Bedtime Story: Reflections Of The Past: Air: Chapter 18

Relax into your evening, or fall asleep, to this recording of the eighteenth 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 The Story of St Cledoris The Holy Spring and the Village Church Chapter 18 The Beltane fires were lit,

The cattle driven between them,

And the villagers had jumped the flames,

In order to ensure good luck for the coming year.

It was an age-old tradition,

And for that evening,

At least,

Everyone was able to forget the presence of the brothers,

Determined this was one ritual which would never change.

Dominic left the church soon after the service,

And made his way to the site of the celebrations,

Increasingly frustrated by the words and actions of the brothers,

And deciding he preferred to join in with the villagers,

Doing something practical,

Like tending the fires,

While they turned their attention to their cattle,

Affairs of the heart,

And the fertility rites of the night.

As the evening progressed,

He wondered what had happened to Rhiannon.

He assumed she would come to watch the cattle driven through the fires,

And to throw on herbs of medicine and magic to mingle with the smoke.

But as yet,

There was no sign of her.

He mused on how beautiful she looked,

And felt inordinately proud.

He might not have been the best father in the world,

But had done all he could,

Circumstances permitting.

Although he felt saddened,

Events could not have turned out differently.

Dominic looked up,

Across the glowing firelight and gently billowing herb-scented smoke,

Catching sight of Rhiannon's mother watching him.

He paused in his work,

And the world seemed to stop,

A timeless moment as they both remembered the night of the Beltane fires many years ago.

Across the flickering firelight,

Dominic smiled.

Rhiannon peered at Cleda's manuscript,

And tentatively touched it with one finger,

Only to have her hand pushed roughly away by Cleda himself.

Brother Cleda,

You should allow the young maiden to touch your work,

The voice of brother Jeremiah quietly admonished.

That is why I have invited her here.

Brother Cleda scowled as Jeremiah leant over Rhiannon,

Tracing the intricacies of penmanship and the beautifully coloured illuminations with one stubby finger.

Rhiannon's dark head bent next to his,

Apparently exhibiting a great interest in all he was showing her.

Brother Cleda scowled again.

He would have preferred Rhiannon to be nowhere near his precious scripts,

And to have spent the evening discussing them with brother Jeremiah himself,

Just the two of them,

In the little church.

But Rhiannon was showing an unusual interest in brother Jeremiah's words.

Indeed,

Brother Cleda would almost have thought she was flirting with him.

And eventually,

In an increasing rage of jealousy,

He left the church and headed towards the Beltane fires.

The fires had died low,

The burning of the herbs,

Driving of the cattle and revelry almost over.

Most of the villagers had disappeared,

Either to their beds or into the darkness,

To celebrate the true meaning of Beltane and the fertility rite.

In the church,

Only a few candles remained lighting the darkness,

And having spent some time in Rhiannon's company,

Brother Jeremiah felt he could contain himself no longer.

It was time to tell her exactly how he felt.

Brother Dominic raked the straying embers of the fire into a heap,

Whistling softly and wondering why the other two always disappeared when there was work to be done.

But on this occasion,

He cared not,

Recalling the look he had seen in the eyes of the woman he had continued to love for so many years,

And wondering if it was time for circumstances to change.

In Rhiannon's mind,

The plan had been simple enough.

She would go into the church,

Take the manuscripts,

And burn them on the Beltane fires.

This would surely cause such trouble the brothers would leave the valley and allow the villagers to return to the old ways and the women to become guardians of the spring once again.

But this plan had its flaws.

Firstly,

Brother Jeremiah's presence compelled her to accompany him into the church,

Making it impossible for her to simply take the manuscripts.

Secondly,

She was not sure if the brothers would actually leave,

Even if the scripts had been burned.

And finally,

Would she have the nerve to actually destroy the writings when the time came?

The more she thought about the situation,

As brother Jeremiah rambled on,

Pressing his large bulk increasingly close to her,

The more Rhiannon wondered if she was doing the right thing,

And if she would even get the chance to burn the scripts in the first place.

But she remembered the vision in the spring,

Trusted it with a deep understanding which came from somewhere inside herself,

And was certain,

As sure as she knew the sun would rise the next morning,

That somehow on this night everything would be resolved.

Eventually,

Brother Jeremiah could contain himself no longer.

My dearest,

He began,

Resting a hand gently upon Rhiannon's shoulder in the soft candlelight.

Rhiannon turned,

Finding herself trapped between brother Jeremiah's large porch and the altar behind her.

He was standing so close she could feel his breath on her face,

And see the light of fanaticism in his eyes.

I have waited so long,

Began brother Jeremiah,

Touching her cheek with one stubby finger and allowing it to run slowly down the curve of her neck.

You know how I feel,

He continued,

And I know you feel the same way.

Our time has come.

He pressed himself closer,

His arm slipping around her slim waist,

And Rhiannon,

Knowing that whatever her plans might have been,

She could bear it no longer,

Felt frantically behind her for something with which to fight him off.

Her fingers brushed the carved wooden cross,

But it slipped from her grasp,

Crashing to the floor.

Brother Jeremiah,

Seemingly oblivious,

Pressed closer still.

Rhiannon's hands scrabbled some more,

Finally coming into contact with the sacred scripts.

As brother Jeremiah bent his head to finally kiss her,

To claim the prize for which he had waited so long,

Rhiannon brought her knee up sharply,

And as he doubled in pain,

Turned,

Grasped the sacred scripts,

And brought them down hard upon brother Jeremiah's head,

Then ran from the church as fast as she could towards the Beltane fires.

As she neared the glowing embers,

She ran headlong into Cleda,

Who was standing in the darkness,

His face as black as the night sky above.

How,

Cleda gasped,

Realising exactly what Rhiannon was carrying,

And,

After a moment of shock,

Began to wrestle the scripts from her.

Give them to me.

Never.

In the firelight,

The two figures twisted and turned,

Only to be joined by the figure of brother Jeremiah,

Puffing and panting as he caught up with Rhiannon,

Grasping her about the waist in an attempt to pull her away from Cleda,

And force her to loosen her hold on the scripts.

From the corner of her eye,

Rhiannon caught a glimpse of Dominic,

Watching from the other side of the fire,

And wondered why,

In her hour of need,

He did not come to her aid.

But she had no time to think further,

For at that moment,

With a great tearing sound,

The pages worked their way free from their bindings,

The scripts fell to pieces,

And the pages scattered onto the ground,

Fluttering in the cool night air.

They all paused,

Rhiannon panting,

Attempting to catch her breath,

Cleda scrabbling about on his knees,

Trying to collect the fluttering pages,

And Jeremiah bent double,

Gasping for air,

And wiping his face in his robe.

Please,

Cried Cleda desperately,

Help me,

Please.

Rhiannon paused,

Suddenly realising what she had done.

She looked at Cleda,

The man she had given her heart to for a whole turning of the seasons,

Understanding finally where his love and duty lay,

And realising that,

Even if she were alone with the scripts,

And the most raging fire in the entire world,

She would not have it in her to destroy something he loved so much.

Her arms dropped to her sides,

Her body sagged,

And she knew that as a guardian of the spring,

She was a failure,

Just like her mother.

What disgrace is this?

They all turned,

Wild-eyed,

To find Prior John standing behind them.

My lords,

Brother Jeremiah bowed as low as he was able before the Prior,

And Cleda followed suit.

What disgrace is this?

Repeated Prior John,

Taking no notice of the grovelling brothers,

His eyes resting on the dying Beltane fire,

And the young woman standing defeated before him.

Out of the corner of her eye,

Rhiannon caught the movement of Brother Dominic on the other side of the fire,

Raking in the straying embers,

Steadfastly ignoring the presence of Prior John.

My lord,

We can explain,

Began Brother Jeremiah,

Wringing his hands together,

The scripts momentarily forgotten.

There was a flurry of breeze on the night air,

Which rippled up the valley,

Stirring the remaining embers of the Beltane fire,

Causing it to flare up and cast long shadows towards the small group standing a short distance away.

Then came the smell of burning,

And the faintest hint of white swirled into the air,

Like Mayflower blossom on a spring breeze.

As the particles settled upon her,

Rhiannon found them not to be petals,

As she had first assumed,

But tiny specks of ash,

As on the far side of the fire Brother Dominic continued to rake the embers together,

Whistling quietly as he worked.

Rhiannon noticed a figure standing beside him,

Calmly feeding the flames from a bundle she carried in her arms,

And realized it to be her mother.

Of the sacred scripts,

There was no sign.

Rhiannon smiled,

Realization dawning slowly in the flickering firelight.

Our mother,

She murmured,

You have in the end shown yourself to be a true guardian of the spring,

After all.

And as the other brothers stumbled behind the prayer,

Back along the valley into the darkness of the night,

Brother Dominic stood with the two people he loved best,

Feeling truly at one with the world around him.