The King Returns.

 

The line of kings stretched upwards into the sky. Each gold-crowned man, head bowed, moved ever onwards, slowly and solemnly aware that there was no more that could be done for the land of Ireland. They moved fatefully, their time on earth finished, along an enclosed staircase, the only part of them visible being their upper torso, shoulders and heads. They were moving into the higher dimension, never to return again. But, as they glided upwards one king suddenly stopped and stepped out of the line and, hands on the banister, looked down at Ireland’s green earth. He was the only one not willing to accept that Ireland’s spirit was dead and in a moment decided that he wanted to stay, to renew the spirit of the land. With determination he broke ranks and began to move quickly back down the steps, against the flow. The other kings did not register his actions and continued to move upwards as before, their souls already part of the higher world.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs he found himself back on the earth and he ran until he reached a lake with a crannog built on the middle of it, There was still a bridge connecting it to the land so he crossed it and entered the dilapidated building on the false island. It had a damp earthen floor and the straw ceiling needed repairing, but otherwise it was still habitable, just about. He looked around him, taking in the emptiness until it made him feel part of the building. He strode to the centre where the fire should have been and decided he would rebuild it. It needed its heart, its hearth, built and fed again.

When he had the fire going he sat in front of it and stared into the flames. He could feel the hot air in his face and on his chest and the cold, damp air behind him, so he wrapped himself up in an old woollen cloak, tucking his feet in under the edges. He was aware, as he sat there, of the energy of the people who no longer resided there. He felt the old bones of the building, cold and lifeless, and he felt keenly the loss of the magic. It made him feel as empty as the building and he knew that he would have to work hard at rebuilding it.

As he sat and thought the energy around him began to change. A gold light slowly began to grow and fill the round hut until he was no longer sitting in a cold and damp unused building but instead was sitting in front of a pair of thrones on which sat a gold king and a silver queen. The room around him was now made of beaten and embossed gold and the firelight danced on its walls, bringing to life the patterns there until it appeared to be alive. Brendan sat and waited until the king spoke.

“So”, said the king, “You have elected to stay”. It was more a statement than a question.

“I have,” Brendan replied.

“You are aware of the difficulties in the path you have chosen?” the King asked. “It will not be easy, this task”.

“I am aware”, Brendan answered, “But I could not leave until everything had been tried. I feel sure that the magic is not dead. The people of Ireland can find their hearts again, I’m sure of it.” He spoke with such passion that the golden king smiled.

“Alright then” he said to Brendan, “I will give you the chance the prove it. But if you cannot revive it”, he added “ You must agree to leave and never return. Do you understand? Times have changed, the people are not the same as they once were”.

“I know this” Brendan agreed, “But I’m sure that all is not lost. There must be someone who still feels it. Its all around us, in the air, how could they not feel it?”

“How indeed………”, replied the Golden king.

The silver queen, who up until now had remained silent, now leaned forward and spoke softly to Brendan. “How do you intend to resurrect these energies” she asked “What do you intend to do?

Brendan looked up at this beautiful silver queen. Her emerald green eyes were the colour of the land itself and he knew that she was an intrinsic part of the earth.

“I’m not sure yet,” he answered truthfully. “ I know that the people must first regain their connection to the land itself and then………..I don’t know, I will have to wait and see”.

The queen looked at him thoughtfully and then spoke “Perhaps,” she suggested “You might create a different avenue of expression for these energies of the landscape” and her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Perhaps you could remove the old forms and bring in new ones, ones that corresponded more to the people who now reside here”?

Brendan could feel her passion and the possibilities in it.

“Yes” he mused “That would work. Perhaps we could try something different. The old ways don’t have to die they can just be changed. Yes, yes, you’re right” he added, her passion moving into him and igniting his. “That’s the way. That’s it. Thank you” he said  and he stood up, allowing the cloak to fall to the floor. “we have to start again”.

“Change the form of the old ways, change the names but keep the energies the same. You know how to do this”, the silver queen told him, “If you can do this the magic will return”.

“Yes, Yes I see, I understand”, Brendan’s excitement and passion was expanding out all around him.

“Use that passion of yours to ignite the hearts of the people and you cannot fail”, the Queen said and, content now, sat back in her throne.

“I will My lady, I will” Brendan replied, a deep love moving in his heart.

“And don’t forget” she added, “That we are all part of this land, man and woman both. Never forget that”.

“I won’t” Brendan assured her, aware that the magic had disappeared because this balance had been forgotten. “I will do my very best”

“Of that we have no doubt” spoke the Golden king, and slowly the golden light began to disappear and Brendan found himself once again standing in the cold and empty round house. But now he was warmed by a fire within him and he knew what he must do.

He searched around in the abandoned house for something to support a cauldron. He found what he needed and built it up around the fire. Then he searched for a cauldron. He found a small one sunk into the ground and apart from a small rusty hole near the rim it was sound enough to use. He put some water from the lake into the cauldron and brought it back and hung the cauldron above the fire. Then, from his pouch, he took out a small jar of honey and three dried mistletoe berries. He poured some of the honey into the cauldron then crushed the three berries into the fluid. He let it simmer for a while until it reached a sticky consistency then added some beeswax, scraping off what he needed from a bar in his pouch.

When the wax had melted he took out a small piece of rolled up calf’s skin and placed it in the hot and sticky fluid. He made sure it was thoroughly saturated then took it out and rolled it out flat on a piece of flat rock.

It would make a good writing tablet when it was dry and hardened. The mistletoe berries and honey adding a magical intention to whatever was written upon it. And, when it was no longer necessary, it could be melted and used again.

Brendan sat at the fire for a while then lay down with his head on his pouch, wrapping himself up in his cloak. He would sleep, then in the morning begin to work the magic which would invoke the old energies so that he would know what he needed to do. The Old Ones would surely help him, he thought, as he began to drift into sleep, they will know what needs to happen.

When he awoke the following morning the fire had nearly completely gone out. He awoke, stiff and sore from his night on the cold damp floor. He groaned as he sat up, shaking the sleep from his head. He had forgotten just how uncomfortable it was having a physical body. And he was hungry. He would have to find some food. Luckily he was living on a lake so that should provide some sustenance. However, he would have to catch something first. The first thing to do was stoke the fire so he collected more wood and built it up so that it was good and hot. The smoke billowed out through a hole in the roof and out through the soot-blackened thatch. He set the clean cauldron on the fire and added water, then went outside to look for some fresh herbs. He collected some wild garlic and marjoram and put them in the pot to boil. Then he went to catch something for breakfast. He sat with his feet over the edge of the crannog where the boundary wall had collapsed and dropped his fishing line over the side, waiting for something to take the bait. While he fished he thought, and as he thought, ideas flowed into his mind. He would begin by travelling from site to site so that he could pick up the threads of ancient wisdom which resided there. Once he had done this he would have a better idea of how to recreate the old systems in the new way. And perhaps he would also find someone who was willing to travel with him. Time would tell.

 

 

 

Reviews

[Aspiring Angel]

I hope that there is a continuance to this my friend. If you have something aleady posted in continuance to this please let me know. I want to read on and Joseph is not letting me go and look through your titles right this second. LOL Wonderful write and I am looking forward for the journey of the King that refused to give up on Ireland to begin.

Blessings,
Lesa

[R J Askew]

Beautifully mystical. A spellbinding read. There was drama in the king turning round on the stair of kings, itself a great vision by the way. And the mistletoe berries was charming. In fact you made the unreal seem real here. And the way you have him fishing but not catching anything and then contemplating a journey but not setting out left the story very much alive and the reader still curious. The lack of an ending means the story is still alive. Enjoyed this very much, especially the way it connects with other worldly energies.