Part One Samhain
Carla recalled that tragic Saturday morning, not that many years later; the memory was still clear and very painful to her. The day had begun quite promisingly, cold sunshine in a cloudless blue sky.
She had caught the bus into town to do her weekly shop, taking Ryan in his pushchair Carla decided to walk home making the most of the fair weather, stopping at a favourite sweet shop to buy her and Ryan some sweets. Above the window was written.
TOBACCO NEWS MAGAZINES CONFECTIONERY
The words were clearly painted in large white letters, standing out against the dark green background of the window frame. A matching green and white awning hung down over the shop front. The old fashioned bell jingled and jangled as Carla swung the heavy door open. A small dark almost dingy shop with a brown linoleum floor: to children an exciting mysterious place, the shelves lit up with rows and rows of coloured jars of different sweets. The pungent smell of tobacco mixed with sugar molasses’ chocolate and oily newspaper print.
Carla would never forget the look of innocent expectancy on Ryan’s face as he stretched his arms out towards her saying, ‘Sweetie!’ while she’d unwrapped him one. She had bent down to give it him. She could still feel the touch of his fingers in her hair.
They’d walked past the large Victorian houses, past the crescent shaped Georgian hotel in the centre of the town. Past the opera house; she’d read the glass covered posters advertising Othello and dropped some change in the box- support your local theatre.
They stopped at the spa well on the edge of the town. Carla had helped herself to a drink, half filling the massive copper cup chained inside.
They turned right, taking a leisurely walk through the park. The heavy wrought iron gate squeaking as Carla pulled it open.
‘Ducks!’ shouted Ryan pointing a chubby finger at the river.
Seated in the horizontal bowers of an old yew tree Carla impulsively unwrapped the new loaf of bread she’d bought, breaking some of the slices into crumbs. She excused her extravagance knowing that Ryan would put a lot of the bread in his mouth first.
It was as they turned to make there way home that the weather changed quite dramatically. Dark clouds appeared in the previously clear sky bursting into a downpour, blown down by an icy cold wind, a much more common occurrence in this hard market town.
Carla cursed herself, caught so unprepared for this change in the weather. She fumbled with the press studs on the polythene cover of Ryan's pushchair. Ryan started to cry, as distracted by the rain he dropped his sweets, as they left the park. The wrought iron gate creaked in the wind and swung towards them, catching and cutting Carla’s hand on the metal spikes. Swearing, she struggled up the steep hill towards the market place, pushchair in front of her; the gash in her hand sore and bleeding. It was then; she noticed shadows, figures moving in the bandstand and the echo of eerie music coming from within. Carla was suddenly very aware of being alone with her child and wanted to get away from this place as fast as possible. A cold sickly feeling was growing in her stomach, making her shake and fumble even more. It was at this moment that the pushchair seemed to take on a life of its own and roll away from her. She grabbed at the handle, but a gust of wind seemed to snatch it away, it continued speeding down the hill as Ryan's cries now turned into screams.
Carla started to chase the run away chair, at first screaming for help and calling her child. The rain whipped at her face, passers-by gazed at her with puzzled expressions on their faces. She stopped gasping for breath her heart pounding. Summoning all the energy she had left she continued to pursue the rogue buggy. The music from the bandstand grew louder and more eerie as Carla's vision began to blur and as she stumbled and fell rolling down the hill behind the pushchair.
The pushchair stopped at the bottom as Carla pulled herself to her feet. It was empty; the polythene, cover perfectly in place. The sky was starting to clear and she looked towards the bandstand; there was nobody there and not a sound to be heard. She was alone but for a large crow picking hungrily at the pieces of bread she had dropped and just a foot away from the crow the christening bracelet Ryan wore as a baby.
She snatched at the bracelet - the crow, pounced squawking angrily as she dragged the bracelet away, pecking at her bleeding hand. Her screams attracted passer-by’s attention and they watched her run across the road staring at the sky as the crow airborne attacked her. An angry motorist hooted his horn and shook a fist at her swerving as he braked to avoid her.
Carla stopped for breath. The crow perched in a nearby Rowan tree, flapping its wings as though in anger.
She zigzagged along the Serpentine walk that followed the coils of the meandering man made canal, her limbs heavy, heart pounding and body clammy and sticky with sweat. The crow as if taunting her alternatively hopped and flew through the park gardens. She followed through the shrubberies scratching her legs on ground cover of cotoneaster, ploughing through flower beds of winter pansies and primula. A teenage couple sat on a nearby bench watched in amazement as she screamed at the crow.
‘What have you done with my son!!?’
The crow cackled at her, taking to the air again. Standing in a pile of mouldering leaves, Carla leant against the wall of the Serpentine House, her breathing laboured, patches of blood seeping through her ripped mud stained jeans. Following its flight with her eyes, watching it firstly perch on the mock Tudor roses gables of the derelict house, and then disappear inside through a broken window pane. She hammered at the locked door, ripping her nails as she tried to force her way in. Screaming and shouting she threw her weight against it, falling clouds of dust and cobwebs choked her frenzied raging. The teenage couple watched aghast, hailing a passing policeman. He’d spoken to Carla gently; exhausted her hysterical screaming had turned to weeping and she’d allowed him to escort her home.
That was the last time Carla saw her son.
Part Two Imbolc
The dream had been more vivid than normal. The lines of the rugged mountains sharp against the horizon. The dark crimson sun hanging like an enormous globe over its hills; she had been hotter than ever, her mouth dry and parched. Ryan had appeared larger than life garrulous and excited at the top of the spiral staircase. He rubbed the dark green ivy between his fingers. The ivy was moving dancing in a soft cool breeze. She had taken his hand and together they had descended the stone steps, following the curve of the staircase to a magnificent waterfall which cascaded into a stream below.
Ryan still chattering, ‘Mum – ducks! I see ducks….’ he pointed overhead.
There were no ducks just a big black, screeching and cackling crow, flapping round the crimson sun.
Carla woke at last to the droning of next door's lawn mower and sunlight streaming through the curtains. She drew them back seeing only the normality of life which seemed to have left her with the memories of the last few years. It was Saturday morning, a neighbour washed her car. Mrs Garner trudged up her drive laden with shopping, Arthur Wright dug his garden vigorously, the sounds of idle gossip drifted from outside intermixed with children’s laughter, cars were speeding along the main road.
She went to the bathroom, washed and dressed; capturing an image of her face in the mirror as she brushed her tired, chestnut hair. The years of drug, alcohol abuse and sleepless nights had taken a toll. Her pale freckled skin had a grey tinge. There was no hiding the red rims and puffy black pockets which outlined her once beautiful, now blank hazel eyes.
She opened her dressing table drawer, with shaking hands she took Ryan's tiny christening bracelet out of its box. The silver bracelet had been a present from her grandfather, it was delicately engraved with the motif of a unicorn, the metal had started to dull and it was only visible to the keenest eye. She held the bracelet in the palm of her hand and sighed, it was her only clue to her son's disappearance, she slipped it in her pocket and lay down on the grubby sofa. Her eyes wandering obliviously round the room. The once immaculate cream carpet, now grimy yellow and covered with ground in patches of cigarette ash, coffee and red wine stains. There were unopened letters strewn on the coffee table, she poured herself a drink.
She recalled happier days as her child with her late grand father. How he patiently spent endless hours teaching her to draw and crayon and eventually paint. A keen and enthusiastic pupil she had progressed well under his guidance but even then she knew that she would never have his talent. The wonderful water colours he created. She wished her parents had kept more of them. They hadn’t even asked her if she wanted one. Packed in boxes and sent for auction. To pay off his debts, her no nonsense mother had explained.
Afterwards the two of them had a fierce argument and mother had begrudgingly agreed to let her daughter take one.
Helos Odev, - she’d hung it above the fireplace in her tiny living room. It was of a solitary limestone cottage. The sky was etched ominously black, swirling colours of crimson and Prussian blue, the house seemed to grow out of the hillside, its white walls stark against the black background. The door of the house, just a thumbprint on the paper still fascinated Carla.
Carla had asked her grand father as a child – who lived there? He’d laughed and told her, there was no such place.
She recalled the wonderful faerie stories he recited to her about the Gods of Danu. How man took the earth from them, forcing them to retreat underground, taking with them immortality and their magic knowledge.
Dagda the good god with the magic cauldron always full of food: the Morrigu his treacherous wife and daughters who could transpose into crows. Her granddad had called them the demons of the air.
How the Morrigu had swore a sacred vow and plotted their revenge. They would return to their country and defeat the mortals who had stolen their land. Morrigan, Celtic Goddess the immortal witch and fairy queen would give back the land to the gods, demons, giants and dragons.
Carla loved his stories. As a child she had wanted to meet this wicked fairy queen and would ask him what she really looked like.
‘Morrighan and her daughters have many forms,’ her grand dad would tell her, ‘both ugly and beautiful. They control the sprites, the witches, goblins and satyrs and all the other maniacs of the underworld. You do not want to meet them!’
Ryan had been born shortly before her grand father died. Carla realised that he had not just been special to her but he was different and special. His affinity with nature, small animals, rabbits and squirrels had appeared in her garden, attracted to Ryan, they had allowed him to caress them. He had crawled round as a baby stroking the plants and talking gobbledegook. Was it her imagination that the plants he touched always thrived more than the others?
Her Grandfather on his death bed had ranted that the folk of Danu would come and steal her gifted son and claim him for one of their own. He had told her to be particularly careful on certain days of the year when the veil between their world and ours became thinner and the gods were more likely to come through and visa versa.
She dismissed it as part of his deliria. But now it was her only hope, if she was to believe her son was alive.
Part three Beltain
Several years later Carla returned to the bandstand and Serpentine Walk, as she did every Celtic festival, taking Ryan’s christening bracelet, and in the way her grand father showed her when she was a child she twisted a rowan sprig into a ring, looking through it and calling upon the faerie gods to give back her son. They never had before and they didn’t this time. She went home defeated as usual. Ryan had been her everything, her reason for living and with his disappearance she has ostracised herself from the world. It never got any easier. How could she have been so careless? Engulfed by loneliness Carla opened a bottle of red wine and mindlessly drank several glasses in a very short time, releasing the emotions trapped inside her body. Anger came first as she screamed and raged. Guilt took over, followed by melancholy. Weeping she fell into an alcohol induced sleep.
She was woken by a loud droning noise. Her eyes were drawn to her grandfather’s painting, it seemed to glow luminous in the dimmed lights. It had grown in size and had become detached from the wall, waving and humming in mid air unsupported, the swirling colours of the sky more vibrant and vivid than she could remember. She focused on the picture, the house seemed to be growing, she could smell the damp grass on the hillside, it had been raining. A photograph of Ryan fell to the floor as the picture became detached.
The image was changing. She could see wild flowers growing in the garden, clusters of yellow primroses and celandines growing close by, patches of bluebells on the hillside. The dry tufts of grass seemed to have spread over the boulders, in the garden she could see daisies, their white petals tinged with pink - springtime was calling her.
‘Let me in,’ she whispered. The door was tight shut. She squeezed Ryan's bracelet and stared again. She pushed at the cottage door with the flat of her hand.
Nothing happened. Carla touched the picture she could feel the wooden door, unpainted, damp and slightly greasy from the rain. She tapped on it, seeing a figure move and turn away. She knocked again louder, this time the door opened.
She stepped away from the picture. She was standing on the edge of a portal. The door started to close.
Panicking, Carla ran blindly through the opening and into the picture, she was forced to cover her eyes from a blinding flash of light, experiencing a strange sickly sensation in her stomach as if she was floating out of her body and descending down a long tunnel.
She tried to take in her surroundings. It was a beautiful spring day, she was outside the house, the barren landscape and angry threatening sky her grandfather had painted had gone.
‘What now?’ her head was still pounding from her earlier drinking. She was parched. She started to walk towards the house. The sky seemed to be clearing and brightening as the landscape started changing yet again. As she walked towards it, the cottage began to pixilate, the edges softened and the building blurred dissolving into water in front of her eyes.
A gentle breeze blew ripples across the newly formed pond, shattering the reflection of the sunlight into millions of shimmering prisms of colour. Standing at the edge Carla dipped her fingers in, it was real - wet and cool. She cupped her hands filling them with cool water and drinking it.
By the side of the pond was a path leading downwards to a wall. The wall was made of a coppery coloured stone of all shapes and sizes. In parts it was covered in plant life and the stone had taken on a verdigris hue. It appeared to be part of a derelict building that had long ago fallen into disuse. At the bottom of the steps a perfectly symmetrical archway had been built, covered partly by dark green ivy. From the archway ran a steep flight of spiralling steps. The ground was damp and covered in leaves and mossy lichens.
She was captivated in a child's paradise, the spiral staircase inviting her to enter a new, dark-green, shady world. There was a figure, at the bottom of the staircase
‘’Ryan!’ she called her son.
She started the descent towards the figure. She heard a roaring noise below and followed the curve of the steps to a magnificent waterfall which cascaded into a stream below. As she got closer, the figure became clearer. It was a man, with his back to her, small and delicate in stature. He was nothing like Ryan; his straight blond hair was crowned with a circle of hawthorn foliage and blossom held high on his head. He turned round slowly emerald eyes sparkled dangerously, stabbing into her forehead as they danced with the weir.
‘What brings you here mortal woman?’ he asked her laughingly.
She didn’t answer him.
‘Perhaps you are looking for someone. You can follow me if you wish, but remember you can’t go back.’
Without another word he started to stroll away through the dark green bushes, mesmerised Carla followed him. The undergrowth gave way to strange forms of plant life, shapes and colours of fragile beauty, their delicate scents filling the air. An intoxicating smell drifted towards her from a feathery leafed plant. She picked a few of the leaves and held them to her nose breathing deeply. It made her feel quite dizzy. The wonder of this enchanted place made her want to cry for joy. In the thicket in front of them a path suddenly opened up to reveal an iron door which opened to let them pass.
They were in a hall filled with a soft verdurous light. Aromatic smells filled the air; music was playing the sweetest sounds Carla had ever heard. Strange but exquisite creatures danced. Intangible, translucent shapes of silver and gold, they changed with the rhythm.
‘Green man- who is this mortal you bring to our home?’ Dagda, the jovial king of the faeries asked.
Carla entranced stared at Dagda, and the five beautiful women that were strewn round him and his Cauldron of plenty.
‘Speak woman -,’ the green man commanded her. The music had stopped and all eyes were on her.
‘I am looking for my son.’
‘Has he got a name, and why would he be here?’ Dagda asked.
‘His name is Ryan, and he-,’ she took a deep breath, ‘has gifts you may find useful-.’
The Morrigu rose from around Dagda, hissing venomously, they started to change into hags and hideous ghouls. Carla felt Ryan’s bracelet burn in her pocket.
‘Wait! Let the mortal speak,’ Dagda waved his wand, the Morrigu returned to their previous forms. He gestured to Carla to continue.
‘He will be seven now,’ shaking Carla looked for the Green Man who she had started to feel a tenuous friendship with; but now he turned away,
‘-my son had powers to charm animals and he could make plants grow,’ she gulped - it sounded ridiculous even here, now.
‘There is only one man who meets your description. His name is Bran, he is eighteen. Bran!’ Dagda shouted his name.
The dancers parted and a young man emerged and walked across the shiny marble floor. He had chestnut hair and hazel eyes. Nobody could deny the likeness of the two of them. He stared at Carla and her at him. This was Ryan she knew.
Part four Lammas
So her journey had come to an end. She had dreamed of the years that she would spend with her son. The final brutal truth, - he had been taken to a land where time moved differently. He was now a man.
The futility of her mission crashed into her head, the years of wretchedness and endless searching were over. She could never have him back again. He belonged to the faeries. The Morrigu had dealt their cruellest blow. Not only had they stolen her boy but they had taken his childhood from her.
Carla wept the cries of a mother who had finally accepted she had lost her child. Her anguish was so strong it stabbed through the immortals elusive forms. Her voice echoed in the massive cavern like the cries of many wild beasts, robbed of their newly born offspring. A grief so intense, Dagda watched with horror as his palace seemed to fade and his twilight world disappear through Carla’s tears.
‘Stop this!’ Bran spoke to her for the first time. ‘Please tell me why, thinking I am your son, hurts so much, before you destroy our realm?’
‘Or we have to destroy you,’ threatened Dagda.
Carla continued to weep softly as she regained her self control. ‘Ryan, you were just three when you disappeared. Four years ago, not fifteen. Ryan, don’t you remember me. I am your mother?’
Bran looked around helplessly away from the desperate sobbing woman. His kinsfolk were starting to regain their shapes and the palace was becoming more defined again. ‘My name is Bran not Ryan. You are my mothers?’ he pleaded, pointing to the Morrigu.
But they hung their heads and would not look at him.
‘It doesn’t matter anymore.’ Carla sobbed.
‘But it does,’ Dagda‘s tone was sharp,’ you would not be here without a reason. We will have to ask the Green Man. Nobody can keep the truth from him.’
‘You can see for yourself Dagda, surely it is obvious that you are looking at mother and son. Ask the Morrigu what part they played in this?’
Given no choice Morrighan admitted Ryan’s abduction but she held her head proudly and her eyes fixed Dagda’s. ‘I did it for the underworld. Would you wish to return him to the mortals and be responsible for our complete destruction? How could we have survived without his powers?’
‘Hardly,’ and in a low voice for Morrighan’s ears only, ‘but we must
appease his mother or else she could destroy us.’
‘We could kill her,’ she whispered back.
‘And face the wrath of Bran now he knows who his mother is and what you have done?’
Dagda called his wisest counsellors and they made a compromise to Carla that she could stay with Bran for at least a year and have whatever riches she wished. After that she would be offered the gift of immortality, not before as it wasn’t a decision she should make in haste.
Carla and Ryan spent many hours together and were amazed by how much they had in common. She told him of his early years, their family and friends. She learned that he was the guardian of the underworld and he used his powers to tame animals, keeping harmony between the countless creatures, (particularly the dragons and giants) to prevent the destruction of their paradise.
It should have been the happiest time of Carla’s life and it was, time passed quickly. She lived in a magical enchanted dreamland where she wanted for nothing.
She had her own chambers in Bran’s palace which she decorated to her own taste. She had several servants including a maid and other companions; more clothes than she would have time to wear in a mortal’s lifetime; a library/study full of books where she could paint, read and write.
When she wasn’t in her study she spent time with her son and new friends, horse riding, swimming and walking. Amusing herself at summer fairs looking for bits and pieces for her chambers, she bartered for items the likes of which she had never seen before, silks and velvets in bright colours, unusual furs from animals that Carla could not identify, wines, exotic spices ordinary everyday pottery, beautiful chalices in silver and gold. Carvings in ivory, tapestries and paintings and much more. There were countless festivals of music and dance for the Gods many celebrations. Dining with friends, eating the everlasting supply of exotic foods and drink was an everyday occurrence.
The time she had with Ryan compensated the loss of his child hood and she eventually recognised him as a man she was proud of, who would be for ever her little boy. The neurotic Carla was gone and the happy mother of pre Ryan’s disappearance returned. Catching sight of her image in a mirror one day, Carla’s eyes stared back at her, more open- clear and purposeful then ever before - the red rims of sleepless nights had disappeared and her pale skin had a radiant glow. Ryan’s life and reason were here but long before the year came to an end she knew more and more that her own wasn’t and she yearned to return to her old life and family and friends. She told her son who understood and laughingly told her no man wants his mother hanging around all the time. Suddenly though she remembered the words of the green man ‘-you can follow me if you wish, but remember you can’t go back.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Ryan informed her, ‘the Green Man doesn’t know everything. He’s dangerous enough as it is. I know a way. Where is my bracelet?’
Carla felt a weight in her pocket and pulled out Ryan’s christening bracelet, it was glowing a bluish- white colour out lining the engraving of the unicorn. It was throbbing in her hand, larger than before. In disbelief she wrapped the bracelet round her left wrist, but it was still growing. There was a flash of light as she heard the sound of galloping hooves, a pure white stallion stood over her rearing his forelegs- a horse with a twisted horn set in the middle of its forehead snorting and shaking its silver mane. She looked in her hand; she was holding a silver bridle. The unicorn reared again, raising its hooves as if to strike her. Ryan took the bridle from Carla; the beast quietened, lowering its head as it moved towards him. He whispered in its ear and put on the bridle. The unicorn turned to Carla, lying down on its haunches for her to get on.
‘Your way home mother, don’t be so long before you call again.’
Carla mounted the beast. The landscape whizzed by. The trees parted to guide them along a clear path until she was in a narrow tunnel. She experienced the same strange sickly sensation in her stomach as on the journey there, floating out of her body. All at once she could see many lights below. The unicorn was galloping down a steep slope. She was sliding off. She clung to his neck screaming.
A harvest moon was rising in the sky, clearly outlining the architecture of a crescent shaped building. She fell from the horse and crashed to the ground. Carla was home and the unicorn had gone. She clung to the tiny, silver bracelet in her hand.
Total 4549
