Bedtime Story: Reflections Of The Past: Air: Chapter 12

Relax into your evening, or fall asleep, to this recording of the twelfth chapter of the magical novel 'Reflections Of The Past,' by Vanda Inman.

Set in a remote valley in Cornwall, England, 'Reflections Of The Past' tells the story of four characters whose lives intertwine through many incarnations, and of their special relationship with the valley's Sacred Spring and Holy Well.

Music by Serge Quadrado
Photo by Cottonbro Studio

Transcript

Reflections of the Past A Story of the Guardians of the Well By Vanda Inman These words are written in honour of the guardians of the past,

And those who journey in the name of love,

Light and all that is good.

The answers to all the questions we might ever ask can be found in the ground beneath our feet.

Part 2 Air Celtic Christian Chaos The Story of St Clodaris The Holy Spring And the Village Church Chapter 12 He knows you're there,

But he won't come to you.

The words floated down the cliff behind Rhiannon,

And she turned to see Brother Dominic,

Standing at the top,

Grinning at her.

Go away!

She flapped her hands,

Pretending to shoo him off,

But they were both laughing.

Come on,

Forget him and help me in the gardens instead,

Urged Dominic,

Jumping into the little clearing from the rock above.

You know you're wasting your time pining after Cleda.

He's married to his faith,

We all are,

And you'd be better off finding a nice village lad to settle down with,

And have a brood of children running around your legs and clinging to your skirts.

Dominic sank down onto a stone and pulled thoughtfully at a strand of ivy,

Eyeing Rhiannon carefully as he did so.

You know I'm right.

Rhiannon sighed and smiled,

As always finding wisdom in his dark brown eyes and whiskery face.

I know.

She was immensely fond of Dominic,

Whose presence had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember,

And she recalled many happy hours as a child spent listening to his stories.

His patience and understanding,

Combined with his great knowledge of the plants and animals,

The sun and stars,

The moon and the turning of the seasons,

Never failed to intrigue and fascinate her,

Except when her thoughts turned to Cleda.

Where's he going now?

Rhiannon realised she had missed her moment,

For Cleda was already passing back along the pathway,

Hurrying as if he was late.

Lessons with brother Jeremiah,

Replied Dominic shortly.

He's supposed to be teaching Cleda the ancient scripts and showing him how to illuminate a manuscript or some such thing.

Bah!

Dominic threw the ivy strand down in disgust.

What they want with all these scripts and learning,

I don't know.

When all any of us needs can be found around us,

Whenever we care to open our eyes and look.

His gaze wandered over the valley,

To the hills and the river he loved so well.

Rhiannon thought of brother Jeremiah and his parchments and scripts.

She imagined being close to his massive,

Bulk,

Podgy fingers and red,

Glinting beard and shuddered.

But then she thought of Cleda's slim figure bent over his work,

Hair the colour of ripened corn and eyes blue as the summer sky,

His slender fingers holding the quill and scratching the parchment in concentration.

She sighed.

Do you suppose brother Jeremiah would give me lessons?

She asked hopefully,

Although her stomach recoiled at the thought.

Dominic threw back his head and laughed.

Nice try little one,

He chuckled.

But I think brother Jeremiah would see through your plan straight away.

And so would Cleda.

He stopped laughing.

Seriously,

He continued.

You're wasting your time.

Like I said,

He's married to his faith.

Rhiannon nodded slowly,

Deciding perhaps it was best to allow Dominic to think she accepted his words,

But knowing deep down she would find a way eventually.

Come on,

He punched her arm.

It's almost time.

Are you coming?

Rhiannon grinned and together they scrambled up the side of the cliff until they reached the highest point in the valley,

Standing silently for long moments as the sky continued to darken from golden pink to a bruised purple as twilight gathered.

They heard them first,

Their incessant chattering on the moorland behind,

Which all of a sudden stopped,

Giving way to a moment of complete silence.

And then they came in a swift and whispering rush.

Thousands of tiny bodies,

Wingbeats whistling on the air,

Almost low enough for Rhiannon and Dominic to reach out and touch.

The flock of starlings flew overhead towards their roosting place on the distant moors.

When the final bird passed by in a flurry of beating wings,

All was still again.

Rhiannon and Dominic turned to one another and,

Without uttering a single word,

Shared a moment of complete and utter understanding before retracting their steps to the valley and home.

The brothers had long since given up on Dominic.

Numerous attempts were made to bring some decorum into his life,

To stop him whistling so loudly as he hoed his beloved gardens,

Persuade him not to spend quite so much time fishing in the river he found so fascinating,

And above all,

Show some pride in being one of the Brotherhood.

Yet he still loved to wander through the valley,

Calling the animals by name,

As if he expected them to reply.

Which indeed they did.

The buzzard was known to land on Dominic's outstretched arm,

And a fox regularly appeared when he sat high upon the rocks and made his special cry.

In the darkness,

It was said,

A great white owl was sometimes to be seen perched silently upon his shoulder.

Brother Dominic was,

In some people's opinion at least,

A lost cause.

But to others,

He was all the new religion stood for,

Because like the first Christian hermits who settled in that part of the world,

Like St Clodorus himself,

Dominic revered the world around him.

He loved the turning of the seasons and the cycle of the year.

The way everything was born,

Lived and died,

Only to be reborn again,

Whether it be animals or the crops he worked so hard to nurture all summer so the brothers and any villagers who needed help would have food for the winter.

He had no time for learning or books,

Because he believed all he needed to know could be found either in nature,

The ground beneath his feet,

Or his heart.

And the villagers loved Dominic above all others,

Turning to him when they needed a potion or a salve for a wound,

Calling him when their livestock were ill,

And indeed Dominic always seemed to have a number of animals in his care,

Which he slowly but surely nursed back to health.

It was whispered he had healing hands,

And despite the view the brothers took of him,

The villagers trusted him implicitly.

Brother Jeremiah was not impressed.

If truth be told,

Brother Jeremiah was not very impressed by much,

Except his manuscripts,

Parchments and intricate lettering.

And of course,

Rhiannon.

Brother Cleda and brother Jeremiah glanced out of the doorway to see brother Dominic and Rhiannon emerge from the vegetable garden together.

The year was turning,

Clumps of snowdrops covering the greenery in a drift of white,

And there was a certain warmth in the air.

Rhiannon often felt the weather was not quite sure whether to be warm or cool,

Wet or dry,

And indeed the days were a strange mixture of soft warm rain flashing with miniature rainbows and the unexpected warmth of spring sunshine.

The birds were singing,

A sure sign spring would soon take a firm hold on the valley,

And Dominic proclaimed this to be his favourite time of the year.

Although it was against the rules of the brotherhood for Dominic to spend so much time with one of the village girls,

Especially alone,

He had repeatedly ignored warnings from Jeremiah and continued to teach Rhiannon the skills of the garden and his knowledge of nature,

A passion he knew she shared,

Despite the added incentive of being closer to Cleda.

Finished at last,

Cleda put down the quill with which he had been scratching the parchment for the last hour and surveyed his handiwork,

A slight frown creasing his forehead.

He glanced at Jeremiah anxiously.

He had successfully copied the first book of the words of St Cledorus,

Written following the saint's departure.

It was decided by brother Jeremiah and Prior John to make a number of copies for posterity,

But it was a long and arduous task,

And this was only the first.

The brothers occupied a low,

Wooden-framed,

Thatched building on the outskirts of the village,

The church being on the other side of the huddle of huts in which the villagers lived,

Which meant Rhiannon had plenty of opportunity to see the brothers as she carried out her tasks each day in the local community.

Around the building lay the vegetable gardens,

Which Dominic tended,

Providing food for the brothers and anyone who went hungry during the hard winters.

The little room the brothers used for their writing was furnished with a rough,

Wooden table upon which the parchments could be spread.

Today,

As always during the winter months,

It was bitterly cold.

In the summer,

A pleasant coolness could be attained.

Cleda loved being indoors,

For the sun caused his eyes to water if it shone too brightly,

And the first heat of the year invariably brought him out in a rash.

He had no desire to spend his days grubbing around in the garden,

Getting his hands dirty,

Although it appeared all Dominic wanted to do.

Cleda shivered slightly,

But not with the cold.

He liked things to be clean,

Neat and orderly.

Brother Jeremiah grunted,

Resting his hands across his ample stomach.

Most neat,

He commented.

Tomorrow we will begin the illuminations.

You have worked hard.

There was the sound of laughter in the air,

And his gaze strayed to the couple outside,

The illuminations completely forgotten.

Cleda,

Realising he no longer held brother Jeremiah's attention,

Began clearing everything away,

Trying desperately to ignore Rhiannon's presence.

Rhiannon,

How he wished he had never become involved with her,

Never spoken to her on that day almost a year ago,

Which was to prove his undoing.

His flesh had been weak,

And the memory of the few stolen kisses he had enjoyed with her rankled.

He crossed himself fervently,

Wishing all thoughts and memories of her would vanish,

And he could return to his faith and his studies with a clear conscience.

Perhaps he should confess to Praeajan next time he called,

But always his nerve failed at the last moment.

Even brother Jeremiah might have been able to absolve him,

But he appeared so preoccupied of late.

Cleda collected together the last of the parchment,

Quills and inks,

Deciding to spend the remainder of the evening in silent prayer,

Concentrating on the words of St Cledaris and of God,

Doing his best to erase all thoughts of Rhiannon,

With her inviting dark eyes,

Long black hair and warm tanned flesh from his mind.

Glancing towards the garden again,

And noting her attention was fully taken with Dominic,

He hurried from the room to his prayers.

Following Cleda's departure,

Jeremiah was able to fully concentrate on Rhiannon and Dominic.

Their chatter became louder as Dominic showed Rhiannon a tool he had repaired,

Explaining how he honed the wood to fit the handle and what it would be used for.

Brother Jeremiah sighed.

He simply could not stop thinking of her dark swinging hair and the way her clothing clung to her curves,

Despite the layers she was wearing on this chilly spring day.

As always,

He could feel the passion and heat rising in his body,

And,

As happened more and more often of late,

Began to feel the tug between duty and pleasure deep inside.

He tried to concentrate on God,

His vocation with the Brotherhood,

Crossing himself several times and muttering prayers as he did so,

But it made no difference.

Eventually,

Rhiannon and Dominic disappeared from view,

Leaving nothing but a fiery burning in Brother Jeremiah's body and an uneasy feeling in his mind.

In all his life,

Jeremiah had never felt this way before,

Nor experienced how one person could infiltrate every waking moment,

Wherever he might be,

Or whatever task he might be occupied with,

And his dreams too.

But rather than brushing those thoughts and feelings firmly aside,

He willingly succumbed,

And now all he lived for was a glimpse of Rhiannon,

Which,

Rather than soothing his soul,

Turned his body into a raging monster and twisted his mind with longing,

When it should have been filled with nothing but religious thoughts.