not have put him through that.
No,
He stayed close by,
For I could never deny him seeing you grow up,
No matter how difficult things might have become between the two of us.
She paused.
Ah,
Daughter,
She whispered eventually.
I have not been much of a guardian of the spring.
I have not.
.
.
She glanced down at their hands,
Still intertwined.
You have his healing hands,
She murmured,
Her thoughts taking a different direction.
And one day you will be a great healer too.
There was a movement and they turned to find Dominic standing at the entrance of the hut.
She has passed,
He murmured slowly.
But she left in peace and told me she was content she had done the right thing.
He spread his hands.
What that means I do not know,
But maybe you do.
Rhiannon's mother rose to return to the hut and as she passed Dominic pressed his arm briefly.
In return,
He smiled a slow,
Wistful smile,
Then looked at Rhiannon.
And in that moment she knew,
Whatever battles lay ahead,
There was one person in the world who would always stand at her side.
