The 13th Descent: Book One of The Rosefire Trilogy (14 page)

These clever, well-timed actions help me to
remember how long Benni Dhoo has lived, how much he knows and understands, and how he communicates in his Morse code kind of way. Based on his restrained behaviour, he obviously knows all about my lack of vision, and that a good Seeing Eye dog doesn’t jump up.

“Is there anything else we can do to ass
ist you, Miss Avalon?” Eddie politely asks.

With
Benni Dhoo by my side and my roller-suitcase in tow, I now feel certain that I have everything I need to get me where I need to go.  “No thanks, Eddie. We’re all good. And, thank you, both, for taking such good care me and my Benni Dhoo,” I appreciatively say, reaching out to shake Eddie and Alison’s hand.

“It was my pleasure, Miss Avalon. He was a good boy. No trouble at all. Except when it took a little longer than expected for you to come and collect him. He wasn’t
too happy about that at all!” he says with a half-hearted chuckle. I can imagine that Benni Dhoo, all concerned and uncertain, would have given the poor man hell.

“You take care now!
” Alison calls out as Benni Dhoo leads me out to the taxi bay. He takes me to a road side bench close by, and, in his way, sequentially taps his claws on the concrete instructing me that the taxi has to take us to the nearest train station.

When
we get to the train station, Benni Dhoo informs me that my train ticket is in the pouch hanging around his neck. He then leads me over to a conductor who checks the small piece of cardboard I found in Benni Dhoo’s pouch and they both help me board the carriage.

After a long train ride
and an equally long nap, Benni Dhoo and I get off the train at the end of the line, and with stiff legs and sore backsides we gingerly start walking. We make our way through the early sunny morning, meandering down sleepy streets, across dry crackly fields towards the pungent smell of salt and brine, all the way to a deserted marina where we finally board a sailboat Benni Dhoo says will only be carrying the two of us, and, of course, the Captain.

Captain Morgan
, he excitedly taps out.             

With Ben
ni Dhoo sitting beside me and the sea in my nostrils, remembering the Captain is instantaneous. I instinctively listen for his wet feet slapping across the deck to greet me, and when I hear his tell-tale swoosh and clack, I kneel down to match his height and offer him the warm hug of an old friend.

It is in
the Captain’s loyal, familiar embrace that I fully remember his kin, Benni Dhoo’s kin and my own, and the Solstice: the sacred event that has called us all back to the Apple Isle many times before.

I
first met Captain Morgan Senior a little over two millennia ago. It was the Midsummer after he and his kin watched over our little fishing boat as we made our way across the treacherous Mediterranean Sea, fleeing from our homeland to the land that called us home.

“Grandfather told me the story many times,” Captain Morgan Junior
says with a warm and wistful voice. I remember how close they were and I can hear how much he misses him.

As I stand at the helm next to the grandson of my old friend, I don’t need to see him to know that his eyes are dreami
ly gazing out across the water even though his brain and his reflexes are on high alert. I don’t need to look upon him to remember the cheeky boy hanging off his grandfather’s arm nearly three centuries ago. But, I do need to see him to know what he looks like as a young man, and if he looks anything like his grandfather did in his prime.

I know Junior has Senior’s bright turquois
e eyes, his oval-shaped face, his small features, and his straight, sharp teeth, but I’m itching to know if he has grown into inheriting his grandfather’s long, salt-encrusted fair hair, his muscular human shape, his large webbed hands and feet, and his smooth, lightly scaled, silvery white skin.

“Captain?” I ask.

“Lady Rose, please, call me Morgan. Whenever, you of all people, call me Captain, I turn and look for the old man,” he says.

“Only if you call me Ren.”

“Done,” he says with a shy chuckle.

“So, Morgan, are you still bald, or have you
finally grown some hair?” I cheekily ask.

He laughs out loud. “You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but my patience hasn’t improved much.”

“Oh, I’ve heard,” he says, chuckling again.

“Hey!” I automatically swing out to lightly slap him on what I hope is his arm, but all I feel is air.

“Missed me,” he says with a smile in his tone.

“Well, obviously you’re still really short then,” I fire back. 

“Hey!” he exclaims, mimicking me. “Someone’s riled up today.
”

Now I fully remember why
we are making this trek, I most certainly am.

Ben
ni Dhoo interjects with his tap-talk saying, “Now Morgan is a big boy, his hair is long and copper like the two pennies he hasn’t got to rub together,” he tsks, “and his skin is the same colour. He is a good foot taller than his grandfather was, but his body is thicker to match his blockhead.”

“What the hell, Benni Dhoo?”
Morgan exclaims.

Ben
ni Dhoo sniggers, and going from the quiet that follows, I assume he has gone back napping with one eye open. 

“And I do have two pennies to rub together. The old dog is full of-” 

Benni Dhoo growls. It seems that it is still not OK to swear in front of a lady. Benni Dhoo should know better…

Morgan snorts.
“He’s just pi-,” quickly clearing his throat, “…
peeved
that I cleaned him out of pennies last year.”

“Two Up?”
I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yep.”

I roll my still hazy eyes.

“Do y
ou remember your first Midsummer at the Isle, Lady…um, I mean, Ren?” Morgan keenly asks.

“Oh, I remember,” I say with a
reminiscent sigh. It’s hard to believe that I choose to repeatedly forget the fateful day that set the precedent for all of the earthly lifetimes that followed.

As Morgan chatters away,
I am reminded, that, like most of the Tor People, he knows the story of my first Midsummer well. And, thanks to the clans of the Four Corners, the telling and retelling of this lost shard in our fractured history has not altered, enhanced or diluted the truth of what really happened.

With t
he warmth of the morning summer sun shedding light on our past bonds, I acknowledge what is awakening in me, and wonder, as Morgan briefly recounts our history out loud, if Benni Dhoo is allowing himself to revisit that time, and the life that was once his.

Here we are, the
three of us, all born in different bodies and on different sides of the veil, but with the same connection to this ongoing two-thousand-year-old Summer Solstice story. But, in today’s retelling of it, our differences are more evident than ever before as one of us hopes for what was, one for what is, and one for what will be.

xxXxx

Moments after our footsteps marked the shores of our new land, I asked Uncle Ari if I could meet with the brave Morganites who volunteered to protectively surround our boat, taking the brunt of the waves, the cold, and the creatures of the deep, so my child could be born amongst friends. He regretfully shook his head and explained that a face-to-face meeting would not possible until the Solstice: the one day of the year when the Tor People are able to enter the human world. So, I had to wait until Midsummer’s Day to personally thank Captain Morgan and his kin which was a whole week after they made sure that our boat had arrived safely.

Uncle Ari’s relatives
and their allies graciously welcomed us into their homes, their hearts and their lives, giving us a short period of rest before putting us to task preparing for the Solstice and the arrival of the mysterious Tor People.

First, w
e were taken to a meadow where the Solstice celebrations are held each year. It was explained to us that this patch of land is hallowed ground, and the only known place on Earth where the Tor People from all Four Corners of the Earth can cross over into our realm.

St.
John’s Clearing, named after the holy man who first discovered it, is a lush square of earth scattered with bright yellow seasonal wildflowers that have delicate faces like tiny suns. It has a small, grassy mound in its centre, a babbling brook running across its West corner, and it is completely surrounded by triangular-shaped trees so tall they pierce the low lying clouds as they reach for the light: a protective square of nature’s grandeur with evergreen boundaries that encapsulate the radiance of the sun shining overhead.

As
newcomers celebrating their first Midsummer, we were given the honour of choosing and preparing a spot in the South corner of the Clearing where the sacred bonfire is lit. But, being so close to the end of my pregnancy, I was only allowed to sweep up a small patch of dirt before being marched off to help prepare the feast for the hundreds of visitors we were told were coming from far and wide. During this laborious week of long summer days, I’d regularly walk the short distance from the bustling village to the quietness of the Clearing to take food and drink to my hard working loved ones, and sometimes, just to stand and be immersed in this ceremonious place of peace, wishing my husband was here with me for the arrival of our Solstice son.

W
ith our preparations complete, as Midsummer’s Eve turned into Midsummer’s Day, a single crack of lightning initiated the grey clouds to blow over blanketing the starry night sky, and the heavens opened up and poured rain. The people outside wildly applauded and jumped for joy, and those indoors ran from their homes cheering, everyone happily embracing and dancing in the downpour.  This was the sign we had all been hoping for: the unseasonal rain falling as the sultry summer night became the Solstice confirmed the alliance of the Four Corners, and that at noon, North, South, East and West would come together as one.

U
ncle Ari woke us before the sunrise and escorted Lady Mother, Lady Elder and me by torch light to the Clearing. On the way, he explained that it is customary for the custodians of the Sacred Annals of the Four to arrive first and to be waiting in their central position to welcome the celestial leaders he called the Luminaries and the chosen Tor clans from each corner.

We walked through
the bordering trees into the crisp dewy Clearing and followed Uncle Ari to the top of the green mound in its centre. He unrolled a large woven mat in the shape of an X across its clover covered peak, making sure each end of the cross was facing the North, East, South and West corners, and as he lightly ran his fingers over its intricate weaving, he whispered sacred words of thanks and hope.

He explained that e
venly entwined throughout the X were windings of seaweed to represent the Water people, strands of hot burning hickory to represent the Fire people, peelings of hardy oak to represent the Earth people, the equal spaces left around the knots where all of these natural fibres are joined represent the Air people, and that the plaited strips bordering the entire mat were made up of apple wood from the heavenly Tree of Souls.

“For many moons, the Tor people
have waited for you both to come,” he said with a heavy sadness as he gazed down at the centre point of the mat, “but, as your other half has passed on and you are now the sole the custodian of the Sacred Annals, in our grief we must show them our strength, and in our strength we must show them a resolution.

“To do that, I believe
that you, Shoshanna, should sit here in the centre where all four points meet, and greet the Luminaries from each corner as they arrive in turn with you, Lady Elder, representing wisdom and receptiveness, sitting on Shoshanna’s left, and you, Lady Mother, representing action and generosity, on Shoshanna’s right,” he animatedly suggested.

“But, w
hat do I represent, Uncle? “I asked.

“T
he balance,” he simply answered.

“W
ithout my husband sitting by my side?” I asked, confused.

“In these trying times, even more so,
” he tenderly replied, his eyes wet with tears for his beloved nephew.

“But, without my other half b
eside me, how can that possibly be?” I asked again, having difficulty comprehending how two minus one can equal three.

He thoughtfully
paused and said, “The sea is made up of salt and water, yes?” I nodded, remembering this lesson in Temple. “But, when seawater is heated with fire, what does it return to?” he asked.

“Salt
,” I answered.

“And,
so, my dear Rose, that is what we must return to.”

My father always spoke
of how salt is the world’s greatest resource: how it has the power to preserve, heal and enhance, but how it also has the power to corrode, hurt and destroy. Everything is so far out of alignment, I thought, and so…“The power of three is needed to bring us back to one,” I gasped in realisation.

P
leased with my understanding, he nodded and kissed me on the forehead.

But
, another of many things I was still yet to understand was why we hadn’t seen Micah since before noon the day before. Again, Uncle Ari patiently explained that when the sun was to present itself at the highest point in the sky, so would he.