I summoned my courage and entered the banquet hall. I knew the serpents would all be there, and I am not really very keen on snakes. To my surprise, the snakes were not there yet, and I sat down between two robed women who smiled at me in welcome.

No sooner than I sat down, though, the snakes began to arrive. I wiggled in my chair but refused to run away. The women on either side of me murmured words of encouragement to me as the snakes slithered down the long table and sampled each dish. There were so many of them, all sizes and shapes. Finally they began to move away, off the table, and I began to relax.

As the last of the snakes slid from the table, I heard a fluttering, swishing sound. I looked up and there, circling the chandelier, was a strange sight. It had a long body like a snake, but it was covered with feathers. It had wings like a bird, too, with iridescent feathers, and was flying in ecstatic loops and swirls all around the chandelier. As I watched, it dipped and swooped down onto the table. A collective “oh!” was voiced by all the women in the room. The flying snake was certainly a marvelous sight.

The feathered snake slithered and fluttered from one dish to another, sampling each of them as his earth-bound brethren had. When he had finished, he did not take off again and leave the room. Instead, he slithered over to the woman at the head of the table and wound onto her arm. He went around the back of her neck, as she sat there perfectly still, and then he went down her other arm. Then he repeated this with the next person at the table. One by one, each of us at the banquet table was visited by the feathered serpent.

When my turn came, I held quite still and concentrated on the feathers and wings rather than the snakier qualities of the visitor. He felt soft and warm as the slid up my arm. When he passed around my neck, I felt embraced, and I was sorry when he slid down my other arm and went on the next person. After he had gone around the entire table, he spread his iridescent wings again and flew up to the chandelier once more. He circled it several more times and the swooped acrobatically out of the room. 

After he left, the banquet hall was quiet for a few minutes, as people took in what had just happened, and then everyone burst into conversation.

The woman next to me turned and said, “I can’t remember the last time that happened. It really is a rare thing for the feathered serpent to come and join us. That was wonderful wasn’t it?”

I had to agree with her. I felt honored to have been at the banquet table this night. I thought about this as I filled my plate with the delicious food on the table and ate until I couldn’t hold any more.

After the banquet, I went happily to the comfortable rooms I had been assigned to. There was a note on the door – parchment, with fancy lettering. Tomorrow, just before noon, I was summoned to see the Gorgon.

I gulped. I had heard tales of her since childhood, and I was a bit leery of meeting her. Still, I had heard good things from others about her, especially if a performance pleased her.

I had thought long and hard about what to do for the Gorgon. I can’t dance – I have two left feet and usually just hope to make it across a floor without tripping when I walk. Singing – well, dogs don’t howl and small children don’t cry and I usually blend in well enough at church, but singing unaccompanied is kind of iffy for me. Visual art – again, I’m all right, but it’s not my best skill. Performing – I can bluff as well as any mother can, but I’m not an actress. Story telling – ah, I might be able to do something with that. First thing in the morning, I would visit the costume shop and find something suitable to tell stories in. I fell asleep planning the story I would tell her.

When I was ushered into the Gorgon’s chamber the next day, I was as ready as I could be. I had donned the costume of a wandering storyteller, with bright colors and a tall wooden staff with a raven’s head carved on the top. I bowed low, removing my feathered cap with a flourish, and announced myself.
“I am She Wolf, Madame Gorgon, and I have come to entertain you!” With no further ado, I began my story:

Once upon a time, a family lived at the far side of a deep forest, up against a range of tall mountains. The mountains rose right up out of the forest, looking like a giant had dropped a bag of rocks right in the middle of the trees. They were made of stone so white it looked like snow. No hills led up to them, and they were so steep and rocky that nothing grew on them and even the doughtiest climbers were defeated by them.  They extended for miles and miles, only stopping a few miles from the seashore on either end of the land. They were like a great wall dividing the land in half. Their jagged tops were always covered in snow, so high were they, and a few were so tall that the clouds almost always covered them.

People told all sorts of tales about these mountains. Some people said that in the middle of the range was a magic land where all sorts of mythical creatures lived, and other said that there was an entrance to the underworld there. Some said that there was secret passageway to the far side hidden somewhere, and others said that there were giant birds that lived there that would give you a ride to the other side if you could catch one. Of course, you had to get into the mountains to catch one first, so no one had ever done this. There were tales, too, of terrible monsters that lived there that could walk through rocks and climb sheer rock faces that would sometimes come out of the mountains and wreak havoc in the lands beside the mountains.

The family that lived there, in the shadow of the mountains, didn’t say much about them. They kept a eye on the mountains, but never saw anything strange or magical or frightening come out of them They just stuck to making a living, picking up the bits of rock that fell from the mountains that were of a good size to make rock walls and houses, carving them into usable shapes, and transporting them to a town on the far side of the forest where there weren’t any rocks for building so that people were willing to pay good money for them.

This family had lived there for many generations, gathering rocks and selling them, and nothing had ever happened to any of them. They rarely told the stories about the mountains around their fire at night – they saw no point to it, as they could see for themselves that the mountains were just that -plain, boring oversized hunks of rock. As a result, the children never heard the stories unless they happened to go to the town on the far side of the forest with their parents.

When the little daughter of the family was five or so, she went along with her father on her first trip to town. The trip was long, for it took several days to get to the far side of the forest, and so she had never been before. She was astounded by all the people and the sights in town, and in the inn that night, she heard her first storyteller, and she was mesmerized. The storyteller was as good one, with many new and wonderful tales to tell, several of which were about the mountains at the back of the family’s home at the far side of the forest. The little girl listened, her mouth wide open as she hung on to every word. When her father came to take her to bed, she cried until he had to threaten her with no more trips to town if she kept it up. After he tucked her into bed, she dreamed dreams of the magic in the storyteller’s tales, magic on the other side of the mountain walls.

For years, while she was growing up, each time it was her turn to accompany her father or mother into town to sell the rocks, she would seek out the storyteller. She learned to ask for tales of the mountains and hung on each word the storyteller said. Her parents joked that she wasn’t expensive to take to town, as she never wanted to go into the shops, and they always knew where to find her.

The little daughter did not just listen to the stories, she believed them. Well, not all of them. There were some that were too far- fetched even for her to believe. But many of them seemed like they must be true, with magic laced through them and wonder filling them.  At home, she  began to creep off to search along the rock walls for a hidden entrance or some sign that the magic might be true. She was very careful not to let her family know what she was doing, for she was afraid they would make fun of her or even forbid her to explore. She kept her quest silent, all through the years of growing up.

By the time the daughter had reached the age of 17 or so, she began to look less often. Real life was taking up more and more of her time, and a young man from a house half way through the forest had begun to court her. She hadn’t looked for magic or ways into the mountains in quite some time, really.

One fine spring day, she was out with one of the pony cart, looking for nice rocks of a certain size and maybe a few spring greens for dinner if she could find some. She was humming a little tune she had heard on her last trip to town, not thinking of anything in particular and picking up rocks from an exceptionally nice and very recent rock fall she had come across.

As she pulled another rock from pile, she felt a slight breeze on her face. It came from the direction of the side of the mountain. Startled, she pulled back away from the rock face. As she pulled, the rock she was holding on to suddenly came with her and the rest of the pile shifted, revealing a small dark hole in the side of the rock face. A steady fresh breeze was blowing out of the hole. She sat there in shock with the rock on her lap, staring at the hole that no one had ever though could exist – a hole that quite clearly led to Somewhere Else.

Finally, she got her wits about her and, putting the rock aside, scrambled to her feet. She looked carefully at the hole. The fresh air was definitely coming from it. It was black as pitch inside, and she could see nothing. Carefully trying to avoid causing another slide that would hurt her and bury the hole once more, she set about moving rocks to make the hole larger. When the rocks had come down off the higher part of the mountain, they seemed to have crashed against this section of the mountain with enough force to break through a weak section of the wall, revealing this cave behind it. It didn’t take long to make the opening large enough to let in a little light and then to look inside. The cave floor appeared to be clear of rubble. This was good, for it meant that the cave wasn’t in the habit of collapsing. She could see a small chamber and a passage leading down and deeper into the mountain.

She was beside herself with excitement. This was what she had looked for all those years. The cave had to lead to somewhere, or there wouldn’t be a fresh breeze blowing from it.

She hurried to the pony cart and grabbed a candle stub out of a basket kept there. Then she paused and grabbed the basket itself. It was full of supplies for family members caught away from the house at night, with a blanket, package of waterproof matches, a small skin of water, and some journey cake and dried fruit. There was also a small length of rope in the basket, which was the sort designed to be worn on a person’s back. She though she would just go a little ways into the cave and see what it was like. She had to be home in a few hours, and didn’t want to worry anyone at home by being late. She wouldn’t do anything dangerous, she thought. She just wanted to have a little look at this cave she had been searching for since she was small.

When she entered the caves, the young woman lit her little candle and held it out as she looked around the room. The chamber was coated with a shiny, slippery looking stone which glistened in the light from her candle. The floor was rough in places, but fairly even as she walked across it. She touched the wall and was surprised to find it damp. Slowly she walked into the passageway and the next chamber.

While the cave may not have contained magic, it certainly contained wonders. There were rooms full of huge spears of stone hanging from the ceiling, and others rising up from the floor. Some rooms had crystal clear pools with ice-white eyeless fish swimming in them and others had strange looking walls covered with stony popcorn and rocky draperies. The colors varied, too, from the basic snowy white to rusty colors and greens and even blues. One room looked like a sunset as the colors shaded from top to bottom. She lost all track of time, exploring in those caves. A real sunset shaded the sky and it grew dark outside. Eventually, her pony grew hungry for his dinner, pulled his rope loose from the branch he was tethered to and took himself and his cart home to eat. When he arrived without his young mistress, the house went into an uproar. The young daughter was always home on time. They could only imagine that something terrible had occurred to her. Her brothers came boiling out of the house like upset bees, her sisters ran to get their own ponies from the stable, and the young man who was courting her ran out bellowing her name in a panic. Her parents grabbed whoever they could long enough to try to organize a search.

Blissfully unaware that she was causing a panic, Annalise (for that was her name) was staring at each new cavern full of wonders. The breeze was stronger now, and she knew that she must be near the other end of the caves. Just then, a puff of wind blew out her candle and she was left standing in the dark. Annoyed, she took off her basket and rummaged around in it feeling for the package of matches. As soon as she pulled the package out of the basket, though, it jumped from her hand and fell somewhere on the black floor in front of her. Grumbling, she knelt down and tried to ignore the rocks under the heavy canvas knees of her trousers as she felt around for the package. She moved slowly forward as she swept her hands along the floor in front of her, searching carefully by feel. The matches proved to be elusive, and she was nearly crying by the time she finally felt them in front of her. How they had bounced all that way, she didn’t know. As she sat back on her heels to re-light her candle, she noticed that the darkness to the side of her was a little less black. It almost looked like night in that direction, instead of the absolute pitch-dark lightlessness of the caves. Then she saw some thing flit across it, looking a lot like a fire fly. Hurriedly she lit her candle once more, and, grabbing her basket, she walked quickly to the lighter patch of darkness.

Moments later, she stepped out of the caves into the night. It was a beautiful night, clear and full of stars with a bright moon overhead, and filled with the flitting of fireflies and other insects, including a huge green moth that came over to investigate Annalise’s candle flame.

She was on a steep hillside, with fir trees all around her; she could see down into a dark valley below. There were no lights, other than the fireflies, but the place wasn’t quiet. Annalise could hear all sort of insects, an owl, and then to her terror, something large crashing around in the woods. She backed slowly into the mouth of the cave again and blew out her candle. As she crouched there, several huge beasts with legs like tree trunks all covered with shaggy hair crashed by. They were enormous and had great curving white tusks in front and long appendages on their fronts. They looked a lot like the pictures of oliphants Annalise had seen in books, but oliphants weren’t so big and covered with hair. They were frightening beasts.

After the beasts had passed, Annalise relit her candle. That was when she realized that there was not enough of it left to see her safely back through the caves. She would have to go looking for something she could use as a torch – but that would need to wait until the sun was out in the morning. With a mental apology to her family for all the worry she must be causing them with her thoughtlessness, Annalise resigned herself to spending the night on the far side of the mountains. She was not going to sleep out there where huge beasts could step on her and never even notice, though. Annalise went a little deeper back into the cave and curled up under her blanket in a little niche in the wall.  She fell asleep listening to the strange noises of the valley beyond the mountains.

Meanwhile, her family had followed the tracks of Annalise’s pony cart back to where the rock slide and cave were. They were shocked to see the hole in the mountainside, but knew immediately that this was where Annalise had gone.

“I only hope she went willingly and wasn’t dragged off by who knows what,” said her father grimly. The young man who was courting her was moving the rocks, trying to make an opening large enough for a grown man to enter. Annalise had slipped through a much smaller entrance. As he struggled to move one of the larger rocks, aided by some of Annalise’s brothers, they all heard a loud rumbling from above them. The rocks that had fallen in the original slide were apparently just the first to fall. With a curse, the young men ran to safety as more of the mountainside came crashing down, burying the entrance to the cave behind tons of debris.

Annalise awoke slowly, feeling very warm and cozy. Her mattress seemed quite lumpy this morning, but she was wonderfully warm, even though the early spring air was quite chilly.  She stretched, opened her eyes, and was surprised to see a rocky ceiling above her until she remembered finding the cave entrance the day before. As she shifted slightly, a voice right beside her said, “Ah, I see you are awake now.” The warmth at her back moved, and a large grey wolf came into view.

Annalise crawled back into the very back of the niche in terror, clutching the blanket to her and screaming.
“Hush, child, you have no need to fear me.” The wolf was talking. Annalise stopped in mid-scream. If the wolf was talking, this must be a dream. Wolves didn’t talk. Annalise and the wolf stared at each other and then the wolf sat down and spoke again.

“You really are lucky you fell asleep in the cave, you know. If you had chosen to sleep outside, you wouldn’t have woken up as yourself. You would have been transformed into an animal while you slept, thanks to the sorcerer’s curse on the valley.”

“Huh?” Annalise thought this was a bit far-fetched, even for a dream. She reached down and pinched herself. It hurt. But she couldn’t be awake, could she?

“A curse,” repeated the wolf. “The same curse that turned me into a wolf, and all the other folks in the valley into other animals. Even though the sorcerer who created it is long dead, the curse lives on.” The wolf settled down and grinned a gape- mouthed lupine grin at Annalise. “I can see you don’t believe me and have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“This is just a dream. I’m still asleep. I have to be!” Annalise answered the wolf. “I thought there must be magic on the other side of the mountains, so I’m dreaming that there is!”

“Well, if you think this is a dream, you might as well hear the whole story,” the wolf laughed. “Listen well, girl child, while I tell you the story of the valley.”

“Once, long ago, how long I am not sure, for as an enchanted wolf, time flows differently, the valley was a happy and busy place. Magic abounded here, and the people of the valley traded with the people who lived on the other side of the mountains – magical wonders for natural wonders, things of many lands coming here in trade for the magical things we took for granted. It was a wonderful time, with plenty for all. There was a sorcerer, however, who had decided that he would wed the young daughter of the king of the valley. He thought she was beautiful, and wanted her hand more than anything else. The girl had other ideas, though. She was in love with another young man, and before the sorcerer could do anything to detain her, she ran off and wed her love in secret. The sorcerer found out and came after the young couple, but they disappeared for a while, out into the world beyond the mountains. Soon the young bride was with child, and wished to return to the valley to have her baby.  As soon as she set foot in the valley, the sorcerer knew that she was back and he was furious. He met her half-way to the palace and confronted her.

‘How dare you wed another when you knew I wanted you!’ he roared, red faced with rage.

‘How dare YOU demand that I wed you when I did not love you or want to marry you!’ she shouted back at him. ‘I wed the man I wanted to, and it was no business of yours. Now begone and let us pass, so that we might go and see my parents.’

The sorcerer’s lip curled. ‘Your parents are gone. I took care of them myself, with my magic, as soon as I heard you were gone. Since they would not stop you and make you mine, they had to be punished. Now you will be punished, too.’ With that the sorcerer threw a bottle on the ground, where it broke, a thick orange smoke billowing from it. He laughed cruelly, and said, ‘Your disloyalty to me has sealed the fate of the entire valley. You shall be as lonely as I am, for all eternity!’ With that, the sorcerer disappeared, leaving the young woman sobbing in the arms of her young husband.

As he held her, though, she could feel something happening. He was changing, shrinking. She pulled back just in time to see him turn into a snake. As she stared at him in horror, he turned and slithered away, frightened.

The curse had turned everyone in the valley into creatures of various sorts. The young woman had not changed, to her surprise, and as she wandered through the valley that morning, she saw that the palace guards had become mammoths, like huge hairy oliphants, the bards and minstrels had become brightly plumaged birds while the sturdy farmers and their families were changed into equally sturdy donkeys and ponies. All the people of the valley, except the young woman, had been turned into creatures. The young woman wandered all day, and as the sun began to set, found herself by the entrance to the caves that connected to the world beyond the mountains. She felt a new pain now, and knew that the time to deliver her child was upon her. Alone in the cave and alone in the valley, she bore her child, a girl, and wrapped her up well. She laid the baby beside her and then, exhausted, fell asleep there in the mouth of the cave. Sometime while she slept, she moved slightly and one of her feet slipped out of the cave and into the open air of the valley exposing it to the curse still hanging there. As she slept, she too changed. She awoke to hear her daughter crying with hunger and turned to nurse her.  To her horror, she could not care for her little daughter. She had become a wolf. Raising her head to the sky, she howled in sorrow, in fear, in loneliness. And in his tower, the sorcerer heard, and smiled.

The young woman turned wolf knew that the baby would not live if she did not find someone raise the child, so she did the only thing she could. She took the baby’s swaddling wraps in her jaws and carefully lifted the baby and carried her through the caves, back to the other side of the mountains.

She made directly for a small house near the mountains, because she remembered that the young woman of the house was also quite pregnant. Perhaps the woman would be willing to raise this child alongside her own. She laid her squalling daughter down on the doorstep and slipped into the trees to see what happened.

The door opened, and a woman looked out. Seeing the baby, she gasped and reached for it. The baby was taken inside, the door slammed shut, and the wolf went back into the cave. She returned several times over the next few days to make sure all was going well. Her daughter was being treated like a daughter of the house and was safe and well. The wolf realized that staying nearby would probably get her killed as a dangerous predator and came back through the cave to the valley.

Over the next few months, she watched the cave carefully. Traders came through the caves into the valley. As soon as they stopped to sleep, the curse took them and they became animals. A squirrel, a porcupine, a magnificent stag – all of the people transformed into some sort of creature. It bothered the young wolf-woman very much to see this happening, so she gathered all the magic she could find and all the magic she could use as a wolf, and went through the caves again. At the other side, she carefully wrought her magic, and the entrance to the cave disappeared. The rock wall became smooth, as if the cave had never been there. Sadly, the wolf-woman went back to the valley, all alone.”

Annalise looked at the wolf in front of her. “My great-great-great grandmother was a foundling,” she said, “and there were tales of a large wolf who was seen in the forest for a while about the time she was found.”

“Yes, I thought so. You have the look of my mother,” replied the wolf with a certain sadness.

“But, how could it be you! That was so long ago!” Annalise asked.

“It seems to be part of the magic spell,” the wolf said.  “If I am to be lonely forever, forever needs to last, well, forever.”

“But surely the sorcerer would have relented eventually,” Annalise said.

“He might have, if he were still alive. He died a few years after he cursed the valley, all alone, in a fall down the stairs to his tower. Some cats who lived there (they used to be his servants, before the curse) told me that they could hear him screaming for help for several days. Of course, there was no one to help him.”

Annalise shuddered. “Is there no hope, then, ever?”
“Well you might ask. There may be, but none of us in the valley can do anything about it. As we are all animals, we can’t get into his tower to see what may be done.”

“None of the creatures have the ability to get in?”

“In his fear of vengeance, the sorcerer made the tower so that no animal could enter it. It is magically shielded from us as surely as if it were made of seamless steel. We have tried, all of us, and we cannot enter it.” The wolf shook her head, a very human gesture. “I think that perhaps there is a spell to break the curse therein, for the sorcerer was growing quite lonely in his last years. Still, I do not know.”

Annalise sat silently for a while. “It has been so very long. My world has begun to think that the land here never existed. I do find that strange, since there was once trade between the lands.”

The wolf replied, “No, for not all traveled here. The routes in were hidden to all but a few traders, lest we be overrun with people wishing to play with the magic, which is always a dangerous thing. It may be a side effect of the curse, as well, seeping out into the world beyond.”

Annalise looked at her, trying to get her head around the idea that this wolf had been a woman who was her ancestor. Finally, she spoke, “How far off is the tower?  Do you think I could get into it?”

“Child, the tower is near, but I do not know what sorts of traps the sorcerer may have laid in it. It may not be safe, and I do not wish to endanger you.”
“If the tower is near, then I will go and try. The sorcerer was defending himself against animals, not other humans. I’m willing to bet that I can do it.”

“You know you may be gambling with your life, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. But I want to do it. If you won’t show me the way to the tower, then I’ll just go exploring until I find it myself,” Annalise added.

“Then let us waste no more time. I will show you the way. When you have seen it, you may wish to turn back. Then I will guide you through the caves to your home and seal the entrance shut once more, so that no one else can be harmed.”

They set off down the hillside, with the wolf telling her about the land as they went. Annalise told her some of the stories she had heard, and the wolf laughed at a few of them. Others she confirmed as being true. She pointed out magical creatures to Annalise as they went, too, some of which Annalise had never even heard of. Finally, the wolf said, “It is strange to think of my home as being nothing more than a tale in the world beyond. It is even stranger to think that so much time has passed. But there, look, the tower is just beyond that rise. You can see the top of it now.”
The tower was indeed just ahead, and Annalise began to feel quite nervous. At the top of the rise, she paused to look around her. While they had been walking and talking, all sorts of animals had joined them. Others had already gathered in the clearing around the tower. The great mammoths, colorful birds, squirrels, badgers, porcupines and deer, the cats and dogs, donkeys and ponies, birds and beasts of every kind. They were all there, waiting and hoping. How had they known, Annalise wondered. It must have been the magic here. The wolf beside her sat down with a great sigh and looked up at Annalise wordlessly. Annalise just looked back, and then nodded.

Annalise pushed through the throngs of animals to the base of the tower. Many murmured words of encouragement as she passed. At the head of the group was a large snake. Annalise had a feeling she knew who this was, and this was confirmed when the wolf came and sat down beside it.

None of the animals could come within ten feet of the tower, so she walked the last few steps alone. There was complete silence in the clearing as she approached the door.

Annalise put her hand on the doorknob and turned it. It turned and clicked with a rusty, dirty, grating sound. She pushed on the door and it move slightly. She tried again and put her shoulder into it. The door was stiff and warped with age, but finally it gave and she stumbled into the musty darkness inside. As daylight streamed through the door for the first time in two hundred years, the first thing that Annalise saw was the skeleton of the sorcerer at the bottom of the stairs. It was clear that both legs were badly broken. Annalise shuddered and stepped over it as quickly as she could. It was sad, but he had chosen his own fate. She mounted the stone stairs slowly, checking for surprises as she went.

“The workroom will be at the top!” The wolf called out one last instruction as Annalise slowly climbed the stairs. The first level and the second level were simply living quarters and Annalise moved quickly through these. The next level seemed to have been just a storeroom, full of dusty trunks and broken furniture. The top level was next. Annalise saw a heavy wooden door on the landing at the top of the stairs. There was no key hole, no lock, just a doorknob. Annalise slowly reached out to grasp it. Nothing happened, so she turned the knob carefully. This door had been protected from the elements, and opened with only a small creak.

The workroom was covered in dust – fortunately, the sorcerer had been a tidy sort of fellow, and so the dust was the worst of the mess. Annalise saw shelves of books and scrolls, more shelves of bottles and small boxes all carefully labeled, and dusty but otherwise clean glassware and strange apparatus on the wooden worktables. She went over to the windows and unlatched them, pushing them open to let in the clean spring breeze. A fresh gust of it burst through the windows and rushed through the room, blowing away much of the dust and leaving Annalise sneezing violently. It seemed that the land itself was trying to help lift the curse.

Annalise wandered around the room for a short while, getting an idea of what was there and where things were stored. Finally, she came upon a locked cabinet on the far wall. If she were the sorcerer, this was where she would keep something like the counter spell for the curse. Unfortunately, this cabinet was locked. The keyhole was a tiny thing, so the key could be hidden almost anywhere. She remembered that the skeleton had had a small pouch, nearly rotted through, strapped around its waist. Although she was not happy with the idea, she knew she needed to check this for the key.

Slowly, she made her way back down the stairs – she didn’t want to end up like the sorcerer had, broken and helpless at the bottom. When she got there, she carefully opened the little pouch, which fell apart in her hands. In it were a few coins, a miniature painting on a locket, and a tiny key. She put the other items in her pocket to examine later, and hurried back upstairs with the key.

The key fit into the lock perfectly, and the cabinet opened with a snick. The doors creaked open, and displayed there were row upon row of bottles, all carefully labeled in a faded, spidery script.  Annalise sighed with resignation. This was going to take a while.

She leaned out of the window to let the waiting animals know what was going on, and then took a chair over to the cabinet.

Several hours later, she had found spells for growing hair on a bald spot, making flowers appear in thin air, speaking to someone miles away, changing the colors of one’s clothing, and cleaning one’s clothing while still wearing it. There were dozens of others, mostly frivolous, some truly useful. She was tempted to try the one for cleaning clothing, because she was filthy from her trip through the caves the day before.

 The light was beginning to grow dim as she took the last bottles from the cabinet. She was very discouraged – perhaps there wasn’t a counter spell, after all. The last bottle came out – it was a spell for untangling your horse’s mane – and Annalise set it on the table beside her with tears in her eyes. She had failed.

She turned to leave the room, to go and break it to the animals that there was no hope for them, when something caught her eye. There was a mirror hanging on the wall which did not sit tight against the wall. It appeared to be raised, as if something were under it. Annalise reached out to take the edge and as soon as she touched the mirror, something odd happened. The image of herself swirled and she saw herself as a young child, as a daughter and sister. She saw, flashing past, major events in her life, things she wished she had never done and things she still laughed over. Tears came to her eyes, and she laughed at the same time. She saw the woman she had become and how she affected those around her. She even saw her beloved desperately moving rocks at the entrance to the caves, and her conscience pricked her. Finally she heard a voice saying, “Face yourself. Do you accept what you find here?”
Annalise held firmly onto the edge of the mirror, and answered, “Yes, I do. This is me, and I accept who I am.”
The mirror’s surface stopped swirling and disappeared. Where it had been was a single bottle. She reached in and took it. It was labeled, simply, “Counter Spell.”
Slowly, Annalise descended to the bottom once more. As she exited the door, the sun began to set on the horizon. She looked at the wolf, and the wolf told her, “Just open the bottle. If it works, we’ll know.”
Annalise took a deep breath and pulled the stopper from the bottle. A cloud of blue smoke rushed forth, and expanded to cover everything. Annalise could see nothing for a few seconds, and then the smoke cleared. Before her stood not a crowd of animals, but a crowd of humans, all smiling and staring at her in wonder. A great roar went up from the crowd, a roar of joy. People began laughing and crying and hugging one another. Annalise looked at the head of the crowd and saw a young woman who looked very like herself, and like the miniature she had in her pocket. Beside her was a young man who reminded her slightly of her father, which made since, since he was her great-great-great grandfather. They were smiling, with tears in their eyes, holding hands as if they would never let one another go again. As one, they turned to Annalise. “There is no way we can ever thank you enough,” they said. “You have given us back our lives.”

As the stars came out in the sky above them, a joyful escort led Annalise back to the caves. “What I don’t understand,” said Annalise, “is why the sorcerer would have stored the counter spell in such a way. He would have had to face himself to retrieve it, and that wouldn’t have been an easy thing to do”

“Perhaps that is the reason. He didn’t wish to use it, so he made it as hard as possible to reach it. He didn’t want to use it the first time he got lonely,” suggested the lovely young woman who was her ancestor.

“He was lonely, though. I found this in his belt pouch,” said Annalise, handing over the miniature and the coins.

“Yes, the picture is me, and the coins are those from lands we used to trade with,” came the reply.

“And will trade with once more!” someone else added.

When they reached the caves, someone just waved their arms and said a word, and lanterns in the walls lit up. “This is much better than a candle stub!” said Annalise.

The group walked through the caves, pointing out wonderful rock formations and strange sights as they went. When they came to the end, they could hear people digging on the far side of the wall.

Several of the people did a few mysterious things and suddenly the wall had a large opening in it. The folks digging on the other side were standing there in astonishment.

Annalise flew into their arms and hugging everyone she could reach, said, “Boy, do we have a tale to tell you!”

Posted by She Wolf (c)June 2007

I found a note from Enchanteur when I woke up from my nap after my night visit to the
Island of the Ancestors.  She said that the next place I was to visit was the House of the Serpents and Blind Springs. I was to make certain I still had my little bag she had given me, and to go outside of town, where a donkey would be waiting for me.

I packed my things up again, and made sure my little bag of magical items was nice and safe. Then I went downstairs for a bite to eat before I left.

It was already late afternoon by the time I walked out of town to find my donkey. She found me first. I had been hoping I might see George again, but no such luck. Instead I got Shirley.

I was walking down a small path wondering where my donkey could be when something came out of the underbrush and rammed into the back of me. I landed on my front- fortunately not my face, but it was muddy out and I got thoroughly mucky.  “Sorry, sorry! I mis-timed that! Didn’t mean to knock you over! Oh dear!”

Something goosed me in the part of me that was sticking up and I grunted, “Oof! Get off of me!”

The nose moved away and I struggled to my feet, my backpack throwing me off balance.

I turned around and saw a donkey standing there, contrite. “You must be my donkey,” I sighed.

“Shirley. I’m Shirley and I’m so sorry I’m late. I was supposed to be back in that clearing waiting and I was thinking and just lost track of time. Oh dear. I am SO sorry.”

I stopped the stream of apologies, “I’ll live. And what clearing are you talking about? I haven’t passed any clearings!” I was trying to scrape some of the mud off my front as I talked.

“Why, the clearing back there…. Uh oh. It’s just around the next curve. Oh my. I did it again, didn’t I?” Her head drooped and she looked very dejected. I had to admit I was a little worried. She was supposed to know the way to the House of  the Serpents and couldn’t even find the clearing where she was supposed to meet me. This might be a problem.

Still, I hated to see her so sad, so I tried to cheer her up. That turned out to be a mistake.

“Hey, Shirley, don’t stress. Everyone gets a little off the path every now and then. It’s fine. And look, I got most of the mud off my front. Let’s just get going, okay? We got a really late start today, and I want to make some distance before we stop for the night. Come on, let’s go.”

She cheered up immediately, braying and dancing happily. A donkey doing a happy dance is something to behold- that is, until she steps on your foot. Now I was hopping around, too, but I was holding my foot and yelling.

Shirley, of course, was very contrite. I stopped her before she could get going on the apologies again, and climbed on her back. We set off down the trail. I am happy to say that she only smacked my head on one really big overhanging branch on the first part of the trail, and only ran me into thorn bushes twice. She kept up a running apology as we went.

“Oops, watch that branch. Didn’t mean to let that branch slap back against you like that. Oh- look out- I slipped on that rock. Sorry, I’ll try not to get quite so close to those sticker bushes next time.”  And so on. Shirley really meant well. She really tried. She was really sweet. Her intentions were good. And you know what they say about good intentions, and where the path they pave leads to.

Anyway, after an hour or so of this, I decided to get off and walk for a little bit. It seemed safer. We traveled like this for a while, and then the path got very narrow and rocky.  In fact, it seemed to be disappearing, and it was starting to get dark. I didn’t like this combination. I liked it even less when Shirley said, “I think I should have taken a left back at the last branch in the trail.”

“Are we lost?” I asked.

“Not really, no. I mean, we aren’t where we’re supposed to be, but I know where we went wrong, and if we just go back a little way on this trail, we can fix it.”  We turned around. I was getting tired, so I climbed on Shirley’s back, and we went back down this narrow, stony game track in the growing dark, towards where she thought the mistake had been made.

We found the fork in the trail and tried the other branch. Unfortunately, this one didn’t seem to be any better. In fact, it was worse. We were soon going single file, first Shirley and then me, on a narrow path on the side of a hill that seemed to be turning into a mountain. This trail, like the other one, was disappearing. We made it past the bad section, though, just as the last of the light from the sky faded and it got really dark. I climbed back on Shirley and looked around as I rode. We were now in a dark forest. This wasn’t a nice tame forest, either. It was the kind of forest that has eyes.

The eyes turned out to be real ones. I was just getting ready to dismount from Shirley’s back when hoof beats sounded behind me. I couldn’t imagine where they were coming from, since the trail was so bad, but then they were on us, and I was being yanked from Shirley’s back and hauled onto my tummy over the front of a saddle. All I could see was a big black horse and the flapping black cloak of the rider. I could hear poor Shirley braying in distress as the rider pounded away with me.

I was very uncomfortable, very frightened, and more than a little bit mad. The mad was what showed. I was yelling and squirming and flailing around. The rider said nothing and didn’t react to anything I did or said. The horse just galloped on through the darkness.

I was starting to feel really ill, being on my tummy on a jouncing horse. Just about the time I thought I couldn’t take anymore, the rider reined the horse in. I grabbed at the rider’s cloak for something to hold on to just as he pushed me off. I toppled off- my legs wouldn’t hold me- and pulled the cloak off with me. I was rolling on the ground, tangled in the cloak when I heard the rider pound off again. I got my face clear in time to see a silhouette of the rider against the moon; I couldn’t see well but I wasn’t sure I saw a head on the rider. As I finished untangling myself, I realized that this fit with where I was. I was in a graveyard.

I could see leaning headstones all around me, with weeds tall around them. There seemed to be a crumbling mausoleum a short distance away, and even sitting down I could see that some of the older graves were sunken in. As I swiveled around, I realized there was a headstone right behind me, and I was sitting on a grave.

This gave me goosebumps all over. I struggled untangle myself from the black cloak and get myself off of that grave. I got to my feet and jumped off the grave just in time, because the ground where I had been began to heave and buckle. I stood there frozen with terror as I watched the grave split open and something start to emerge.

I found my wits and my feet at the same time, and turned to run. All the graves around me were doing the same thing, and the graveyard appeared to be endless, rolling off in all directions.

I ran in the first direction I turned and at least got away from the opening graves. I found a huge old tree with low hanging branches and scrambled up in it as fast as I could. That tree seemed to be the only living thing besides me in the entire cemetery, and it was also the only thing that wasn’t moving. The graveyard below me was churning with graves opening up. The ones that weren’t tearing open had wisps of white coming out of them.

Ghosts and zombies and here I was stuck in a tree. Life just didn’t get any better than this. Shirley must have rubbed her bad luck off on me.

However, bad luck or not, I would be very glad to see her about now. I clung to the rough bark and wrapped the cloak tighter around me. As I shifted, I knocked the bag from Enchanteur loose and it bounced loudly off branches all the way to the ground. Of all the things to drop, it would be the one thing I couldn’t forget about or do without.  The noise had alerted some of the zombies down below that I was hiding in the tree and some of them were shambling over to deal with the intruder in their home. Some of the ghosts were floating up towards me. I decided to follow the bag down, grab it quickly, and then run for it again. At least the zombies didn’t seem to move very fast.

I slid down the tree, scraping my legs raw as I did. Just before I reached the ground, a zombie shuffled past, caught his foot on the bag and shambled away with it in tow. I yelled incoherently and fell the last few feet, landing on my already bruised posterior with a thud.

 The zombie was disappearing into the darkness with my bag when I heard a horrible commotion. There was a loud braying, and a lot of thumps and a few crashes. Then the zombie with the bag came flying back in my direction, head over heels. The bag came loose from his foot and flew back at me. As I grabbed it, I saw other zombies rolling this way and that with a loudly braying donkey plowing into them left and right. It was Shirley, doing what she did best- wreaking havoc – bless her heart. She bowled them over clear up to where I was standing at the base of the tree and brayed “Climb on! Let’s get out of here!”

I didn’t wait for a second invitation. I jumped on and we careened out of the cemetery, knocking a few more zombies flying and barreling through the cold wispy ghosts. Shirley only knocked my shins against two headstones on the way out and only tore through one thorn bush. I was impressed. As we pounded through the rusty iron gate, which caught my shirt sleeve and ripped it off my shirt, she brayed triumphantly. She didn’t stop running until we were well away from that place.

When she finally slowed down, gasping and wheezing, I climbed carefully off her back. I still managed to catch my foot in her harness and fall down. She was truly amazing, this donkey. “What happened and where are we and what is going on?” I asked her as I lay on the ground, dazed.

“Ummm, you need to get up. We need to keep moving. I’ll tell you when we find a safe place to stop,” she replied.

I struggled to my feet and we staggered on. We crashed through the underbrush with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. Finally we reached a small bridge over a fast moving little stream. On the far side, Shirley slowed down. “Across running water. We’ll be safe here for a while, so I can catch you up on what is going on.” She continued, muttering, “Oh, this is terrible, just terrible. It was bad enough when it was just me, now it’s people in my care, too. Oh dear, oh dear.”

I stopped right where I was and sat down. “Okay, Shirley, tell me what’s going on, RIGHT NOW.”

She sighed dramatically and said, “It’s a curse. I’ve been cursed.”

I waited for her to continue.

“You see, I got a little lost one day and was walking down the wrong trail.”

This I could believe.

“Anyway, it was the trail that the black riders use, only I didn’t know it at the time. I walked in front of one of them and tripped him.”

So far I could picture this perfectly.

“He fell off his horse and, well, he lost something. We couldn’t get it, where it fell. He was really mad at me, and he cursed me. Until he gets it back, my luck will be terrible. Everything will go wrong.” She sniffled. “I’ve tried not to believe in the curse, thinking maybe it would go away, but that hasn’t worked. I was afraid to tell anyone because I didn’t want to lose my job. And now look what’s happened. You’re hurt, we’re way off our path, and who knows what will happen next.”

I stopped her and asked, “Shirley, what on earth could he have lost that is so important?”

We both looked up at a noise on the far side of the little stream. A voice rang inside my head, “IT WAS MY HEAD!”

The black rider sat there on his horse, headless but still radiating contempt. “That fool donkey knocked my head out of my hands. I can’t reach it to get it back and if I’m miserable, so will she be!” was what I heard inside my head.

“Uh, right, Mr…?” I said

“Murphy.”

Somehow that figured.

“Where is this head of yours? Maybe I can help you find it? If I did that would you take the curse off poor Shirley here?” I asked.

“I suppose so. Be warned, though, there’s only so much that will do,” the rider replied sourly.

“Okay, then, let’s get going. Show me where it is.”

We all set off downstream. He stayed on his side of the water and we stayed on ours. Shirley and I both felt much safer like that. After about half an hour I started smelling something unpleasant. It smelled like rotten eggs. I stopped and sniffed again. “What is that smell?” I asked.

The rider replied, “That’s where my head is.” For a headless guy, he sounded awfully sarcastic.

The head had fallen into a hot sulpher spring. According to Shirley and the rider, it had gone all the way to the bottom of the pool and was lodged there under a rock. It was down quite deep. Apparently headless horsemen don’t swim, and of course donkeys don’t have any hands so the head was lost.

It was far too dark to see anything, but the horseman had a solution for that problem. He summoned a few will o’ the wisps from the forest and they came and hovered over the pool. I still couldn’t see, so one of them dove down into the water. It went all the way to the bottom and then I could see the skull, grinning up at me. It was down about ten feet, so I would have to dive for it.

I took off my boots and stepped into the water, muddy clothes and all. Fortunately, the water wasn’t too hot, even though it smelled rank. I placed my glasses on a handy rock, well back from the edge so they wouldn’t fall in too, and dove.

On the first try, I reached the skull and pulled on it. It was well and truly stuck, so I tugged on the rock it was under instead. This moved. I went up for air, and then dove back down again. This time the skull came loose. I swam up to the surface and held it aloft, triumphant.

“I got it!” I shouted. Climbing out of the water and putting my glasses back on, I went over to the rider. He reached for it, but I held it back, saying, “Not until you take the curse off of Shirley, Mr. Murphy.” He sighed, but I felt something Happen.

I looked at Shirley, and she nodded. I grabbed the cloak I had pulled off of him and offered it to him along with his skull.

Murphy took the skull, but refused the cloak. “I’ve got others, and you may need it. You’re way off course and it’s a long ride where you’re going. If the weather gets bad, you’ll want it. Remember, I said that removing the curse would only do so much.” His body turned back towards Shirley and he shuddered.

 “I am going back to the graveyard to see if I can persuade all the zombies and ghosts to go back to their graves. Please don’t follow me. Your help I don’t need.” Then he tucked the skull under his arm. The eyes started glowing red in the darkness, and as he rode off, I could have sworn one of them winked at me.

I looked at Shirley and then at the hot spring. Sulpher or not, it was hot and wet and cleaner than the mud and sticks and so forth I had been wearing most of the day. I already stank of the sulpher anyway, so I shrugged and climbed back in the water, sitting on a rock that was at a nice depth. The will o’ the wisps hung around overhead and I leaned back and relaxed.

“Uh, She Wolf, don’t you think we had better be going?” Shirley asked.

“Nope. This is the most comfortable I’ve been all day. I’m not moving until I’ve soaked out a few of these aches that I seem to have acquired.” I replied. “After that, I’m finding a comfortable pile of leaves, unrolling my bedroll and finding some food in my pack. Tomorrow morning we will be going. Not until then.”

Shirley sighed, and then nodded. “Okay, I guess that’ll work. I’ll go look for a pile of leaves for you.” She ambled off and I heard a crash and an ouch from the direction she went. I was beginning to see what the rider meant when he said there was only so much removing the curse would do. I heard another small thud and winced. This was definitely going to be an interesting journey.

Three days later, in the middle of a torrential downpour, we arrived at the House of Serpents. The woman at the door looked at me, eyes widening. My clothes were torn and I was scraped and scratched and filthy. I also stank. She wrinkled her nose. “Brimstone?” she asked. Then she looked at Shirley and nodded, saying, “Oh. I see. Let’s get you in and cleaned up. We have some special salve and a first aid kit just for people who come in with Shirley.”

I turned around to say good bye. Shirley was walking away toward the stables dragging a branch which was stuck in her harness. I smiled fondly. Yes, the rider was right. There was only so much that could be done.

 Posted by She Wolf

Ancestor ancestor mine

Root of my trunk

Trunk of my branch

Branch of my leaf

How would I grow

How would I grow

And green and change

How would I go from now

To then

And stand ‘gainst the winds of time

The howling winds of time

To stand straight and tall as you did

And not let the winds strip

Me bare

Nor yet steal the sap from my veins

The life running in my veins

The blood from my life

Leaving me withered and dry

Not juicy and full

Leaving me bent and tired

Bent and tired and all sucked dry

From the winds of life and time

You have met this wind

Face on and lived thru it

Held straight and tall and fresh

Straight and fresh

And ready to stand more

All that came at you

With pride and dignity

And love

Child of child of mine

Leaf to my branch

Branch to my trunk

Trunk to my root

Gift of my love’s love

Love

Love is the answer

I loved and that was why

The winds which pulled at me

Never took me down

Never took me down nor

Sucked me dry

They did their best

But my love

Held me safe

Held me safe within

For tired is not lost

And pulled at is not down

And if the dry winds parch then

Pull sweet moisture from down deep

Sweet life from love

And all I did

I did for love

And consecrated it to

Life

Posted by She Wolf

The night was chilly and damp. The sunset was long past and the moon was well past full, barely enough to send a glint of silver across the waters of the bay. The tide was high and the water slapped against the piling of the quay, pushed by a slight chill breeze. It felt lonely and empty out here tonight. The vigor of the day was gone, and the magic of the sunset, leaving a dark and empty night. I shivered, both from the chill and the emptiness. I walked softly down the docks, afraid to make too much noise; this seemed to be the sort of night where you didn’t want to attract attention to yourself. It might be the unwanted kind. Finally I came to where the barges were lined up, the ferry women waiting to take their charges to the Isle of Ancestors. This was my destination tonight. The Song of the Deep was the first in line, so I didn’t have to go looking.  The ferry woman herself was unrecognizable, wrapped in a cloak as black as the sky was tonight. I stepped in and sat on the bench. Wordlessly, the ferry woman handed me a cloak much like her own. Gladly I wrapped it around myself, warmth against the damp chill wind off the water, and we began the journey to the Isle of Ancestors.   I was nervous about this and huddled inside the cloak still shivering, although no longer from the weather. I wasn’t sure what I was going to ask, or who I would see. I probably wouldn’t even recognize whoever it was.  I didn’t even know why I was so nervous. Finally I shook myself, took several deep breaths and concentrated on the sound the barge made as it went through the water. I just tried to stay in the moment and my nerves calmed. Before I thought it possible, the barge was grinding up on the shore of the island.I stood up and stepped onto the wet sand. I could see a grove of apple trees before me, and crossed the beach towards it. It was shining silver in the moonlight, and a small path wound away under the trees.  

The night did not feel empty here; it was thick with my ancestors who were clustered, waiting. Only one would come to meet with me, but they were all curious and gathered here to see me, the person I had become, and the person I had the potential to be. Their presence warmed me.  

As I walked the white ribbon of path, the crushed shells that formed it crunched under my feet and the apple leaves above me whispered to each other. A branch reached down and stroked my hair as I passed. The spirits drifted away, one by one, until I was left with the sense of just one accompanying me; it felt almost as if I were being led by the hand as though I were a little child. I treasured this feeling until I came to the mound and the door and then the loving spirit left me. I must enter alone. The torches at the entrance were the first light other than the moon that I had seen all night, and they hurt my eyes. I entered into the corridor. It smelled of earth and damp and a little bit of growing things- a bit musty, but not unpleasant. I could hear my footsteps echoing in the space. The red glow at the far end which had seemed so far away when I entered was right in front of me sooner than I expected. My stomach was all butterflies again and my palms were sweaty. I felt like I was a little girl again, standing in the hall at school for misbehaving and afraid the headmaster would come by and question me. I took a deep breath and stepped into the room. I could see someone standing with their back to me. Remembering my instructions, I walked clockwise around the hearth and sat on the bench across from my ancestor. I asked my question, received the answer and a small gift, and then was questioned in turn. The question gave me food for thought for a long time to come.   I reached into my pocket and found a small box in it. I gave my gift, a small piece of myself with my love in it. Then I smiled and thanked my ancestor for the time and the pleasure of the meeting and walked the rest of the way around and left. The walk back to the barge was silent, except for my feet crunching the shells under foot. My ancestors still pressed close around me and gave me a feeling of being held and loved. It was with sadness that I left them when I reached the beach where the barge was waiting for me. The ferry woman, wrapped in her black cloak, was silent as we made our way back to Duwamish. I was silent, too, for my meeting had given me much to ponder. 

When we reached the bay, the sun was just sending pink streaks onto the horizon, and as I stepped out onto the quay, it edged into the sky. I handed the ferry woman back the cloak she had given me to wear, and, breaking the silence for the first time, thanked her. She smiled, her weathered face crackling into happy lines, and said she could tell things had gone well. I fingered the new token I carried in my pocket and said that yes, things had gone well.

Posted by She Wolf

I was sitting on the end of the dock, picking a splinter out of my foot and cussing quietly under my breath. I hadn’t been able to resist taking my boots off and padding down the length of the dock in my bare feet. The weathered boards had felt good beneath my feet, reminding me of pleasant times in my childhood. It had felt good, that is, until the weathered boards got rough and shoved a splinter in my poor defenseless foot. Darn boards! It wasn’t my fault at all, of course- just the boards. I was feeling very put upon and tense and cranky.

Anyway, I was sitting there picking the splinter out of my foot when I heard someone come up behind me. Whoever it was wore boots – I guess they knew how mean the boards could be. I turned around and saw a pair of canvas trousers going up, and then a set of strong looking hands holding some packages, and finally a grinning face. It was the ferry woman from last night. She must just be coming back from her night runs. “I see you’re a bit of a tenderfoot!” she laughed.

“It’s not me, it’s these boards! They were out to get me!” I said.

“Yah, that’s what they all say.” She abruptly changed the subject. “Be here tonight, just after dusk. I’ll take you over to the Isle of Ancestors.” She turned and walked away, her boots clomping down the dock. At the end of the dock she turned and called, “The dolphin baths are a nice way to spend your morning. You might go and see if the dolphins are in today!” Then she disappeared into the village.

 I put my boots back on and went to see the woman at the dolphin baths. The thought of soaking a morning away, after all the traveling I have been doing lately, was irresistible. The dolphins were the icing on the cake.

When I checked in at the baths, the woman who handed me a towel told me that yes, indeed, the dolphins were there today, and they looked ready to play. Play, I thought. Hmm. I wanted to relax, but I didn’t know about play.

I got undressed, leaving my clothes in a basket, and started to hurry across the wet tiles. I slowed down to look at the pattern they made. It was soothing, geometric, in watery colors. The air was damp and warm. I could hear the dolphins splashing and chattering at each other at the far end of the pool. I put my towel down in a dry place and slipped into the water. It was a little cooler than I had expected, but the air was so warm in here that it felt good. The salt water lapped gently at my skin and stung the bottom of my foot where I had picked out most, but not all, of the splinter. I eased down into the water and let my feet drift up as I relaxed. It was so easy to float in the buoyant salt water! My entire body relaxed and I listened to the dolphins playing through the distortions of the water. Sounds are always strange under the water.

I must have floated there for about five minutes before the dolphins came up to me. It was long enough to relax me thoroughly; they allowed me that. When they came, it was silently, sliding along beneath the surface without a ripple to give them away. I felt one rubbery snout nudge me and then another. There were soon quite a few of them all nudging and poking at me. Finally they were tickling me. I started to laugh, and twisted over to look around. They had nudged me all the way to the other end of the pool. Now they danced around me chattering and clicking- laughing dolphin laughs. I was treading water since the pool was quite deep here.

One of them brought out a bright blue ring and tossed it. It sank and one of the other dolphins swam after it, catching it before it hit the bottom. Then it brought up the ring and tossed it. They continued this and I began to see a pattern of who tossed and who caught it. It was like a game of dolphin frisbee.

Suddenly, they were all looking at me- it was my turn.  The dolphin with the ring dropped it. I dove after it, but I am no dolphin, and couldn’t swim quickly enough to catch it. Then a shape swam up to me. I saw a dorsal fin being offered and grabbed it. The dolphin pulled me through the water like it was nothing and I grabbed the blue ring. We bobbed back up and I held the ring triumphantly aloft. Then I too tossed the ring for the next one to catch. We played this for a while, like a bunch of little kids at the community pool and then all of them but one raced off.

The dolphin who had helped me stayed behind and offered her fin again. I grabbed it and we took off through the water very quickly. We raced around the pool and then down into the water. Just when my breath was about to give out, she surfaced and off we went again. The next trip down I let go and swam by myself for a few moments with the dolphin swimming beside me. Then I grabbed her fin again and she pulled me up.

Finally she brought me back to the shallow part of the pool and floated there gently beside me. I took the hint and started to float again myself. It was even more peaceful this time, with her rubbery body floating beside me, after all the activity we had engaged in.

As I drifted both physically and mentally, she began to speak. “Play refreshes the spirit like rest refreshes the body,” she told me. I knew this was true. I do try to remember to play, but reminders, especially when busy-ness drags me along and wears at me, are always good.

 The warm water lapped over me and the dolphins all came back one by one and nudged me, and then I was alone. I lay there in the water a time longer, until my skin was very wrinkly

 As I dragged my soggy self out of the water, I realized that my foot didn’t hurt any more. The splinter had worked its way out and was gone. I was refreshed and ready for the rest of the day- and night. As I dried off and dressed again, my skin soft from the salty water, I was glad I had come and played for a while. The dolphins were right. Play refreshes the spirit.

Posted by She Wolf

Posted by Barbara in Lemurian Grand Tour, Barbara’s Journey, Pirates. add a comment , edit post

The Calabar Felonway ain’t no ship fer me, not a ‘tall. Th’ shoutin’ ne’er lets up, always those green eyes checkin’ on yer werk, barkin’ new orders t’ follow, ne’er a time t’ rest or relax. Tha’ scowlin’ scoundrel, th’ one claimin’ t’ be th’ Cap’n, why, tha’ face follows me wherever I be, even into me sleep. She howls in me nightmares and wakes me from me deep snore, me a drippin’ in sweat. No, this ship ain’t no ship fer me. I’m plannin’ to go overboard, an’ soon.

I planned it darn good, too. Ever’ thing planned for a go a’ two hours a’past midnight. The moon set awhile back an’ only a few stars blinked into th’ sea waters, th’ clouds mostly coverin’ the skies. Th’ wind were blowin’ mild and the ocean blue weren’t quite lookin’ like a piece a’ glass, but ’twere nearly. I hoisted th’ dinghy from its bed a’ rope an’ tossed me pack into th’ bottom. Me pack was bulgin’ with fresh water flasks an’ strips o’ salt meat an’ a bottle of grog or two. Th’ cleanest wad a’ clothin’ an’ a’ blanket I could find, I scrounged from under th’ deck. If they had vermin, I couldn’t tell an’ I didn’t much care at this point. Me sharpened knife were slid in me one boot and me iv’ry handled pistol were in me other. I hain’t tellin’ where tha’ purty gun a come from, an’ no one best ask. A belt a’ bullets hanged across me chest, covered by me tunic and black slicker. Me bandana and felt hat sat on me head, pertectin’ me from th’ sun an’ wind. Me flint ’twere wrapped tight in me waxed packet, along wit’ me compass an’ th’ telescope I stole from th’ cap’n’s chest. Me oars, an’ then a extra pair too, lay on the wood planks in th’ bottom a’ th’ boat. I packed up what I needed an’ I thinks me got it all.

Me friends, Ol’ Scotch and Reddy Rover, had kep’ a good lookie whiles me were a loadin’ up, an’ now they’s lowered the dinghy into the sea and let me loose. The sea took me o’er as I pushed me craft away from th’ pirate ship. As I took a glance at th’ ship one las’ time, I see’d a face a peerin’ at me from a low port hole. Me heart, it flip flopped. ‘Twere so dark, I couldn’t see nothin’ but a slice a’ green eyes a lookin’ out at me. I heaved the dinghy further away from the Calabar, oars sloppin’ in th’ water, and no alarm rung out, so I relaxed a bit. I ‘magined I’d done skipped from tha’ crazy cap’n. Me breath come out with so huge a relief, it almost rocked th’ boat o’er on its’ side. In th’ back ‘er me mind, thar were a nag of a doubt, but I pushed tha’ away, and waited fer the sunrise. Fer th’ first time in a long while, me rested a bit withou’ th’ threat of a strap rippin’ on me skin. I tell ya th’ truth an’ nothin’ more. Tha’ cap’n were as mean a soul as th’ devil himself.

I chawed on some meat and sipped at me water an’ then slept awhile. When th’ blue a’ th’ morn’ come up from th’ horizon. I pulled me telescope out ‘er me bag t’ check th’ horizon, an’ me heart did another flip. To th’ east by southeast, a vessel a’ some sort were makin’ time t’wards me. Even at a distance ‘tween us, I could see th’ flag a’ th’ crossbones flyin’ straight out with th’ breeze. Thar’ was no doubt. Thar’ was no other pirate ship on these waters, so’s I could only ‘magine th’ cold-hearted Cap’n were a’ chasin’ me down. An’ th’ trouble I’d be in once I’d a be captured were not to be pondered. Me legs shaked so hard, I couldn’t stand on me two feet an’ I had t’ sit me down ‘n catch me breath.

I swings all ’round and peers through me glass. A hint of a’ island shows itself t’ me. Jus’ a speck at first, but growin’ bigger an’ bigger as I row. Inside a’ hour, I finds meself in a hidden cove and pulls me dinghy on to the boggy land. Me feet are wobbly on land, but I ignore th’ sway an’ pull me boat into th’ rushes that’er packed tight enough ta make a good hidin’ place. I take extra time to cover me dinghy with clumps a’ grass an’ weeds ’til it’s purty much hidden gone. The Calabar’s now in sight, but a’ distance away yet. I throws me gear in me pack, puts me four oars in another hidey place, an’ high-tails it t’wards the middle a’ th’ island. ‘Twer’ lush an’ green, an’ me sees mushrooms an’ berries fer me takin’. Scat marks the trail I follow, so I know thar’s game on th’ island. A granite cliff rises up high in th’ sky, an’ caves spot th’ side. I make a torch a’ rushes an’ lights it with me flint. I goes into a few a th’ caves. I sees plentiful rooms fer shelter and two with runnin’ waterfalls, cold an’ fresh. I’m still explorin’, when I walks out from one a’ th’ highest caves and sees th’ Calabar’s search party crossin’ o’er th’ gang plank, tha’ green eyed Cap’n’ keepin’ watch o’er ever’one .

I needs t’ hide some’eres quick. I turns on me feet and hurries fast through the tunnels into th’ deepest cave, runnin’ lthrough th’ mazes’ rights an’ lefts. Finally I reaches a dead-end room, no bigger than a coupla caskets layin’ side by side. Thar’s another hole, low to th’ ground, jus’ big ‘nough fer a skinny body ta wiggle through. While most a’ Calabar’s crew is well muscled, I’m skinny and tall, though I can keep up in a fight with mos’ anybody. Th’ hole is muddy from drippin’ water, but I slithers through an’ covers me tracks with a swabbin’ blanket. This bitty cave is only big enough fer me ta sit inside nex’ t’ me pack.

An hour goes by. Two hours. Three. I’m considerin’ crawlin’ from me hidey hole when I hears the faintest of sounds. In minutes, boot steps of two or three pound on the stone floor of me cave. There are turnoffs to get lost in and I prays they takes a wrong ‘un. ‘Tis th’ first time I prays since I’m a lil’ nipper, but I s’poses God lissens to prayers from both sinners an’ saints. The footsteps comes close: I hear heavy breathing. Bodies push into th’ casket room.

“Nothin’ in here,” says Ronnie. “Not even ‘nough space t’ turn ’round in. Jus’ a dead end.”

Bonesy heads ‘way from me hole, mumblin’ ta Ronny. “Let’s hope the other search party found ‘er. We’re in big trouble if’n we don’t come home with ‘er. Jus’ can’t find any sign. How’d she get away?”

“Wishes I knew. I’d do th’ same. Mebbe she ain’t on the’ island. Might a’ capsized or rowed so fast she’s outta sight by now.”

“Good thinkin’, Ronny. You go explain tha’ ta th’ Cap’n’. Mebbe she’ll award you First Matey.” Bonesy laughs.

“Mebbe I’ll stay on th’ island. Looks purty fine t’ me. Water, food, fish. Better ‘n our fate on th’ Calabar.”

“Know what, Ronny. I’m game. We’ll make a go of it, or we’ll a die tryin’. An’ mebbe Ol’ Bo will turn up with some a’ her sea-farin’ gear.”

Ronny looks down at the Calabar. Then she stares into the cave and gazes around the deep greenery. Birds were squawking in the air. Waterfalls were scattered in the caves and down the face of the cliff. ”We can only pray, Bonesy. We can only pray.”

They sit on a stony outcrop, staring at the ship and her crew scurrying about. “The other crew’s on and thar’ pullin’ up th’ plank. Bet they’s thinkin’ we’s gettin’ a good punishment.”

“If’n they’s only knew, Bonesy. If’n they’s only knew.” And they break out in a hearty laugh.

I laughs inside the cave, echoing thar’ sounds. In a few days, I’ll make meself known. They’ll ‘preciate a pair a’ extra hands an’ me flint and meat, too. Think I’ll keep me’ knife and pistol on the quiet side, though. At least ’til I know who’s on whose side. “‘Spect we’ll all be on each other’s side. No more ol’ green eyes. Won’t that be grand.” An’ I throws me hat into th’ air. No more piratin’ fer me. Nope. Bo’s gonna go straight.

I had a lovely voyage aboard the Calabar. It was largely uneventful, aside from a near miss with a ship called the Dead Man’s Revenge, which seemed to think we were a pirate vessel (well, she wasn’t on this trip anyway). I whiled away the trip by telling tales and listening to others tell theirs, falling asleep each night to the motion and sound of the ship cutting through the waves. I enjoyed the smell of the sea, and the hot-tar scent of the sun on the wooden decks. The crew was good to me and kept me well fed.

We sailed into Duwamish Bay at sunset. The waters of the Bay were calm, reflecting pink and orange. I have always thought sunset was a magical time of day, and it was a perfect time to come to Duwamish. All the little buildings were stained pink and orange and the boats were all neatly moored – the day fishermen were back in and the night fishermen hadn’t left for the evening yet.

Mothers were calling children home for dinner, and sea birds were just now swooping down to the bay for one last drink before they nested for the night. The fertility carnival that I had heard about had paused for the evening meal. Everything was peaceful in that suspended moment between day and night when it is neither. The clouds in the deep middle of the sky changed to dark purple and then the boats of the ferry women came home to roost, steering into the harbor from all their various destinations. As I stood on the quay, I could see their outlines on their ferry boats, darker against the darkening sky. As the sky on the edge of the horizon shaded to deepest pink, I listened to the slap of the waves against the pilings and breathed the fish-salt smell peculiar to docks.

Hoisting my backpack on to my shoulders, I went in search of a place to stay for the night, and a place to eat- the lovely food smells from the carnival were making my belly rumble with complaints.

The good hosts of the Duwamish Bay Inn had a room for me, and a satisfying dinner. While I was eating, several of the ferry women came in to have some dinner before they began their night trips over to the Isle of the Ancestors.

I said hello, and one of them came over to sit with me.

“So, another seeker, eh?” she asked.

“Yes, I am.” I answered.

“That’s a good thing. We all need to seek, to find out what’s in ourselves.” She nodded approvingly. “I was a seeker once, myself. It was long ago, of course.” She smiled.

Frankly, I thought it couldn’t have been all that long ago. She didn’t look very old at all.

She caught the look on my face and laughed heartily. “Looks can be deceiving, love! I’m as old as time itself some days and others I’m only as old as my tongue and a little bit older than my teeth! I wasn’t too terribly old, though, until the day of the whale.” She shook her head, reminiscing. “Ah, yes, the day of the whale.” She looked at me again, and asked, “Would you like to hear the story of the day I met the whale?”

Of course I would. I’m always up for a good story. I signaled the innkeeper to bring us a pitcher of the best beer, to keep her throat well oiled and mine relaxed and happy, and the ferry woman settled in to tell her tale.

“Now you know, don’t you, that whales are very old and wise creatures? They lived on the land once and then saw what a fine thing the sea had been and went back to it. They perform ballets and concerts in the deeps, just for the pleasure of it, and don’t worry about leaving their mark on the world. They just live and love life, for the most part. But sometimes, something goes wrong. A whale just loses heart, doesn’t want to go on free and open in the sea. He thinks living on the land again is what he wants, so he can live like a man and worry all the time about this and that and what’ll he do that’s great that others will know him for. Then the whale goes and beaches himself, grinds himself right up on the shore, like he thinks he can just walk back out on land and take up where he left off.” She shook her head. “It’s a sad thing, it is. The thing about the whales, is they’re old, like I said, and they carry all that time right inside of them. When a whale tries to go back to the land and beach himself, all that time catches right up with him. Now, people think the whales die because they’re out of the water, but that’s not all of it. No sir, one of the reasons they die is all that time that they carry without trouble in the sea when they don’t care about it. Once they try to live on the land again, all the worries and cares of the land make all that time come crashing down on them and they just get old and die right then and there.”

“Well, one day I was out on my ferry, coming back to Duwamish, to be exact, and I spied a whale. He was all by himself, floating along, not diving and playing like they like to do. He was just lying there on top of the water, mist coming out of his blowhole as he breathed, not doing anything. I was a little worried, because he wasn’t acting normal, so I pulled alongside of him, and asked, ‘Whale! Are you all right?’

Well, he didn’t answer right away, so I asked him again, ‘Whale! Hey, you! Are you all right?’ 

This time he answered me. ‘I am thinking.’ Now, whales do think, but usually, they think way down deep in the sea, where it’s quiet and dark. I was a little bit worried about this fellow thinking right up here on the surface.

‘Oh!’ I said, ‘Might I ask what you are thinking about?’

‘I am thinking that I have done nothing with my life, Ferry Woman. I have made no mark upon the world, and it will have nothing to remember me by.’

Well, I knew we were in trouble now. The next thing you know, he would be finding some stretch of sand to beach himself on, trying to go back to the land. I knew this wasn’t good. If anything, we should be more like the whales; they shouldn’t try to be more like us. We do enough worrying for all the creatures in the world for all times just in one day!

Any how, I thought to myself that I needed to put a stop to this before it went any further.

‘Whale, why would you think that?’ I asked, “You have a fine and wonderful life under the waves. You live and love and dance and sing- why I happen to know you even tell tales to each other. You care for one another; you create for the joy of it. What else is there that anyone could want in this life?’

The whale moaned softly. ‘I don’t know. It just feels like I am missing something,’ he said. ‘Men do things that other men will remember them for. They make stashes of things, like that strange money stuff, and they and others think they are better for it. Shouldn’t we all want this?’

I replied, ‘Whales do things other whales remember them for,’ I reminded him. ‘You tell about it in tales and songs and dances. You may not collect things, but you are rich in lore and in time. Men have no time because they waste it all on worry and fuss about abstract things like money and fame and power. Trust me whale, you have the right of it. Stay with your sea, your dances and songs and companionship. Your life is the better of the two. I can say this, I who am a woman – yet I live on the sea, keeping my way of life as like to that of you whales as I can.’

 The whale ducked his head under the water and then blew a plume of spray into the air. ‘I will think on what you have said, Ferry Woman. Bide with me while I do.’

So I drifted there, a night, a day and a night, and yet another day, while the whale thought.

Finally he said, ‘I think you have the right of it, Ferry Woman, I have had the better life all these years, and I would have thrown it all away. I thank you.’

‘You’re welcome, whale. I am very glad I could help.’ And I was, for I believed every word I had spoken to him to be true.

Then the whale spoke again. ‘I fear that I owe you an apology, though. In my thinking and worrying, I allowed some of my time to get loose, and it tried to catch up with me. Because you were here, concerned for me, you took it instead. Fortunately, it wasn’t a lot, but you may be a bit older than you were.’

The whale was very embarrassed over this, but I thought about it for a minute or two, and then said, ‘Whale, I have never been vain about my looks, so it won’t bother me on that score, and then, I have always thought wisdom comes with time, so that isn’t so bad either. My body feels as strong as ever, so it hasn’t damaged me like that. I think I will be fine. And if I can live like a whale and not worry over silly land things, well, that I may be able to hold much of that time in me like a whale does, and that is a good thing. Now I have a reason to live like you do!’ I laughed delightedly and so did the whale. ‘Well met!’ he called out and dove, waving good-bye with his tail. I continued back to Duwamish Bay.

Everyone here wanted to know where I had been, and I just told them I had been visiting with a whale and left it at that. Sometimes I still see him, and he always dances around me for a while before he leaves again. As for me, I try to live like the whales do, live and love and create, and do all of these for the joy of it. And do you know, it must be working, because that time, I’m still holding it in me, and it’s been years now!” The Ferry Woman smiled, finished her beer.

I was thoughtful after her story. This was something to ponder. The Ferry Woman got up to leave and told me to that if I wanted her to take me somewhere, just look for the ferry called the Song of the Deep. That one was hers. I thanked her and she went off to join her companions.

Posted by She Wolf

Water fire earth air

Maiden Mother Crone

Maiden lies deep

In the past

Mother’s days dwindle fast

Can I keep some fertile

Aspect of Mother as I

Climb my way to live in the

House of  the Crone

Wise woman, juicy crone

Can I hold the fertility

Of Mother in my soul

Can I always keep this

Light shining in my heart

That lets me create?

Posted by She Wolf

  I took my cue from the coloring picture story starter of the pirates burying their treasure. I wonder if there will be more adventures? I think there may be!

 The fine pale sand shifted under his feet as Jake staggered down the beach. It was searing hot under the leathery soles of his bare feet, but he was so dazed he hardly noticed it.  The bandana tied around his head had dried out again and the sun beat down heavily on his head. His skin, already a deep brown, showed signs of reddening in the relentless glare. Finally he veered off towards the sea and plunged into the shallows. The cool water revived him, but the salt made the gash in his scalp burn like hell. He had to remind himself not the drink the salt water. He had seen more than one man go insane after doing that. Instead, he lay in the water, letting the small waves wash over him until he felt his body begin to cool down and then he was up and off again, still staggering, but not quite so unevenly.

   He knew there was no point in it- no matter how many times he went around the little island, he would find no sign of his ship. The longboat that he had arrived on had long since been rowed away while he lay unconscious on top of the mound of dirt by the cove on the other side of the island. Still he peered at the horizon, hoping in vain for a sight of the ship he had known as home for most of his adult life.

    Every man on the ship knew that this day might come. When the captain decided a man had outlived his usefulness or a man just couldn’t pull his weight anymore, that man would be left behind somewhere- on Dead Man’s Detail. Usually the blow to the head killed him, or so the crew thought. Apparently this was not necessarily the case. There were a few jokes about the men left behind the guard the buried treasure but no one really liked to talk about it. Most of the men thought it was bad luck to talk about those left behind and it might even bring them back to haunt the ship. According to the captain, Dead Man’s Detail was an honor, reserved for the senior and most loyal members of the crew, but everyone knew it was just a convenient means of disposal for the old, infirm and rebellious.

   Jake never thought his day to guard the treasure would come. He had thought he would die in battle, taking some rich treasure ship, or at the very least in some sleazy bar fighting over cards or a woman. He hadn’t thought his bones would wind up bleaching in the sun on some forgotten beach with no one to drink to his death.

   Finally Jake came back to the cove where the treasure was buried. It could have been worse, he thought, as he collapsed on the mound of dirt in the shade of the palm trees. He could have been the man in the hole left to sit atop the chest forever, buried under all that dirt. At least he was still breathing, thanks to a skull that he had always said was the hardest on the seven seas. Although, if he didn’t find some fresh water soon, he might just start envying that man.

   Sighing, Jake got to his feet again. He hadn’t looked at the center of the island yet but things weren’t looking hopeful. On all of the circuits he had made of the island, he hadn’t seen any signs of fresh water flowing towards the sea- not so much as a streamlet.

The going was rough as he went inland. The ground sloped uphill slightly and there was a lot of thorn filled underbrush. He added scratches and cuts to his injuries as he forged ahead. Everything would be futile if he didn’t find fresh water soon.

   The water found him first. One minute he was pushing through some thorny tropical version of hell and the next he had plunged into an ice cold pool of fresh water in a deep sinkhole. He surfaced spluttering and then stayed where he was, treading water while he gulped mouthful after mouthful of the stuff. It tasted clean and sweet; at this point a flux brought on by stagnant water was the least of his worries.

   Finally he drank his fill and paddled around looking for a way out. The pool was small, no more than ten feet across, but he could feel no bottom beneath his feet anywhere in the pool. The lush undergrowth went right down to the edge of the pool and overhung it in places. Finally he found a vine hanging down and used that to pull him self out of the water. Refreshed, he made a small clearing and sat down in the shade to rest and take stock of his options.

   Water- well, that was taken care of.

   Food- there were all the fish in the sea to spear and catch. He might get tired of fish, but he had seen no sign of any sort of animal, either small or large, on the island. There were sea birds, though. He could eat those and raid their nests for eggs. He knew there were coconuts and he had seen several other plants he knew were edible- enough greenery to ward off scurvy. Food wouldn’t be a problem.

   Fire- well, he had his flint and steel on an inside pocket where no one had thought to look when his shipmates had looted his body before they left. There was a small knife in the same pocket, too, so he had that as well. Beyond that, he had the ragged clothing on his body and his bandana. His former friends had taken everything else.

All in all, things could be a lot worse. He decided to make a shelter close enough to the buried treasure to keep an eye on it, but far enough away that he wasn’t visible to the casual gaze.

   He lay down on his belly and drank a little more of the water which was as cold and sweet as it had been in the first mouthful. Finally he set out and explored the rest of the little island. He found one more sinkhole, although not quite so suddenly so he didn’t go for another unplanned swim, and a lot more trees, vines and bushes, but still no signs of animals or other humans. He did find a bird’s nest and raided it, taking two of the four eggs it held while the parents looked on and screamed imprecations at him.

   By nightfall, he had made a shelter from small trees and big leaves and had a fish roasting along with the eggs and a few edible roots.

   Over the next few days, he slept a lot, letting his body heal from its various injuries. When the gash on his head looked like it wasn’t going to get infected and his bruises felt better, he improved his shelter, dried some fish, and made some water containers from shells and gourds. His life was a bit boring, but he kept busy improving his living conditions and finding better sources of food.

   Sometimes he though he saw sails on the horizon, but it always turned out to be nothing more than clouds. He didn’t really think anyone would come back- he had never known the captain to return to the site of a buried treasure chest in all the years he had served on the ship. Frankly, he wondered why the captain even bothered to bury the chests- he never seemed to want them again. Maybe he planned to dig them all up in one big orgy of treasure-finding, when he decided to retire from his career of mayhem and theft on the high seas.

   Jake thought about his own life, too. He remembered being a child, playing with his brothers and sisters and having his mother tuck him in at night after a supper of bread and milk. He remembered being a cabin boy on the ship he found work on, when he was ten or so- that made one less mouth to feed for his widowed mother. His dad had gone to sea, and even though he had never returned, Jake had felt the need to follow in his father’s footsteps.

   That job as cabin boy had proved to be unfortunate. The ship was returning from a profitable trading trip when it was beset by pirates. Most of the adult crew had been slaughtered, either in battle or afterwards for being too cowardly to fight to the death. A few had escaped overboard and were left to the mercy of the sharks. Jake had been trying to defend himself and his ship with a sword far too big for him when he was hit from behind and knocked out.

   When he came to, he found himself aboard the pirate ship. The captain gave him a choice of joining the crew or being tossed overboard. Jake chose life, even if it was the life of a pirate. The crew had never babied him or coddled him; they taught him with cuffs and curses. He had felt the lash a few times for not hopping quickly enough. He learned to fight with sword, cutlass and knife, and to load and fire a flintlock pistol. He learned to pack the cannons and fire them well enough to hit a target. He did his share of cooking and cleaning and polishing the brass and earned his way on the pirate ship.

   He thought about what his good God-fearing mother would say. He knew that she thought he was dead, and it was better that way. The Jake she knew was long dead. He took the life fate had dealt him and lived it. He had never gloried in the murder and robbery, but neither had he backed away from it. It was his life, and the only one he knew.

    He had served aboard the pirate ship for more than twenty years, now. He had never been injured badly in battles and was not infirm in any way. He was not ill-tempered and the men seemed to get along with him well enough. In fact, many of them even looked up to him. He was still young, in the prime of his life.

   But then the captain wasn’t. The captain had grown older along with Jake and was no longer in his prime. Since the men looked up to Jake, it was possible that the captain saw him as a threat or a rival. That would explain why Jake was chosen for Dead Man’s Detail, guarding the treasure chest.

   Jake had plenty of time to reminisce over the next few weeks. He remembered whittling as a small boy, and took to carving small figures out of bits of wood and decorating the useful items he made with carvings just to pass the time. And every day, rain or shine, he spent part of his time gazing out to sea, looking for sails on the horizon.

   The day the ship showed up it took him by surprise. It had come in the dawn, before there was light enough to look out to sea. Jake was up and stalking a birds back to their nest to raid it for eggs when he heard voices on the beach near where the chest was buried. Quietly he slipped back through the brush to see who had come to the island.

   It was still dark enough that he couldn’t see who it was, but several of the voices were familiar. He crept closer so he could hear what was being said. “There’s no bones ‘ere, boys, so ‘e musta lived. I ‘eard that Jake was the one the ol’ man was goin’ ta leave ta guard the treasure this time. ‘E ‘as a ‘ead as ‘ard as a piece of granite, so the whack on it prob’ly dint kill ‘im. Fan out and see if ye kin find ‘im or some sign of ‘im, at least.”

   Jake waited until the men had gone off into the underbrush and then, arming himself with a sharp stick, crept up behind the man who had been giving the orders. As he reached the man, the man turned and Jake got the surprise of his life. It was Big Arnie. The last time he saw Big Arnie was when he had been rowing away with the captain to bury the treasure on another island ten years before.

   “’Ello, Jake. I thought you’d be along soon. I sent the boys off so we could ‘ave a little chat, just the two of us.” Big Arnie smiled genially and gestured at the ground, indicating that they should sit down.

   “I figgered that if anyone could live when ‘e went on Dead Man’s Detail, it would be you. I been makin’ a point of pickin’ up the fellers that was still alive when I got the treasure chests from where the ol’ man buried ‘em. I got ears set about ‘ere an’ there an’ I keep an eye on the ol’ man, an’ when I find out ‘e’s buried a bunch o’ swag, I go where ‘e’s been, but far enough be’ind ‘im that ‘e don’t know I’m there. Then I pick up the man ‘e left, if there’s anything left o’ the man, an’ take the chest for meself an’ me crew.” Big Arnie laughed loudly. “There ain’t been a man yet what didn’t want to join Big Arnie’s crew after the ol’ man went an’ left ‘im fer dead.”

   Jake was starting to smile. “So you survived when the captain left you for dead, and now you’ve made a crew of the other men he left for dead, too?”
   “Aye, an’ a few others I’ve picked up ‘ere an’ there. An’ a good an’ loyal crew they are, too. Grateful, they are, an’ we share the loot even-like. We don’t need to go about fightin’ and such. We just live on what we takes from them that does the piratin’ and tried to do us in. We figger fair’s fair an’ all.” He grinned. “So, Jake, will ye join us then?”

   Jake didn’t even hesitate. “When do we leave?” he asked.

   When the men had filtered back, they dug up the chest. “Ah, poor Simon. That bum leg he got in the last raid did him in,” said Jake as they reached the body that lay atop the treasure chest.

   “Yeah, real fine way th’ ol’ man ‘as of inspirin’ loyalty, ain’t it?” Big Arnie snorted.

“Come on, let’s git this chest up an’ back to the ship. I don’t want to ‘ang around ‘ere any longer than we need to.”
   The chest was raised, Simon was decently interred with a stick cross on his grave and a few words from the Bible said over him, and the party returned to the ship. Jake looked at the name painted on the stern: Dead Man’s Revenge, it said. It was a fitting name for the ship, crewed as it was by men left for dead.

   Jake was surprised to find a nice sleek fast little ship with a contented, if a bit motley, crew aboard it. There were more missing body parts among that crew than Jake had ever seen before in one place.

    The treasure from the chest was parceled out publicly amongst them. Some of it went into a couple of extra chests down in the hold. Jake looked questioningly at Big Arnie and Big Arnie told him, “I tole ye I ‘ad eyes an’ ears set about ‘ere an’ there. Well, this is their share. We don’t stiff our crew mates even if they ain’t Johnny on the spot when we dig up the treasure!” Jake was about to inquire as to who else was in the pay of the Dead Man’s Revenge when Big Arnie shook his head. “No one but me knows ‘oo they be; it’s safer fer them if no one else knows. You know a secret’s only safe if you an’ me knows it an’ you is dead, eh?” and then he laughed his big laugh.

   When they came back up on deck, the little ship had already set sail for a port in the opposite direction from where Jake’s old ship would have gone.

   Things went along well for a while, and Jake settled into the crew. He was made a mate in short order; all the men agreed that he was best for that position. There was time in a fair little port, with bars and women and good times, and time at sea with the good wooden deck rolling under his feet. They rescued a few more men and treasures, and were too late for a few others. These men they buried as they had Simon, with a cross made of two sticks and a few words from the Bible.

   One day as they headed for port with a fresh chest in their hold, Big Arnie called Jake to his quarters. “Lad, I’ve a proposition fer ye. Ye know I’m not a young feller any more, an’ I’ve ‘ad just about enough of roamin’ the seas in my lifetime. I’m thinkin’ I want a little ‘ouse on the shore an’ a floor that don’t roll under me feet. In short, I’m thinkin’ o’ retirin’. I talked it over with some o’ the lads, an’ they’re thinkin’ like I’m thinkin’ that yer the man to take over me job. I’m offerin’ you the job o’ bein’ captain o’ the Dead Man’s Revenge.”

   Jake was dumbfounded. “There are lots of men who have been here longer than me. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. Some of the men might not like this!” He swallowed hard at the thought of what those men might do to him for jumping over them in position.

   “Nay, lad, they was all agreed. Yer smart, an’ yer fair, an’ yer brave. Yer the one man in the crew they all like an’ look up to. Yer the one, lad. Take the job.”

   It took a little bit longer, but Jake gave in. When he and Big Arnie came out onto the deck again, all the crew was standing, waiting, with serious expressions on their faces. When Big Arnie smiled and nodded, they all broke into cheers. Someone hauled out a cask of the best rum, Cook brought up special treats, and Jake got slapped on the back until he was bruised black and blue.

   For the rest of the voyage, Jake acted as Big Arnie’s apprentice in the ways of being a captain, and by the time they made port, he was comfortable in his new position. When they made port, Big Arnie had some other news. He came back from his favorite hangout and called Jake and the first mate for a meeting.

   “I jus’ got word, from one o’ me eyes an’ ears, that our ol’ ship ‘as ‘ad a bit of a setback. She was almost beaten in a fight with a ship ‘oo was ready fer ‘er.  Now she’s down crew, an’ she limpin’. She’s took off fer a port ta git repaired in, but she’s movin’ slow. Now, Jake, yer a young feller. Do you an’ the crew want a little revenge, like? I ain’t never ‘ad no desire ta fight no more, so alls we ever done was ta pick up men an’ treasures, but I know more than one feller would ‘ave liked ta go after a ship er two. An’ if ever there was a time ta do it, that’s now.” Big Arnie paused and looked expectantly at the men. Jake was getting a very big grin on his face. So was the first mate.

   “Ah, I see ye like the idea. Fine now, let me give ye the details.”

   For the next hour or two, they planned out the attack. Any man who didn’t want to be in on it could wait in port with Big Arnie, and no one would think worse of him. The men pooled their knowledge of the old ship, and with the information that Big Arnie had been given they soon a solid plan was in place. Big Arnie stopped Jake on the way out. “One last thing, feller-me-lad. Don’t ‘urt the cook on the old ship. Ye never know when ye’ll want a good meal.” And then he winked. Jake went off whistling. Now he knew who the “eyes an’ ears” belonged to on the old ship.

   The Dead Man’s Revenge did a quick re-supply and sailed with the outgoing tide. A few days later, sail was sighted and the men assembled on the deck, ready for battle.

   “We’ll take the ship- any men who surrender will go in the brig, the booty goes in our hold, and the first mate here will captain the prize back to port. But the captain, he’s mine,” Jake grinned wolfishly.

   The old ship never even had a chance. It was an older ship, and badly damaged with a hole in her hull and a broken main mast. The crew was down in numbers and demoralized even with treasure in the hold – they rarely saw more than a little of it, any way. The crew of the Dead Man’s Revenge overwhelmed them in short order. Many of the crew of the old ship insisted on fighting to the death – that was just the way they thought. Jake made sure the cook was safe, along with the newest member of the crew, a little cabin boy no older than he had been when he was kidnapped by the pirates, and then went looking for the captain. The captain had been conspicuous by his absence during the battle. Jake found him down in the hold.

   The old captain was doing something over near where the damaged hull was patched. Jake called out and the old man stood up and looked at him. Jake noticed that while the old man was not much into middle age, he looked, well, dissipated. “Jake! I know I left you for dead. What are you, a ghost with a crew of ghosts, come back to take revenge?” He laughed bitterly.

   “No, I’m as real and alive as they get. But I have come to take my revenge!” Jake replied. He sneered at the old captain. “You should have volunteered yourself for Dead Man’s Detail long ago. Look at what a pitiful specimen you’ve become!”

   The old captain reached for his cutlass and the two went at it. Jake was by far the superior physically, but the old man knew dirty tricks by the boatload. They fought up and down the hold, which was empty because of the leaking patch in the hull. Jake was soon covered with cuts that would hurt later, after the fight was done. Finally, when the old man took a chance and slashed at Jake’s throat, Jake managed to disarm him.

  “Well, go on, finish me, you coward!” the old captain roared. Jake started towards him, ready to strike and then thought better of it.

   He tossed his own sword aside and came after the man, fists swinging, bellowing, “I’ll drag you out of here by the scruff of your evil neck, you scurvy cur! I’ll take you to an island and hit you over the head and leave you on Dead Man’s Detail, just like you left so many of us!”

   The old man was full of dirty tricks here, too; he grabbed a board left from patching the hull and managed to belt Jake square in the mouth. Jake spit out a front tooth, and grinning a new gap-toothed grin with blood running down his chin, went back at the old man with a will.

   All the time they were fighting, they had been moving away from the damaged portion of the hull. Now the old man was moving back that way and Jake quickly saw why. There was a lit fuse running to a bundle of gunpowder set by the badly patched breech in the hull, and it was almost ready to blow.

   The old man saw where Jake was looking, and grinned evilly saying, “Aye, Jake, I’m denying you the pleasure of taking my ship as a prize. If I can’t have it, then no one will! At that point, the powder exploded. The ship rocked, and Jake was thrown to the floor with splinters of wood piercing him. As the sea rushed in, the old captain laughed maniacally and did what Jake would have sworn he couldn’t have had the strength to do. He bulled his way through the pouring waters, disappearing through the gap.

   Jake ran back up the ladders and emerged on deck, calling for everyone to abandon ship, because she was going down fast. The remaining crew from the old ship either threw down their swords or jumped overboard, and Jake’s crew made quick work of clearing the valuables.

  Again and again Jake looked over the sides for the old captain, but couldn’t find him anywhere. He liked to think the old man was dead, but somehow, he just couldn’t quite convince himself of it.

   They headed back to port with a mixed sense of victory.

   Jake gave the rescued cabin boy a share of the treasure and bought him passage on a ship going home. He told the boy to find a nice trade on the land and take care of his mother; the sea just wasn’t a safe place for a little lad.

   After thinking for a while he put together another packet, with some money, a small carving and an unsigned letter in it, and gave it to a captain headed for the port Jake had called home when he was just a little lad himself. The letter and the packet were addressed to his mother, should she still be alive.

   The cook joined the other cook in the galley and some of the captured crew joined his own crew. The Dead Man’s Revenge settled into port while several bad storms hit one after the other.

   One day, as Jake and his friends were sitting around in their favorite tavern by the harbor, a strange man came in. He was dressed in fine silks and held a scented handkerchief to his nose. He looked very, very unhappy to be there. He peered around the room, asked a question at the bar, and then made his way over to where Jake was sitting.

   “Captain Jake?” The man had a fancy accent, too.

   “Who’s asking?” replied Jake.

   “The governor wishes to meet with you. Your presence is required tomorrow at 10 AM at the official residence. Be there.” The man dropped an envelope on the table, sniffed haughtily, and quickly left with his nose in the air.

   Jake and his mates looked at each other and started laughing. Eventually, they quieted down and Jake reached for the envelope on the table. Reading it quickly, he said, “This says about what the snooty lackey said, but it does say something about a mutually profitable business arrangement. Hmm. I think I’ll talk this over with Big Arnie, get his take on it.” Jake paid up the tab and left.

   Big Arnie thought it would be worth investigating, so the next morning, Jake and his top crew members put on fresh clothes and showed up at the Governor’s residence promptly at 10:15. “Can’t have the man thinking we’re just a bunch of lapdogs to come when he calls, now can we?” Jake grinned.

   The Governor made them wait in turn, but finally the men were shown into his office. He was not as foppish as the lackey who had delivered the letter. He was an older man, shrewd looking, dressed in a suit rather like a military uniform.

   “Captain…Jake, is it?”

   Jake thought for a minute. He had been just Jake for most of his life. He thought back to when he was small, to the name he remembered his mother calling him. “Puckett,” he stated, “Jacob Andrew Puckett.” It felt strange to have a real, whole name again after all these years.

   “Captain Puckett, men, I am glad you came. Let’s get right down to business. I have a proposition for you.” He paused. Jake and his men waited silently.

   “I heard a rumor that someone took care of a certain pirate ship that has been causing trouble for me for quite some time,” the governor continued. “Naturally, I don’t know who this could have been, but your ship looks like it could handle certain tasks along that line.” Jake his men remained silent. “My proposition is this: I would like to have someone willing to do that sort of thing on a regular basis. Troublesome pirates who prey on our ships would be taken out of commission – naturally those doing the work would keep the spoils – and my ships would be kept safe. If the occasional ship from another country with whom we do not get along were to be taken by mistake sometimes, well, mistakes do happen.” The governor sat back and looked at the men.

   Jake looked him in the eye. “And what’s to stop the navy from taking care of the ship that’s doing this – by accident, of course?”
   The governor smiled dourly. “This.” He slid a package wrapped in brown paper across the desk.

   Jake pulled off the string on the package, and opened it.

   They all stared at the contents. It was a flag- an official flag of the sort flown by naval vessels.

   Jake and the men looked up at the governor.

   The governor said, “No strings, no conditions. But remember, those who get greedy find that accidents do happen and mistakes do get made. That will be all, gentlemen.” He got up and went to the window, dismissing his guests.

   Jake and the crew members looked at each other. They grinned suddenly. Jake picked up the package with the flag and they left. The Dead Man’s Revenge had work to do.

 Posted by She Wolf

I decided to take a slightly more literal approach to Lemurian Greening, and write a story about a garden and the wonderful person who worked in it.

Mrs. Roberts had always had a garden. It had always been a well loved, well tended garden. She said that gardening was good for the soul. She weeded, mulched, fed and watered her garden. She also sang to it. She liked old folk songs best, but she threw in a lively hymn or two sometimes. She said that singing was good for the soul too, and that putting the two things together, gardening and singing, was the best of all.

Her neighbors loved to hear her out in her garden, working and singing. She had bumper crops of vegetables- huge zucchini, giant tomatoes, cucumbers the size of most folks’ zucchinis, and salad makings of all varieties. She kept the whole neighborhood supplied with veggies all spring and summer. Her flower garden, too, was a sight to behold. The colors of the masses of flowers with the butterflies floating above them had inspired more than one person to plant a garden of their own.

It was with great regret that Mrs. Roberts left her garden to move to a senior citizens’ high-rise across town, but there was no help for it. She could not handle a big house and yard by herself anymore. The new apartment was nice, but it seemed so sterile and empty. Even when all of her favorite things and the pictures of her family were there, it just didn’t feel like home. She hung plants in the windows, put herbs in the kitchen, and African violets on every window sill, and that helped a little. But it still didn’t feel right.

One day at the store, Mrs. Roberts saw a nice big planter. She realized that if she filled it with potting soil, she could grow some nice lettuces for salads right out on her balcony. She went home with four planters, soil, and seeds for lettuce, carrots, marigolds and tomatoes. The next day she went back and got planters and seeds for beans, petunias, daisies and sweet peas. By the end of the week, her little balcony was empty of the iron table and chairs that had been on it, and full of planters. By the end of the month, it was green, and by the end of two months, flowers bloomed and vegetables flourished.

Soon she was supplying all of her neighbors with the fruits of her little garden again. She sang to her plants as she worked in her little garden, and her neighbors grew used to the songs that accompanied her gardening.

You could tell which was Mrs. Roberts’ balcony from the ground. It was the one with all the green on it. Some of the other tenants in the high-rise thought she had a good idea, and they started growing gardens on their balconies, too. Most stopped with a few pots of flowers, but some had almost as much as Mrs. Roberts did. Theirs didn’t grow quite as well or produce quite as much - Mrs. Roberts said it was the love she gave her garden, and no one could deny that her garden was well loved. She said they should try singing to their gardens like she did, but most of them were too embarrassed to try.

Mrs. Roberts began to start small pots of flowers and vegetables to give away. She made sure that the pots were full of the recipients’ favorite flowers or vegetables and soon even more balcony gardens were growing.

And always, every day, Mrs. Roberts sang to her plants, singing with joy as she gardened because singing and gardening were both good for the soul.

One day, as she stepped outside with her watering can and little garden fork, she thought she heard someone else singing. It was a strange, lilting voice, and she couldn’t tell what the words were, but it was very compelling and beautiful. Mrs. Roberts was delighted that someone else was singing. So she listened for a little bit, and then began to hum along with the voice, eventually making up words as she went along. The gardening was even more pleasant than usual that day.

Soon she began to hear the other singer almost every day. Together, they formed harmonies and while the words the other voice was singing were never clear, the results were beautiful. The garden flourished as never before and Mrs. Roberts did, too.

In fact, Mrs. Roberts was feeling wonderful. Her arthritis wasn’t bothering her very much, she was sleeping better, and she just had more energy. She and her garden were both very happy. Her neighbors beamed when they saw her in the halls. “How well she looks,” they said to each other.” Maybe there is something to all this singing and gardening.” More of them went out and bought planters and soil and seeds for themselves.

One day, however, Mrs. Roberts took a fall. It was just as she stepped back into the living room from the balcony. She turned as she was shutting the sliding glass doors, and tripped over her own two feet. She tried to catch herself, but down she went, with her leg getting caught in a chair by the door. She fell into a table which crashed on top of her, with the lamp from the table landing on her head with a thump and her leg going snap as she fell. Mrs. Roberts lay there in the middle of the mess, out cold, with her leg at a very nasty angle.

Sometime the next day, Mrs. Roberts’ neighbors noticed that she had not been out on the balcony singing and gardening since early the day before. By the day after that, they realized that no one had seen her in the halls and no one had found fresh veggies by their doors for several days. They tried to call her, but got no answer. Worried, they got the manager to unlock her apartment.

When they went inside, they got quite a surprise. Mrs. Roberts was lying on the floor by the balcony doors, with an ugly lump on her head and her leg at a nasty angle. Of course she was in pain, but there was something strange about the scene. The odd thing was the small pile of tomatoes and cucumbers beside her, and the trailing bits of vine that snaked in the crack where the sliding door wasn’t quite shut. The vine plants had come right in and made themselves at home, with fruit growing right where Mrs. Roberts could reach it. She wasn’t hungry or very thirsty; the vegetables beside her had taken care of that. It was odd, though, because those plants were on the far side of the balcony, and the vines had apparently come inside and produced fruit in the span of a day. The neighbors decided that Mrs. Roberts must have been having them grow inside for a while.

Mrs. Roberts was taken away to the hospital, where they put her leg in a cast and said that for someone her age who had been lying there for three days with a lump on her head and a broken leg, she was doing remarkably well. They sent her home with a wheel chair the day after that, which was several days earlier than usual. Mrs. Roberts was delighted to get back to her home. The neighbors chipped in and helped with the shopping and all the little household chores she couldn’t do in a wheel chair. They said that she had been helping them with their gardens and giving them vegetables and flowers and now it was their turn to help her. Many of them sang while they helped in her apartment and Mrs. Roberts beamed at them.

Soon her neighbors were hearing her sing again as she gardened. It was strange, though, she always sounded like she was harmonizing with someone when she sang out there on her balcony, but no one else was singing. And she had said something strange when they had found her, too, but her neighbors thought it must have been that bump on the head.

She had said that wasn’t it lovely, all this time she had been taking care of her garden, and now it had taken care of her, too.

Posted by She Wolf