(This is a true story…I do not dream nor fable…)
Deep in the most ancient of forests, during the frosty Yule Moon, a stone cottage with white edged ivy curling around the windows and surrounded by a hedge of holly, was home to Old Woman Solstice. On this longest winter night she sat rocking patiently by her fire of oak and apple wood. The tall figure of a visitor, young and proud, stood facing her.
“You live a dangerous life alone, Madam,” said the Undertaker. “If you die, who will know to put you on a barge and take you to the river so you can float away in peace? Who will know what you taught, and what to do with all your herbs and potions?”
“Do not worry, Undertaker,” Old Woman Solstice replied. “I am well accompanied by my Heather Besom, my familiars Owl and Wolf, and my Spells. It’s all I need when Old Man Death comes for me. The herbs and potions will return to the Earth from whence they came and wait for someone else to rediscover them.”
She continued pensively, “And don’t forget, I have completed my Book of Shadows.”
“Ah, yes, and where is it hidden?” the Undertaker rubbed his long thin hands, dark veins pulsing with anticipation.
“Why would I divulge that information to you?” Old Woman Solstice replied.
“Because, when your time comes, I need to know what Shadows will receive you, my dear.”
Old Woman Solstice rocked long, lost in thought. Outside the sound of leafless branches scratched against the windows of her stone cottage and snagged the new tender tendrils of ivy towards their naked wood as if to clothe themselves. The fire crackled and the chimney sipped the apple scented smoky wisps.
Startling the Undertaker with a sharp snap of her fingers and a whisper of words he did not understand, her Book of Shadows suddenly materialized.
“This is all it takes for me to summon my Book, Undertaker. When my time comes it will be here waiting for you.”
The Undertaker looked longingly at the Book. It’s cover was black with gold lettering and decorated with the starry constellations of winter. The Book of Shadows held the key to the Old Woman’s soul. With the Book in his possession he could decree the time and place of her death. He wanted to banish Old Woman Solstice and her power over the Cycles of Earth and Sun, so that the end of all life would be solely at his command.
Old Woman Solstice placed the Book on her lap and gently smoothed it’s cover as if to comfort and reassure it. The wrinkles on her hands resembled the patterns on it’s surface. She regarded the Undertaker tentatively, and knowing should she die without an successor the disaster that would befall the world where the Undertaker to take control, struck a bargain.
“By tomorrow night, find the River where I will rest in the greatest peace, procure a vial of the water, and the Book will be yours.”
The Undertaker agreed, knowing that just within a 1/2 day’s ride the most peaceable river ran along the southern edge of the forest. He took off his hat and with feigned courtesy bowed to the Old Woman.
“Agreed. Until the morrow’s eve then.” He left by the back door and stole stealthily through the forest, his beak of a nose resembling an enormous black crow leading the way.
Old Woman Solstice did not sleep that night. She rocked and rocked and whispered lengthy incantations well past the late dawn of winter and into the middle of the day.
The Undertaker arrived at the River as the Sun reached it’s zenith, penetrating the water to it’s very depth. Such a brilliant Light in winter the Undertaker had never seen. It’s rays gleamed as sharp as the golden blades of the warriors of old. The beams of Light struck the water with a hissing sound making the surface of the river bubble.
The Undertaker furrowed his dark brow when he saw the river’s normally placid waters start to blister with heat. He reached for his pocket and brought out a vial. But as he went to dip it into the water, the River boiled and steamed with more fervor, so that even tongues of fire leapt crimson and amber from it’s surface.
The Undertaker growled but the River continued to roil and churn, and with a sudden lurch, spit mounds of fish, cooked through and through, on to it’s shores. One particularly massive fish knocked out the Undertaker so that he fell dead at the foot of the gnarled trunk of a twisting Evergreen. A thundering shower of pine cones pounded down on the grimly crumpled body of the Undertaker thouroughly preventing any Light from entering. The many fish that sacrificed their lives that day decomposed and became a rich layer of fertilizer from whose scent the Undertaker recoiled. His soul had no way to go but through the deepest roots and buried layers of rocks and relics to find a dwelling place.
Old Woman Solstice got up slowly and with much effort from her rocker. The pain in her bones cut deep to the marrow. She had kept the Cycle of Life safe for another year. But she was not long for this world. Old Man Death would soon come knocking and succeed where the Undertaker had failed. She needed to find another to take her place, secluded from the world, yet forever upholding it’s natural order.
