Bedtime Story: Reflections Of The Past: Fire: Chapter 27

Chapter 27.

Midsummer's Day.

The festivities of the day were over,

And the time had arrived for the lighting of the ritual fire,

In reverence to the strength of the sun and its importance in the abundance of the crops.

On hilltops all around,

Fires would be lit until the countryside was ablaze with light.

Rosenwyn and her maidens were then to proceed to the high pinnacle above the valley and perform the ceremony of the full moon.

And as the moon rose to her heights,

Justin would take his place in the chapel for his night-time vigil.

Although all three events should have been cause for celebration,

Rosenwyn could not help but feel an unaccustomed heaviness in her heart,

For things were not as they should have been,

In whichever direction she looked.

Despite her faith and the visions of the previous night,

She was unassure what lay ahead for herself and the maidens,

Although she was beginning to understand the path which was opening before them.

Earlier in the day,

Rosenwyn had taken from the pouch she always carried with her,

A brown flint spearhead and a wooden pendant carved with a beautiful spreading tree.

She sat for long moments in the summer sunlight,

Weighing the spearhead in the palm of her hand and feeling its solidity.

Her fingers caressed the serrated edges and smooth flint as she pondered on her next course of action.

Finally she placed the wooden pendant about her neck and spent some time in silent meditation beside the sacred well.

When she finally came to a decision,

She returned both objects to the pouch,

Wrapped them with her ceremonial silver chalice and earthenware bowl in a cloth and gave them to Duncan for safekeeping.

On the hilltop across the valley,

The midsummer fire blazed.

The villagers watched the next burst into life as the sun disappeared below the horizon,

Leaving a smudge of gold in the sky.

In the opposite direction,

The moon rose,

Shining silver,

And Rosenwyn,

From her vantage point on the rock high above the chapel,

Raised her arms in welcome.

In the valley,

The people were able to witness both the burning of the midsummer fire and hear the singing which accompanied the ceremony of the full moon.

An auspicious time indeed,

And one,

Although they did not yet realise it,

Which would be recounted for many generations to come.

It was unfortunate that when the maidens began to disappear,

Talk of marauding knights came to the ears of Father Christopher.

Dark,

Hard men,

It was told,

Who roamed the countryside,

Unashamedly taken what was not theirs,

And willing to carry out the most unsavoury of tasks for the right fee.

Father Christopher had never been a violent man,

Nor one who would wish harm to anyone,

But the cult of the Maidens of the Wells,

Coupled with the disappearance of the relics and the fact he was losing his grip on any status he might once have held in the community,

Quite simply turned his mind.

And so,

After spending some time in prayer,

He finally felt perfectly justified in taking the required amount from the church coffers and organising the disposal of Rosenwyn and her maidens,

Not for his own glory,

But simply for the good of the church,

The people and the future of the valley itself.

Justin reached the little chapel at dusk.

Although the burning of the midsummer fires was at its height,

And he could hear the voices of Rosenwyn and the maidens raised in praise to the rising moon,

As he approached there was a momentary lull,

During which nothing could be heard but the sound of the river rushing in the valley below and the croak of a lone raven heralding the passing of the day.

A slow mist began to rise from the riverbed,

As twilight deepened and shadows lengthened,

Casting black fingers over the land.

Justin stood for a long time,

Watching the waning of the day.

As the light diminished,

The moon shone with increasing brightness,

Stars appeared and the landscape was bathed in brilliant white light,

Turning the valley to silver,

Reminding Justin of a magical,

Enchanted land.

In the distance an owl hooted,

And he caught the rush of snowy white wings as it flew along the valley,

Then settled upon the bow of a nearby tree in its own silent vigil.

Justin pushed open the door of the little chapel.

The first fingers of moonlight were creeping through the window,

And he knew that soon the granite altar would be flooded with silver,

Causing the stone to sparkle with an energy and life of its own.

The midsummer decorations glowed in the moonlight,

Illuminating the tall pale candles which Rosenwyn had placed upon the altar.

Although the day had been warm,

The chapel already felt cool,

And Justin was aware that as night progressed it could become icy cold.

Justin walked to the altar,

Then knelt on one knee,

His sword before him,

Hands clasping its hilt.

The moonlight brightened with every second.

Justin bowed his head and prepared to wait in total silence,

Still as a statue,

Until dawn.

As Rosenwyn and the maidens began their ritual,

The villagers on the opposite side of the valley noticed a cluster of black shadows congregating a short distance from the chapel,

And,

So some were to say later,

The sound of hoofbeats drumming upon the dry summer ground.

Justin had dreamed of this moment for so long.

Would he be visited by spirits,

Ghosts,

An angel,

The Lord himself?

Other knights spoke of this as an experience from which they learned about themselves,

As well as God.

With a feeling of deep anticipation,

Justin wondered what triumphs or tragedies he might encounter.

His quest,

His search for the Holy Grail,

Which lay deep within himself.

Justin closed his eyes and waited.

Silence descended around him.

Not even the sound of the rushing river or the rustling of an animal penetrated his thoughts and consciousness.

He opened his eyes.

The interior of the chapel was bathed in silver,

More beautiful than he had ever seen it before.

All at once he felt a rush of pure ecstasy at the beauty,

The stillness and silence around him.

For one fleeting moment he had a glimpse of himself standing high on the rocks of the valley,

The same feeling of wonder coursing through his body,

Causing him to feel alive and at one with the earth itself.

And in that moment he understood the link between man and nature,

Man and God,

Spirit and self.

This surely was his Grail,

His journey on this night's vigil.

It had not been difficult at all,

His quest.

He needed only to open his heart and allow love to flow in.

The thought crept into his consciousness that it had all been too fast and too easy.

In his mind's eye he watched his self of another time draw back his arm and hurl a spear into the air.

The sun flashing and glinting on its spearhead.

Then there was a scream which mingled with his own,

High-pitched and lingering,

And Justin realised with a shock he also heard a cry from outside the little chapel,

Resounding up the valley,

The sounds in his imagination and in reality merging together on the night air.

He opened his eyes in confusion,

Only to find the silver of the moonlight in the chapel had changed to red.

The chapel bathed in blood.

And unable to stop himself,

His vow of silence was broken as a deep sob of fear and confusion burst forth from him.

Justin was torn.

He realised almost at once it was Rosenwind's voice.

He thought at one point he even heard her call his name.

All his instincts told him to abandon his quest and rescue Rosenwind,

For surely it was his duty to protect her.

Every inch of his being told him so.

And yet this was his vigil.

Was this real or was it a test?

If he left the chapel only to discover there was nothing amiss,

That it was merely a trick to lure him from his quest,

What then?

The cry pierced the air once again and seemed to be joined by others.

The calls of women from times long past,

Merging and mingling on the night air,

Moving up and down the valley,

Desperate pleas for help,

And mixed with the cries were the sound of hoofbeats,

Drumming the dry earth on a quest of their own,

Closing in as Justin himself had so often done in battle.

Still,

Justin hung on,

His white knuckles clinging desperately to the hilt of his sword,

His eyes,

Since that terrible moment when he had seen the blood red all around him,

So tightly shut he thought they might never open again.

The voices of Rosenwind and her maidens rang out in one final song,

Beautiful and strong.

Then one by one the voices died away,

Their harmonies fading,

And the only voice in the stillness of the night was Rosenwind's,

Until like a single candle flame being extinguished,

It too was gone.

There was a sudden silence as Justin realised he was holding his breath,

His body soaked in a cold sweat.

He exhaled long and slow.

Had he passed the test?

Was it over?

Dare he open his eyes once more,

And when he did would he find the chapel peaceful and silver in the moonlight,

And would the terrible redness be gone?

There was no sound,

Not even the distant call of an owl.

Slowly,

So slowly,

Justin opened his eyes.

All around was dull and red.

He forced himself to look for the moonlight through the window,

But there was nothing.

This was hell.

This was the hellfire and brimstone he had been warned of,

And suddenly he knew he could no longer remain there in silence for the rest of the night.

Gathering all his courage,

He moved to the door and stepped outside.

The valley was awash with red and completely silent.

Out of the shadows a figure emerged,

Which he discerned to be the simpleton,

Duncan.

Justin tried to form words in a futile attempt to ask what was happening,

But could find none.

They have gone,

Said Duncan simply,

And you are the only person who can find them.

Then he too disappeared into the darkness.