Chapter 3: The Crone [Nats Rumble]
Apr 12, 2023 18:44:33 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, bloodiedfox, and 1 more like this
Post by Technical Perfection on Apr 12, 2023 18:44:33 GMT -5
Elsewhere, A time like every other time.
Confidence flowed through my body. What the Mother had said, how she had acted. It had taught me a vital lesson, one that I had too often forgotten. There must be balance. That I must find a balance. That there must be harmony amongst the disorder of my diverse aspects. There must be concord rather than dissonance. That I can, nay must, call freely upon all of what makes up who I am in order to find success. For though I could have fought forever against purely the warrior within me, what gave me the decisive advantage over a battle with that part of me was the desire, the raw enjoyment, that she could not tap into. And my black shadow, my doubt? Surely upon meeting the Crone I will have received the complete picture. And merely through the act of piecing every part of the puzzle together I will be able to fully grasp what that is. I licked my lips and steeled myself for another walk through the woods.
The trees seemed sparser than before. A sign of my mind decluttering, no doubt. But there was something different about them. Some sense of decay and rot. The mists about the air had lost their hue. And, so it seemed, had everything else. Grey leaves fluttered amongst the black boughs. I heard the caw of ravens above me, more so than before. I leant down and picked a withered flower from its stalk, looking into its pale Gainsboro leaves. I knew that I was close. From the distance, floating airily across the cool skies I heard a voice, dolorous, cold reciting a verse in Irish.
“Mo chara thu is mo chuid!
A mharcaigh an chlaímh ghil,
Éirigh suas anois,
Cuir ort do chulaith
Éadaigh uasail ghlain,
Cuir ort do bhéabhar dubh,
Tarraing do lámhainní umat.”
I strode forwards, drawn by the noise. Wilted bracken crushed easily beneath my boots, my every step behind leaving a footprint on the landscape. The poetic, sombre sound of keening grew ever louder. Death hung heavy in the air. I saw a shimmering light appear for a few seconds, glowing rich with purple and gold but it ceased soon after. Is ceased the correct word? Or is the sense of it closing something I should pay more attention to? Either way it stood out against the dull greys on the area. I approached the source of the poetry and as I began to make out the shape of an aging woman, a corvid flew from the tree line and perched upon her shoulder.
“Siúd í in airde d'fhuip,
Sin í do láir amuigh.
Buailse an bóthar caol úd soir
Mar a maolóidh romhat na toir,
Mar a gcaolóidh romhat an sruth,
Mar a n-umhlóidh romhat mná is fir,
Má tá a mbéasa féin acu -
‘S is baolach liomsa ná fuil anois.”
I approached slowly.
“The Caoineadh Airt Uí Laoghaire,” the Crone mused, her voice steady and conveying both sadness and control at the same time. Like one holding it together for the sake of her family at a funeral, perhaps, “So majestic in its sorrowful beauty. Come, Goddess, will you sit with me?”
The Crone sat upon a stump and beckoned me to take a place on a second. Her flowing grey hair flew about her head with the occasional gust of wind before settling against her black shawl. I sat down on a second stump and swung my legs around to face her. She smiled and her eyes flicked up and down as she sized me up. I knew my own face from looking in the mirror every day. A few extra lines and lighter hair did not change the structure.
“A keen?” I questioned.
“Well,” she replied, adding a little immodestly, “The Queen of the Ben Síde should learn of their traditions a little. It only befits the title. As the Maiden has her songs of love and the Mother songs of war, I have my songs of loss and sorrow. One must keep up appearances.”
“Are you prone to depressed moods yourself?” A legitimate question I thought.
“Gods no,” she replied, a little indignant at the suggestion, “If I shed a tear for every tragic tale I hear I would flood my whole realm. But providing a little sympathy for those destined to roam the lands of the dead forever… well it’s just a common courtesy to them.”
Too often are death Gods and Goddesses assigned qualities of evil and spite. I know that does not ring true outside of the followers of Abrahamic traditions. That part of me which I am in conversation with must BE, that is true, but there is no reason why they should be discourteous to those who pass through. Death is traumatic enough and it would be thoroughly ill mannered to the recent arrivals to rub it in.
“So,” the Crone began to question dispassionately, “There is a reason you have come before me.”
“Indeed so, Crone,” I answered. I have always despised such a term’s use to describe the most senior of a Goddess’s three forms but tradition dictates I must, “I have come before the others to ask guidance in the face of a nagging doubt. I am convinced that you possess the final piece and my qualms shall wither in the face of the knowledge your sage advice shall bring.”
“Goddess,” she responded, “One, do stop being so deferential.”
If the Crone were capable of a wry smile one would have formed on her face.
“Two, are you entirely sure you wish for my perspective on the issue?”
“Would I have journeyed this far if I was not?” I retorted, mildly perturbed by her choice of verbiage.
“I knew you would say that. And to fail to heed my subtle advice,” a concerning warning, ”Maiden of Love, Fertility, Passion. Mother of War, Battle and Glory. Crone of Death, Destiny and The Veil. You are all of these things...”
I interrupted her, “And by the strength of all I shall prevail. To balance the three shall the one truly reach the heights of what we can achieve. That, I had figured out.”
“Such haste. I feel the Mother’s bull headedness flowing through you. What I was about to say before you butted in was,” she paused, waiting for a second, “You are all of these things. And yet none.”
“And yet none?” My mind raced with a million possibilities of what that meant. My incredulity increased with a repetition, “And yet none?”
“And yet none,” she confirmed.
I froze. I needed a few seconds to process this. I stared into the Crone’s eyes. Cold, distant. That sensation of being watched returned. But I was not only being watched. I was being LAUGHED at. The entire realm seemed to my sight beyond sight to be chuckling in unconcealed delight. The fear turned to anger. I could feel every beat of my heart as it began to race.
“What in the name of the crushing end of the Dagda’s mighty club do you mean by that?” I spat out, feeling an impassioned and righteous rage fill every part of my soul.
“You already know what I am going to say, Goddess.”
I stopped, bemused and horrified in equal measure.
“You’re not going to tell me that you don’t know because the full details are denied to you as you…” I waited a second.
“I…” she spoke out of pure instinct,
“Cannot leave this realm.” we finished simultaneously. I sighed deeply, realising the true nature of my situation.
“Not unless called upon anyway. I’m sure the Maiden kept you informed of the rules,” I nodded slightly in sad agreement as she spoke, “Often when you have spoken in the past it has been with a fatalistic and deterministic nature. That is my voice you were speaking with. Esmur and Gebin, now THEY were more to my taste as your companions than the motley crew of delusional sociopaths and born followers that you allow to puff your ego with.”
“But you are the the Mistress of all fate!” I retorted, annoyed, “Surely you have access to the answer.”
“No,” she replied with what would have been a smile, “But I do have access to the end result of your quest for knowledge.”
“Which is?”
“Oh, you succeed,” she finished with a flat tone, one of sudden disinterest.
“How?”
“I do not know.” Damnation.
“Where?”
“I do not know.”
“When?” Desperation washed over me like a tsunami, “No, you don’t need to answer, you don’t know.”
“You’re not even asking the right question,” the Crone stated plainly, “Not that I know the answer but I can tell you with some certainty that when you do find the answer then, THEN your search for answers will be complete. What you need to ask yourself is… Who?”
I paused. I thought back to what the Maiden had said.
“Who calls upon you?” I asked.
“’She’ does,” Came the reply like a trepanning drill straight into my skull.
“Who is ‘she’?”
“The one who calls.”
A circular answer. A sign that even the Crone does not truly know. I placed my elbows upon my knees and slumped down into my hands. What am I to do with this information? What am I to do with the limitations of some mystic other placed upon all of my aspects? Something is being kept from me. Something parts of me don’t understand. I came here to these realms for answers and the additional questions being raised irked me. I do no appreciate being irked.
“Do not become despondent, Goddess,” The Crone spoke in her most portentous tone, “Press forwards. Do not let this minor setback dissuade you. You want answers? You will not receive any by stopping. So I have spoken, so shall it be.”
“What am I to do? I have spoken to all three and you have offered me no answers.”
“But we have. You have learned to channel all of us when we are needed. That is as important a lesson as you need. Do you DESIRE an answer?”
“Yes,”
“Will you FIGHT for an answer?”
“Yes.”
“Are you FATED to get an answer?”
“According to you, yes.”
“Get on with it,” the Crone ordered.
I stood and turned away from the Crone. I do not know what I am supposed to do. But here, in a realm beyond the mortal, to move forwards is as much as a metaphorical statement as any. I pressed on into the darkness of the deep woods. Colour flowed back slowly into my surroundings as I left the presence of my darkest aspect. I knelt to pick a flower and noted the blue hue of its petals. I stood again and continued, allowing the thoughts of all three to enter my mind. They are constrained. I am not. I am compelled to continue on until the trees break again.
The complex of buildings beyond the trees was secluded. One who did not know its location would never locate where it was. Fences ring the outside with heavy locks upon the gate. That is no challenge, locks have barely ever given me a problem in the past. I studied the layout. This is all familiar to me. Too familiar. I paused for a second and processed what I am seeing. Those buildings to my left are where the dormitories lay. The offices sat to my right. I know that security camera can see me where I stand. Camera 7, third row, left bank.
The penny dropped.
Fuck.
Confidence flowed through my body. What the Mother had said, how she had acted. It had taught me a vital lesson, one that I had too often forgotten. There must be balance. That I must find a balance. That there must be harmony amongst the disorder of my diverse aspects. There must be concord rather than dissonance. That I can, nay must, call freely upon all of what makes up who I am in order to find success. For though I could have fought forever against purely the warrior within me, what gave me the decisive advantage over a battle with that part of me was the desire, the raw enjoyment, that she could not tap into. And my black shadow, my doubt? Surely upon meeting the Crone I will have received the complete picture. And merely through the act of piecing every part of the puzzle together I will be able to fully grasp what that is. I licked my lips and steeled myself for another walk through the woods.
The trees seemed sparser than before. A sign of my mind decluttering, no doubt. But there was something different about them. Some sense of decay and rot. The mists about the air had lost their hue. And, so it seemed, had everything else. Grey leaves fluttered amongst the black boughs. I heard the caw of ravens above me, more so than before. I leant down and picked a withered flower from its stalk, looking into its pale Gainsboro leaves. I knew that I was close. From the distance, floating airily across the cool skies I heard a voice, dolorous, cold reciting a verse in Irish.
“Mo chara thu is mo chuid!
A mharcaigh an chlaímh ghil,
Éirigh suas anois,
Cuir ort do chulaith
Éadaigh uasail ghlain,
Cuir ort do bhéabhar dubh,
Tarraing do lámhainní umat.”
I strode forwards, drawn by the noise. Wilted bracken crushed easily beneath my boots, my every step behind leaving a footprint on the landscape. The poetic, sombre sound of keening grew ever louder. Death hung heavy in the air. I saw a shimmering light appear for a few seconds, glowing rich with purple and gold but it ceased soon after. Is ceased the correct word? Or is the sense of it closing something I should pay more attention to? Either way it stood out against the dull greys on the area. I approached the source of the poetry and as I began to make out the shape of an aging woman, a corvid flew from the tree line and perched upon her shoulder.
“Siúd í in airde d'fhuip,
Sin í do láir amuigh.
Buailse an bóthar caol úd soir
Mar a maolóidh romhat na toir,
Mar a gcaolóidh romhat an sruth,
Mar a n-umhlóidh romhat mná is fir,
Má tá a mbéasa féin acu -
‘S is baolach liomsa ná fuil anois.”
I approached slowly.
“The Caoineadh Airt Uí Laoghaire,” the Crone mused, her voice steady and conveying both sadness and control at the same time. Like one holding it together for the sake of her family at a funeral, perhaps, “So majestic in its sorrowful beauty. Come, Goddess, will you sit with me?”
The Crone sat upon a stump and beckoned me to take a place on a second. Her flowing grey hair flew about her head with the occasional gust of wind before settling against her black shawl. I sat down on a second stump and swung my legs around to face her. She smiled and her eyes flicked up and down as she sized me up. I knew my own face from looking in the mirror every day. A few extra lines and lighter hair did not change the structure.
“A keen?” I questioned.
“Well,” she replied, adding a little immodestly, “The Queen of the Ben Síde should learn of their traditions a little. It only befits the title. As the Maiden has her songs of love and the Mother songs of war, I have my songs of loss and sorrow. One must keep up appearances.”
“Are you prone to depressed moods yourself?” A legitimate question I thought.
“Gods no,” she replied, a little indignant at the suggestion, “If I shed a tear for every tragic tale I hear I would flood my whole realm. But providing a little sympathy for those destined to roam the lands of the dead forever… well it’s just a common courtesy to them.”
Too often are death Gods and Goddesses assigned qualities of evil and spite. I know that does not ring true outside of the followers of Abrahamic traditions. That part of me which I am in conversation with must BE, that is true, but there is no reason why they should be discourteous to those who pass through. Death is traumatic enough and it would be thoroughly ill mannered to the recent arrivals to rub it in.
“So,” the Crone began to question dispassionately, “There is a reason you have come before me.”
“Indeed so, Crone,” I answered. I have always despised such a term’s use to describe the most senior of a Goddess’s three forms but tradition dictates I must, “I have come before the others to ask guidance in the face of a nagging doubt. I am convinced that you possess the final piece and my qualms shall wither in the face of the knowledge your sage advice shall bring.”
“Goddess,” she responded, “One, do stop being so deferential.”
If the Crone were capable of a wry smile one would have formed on her face.
“Two, are you entirely sure you wish for my perspective on the issue?”
“Would I have journeyed this far if I was not?” I retorted, mildly perturbed by her choice of verbiage.
“I knew you would say that. And to fail to heed my subtle advice,” a concerning warning, ”Maiden of Love, Fertility, Passion. Mother of War, Battle and Glory. Crone of Death, Destiny and The Veil. You are all of these things...”
I interrupted her, “And by the strength of all I shall prevail. To balance the three shall the one truly reach the heights of what we can achieve. That, I had figured out.”
“Such haste. I feel the Mother’s bull headedness flowing through you. What I was about to say before you butted in was,” she paused, waiting for a second, “You are all of these things. And yet none.”
“And yet none?” My mind raced with a million possibilities of what that meant. My incredulity increased with a repetition, “And yet none?”
“And yet none,” she confirmed.
I froze. I needed a few seconds to process this. I stared into the Crone’s eyes. Cold, distant. That sensation of being watched returned. But I was not only being watched. I was being LAUGHED at. The entire realm seemed to my sight beyond sight to be chuckling in unconcealed delight. The fear turned to anger. I could feel every beat of my heart as it began to race.
“What in the name of the crushing end of the Dagda’s mighty club do you mean by that?” I spat out, feeling an impassioned and righteous rage fill every part of my soul.
“You already know what I am going to say, Goddess.”
I stopped, bemused and horrified in equal measure.
“You’re not going to tell me that you don’t know because the full details are denied to you as you…” I waited a second.
“I…” she spoke out of pure instinct,
“Cannot leave this realm.” we finished simultaneously. I sighed deeply, realising the true nature of my situation.
“Not unless called upon anyway. I’m sure the Maiden kept you informed of the rules,” I nodded slightly in sad agreement as she spoke, “Often when you have spoken in the past it has been with a fatalistic and deterministic nature. That is my voice you were speaking with. Esmur and Gebin, now THEY were more to my taste as your companions than the motley crew of delusional sociopaths and born followers that you allow to puff your ego with.”
“But you are the the Mistress of all fate!” I retorted, annoyed, “Surely you have access to the answer.”
“No,” she replied with what would have been a smile, “But I do have access to the end result of your quest for knowledge.”
“Which is?”
“Oh, you succeed,” she finished with a flat tone, one of sudden disinterest.
“How?”
“I do not know.” Damnation.
“Where?”
“I do not know.”
“When?” Desperation washed over me like a tsunami, “No, you don’t need to answer, you don’t know.”
“You’re not even asking the right question,” the Crone stated plainly, “Not that I know the answer but I can tell you with some certainty that when you do find the answer then, THEN your search for answers will be complete. What you need to ask yourself is… Who?”
I paused. I thought back to what the Maiden had said.
“Who calls upon you?” I asked.
“’She’ does,” Came the reply like a trepanning drill straight into my skull.
“Who is ‘she’?”
“The one who calls.”
A circular answer. A sign that even the Crone does not truly know. I placed my elbows upon my knees and slumped down into my hands. What am I to do with this information? What am I to do with the limitations of some mystic other placed upon all of my aspects? Something is being kept from me. Something parts of me don’t understand. I came here to these realms for answers and the additional questions being raised irked me. I do no appreciate being irked.
“Do not become despondent, Goddess,” The Crone spoke in her most portentous tone, “Press forwards. Do not let this minor setback dissuade you. You want answers? You will not receive any by stopping. So I have spoken, so shall it be.”
“What am I to do? I have spoken to all three and you have offered me no answers.”
“But we have. You have learned to channel all of us when we are needed. That is as important a lesson as you need. Do you DESIRE an answer?”
“Yes,”
“Will you FIGHT for an answer?”
“Yes.”
“Are you FATED to get an answer?”
“According to you, yes.”
“Get on with it,” the Crone ordered.
I stood and turned away from the Crone. I do not know what I am supposed to do. But here, in a realm beyond the mortal, to move forwards is as much as a metaphorical statement as any. I pressed on into the darkness of the deep woods. Colour flowed back slowly into my surroundings as I left the presence of my darkest aspect. I knelt to pick a flower and noted the blue hue of its petals. I stood again and continued, allowing the thoughts of all three to enter my mind. They are constrained. I am not. I am compelled to continue on until the trees break again.
The complex of buildings beyond the trees was secluded. One who did not know its location would never locate where it was. Fences ring the outside with heavy locks upon the gate. That is no challenge, locks have barely ever given me a problem in the past. I studied the layout. This is all familiar to me. Too familiar. I paused for a second and processed what I am seeing. Those buildings to my left are where the dormitories lay. The offices sat to my right. I know that security camera can see me where I stand. Camera 7, third row, left bank.
The penny dropped.
Fuck.
