THE STATIONS OF THE SUN

For always and for always
I pray remember me
Upon the moors, beneath the stars
With the King's wild company

Part One

Well and so, and now it is done. I am Tilda and Robert, yes, that was his name, has told his story. Did you think he told it to you? He did not. He told it for me, so that I would know and I would understand, so that I would forgive. Forgive what? His excuses? His terrible, terrible love? Should I find it in my heart now, all these years later, to forgive him for that moment in that darkened church where he and I knew the only union we would ever have? Well, it is done, he told and I died, again, on that hard, cold floor and all the forgiving and unforgiving cannot change that. But now it is my turn to speak, and be sure, it is a different tale from his; though I have to admit, it ends the same. Strong hands, cold floor, unmarked grave.

So, do you wish to hear my story now, when you know the inevitable darkness that waits at the end? And Robert, can you bear to hear how fast and how far my betrayal went? Enough. I will begin and you may listen or leave as you please. I care not.

My name was Matilda and I was born in Avebury, not within the stones but in a little cottage where the green road runs out to the stone downs in the east. There was nothing special about me, one sister in a large family living in a home that was too small for them. Because of this my mother would often take the youngest of us up to her sisters house and there, when we were young, I played with Robert as though he were my brother. We would roll and tumble about the stones, whispering and giggling as he told me the tales they had to tell.

But the monks got him early, those old, robed brothers with their kind eyes and crucifixes. They took his talents and turned them to their own use. Robert may remember us exploring the woods and fields together, he may remember us as inseparable. But for the most part I recall that he vanished at dawn and returned at dusk, dusty and tired, full of his achievements, full of his specialness.

Did you believe what he said? Well, perhaps he believed it himself; but my memories are not his. Yes, I remember exploring the woods and the fields but it was my sisters who were my close companions, or else the trees themselves, who I knew and named, to whom I spoke. I remember also working beside my mother, learning the skills that are those of women, to cook and to clean, to ply my needle, to milk the cows and churn sweet butter. It was she who taught me all I knew, her gentle voice talking as we worked, telling me of the lore of women. The moon that makes the blood flow, the herbs that hurt and heal, the words to be said for protection or revenge. She taught me also of the stations of the sun as it turns around the wheel of the year, and together with my sisters we marked them well. I said nothing of this to Robert, nor to any man, for this was women’s lore and women’s power, and Robert, by then, was lost to the monks, to their teaching and their ways.

It was my mother who told me stories of the North, for her mother had been a woman of the North Country and it flowed in her blood as it did in mine. These stories she told me over and over again until my dreams at night were populated with black kings, fairy hosts and ravens. These tales I did share with Robert, for I saw no harm in it, and I took him deep within the woods to show him my favourite tree; an ancient, lightning struck oak wherein a pair of ravens nested year upon year throughout my life, their rhythms as regular as the turning of the seasons and the waning of the moon. Robert was not interested, he cared nothing for the trees or the ravens or the black northern king. He cared nothing for what I told him, only for what he told me.

And so we grew until we were children no longer. Robert was to be sent to York to work his skills upon the cathedral there, and how I begged to go with him, begged, pleaded and wept until I was allowed. Would I have chosen differently if I had known what the future held? Would I have remained in Avebury and lived to a sweet old age? No. The North called to me and nothing, no promises of horrors to come, would have stopped me. And I am glad, even now I am glad that I walked upon the soil of the King’s country, I am glad for the things I saw and the things I did. Nothing would I undo but that one last step that destroyed me.

Part Two

We left Avebury at Imbolc, just as the world was returning to life after the long winter. Before we went, in the cold grey dawn, my mother took me to lay snowdrops and ewe’s milk within the box of stones we called The Cove. There she wept, the tears running silently down her lined, brown cheeks. Perhaps she knew what was to come. Often she knew things that were hidden from others and it was said that her eyes could pierce the veils of the future. She did not speak; she just held me close, kissed me and watched while I left. I looked back, just before the road turned. I looked back and saw her, still there, standing beneath the great angular stone that guarded the northern road. In my mind I see her there still, waiting for a daughter who will never return.

And what is there to say about the journey? Robert said it all. It was an adventure. I never knew the world could be so big and all across the wide land I saw the signs of spring, of growth where before there had only been death. I saw the early spring flowers, the snowdrops, colts foot and periwinkle. Then, as we continued, the first bright stars of celandine and stitchwort began to appear in the hedgerows as though I journeyed to York on an ever-changing carpet of flowers. And time and again I saw the black shapes of ravens in the bare branches of the trees.

As Robert said, we reached York and entered through one of the great gates that pierced the mighty walls; a mouth open to swallow us whole like some monster from a story. And I hated it; from the moment I passed through that terrible maw I hated it. The walls, the walls that encircled oppressed me, the crowds and the noise scared me, the stench sickened me. Did I truly dance among the stones of the cathedral? Is that really what he saw? I don’t remember. That church meant nothing to me, not its stones or its glass or its hard cold floor. This was not the North of which I had dreamed. This wall enclosed cacophony was not the wild moors of my mothers stories and although the Raven Banner flew from the walls and the buildings it seemed to mean little, as though the stones that encircled were proof against magic and built to keep it out.

Robert expected me to make friends with the wives and daughters of the men he worked with; and I have to say that when he brought me to them I thought they were a dull and demure group sewing their tapestries and gossiping about fabric and fashions. I felt out of place in my home spun clothes, out of place and awkward but still, I have to say I was glad to see them and I welcomed conversation other than Robert’s endless talk of stones and the glory of God.

At first it seemed little better, they talked of people I had never met, they talked of the works at the cathedral, but they smiled kindly at me and tried to include me in their conversation. Yet I felt no kinship with them and the desperate weight of loneliness I had felt since I entered through the city walls settled deeper into my heart. Then, amongst references to Easter and the passion I heard, as clearly as though it had been whispered in my ear, a word I knew too well, ‘Ostara’. I felt my head swivel of its own accord and found myself staring into the merry brown eyes of a girl my own age. Even as I opened my mouth to speak she quickly touched a finger to her lips and ensured my silence.

A little later and she made and excuse, a reason to leave, an errand at the market. She fixed me then with a meaningful stare and offered to show me the best shops and stalls, the cheapest and the freshest and the best. I acquiesced, of course I did, and not for the promise of the finest apples, I was hoping for a sweeter fruit than that. I was not to be disappointed, almost as soon as we were in the street she took my arm and began to whisper in my ear. Her name was Eleanor and she told me how they would meet in the woods, how they would celebrate the wheel of the year. They were women like my mother, steeped in the old ways, filled with secrets and powers. I had found my home again, there in the stony heart of York.

Within days I had been taken out into the fields and woods beyond the city walls and it was as though I could breath again as I walked among the primroses and the daffodils that lined the paths, through the pure white anemones that carpeted the forest floor. On the day of Ostara, when the great gate of the seasons pivoted upon it’s hinge and night equalled day, we met in the oak woods to the east of the town. We took ale to sacrifice to the earth and drank most of it ourselves, we joined hands in a circle and danced until we fell down laughing and there, upon the sweet mattress of ground ivy and dog mercury, Eleanor took me in her arms and kissed me upon my mouth. She tasted sweet, as sweet as honey and I wept for joy as she held me.

Part Three

And so we continued, Robert with his life, I with mine, and he knew nothing of the secrets of my heart as I knew nothing of his; not until Beltane when the fires burned bright, when my eyes were opened wide and the powers of men began to overwhelm me. I had been in the woods; on that day of all days where else should I have been? The white blossom of the Blackthorn had given way to the flowers of the May, the bluebells had bloomed beneath the budding branches of the trees and for the first time our circle of women was joined by a man. He came to us as the Jack in the Green, cloaked in leaves and bound by ivy. He was a magician and there in the North Country we were all willing to learn. He chose me, of all the girls who were there, he chose me. He took my hand from Eleanor, crowning me the Queen of the May with flowers and leaves and he danced with me alone as the women clapped to the rhythm of our steps. I felt as though the Raven King himself had stepped down from Newcastle to the woods of York to dance the round with me.

We ran home together, Eleanor and I, hand in hand, and she kissed me as she always did and told me all was well. If I saw a little sorrow in her eyes then who should be surprised? We had gained something on that day but lost something too. So it always is with men, they can give when they want, but always they will take. That night I saw Robert's eyes in the light of the Beltane fires. I saw something there that never had I noticed before and I recognised it because I had seen it earlier that day in the eyes of the magician. It was desire, burning and bright, and in Robert it repelled me; it was as though my father had reached out and touched me as a father never should,

That moment changed everything. Despite what was to come, despite everything I have said, we were friends. I believed I knew him, believed I understood; and then, in that single moment of stilled time, I saw a secret self to him that I could not bear. From that day I began to withdraw. If I had kept secrets before I kept more now and, to my horror I found within myself a capacity to fear him, to fear his secret thoughts and intentions. So, now you wonder, why did I stay? Why did I not leave? But you ask that knowing how it ends, I did not. How could I? I did not have my mother's eyes, and besides, I had no where to go; in that place then a woman without a man's protection was no woman at all.

And so my life was split, trapped with Robert in a pretence of a friendship or dancing beneath the fresh, green boughed trees with the women and lying in Eleanor's arms upon the sweet grass of summer. As the weeks passed I began to find that keeping these two worlds separate was all but impossible. The first time they touched was at Litha; I had persuaded Robert to accompany me so that I could go out of the city in the early hours to see the sun rise on that, the longest day. There, upon the hill side, as a great black raven rolled and cawed in the air above, I saw him again, the young magician, returned to York. He greeted me with a smile that near stopped my heart, but he frowned when he saw Robert walking beside me and passed us by without speaking. Curiosity and doubt flickered across Robert's face but he accepted my casual dismissal, that he was a relative of a friend. And, almost before I had finished speaking, I could see his mind wandering back to his stones, his work, his self. The moment passed and was gone. I was safe, for a while, but not forever.

And so the summer passed, the cow parsley and the dog roses grew to crowd out the flowers of the hedgerows, the bright red poppies spread their fragile petals among the ripening grain and I had a hundred excuses for going out into the woods but only two true reasons; to meet Eleanor and my other friends and to see the young magician who was becoming such a great part of my life. Sometime he would be there among the women when we met beneath the trees, other times I would meet him alone, or with just Eleanor for company. Always we would talk of magic and I watched enthralled as he charmed the birds from the trees, as he drew lines of light upon still pools and showed me the pictures hidden within.

When Lugnasadah came and we met among the oaks to make our great circle he allowed us to crown him John Barleycorn and cut him down for the ritual death that must be suffered. It was I on that first day of autumn who stooped across his prone body, sprinkling it with grain to mark the life that ever comes from death. When finally we allowed him to rise he laughed, stretching his hand out across the spilled seed, letting us watch in wonder as it sprouted and grew, the great black birds descending to eat the enchanted grain.

But not then, nor in the weeks that followed, did he ask me to be his. Not while I remained with Robert, under his roof and his protection. And from Robert I could not escape.

Part Four

On the feast of Mabon, that which the church calls Michaelmas, all changed again. The great gate of the world swung once more upon it's mighty hinges and opened the door to the dark half of the year. I had been with the women of York for a full six months and the time was ripe, so they said, to initiate me further into their mysteries, deep in the woodland where the trees shed their leaves and the berries grew ripe, shining and dark. The oldest of them, a grandmother to a mother, mixed an ointment of belladonna, henbane and monkshood; this Eleanor rubbed into my naked skin, her soft hands upon my flesh, her breath in my mouth, her tears upon my cheeks. Together then we flew for the world was opened up to us, and as ravens we spread night dark wings and rode upon the wind seeing the land, the fields, the walled town with it's great church laid out below us as small as a child's toy.

Such was my undoing. Such was, finally, the freeing of my bonds just as my body had been freed from the pull of the earth, and whatever came of it in the end I had no one to blame but myself. I all but lost myself in these new experiences, so great and all consuming were they that I became careless in the other part of my life. The lines between them became blurred beneath the touch of the ointment and one day, returning through the gates I spoke when I should have been silent. I was overheard and Robert, listening, suddenly knew too much.

And still, still I did not see my danger. Instead I was relieved, I was able at last to talk of my other life, of Eleanor, of the woods, of magic. As I had done so long ago in Avebury I told him stories of magicians and faeries, of the Raven King upon his throne in Newcastle and I never knew how much he hated me for it. I had listened to him, I had heard him speak so many times of his work and his stones, yet nothing would he allow to me. My role was to hear but never to speak, to receive his wisdom but never to share my own.

So it went, autumn fading to the bare bones of the trees above which Eleanor and I flew on raven wings, beneath which we crept as foxes and voles. I thought that all was well and that the growing darkness was but the seasons changing. I could not see the danger that approached, I could not see past the joy that I felt. On the night of Samhain I dared that which I had never dared before, I remained in the woods long after dark. I knew that Robert would have returned from his work to an empty room and a cold hearth. I knew but I did not care. That night, when the gates between the worlds are flung wide, my life changed.

We made our circle beneath the bare oaks, and a solemn, sombre meeting was this. We made our circle and lit our fire. We danced our slow, stately steps and sacrificed in effigy the cares and the toils of the year that had gone. My friend, the magician, appeared then, cloaked and masked, crowned with antlers, stepping free from the tongues of the fire. He took me by the hand and led me through the gate of darkness. He kissed me, his mouth hard against mine. He tasted of smoke and earth. He pressed me back against the hard winter ground and touching me now he rubbed the ointment into my skin. But his arms, his arms strong about me held me there in my own form and bound me to the waking world; bound me to him as I writhed beneath his touch. He whispered words into my ear, he spat into my cupped hands and poured his power into me; and flames, rolling and pouring like water, flowed from my fingers.

I would have stayed there, with him, forever. But he sent me back, back through the gates, back to Robert. I do not have to say what happened then, Robert has told it all so well. After so many secrets and so much hidden I finally showed my true self to him and he sent me away. Did you hate magic so much, Robert? You fool! What would you call it when a man can speak to the creatures that dwell within stones?

And so I went, set free at last. Beneath the cold moon I spread my raven wings and returned to the woods, to my lover, who waited there for me and enfolded me in his arms. I remained there with him and as winter grew hard and cold his love kept me warm, his body against mine, his flesh within me. We lived like animals on roots and on berries, on food that he hunted and food that I found. He taught me magic, he taught me love and when Eleanor came and joined us in a tangle of limbs upon the woodland floor, when we flew together in the winter sky I could ask for nothing more. This was the North of which I had dreamed and it is these few sweet weeks that I would never exchange, not for all the life and the years that the world can hold.

Do you want me to speak of the end? I would rather leave the story there, in the woods, in joy, but I will continue if you wish. What is there left to say? We joined a group of others, other magicians, friends of my lover and, binding ivy leaves into our hair we entered York to see the fires of Yuille as our souls flew above us as ravens in the sunset. I was drunk on love and happiness, it shone from me, it burned too bright and lit a terrible fire in Robert's heart, one that only a death could quench.

Why did I go with him? Well, why not? We had been friends in Avebury when we were young and I had never imagined his hands could be so strong.

Leave it there, leave it there. You know how it ends. My lover didn't save me, my magic didn't warn me. The Raven King himself didn't ride down from Newcastle to rescue me. Did you think that he would? No. I went like a fool, like a lamb to the slaughter. I died as the sun died, falling at Robert's feet, hearing, for the first and last time, the sound of the stones as the screamed my name. And why? Not because I loved another, but because I didn't love him. Oh, Robert, hear me now. I never loved you, I never could!

So, my story is done, it ended as it had to end, in death, but let me say, Robert was wrong, I was not entirely forgotten. My lover claimed my body and the church was glad enough to be rid of it. He buried me in the woods, beneath the trees in a clearing where forget-me-nots would bloom in spring, He married Eleanor and they named their first daughter Matilda. But she was nothing like me, she had dark hair and dark eyes, she lived a long life while I lay here beneath the earth, becoming one with the flowers and the trees.