I stand here on this cold grey day and watch the skyhosts move their chariots above me. The wind bears Valind's bounty before it and I know that tomorrow the waterbucket will be blanketed with rime. It is a soulless and barren day. A day that echoes the hollowness within me.
The crowds are all gone now. The earthsworn have returned to their temple and my family to their farms. I am alone now. Just me, the windswept field and my grief.
I kneel next to the headstone and breath of the freshly turned earth. The rich loamy scent that fills my nostrils seems so out of place that it jars me. I sit back on my heels and look about. The grass is all dry now. Most of it faded, spent and ready for the coming winter. The only touch of color that remains is that of the late blooming Doracinia. It's vibrant reds and blues seeming even more grand when set against the backdrop of the sleeping greenery around it.
I remember well the day that I came to this place. It was in my fourteenth year. The year when my bleeding began and mother called me a woman for the first time. She sent me then to her mother that I might learn the craft. For my grandmom was a healer as her grandmom before her.
My grandmom said I was late coming into my womanhood. She said that it was a sign of my calling and she had been the same. She frightened me a little back then for I knew her only through a child's eyes and in them she was a glorious and powerful woman. A woman who was accorded the respect of both the women's circle and the council of men.
I remember how on that first day she took me out into the fields and hand in hand we walked barefoot into the woods. There she showed me a flower which was closed while all around were others that had opened. And she said to me ,"let me tell you the story of another late bloomer. Let me tell you the story of how Flamal wooed Doracinia."
Doracinia was a child of Aldrya and Shanasse. It was during the Greentime that she matured into the fullness of her beauty. Many of her kin had matured before her but such was Doracinia's beauty and innocence that all who knew her said, "Leave her, to ask her to grow before her time would surely be a great injustice."
One day as Doracinia was bathing in the veil of Nestenos, Flamal chanced to pass by. His keen eyesight caught her image and he was transfixed by the play of light along her glistening limbs. How long he stood there we have no way of knowing but eventually she swam out of his eyesight and he continued on his way.
As the leaves changed and all through a cold sleep, her form came again and again to his mind. Then as the long shadows lessened and an awakening time came Flamal realized that without her he was incomplete.
So Flamal sought Doracinia and found her sleeping in a forest glade. Around her stood the four guardians of Ariria. When they saw Flamal approach they stepped out and spoke. "Hold Lord of the Summer Vales. Come no closer for we are sworn to the safety of this maiden."
And he replied, "Please step aside loyal wardens. For I am come in humility to tender my attentions to the maiden who sleeps in yonder glen."
They replied in unison. "Our vows have not been sworn so lightly Lord of the Autumn Leaves. We say again, come no closer."
As Flamal considered how to sway these loyal Wardens a vision appeared beside them. It was Oria, mother of Flamal, and she spoke to them.
"Allow Flamal to pass noble sentries. The time has come that Doracinia
should acknowledge Lesilla and bring forth the children of my children."
Then as the image of the great mother faded from view, so too did the four guardians. Leaving Flamal alone to enter Doricinia's wooded glade.
Doracinia awoke to see Flamal standing above her. He had shaped himself in the form of a majestic buck and he stood there rampant before her. His body sang of his need. His eyes were massive orbs that shone as starlight reflected from the deepest of wells. His every ragged breath echoed with the yearning of his heart and loins.
Frightened by the intensity of his passion Doracinia fled into the vastness of the woods beyond her glade. Little did she know that she flew into his arms, for is not the depths of the forest the embrace of Flamal.
When she had gained some distance from the lovestruck God she began to calm. First she realized that wherever she ran he would seek her out. If she were to elude his passion then she must be smarter than he and hide in such a manner as would fool him.
Near to a patch of willow she found a thistle and therein she hid her beauty. Why,she reasoned would anyone think to see beauty in a thistle. Later near the top of a drumhill she found a wren and there she placed her spirit. For as everyone knows the wren is a creature full of spirit and none would think it had too much. Finally in a field of daisy she hid her life because in a meadow so full how could one life stand out above all the rest.
Flamal had fallen far behind Doracinia as she fled. Gradually her tracks and scent slid away until she was lost to him. He cast about as a hound will when looking for a scent but nowhere did he find her. Finally in desperation he borrowed chipmunks mantle. Chipmunk is one of the little mysteries of the forest and nothing is hidden from him for long. Soon Flamal had discovered all that had been hidden from him within his forest.
After He returned Chipmunk's robe Flamal put upon himself the shape of a boar for none know the hidden beauty of the thistle like the boar. Then when he had found the first part of Doracinia he took the guise of the warm west wind and went to the wren.
"Spread your wings little wren," he sang to her. "Rest safe in my embrace
and let me carry you where you will."
The wren allowed Flamal to carry her aloft within his warm embrace. They flew together and the wren, being a very wise and intuitive bird, offered up the spirit which she carried.
Flamal then went to the meadow where he put upon himself the shape of the striped gatherer. Joining the legions of his brothers he entered the field and began the dance of flowers. On his good left leg he carried the Beauty of Doracinia and on his strong right leg he carried her spirit. Flower to flower he moved until finally he found himself with the one he desired.
Acting quickly Flamal returned to Doracinia those things which she had hidden away. Those things he returned and more. Secreted between that which was hers Flamal placed that which was his and then he flew away to wait.
Doracinia was furious at how Flamal had tricked her. She firmed her resolve and swore that, from her, he would receive no more satisfaction. The lazy heat of the awakening time passed into the searing heat of the growing time. Doracinia, like those around her, felt her body burgeoning with life.
Finally came the time of the great giving. Around her the others gave to the all that which they had nurtured. Yet Doracinia refused. She held to that life that Flamal had placed within her and waited. From within his glade Flamal watched Doracinia with mounting concern. The days of gold and fire slid slowly past and the time of rest was growing close.
Flamal could wait no longer. He shaped within himself a song and went to Doracinia in the guise of the meadowlark. Landing close bye he began to sing, quietly and with all of his heart. Doracinia was locked deep within herself. All of her focus was on keeping the life within her nurtured and contained. Slowly there seeped into her awareness the knowledge of great beauty. Cautiously she began to unfold that she might hear with greater clarity. As the glory of the song fell upon her she was captivated and opened herself fully that she might take it all in.
When the music stopped Doracinia saw Flamal standing before her and she
marveled at the great beauty that she saw within him. "Please sweet Dora,"
he said. "Release that which you hold within that it may find life and love
- -"
Then it was that Doracinia capitulated and released the seeds she had
harboured for so long. As she did Flamal shouted with joy and the force of
his emotion was so strong that it scattered their children across the
breadth of the forest and into the fields beyond.
I sit there on the dry grass twirling the stalk of Doracinia that I have gathered. It's perfume is refreshingly alive and it clears my head. It reminds me how together we made a broth from the leaves and seed that would cure wasting disease . How we pressed the flowers for a poultice that would draw poison from wounds. Most importantly though, it reminds me how the magic of Doracinia could take two people from different worlds and draw them together as friends.
I think that in many ways my Grandmom was like the Doracinia. She held onto her life with tenacity and determination. She chose her own path and made her own decisions. And she learned to look beyond herself and see the truth that was there. But in the end she was wooed by something that was greater and more lovely than all that she had seen throughout her many years. And when she finally gave up her spirit to that song that only she could hear, she did so with such joy that her passing brought renewed life to those she left behind.
My tears streak down my cheeks and drop onto that freshly planted earth. Certainly my Grandmom was a late bloomer, but what a flower she has become.....
Off on holidays for a week..
More later
Bill Thompson
"Ask me a riddle and I reply:
"Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie.""
ICQ #15348914
End of The Glorantha Digest V6 #160
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