the shortest day

[ewein2412]

 

I know, it's saturday.  but it's Midwinter's Eve and I'm not around today--off to Edinburgh to the Frost Fair and to see the Scottish Ballet dance The Snowman.  So I thought I'd post this now and try to make up for my truly lame-o Midwinter’s Day greeting of last year.

 

This year I have got a reminder in my mailbox that it is illgotten’s birthday.  ahahahahaha.  I would argue that his birthday more correctly falls on May Day (in the official calendar of My Brain it falls on Old May Day, 13 May, which obscure fact I learned from Mary Stewart’s Wildfire at Midnight).

 

At any rate, I thought I would make a few seasonal offerings to those of you who might enjoy such things. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!

 

First, The Rhymers’ Pageant revisited.  From the unpublished, unfinished and ALREADY FAR TOO LONG thing called The Sword Dance, which follows The Empty Kingdom.  No spoilers unless you count the fact that no one you are likely to care about has died.

----------------------------

"Oh, my father," Telemakos said, faltering, and dropped another quick kiss on the back of Medraut's scarred hand. "How may I heal you of this wound?"

Medraut tightened his grip around Telemakos's fingers, and let his mouth quirk into its ironic half-smile. "Are you a magician, then, like the sorcerous healer in the old Midwinter's rhyming?

"Is there a man so wise in art

That he can quicken fast the slain,

Defy the ordered seasons' course

And wake this youth to life again?"

Gwalchmei stood up. His own sword was still unsheathed in his hand. With deliberate care he tapped the blade of one of Telemakos's spears, lying on the floor at Medraut's feet. Medraut and Gwalchmei looked at each other and broke into sudden laughter. Then Medraut let go of Telemakos and picked up the spear.

"I am afraid we are not very well matched," Gwalchmei apologized.

"I won't hurt you," Medraut assured him, and his lilting voice carried the sting of mockery in it. "Let's play a show for Midwinter's Day."

He stood up and pulled one thin layer of his cotton shamma shawl over his face, tucking the edge beneath the wreath so that it held the gauze tight across his face like a shrouded corpse. The proud, high ridge of his nose and cheekbones gave shape to the mask, and he must have been able to see through it, but he had become featureless, inhuman.

"The northern dance, then, as the queen of the Orcades liked to see it. I never learned the one they did at Camlan."

"If we must," said Medraut coolly.

Never relaxing his grip on Telemakos's spear, with his other hand Medraut picked up the black granite stone that Turunesh had used to grind the roasted coffee beans. He held the stone before him on his open palm and spoke to Gwalchmei, still with the same low, lilting edge of challenge in his voice.

"Here is our hope, here is our bread,

the firm stone moving in its mill;

Who boldly dares my beat to break

and leave me lying still?"

Gwalchmei took a breath now. He pulled Grandfather's borrowed shamma up over his nose and mouth. He spoke hesitantly, pulling familiar words out of memory and putting them into an unfamiliar language.

"The harvest lord shall be cut down

with swords as sharp as scythes."

Gwalchmei paced a circle about Medraut, who faced him as he turned; they walked each other round.

"So he falls as the grain must fall

that the young corn may rise."

Athena shrieked as sword and stone and spear clashed together.  Telemakos stepped back quickly; sparks fell singing into the leaves on the floor. Fast and accurate, Gwalchmei and Medraut struck their weapons and the grindstone together trading blow for blow equally as they circled, with such effortless, practiced skill Telemakos was sure it was a ritual they had both danced many times before, though possibly not together.

"Circle him now, and dance the circle of the year!"

They spun away from each other. They circled each other back to back, and turned suddenly to crack their weapons together again. The spangled light that rasped off the black stone seemed to fly from Medraut's hand, and twinkled around their faceless heads.

They spun away once more. Gweir and Owain clapped time for them slowly, creating a rhythm to which all four British men began to chant. They spoke in unison now, in Latin, a low hum that was a litany of the northern seasons, the extreme year that Telemakos had never seen.

"Drink of the wellspring;

grind fine the meal;

harvest the fruit of the bending branch.

Cold strikes the blade of the frost.

 

Cup of spring

summer's stone

autumn branch

winter's sword

 

New life's cup

harvest mill

dying branch

blade of frost

 

Drink of the well's cup,

grind the meal.

Harvest the bending branch.

Cold strikes the frost's blade;

drink of the spring."

Medraut let stone and spear fall at his side and drop clattering to the floor. Gwalchmei still stood poised with his sword raised.

"Cold strikes the frost's blade," Gwalchmei said evenly, though the shining sword quivered as he spoke. He laid the flat of the blade on Medraut's shoulder. Then suddenly he slashed the sword away, as though he had delivered a killing blow. Medraut fell to one knee before him in formal surrender, as before a judge or executioner, with his head bowed and neck bared.

Gwalchmei, too, let his sword drop to the floor. It rang against the stone flags. He knelt by Medraut with his hands cupped together in offering.

"Drink of the spring," Gwalchmei whispered.

 

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And also, the poem that The Unwieldy Thing hinges on, which admirers of the Loathly Lady, in her various forms, may appreciate.  (Apologies for repetition, to anybody who heard me reading this at Readercon last summer.)

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Three red apples on a tree

and every fruit belongs to me,

determination made them mine.

Three red fish strung on a line,

each one bigger than its mother,

lured to my hook and no other.

Three red cattle on a hill,

mine by dint of strength and will,

and in the hollow by the stream,

built of stone and oak tree beam,

a home to hoard the wealth I hold.

 

Comes a girl more rare than gold--

no apple’s skin more smooth, more sweet,

swifter than leaping fish her feet,

her wit more sharp than cattle’s horn,

her glance more bright than rising morn,

her mouth more quenching than the river.

 

All my domain I have to give her.

 

But scorns she all a man might wish--

scorns stronghold, cattle, apples, fish,

she scorns my wealth, my bed, my fire--
freedom her one, her whole desire.

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Enjoy the dark season, the cold season.  And if you're lucky enough to live near the equator or in the southern hemisphere, ENJOY THE LIGHT.
"Listen.  All the long echoes sing the same delight this shortest day."
(--Susan Cooper for The Revels)
 
ETA: this morning it is so foggy we can't see Kinnoull Hill a mile across the valley and *everything* is covered in hoar frost.  Every now and then a few flakes of snow drift down.  It is the first we have had any winter weather at all and it is *perfect*. (The hoar frost is spectacular.)



our front garden



view from the attic

Comments

[mhari.livejournal.com]

*fangirls all over the place*

(And yes, I know-- I had a brain fart when setting the account up. *shifty eyes* Besides, it makes more sense to me somehow.)

[ewein2412]

well, I can totally see your point.

[sovay]

on Old May Day, 13 May, which obscure fact I learned from Mary Stewart’s Wildfire at Midnight

Entirely unrelated to the solstice, but to all things Mary Stewart: am I the only person who has ever wanted to see Derek Jacobi play Sir Julian Gale (This Rough Magic)?

(Apologies for repetition, to anybody who heard me reading this at Readercon last summer.)

No apologies. Prrrr.

Have a beautiful winter.

[ewein2412]

if I had *known* Derek Jacobi was playing in This Rough Magic I would have been the first in line. But I always miss these things. (I really wanted to see Anthony Andrews in My Fair Lady, too. Or maybe it was Pygmalion? can't remember. anyway, I missed it.)

and a lovely winter to you too!

[sovay]

if I had *known* Derek Jacobi was playing in This Rough Magic I would have been the first in line.

Don't worry—I don't know that he ever has. I just wish he would!

[ewein2412]

ha! yes.

[tiboribi.livejournal.com]

That is a beautiful piece. And your winter weather looks so perfect and unspoiled.

I love winter.

[marguerlucy.livejournal.com]

thanks for the excerpt - and the GORGEOUS photos of your home!! wow.

[ashfae.livejournal.com]

Wheeeee! Oh, thank you, that was gorgeous! Especially the poem. =)

A query though: I thought I was familliar with most of Susan Cooper's work, but I've never heard of The Revels. What is it?

[ewein2412]

this explains it better than I could.

I went to one of their Christmas productions in Boston in the early 80s. They do wonderful seasonal recordings.

[marguerlucy.livejournal.com]

i just put the second photo as my desktop background!

[ewein2412]

you wanna-be stalker you! (I am flattered)

[rachelmanija.livejournal.com]

Thank you for the gorgeous prose, poetry, and photos!

[ewein2412]

my pleasure as usual!

[meener.livejournal.com]

if i could respond to this post with a gigantic HEART, i would. i love especially the poem, its rhythm and build-up of repetition.

all i've been seeing here on the east coast is rain, rain, and more rain. *cries* i've always thought that snow was the perfect backdrop to a long, lazy afternoon of reading.

[ewein2412]

unfortunately long, lazy afternoons of reading are very few & far between right now. Yesterday was wonderful, though. Wish I had time to write about it. At the end of the ballet they had snow (it looked like snow, but it was some kind of foam) falling all over the audience and when we stepped out into the street it really was snowing. *perfect*

also we went ice skating at the frost fair and rode on loads of rides--a very busy and glittering midwinter's celebration. A bit like being in downtown New York at this time of year only this was downtown Edinburgh, so a very different flavor.

[ewein2412]

you're welcome! yes, it is beautiful here, but awfully cold and dark sometimes.

[hirnverbrannt.livejournal.com]

that was all absolutely beautiful. Thank you for your wonderful gifts for mid winter!

Whooo! Have a great christmas tomorrow!

[ewein2412]

you're welcome! thank you for the good wishes and the same to you for the new year!

[rainbowjehan.livejournal.com]

*squiggles helplessly and happily*