The Temple of Cybele

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This month, we present the conclusion of Part II, Chapter 1 of Verda Smedley's novel "Ancestral Airs"...

Part II: The Life Givers

Chapter 1 (conclusion)

When I looked at the Bearberry boy I couldn’t have been more shocked. He was Moondog decades earlier and his raw magnificence made it easy for me to understand Moondog’s outrageous youth. Although forbidden to make the allusion it was quite apparent that Moondog and the Bearberry boy knew each other like their own souls.

Foreknowledge of the events that would take so many Greihound so quickly had given Burnt Knife an edge. He had known all along of the Bearberry boy’s dreaming blood. Burnt Knife also knew that his tenure as sentinel would be brief and his apprenticeship with Longbow inevitable. Now the Bearberry boy was bound to me as well.

His Bearberry mother called him Sun Dog and had given him the ability to study another’s mind. He at once captured mine and Sun Dog spontaneously understood the complex interrelationships I would have to manage. Unlike Moondog, who was often dark and volatile, Sun Dog was endowed with an abundance of bright and enduring light. This was the epitome of his mother’s medicine. His only resemblance to the Greihound was his propensity for dreaming and I wondered how he’d fair among the predatory spirits of my clan.

The Twilight Women were there too, lined up to welcome Moondog and me home. As always they were beautifully dressed. Darkling Light stood among them, impatient, impetuous, and lovely.

The Badger woman, Tangle Root, had been sprung from a Blackthorn mother. Her voice was, however, pleasantly soft and husky. She had both the strength and confidence of her mother’s kin. I understood she was astute at affecting magic in her own clan’s favor, a talent highly complimentary to Badger medicine.

Currant blood coursed through the veins of the Owl clan woman, Little Mouse. It was an uncanny mix. She was from the Fens and Marshy Meadows, steeped in shifting realities and Bardic mania. Currant medicine belonged to the realm of women’s mysteries and was well guarded; best known was their gift at divining outcomes. Owl blood had to have made Little Mouse’s skill unprecedented. I had absolutely no doubt she had foreseen all of the events that preceded my standing before her now.

Raven-that-Sings-at-Night struggled to embrace me. She still suffered the loss of Snow Rose necessary for me to exist in her world. I silently acknowledged her pain and her triumphant ability to fully accept me. She had come from a Linden mother, a revered Spirit Handler who had lightning medicine. She too was from the Fens and Marshy Meadows.

So was Sky Blue Fire, the Twilight Woman for the Wolf clan. She had been born to an Elm mother who was revered for handling the secrets of elm. She was a master at balancing strength and endurance with compassion. Sky Blue Fire was a magnificent Alpha Female for the dreamer of Clan Wolf.

The Lynx woman, called Splashing Star Rise, had come from Maple blood. Maple was handled equally by women as love medicine and by men as hunting magic. It had been given to every society of Clan Male for instruments, smoke, prayer bundles, and tattooing. Splashing Star Rise was in fact amazingly tattooed.

The Eagle woman was a hot blooded, fiery Hazelnut creature with streaming red hair and fierce green eyes. Every clan and society was dependent on them and the Hazelnut held their secrets and their power tightly. I wondered how her mother had slipped from the passionate embrace of the Bear clan and into the talons of the Eagle. Whatever the circumstances I stood before the outcome. I was glad her dreaming blood bound her to me as tightly as she was bound to the Eagle. Hazelnut women were suspected of casting spells and peering uninvited into people’s lives. They were also venerated for their wisdom and love; no doubt attributes awarded them by the Salmon clan with which they were in cahoots. She was called Laughing Moon.

And then there was Darkling Light, perhaps my single, favorite character among a pantheon of the most uniquely talented and wholly anomalous individuals I had ever met. Neither young nor beautiful Darkling Light’s power was an all-consuming influence on each and every one of us.

I had yet to stand before all of the other Death Clan males. More than fifty individuals were coming in for ceremony. I had seen a few in passing but most were complete strangers to me. Ultimately, that simply didn’t matter as I was as bound to them as everyone else present. And by them I would be cared for and protected without question.

The wait created a chance for Moondog and I to steal away to the Little Twin. We stripped off our clothes and immersed ourselves, with loud sighs of relief, into the steaming water. Moondog and I were primal. We slept in a heap and bathed in a complexus of limbs, touching and embracing, always contiguous and immediate. There was a continuous inspection of each other’s skin and hair. We were forever fussing over and grooming each other. It was odd and profoundly intimate.

Greihound Prayer Runners from each village had arrived bearing bundles of hunting magic, the contents of which had been put together by the Spirit Fletchers. They alone determined the configuration of medicine to be entreated to help their particular village. The seashore magic was for the entire tribe. What was contained in the bundles was a secret, to be revealed only during the ensuing ceremony. Each article had been gathered or rendered with specific prayers and had particular values.

The artists, astronomers and medicine men of each Death Clan would offer up the sacraments. Dreamers and their twins sustained the energetic bubble in which the ritual took place. Prayers and songs would be stored in the sphere until dawn when they would be released into the world for our people.

Eight individual rooms formed the perimeter of the Twilight Women’s lodge. Darkling Light made prayers alone in one of them while each clan smudged and prayed in isolation in the others. There they would change into fancy clothes and paint up. They were always magnificent adding a luxury of plumes, bone bits and tokens to their exquisite buckskins. Each man also donned the skin of the creature whose soul lived inside him after his spirit hunt. Their beauty was breathtaking. When ready Clan Greihound would emerge first.

A large circle of willow was braided together on the floor of the lodge. Six Bards had arrived and Moondog joined them as the seventh to form the containing edge of the medicine. The Prayer Runners remained as well and positioned themselves behind the Bards. They too made prayers for their villages and when the ritual was completed they would carry the blessing back to the people. Some of the runners had come a hundred miles to sit with us.

Every season Death Clan rituals took place on the dark of the moon during the Winter Wait. The object of the ceremonies was to venerate a particular feature essential to survival. Participants fasted, sang, made prayers and constructed a repository for the precious things sent by the Spirit Fletchers.

The first ritual pertained to hunting, the center of our existence. We hunted plants and animals for food and medicine, never easy in the winter. We stalked the paths to the stars and the Ancient Ones. We preyed upon knowledge to transcend ourselves. And we prayed for lovers and the Dreamtime. We hunted remedies to disasters and solutions for the unsolvable. We were hunters.

In the center of the ring a fire, fed for days, had fallen to a deep pile of embers. The sentinels of each clan tended the fire, adding wood with each of the rounds. A deer hide sealed with pitch was hung from the rafters over the coals and filled with steamy water from the Little Twin. As clans emerged one by one the bundles were unwrapped and the concealed articles were arranged to form an altar. Inside each bundle was a pouch of the same medicine handed to their Twilight Woman. She emptied the contents into the hide caldron and sat in front of her dreamer, they forming the innermost ring near the fire. Sentinels placed themselves in front of the Bards. When done at the altar elders formed a circle behind the Dreaming Twins. Apprentices sat between the elders and the sentinels. Including the fire seven rings were created and each of seven clans positioned themselves to form seven radii.

Without the Bards and the women power configured like this was concentrically impossible. It was volatile and unbalanced without them, capable of setting into motion blizzards, avalanches and death. The Ancient Ones had spent unknown centuries harnessing the force in such a way that it became creative rather than destructive.

Before the Greihound emerged their singers started up. They left the isolation of their chamber and approached the sight where the hunting altar was to be constructed. It was odd to watch Moondog sitting with the Bards and to find Longbow standing with me. Our clan offered for the entire tribe with species universally acknowledged as critical to life. First proffered was a fine pouch of juniper berries and needles with an extraordinary bow fashioned from its wood. Juniper held unlimited resources for hunters, from relieving thirst to bolstering strength and alertness, and affording protection against dark spirits and death.

Elder could have gone to bows and arrows but a blowgun, finely dressed in plumes was tendered instead. Its spirit enhanced the breath and endurance of hunters. Elder guarded against uncanny elements including lightning.

Last came a magnificent longbow of yew and a quiver filled with yew arrows. With it hunters easily came within striking distance of their prey. Yew provided awareness of exit strategies, protecting hunters against becoming cornered themselves by the prey they sought. I was the agent that added juniper berries and needles, yew twigs, and elder berries to the cauldron. The songs and prayers continued.

It was unnerving to sit in front of Longbow pressed tightly between his legs. No matter how hard I tried I could not control the fire of finding him attractive. His energy was intensely calm and he was in absolute control. He sang softly, the resonance of his voice was transcendental. His breath was warm in my hair; a rhythmic bellows lighting the glowing coals enflaming my face. I struggled to remain above it, trying to focus on the intent of the magic. I could feel Moondog’s querulous energy and his own struggle to transcend it. He found my connectedness to Longbow unbearable, first discovered when Longbow and I hitched up in the Dreamtime last winter. Moondog was appalled that Longbow and I excelled together; secretly so was I. And yet to resist this medicine complicated everything. The sexual charge that fired between Dreaming Twins was the energy required to shoot the Veil. It was the force of Creation and therefore utterly sacred. I was also the buffer between Longbow’s deep-sleep prayers and Moondog’s explosive energy. Balancing their puissance was like controlling a boulder that teetered at the edge of a cliff. First light couldn’t come soon enough.

The Badger clan emerged next. The oldest of the Spirit Handlers gently unwrapped the bundle with which he had been entrusted. He handed up the treasures to the other elders and the emendatory pouch to their Twilight Woman. The rest of the Badger clan continued uninterrupted with their thanksgiving and sacred songs.

The bundle contained amazing things, sacraments from the woods and mountains of the Old Granite Range. Oak bows dressed in plumes with arrows equally fletched were offered for strength, durability and expansiveness. Oak guarded against the limits of logic and self-imposed boundaries, the dark forces that could lead to famine and death. Oak pitch wrapped in a pristine piece of hide was offered to protect hunters against wounds dealt them by the same uncanny spirits.

A quiver contained holly arrows, the medicine that balanced aggression with sound judgement. Holly made men vigorous and potent. It gave them the power to respond instantly no matter how unexpectedly events might change. This was critical to any hunter who suddenly found himself the possible prey for whatever he hunted.

The bundle also held birch spears that endowed hunters with sharp focus and guarded against its diffusion. Without the guiding spirit of birch a hunter could become utterly lost, a deadly, dangerous proposition in winter. These articles were arranged and the altar sprung to life.

The Badger woman, accompanied by her dreamer, entered the circle and stood before the fire. She opened the pouch and sprinkled its contents into the sacred water. It included the leaves and roots of each of the three trees. Included too were acorns, holly berries, and birch catkins. The Badger dreamer sat, drawing his twin to him while the others took their places behind them. The whispered worship continued.

The next group to step up to the altar was the Owl clan. The seroon they safeguarded contained fresh pine bows and a large lump of pine pitch, or perhaps it was amber. Pine was the magic of invisibility. When rubbed on a hunter’s body their prey could neither smell nor see his presence. Pitch, among its countless applications was bonding medicine, uniting hunter and weapon, predator and prey. Pine trees marked the trails of energy on which all creatures traveled including people. Pine medicine was revered as the agent of clarity and understanding. It brought direction and a clear sense of purpose to every hunt.

The bundle contained a sack of crabapples. Their blessing brought hunters freedom from thirst and purged the poison from tired muscles.

Hawthorn bark was included too. Hawthorn smudge attracted game to hunters and its thorns went to fishhooks. The Owl woman emptied her pouch of pine nuts, crabapples and hawthorn berries into the brew.

Clan Raven added a willow bow and quiver of arrows. Willow helped hunters sustain their balance and hone their intuition. They added dogwood arrows to the quiver for alertness.

A bag containing bearberry was placed on the altar next. It was regarded as good hunting medicine because it was good food for many animals. To relieve thirst, hunters chewed bearberry bark. The Raven woman stepped to the caldron. To it she added the fruits of bearberry and dogwood along with young willow leaves.

To the altar, the Wolf clan added a bow, arrows and a fishing spear all rendered from ash. Its bark purified men before they hunted deer. Ash both sharpened awareness and endurance. Peaceful integration of the spirit into unforeseen events was a critical component of surviving in the wilderness. Standing against nature rather than embracing its awesomeness was bad medicine. Ash guarded against making that mistake.

Poplar knots were rendered into fishhooks and poplar branches were placed on the altar. Hunters to purify themselves and their weapons entreated poplar, making them undetectable to their prey. When poplar leaves trembled on a windless day, hunters knew to prepare for bad weather. This was a sign that could spare them from death by exposure.

Blackthorn arrows in a fine quiver came next. Blackthorn provided hunters with the strength to contend with inescapable forces. The Owl woman added ash cambium, poplar buds and blackthorn berries to simmer over the coals.

The Lynx presented arrow shafts of currant stout enough for big game. In any situation currant could be handled to divine solutions to problems that exceeded the scope of a hunter’s mind.

A fishnet made from linden came next. Linden purged the spirit of panic and replaced it with the calm needed to make decisions. Another fishnet was placed on the altar. This one was knotted from elm. Elm was nurturing; it brought confidence and balance to difficult decisions. The Lynx woman dropped elm bark, linden flowers and currants into the caldron.

The Eagle clan brought bows and arrows of maple to the sacred collection. Maple was purifying and opened hunter’s eyes to his surroundings while making him impossible to see. This was a quality that protected him against dangerous predators and uncanny spirits.

Although alder made excellent bows and arrows, the Eagle placed alder snowshoes on the altar. The spirit of alder guarded against weakness and protected hunters against making catastrophic choices when tracking.

Hazelnut arrows went next. It was the keeper of wisdom. With hazelnut hunters remained attuned to nature and readily read the signs She constantly provided. The Eagle woman added hazelnuts, maple sap and alder cambium to the brew.

As the men continued the songs we, the Twilight Women, carefully filled seven horns with the elixir that had required all night to prepare. The opening of each horn was covered with hide and tightly bound. They were then slid into slings that would be tied to the runners' chests. This extraordinary medicine went to the Spirit Handlers of each village. It was precious and would be used sparingly for doctoring. The contents of the horn had to last an entire year. Having completed that, one by one every participant broke his or her fast by drinking a small amount of the pharmacon. First light had made its way to morning and all of us streamed out of the lodge. Sentinels quickly built up the fire in the compound to chase away the cold.

As long as the ritual had been the most difficult aspect of it still lay ahead for the young runners. Renegades from the Shadowland and other malevolent forces would no doubt wage battles with them to steal the sacred elixir. For awhile the runners would have the safety of numbers on their side, traveling as a group. But with each village the group decreased by one member. The runner for the northernmost village ran the last leg alone making him profoundly vulnerable. This one was always selected from among the best and most experienced. His stamina had to be exceptional along with the ability to temper his daring with spontaneous yet judicious intellect.

But the runners, now sitting in the sun and stuffing themselves with feast food didn’t talk about those things. Instead they joked about the return journey being so much easier. No awkward bundles had to be dealt with only small flasks of holy water strapped to their chests. Best of all, the return trip was down hill. What could be easier than that? These boys knew the perils well but it was bad luck to speak of them. Youth and confidence tricked the spirits. The runners sported virile bodies utterly reeking of maleness. They well-favored and delightful, soaring with the power of immortality, so characteristic of youth. Unspoken too was their hope of nestling between the thighs of some secret lover on their way back. Young Greihound were enviably supercharged.

Burnt Knife and Thorn Arrow, still under his tutelage, joined the runners. It was the duty of the Greihound Alpha Male to provide each runner with a pouch of protection for his journey. In spite of abdicating Burnt Knife would be regarded as Alpha Male by all of us until the day he left for good. It just couldn’t be helped. He was that exceptional.

Moondog and I would be leaving soon too. But I wanted to steal myself back into the lodge once more to stand before the Death Clan altar.

Had this hunting gear been made for everyday purposes the collection on the altar would have been spectacularly beautiful. But each of these was a ceremonial object, painted and polished. The plumes were rare and preened to perfection. Points had been meticulously flaked from jewels and polished until they glistened. Prayer bundles were intricately wrapped with impeccable pieces of buckskin and bound with complexly braided sinew. Along with plumes leaves and sprays of pressed, dried medicine plants were bound to the prayer sticks. The display was an artistic masterpiece that stood unrivaled by any creation I had ever seen. Wonderful too was the realization that Moondog and I belonged to this fraternity. We would enjoy many opportunities to stand before all of the altars that would rise out of the Winter Wait.

Moondog and I left with the Prayer Runners and out of genuine respect they accompanied us for awhile. He was revered, considered by them to be a living legend, perhaps even an immortal and certainly an Ancient One. But together Moondog and I remained a mystery to them. Perhaps because of their youth they regarded us as components of a world still unknown by them. Maybe we were just scary.

I admired how these boys visibly gather in strength from the surroundings. They walked until their bodies were itching to take off. Each became increasingly more focused and consumed by a sense of urgency, finally bursting into a sprint. In moments Moondog and I were alone.

He drew my attention to the fact that the hunting ceremony had truly begun in the early spring. Spirit Fletchers had gathered the tender buds and catkins then. All season bits and pieces were added when the bark was ready or the fruit was ripe. Bows and arrows had been made when the woods were perfect. The impeccable plumes for fletching and prayer bundles could have required all summer to find. Trinkets and tokens might have been acquired as long ago as last winter. Perhaps the most sacred element of the ritual was its cyclical nature, the force to which all of us were bound. It was exquisite.

(~ End of Chapter 1 ~)

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Priestess Jean