Welcome to Pagan Children Stories! Here you will find a wonderful grouping of stories for you and your little witchlets. Check back often as we will be adding a great deal more to this section!
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You've heard of Mother Berhta, right? Every year, during the season of Yule, there she is, leering from every billboard and greeting card, riding her goat Gnasher Skeggi with greasy old sack slung over her shoulder, brimming with wonderful presents. But it could be filled instead with squirming, cauldron-bound children. With Mother Berhta, you can never tell for sure.
Oh, I've heard about the old days, before Berhta made it big. Pagan households were few and far between in those times. Berhta was not a baby-napper back then.
Back in the old days, too, the days would grow cold and the nights would grow long, and suddenly it would be Mother Night, the night that gives birth to the rest of the year - also know as Midwinter's Eve, the longest night of all. From out of the darkness, you would hear the sound of bells, which meant You Know Who was coming. And sure enough, soon there'd be a pounding on the door to make the windows rattle, the door would fly open, and in would stride Mother Berhta, like an indoor blizzard.
"Good Yule, you Yule-time fools!" she hollers, dropping the goatskin sack on the floor, and dragging out the feast. And oh, what a feast! Roast goose stuffed with chestnuts, turkey with wild rice dressing, plum puddings, cranberries, pizza - whatever it is that you most like to eat. Berhta brings more food than anyone can eat in all thirteen nights of Yule, much less one sitting.
Then, with an ear-to-ear grin, old Mother B holler, "Come 'ere ya old goat!" and Gnasher Skeggi prances innocently. Berhta then grabs him by the forelock and pulls his head back, and pht! The athame flashes and the goat's throat is cut, neat as you please! Mother Berhta is not a goddess for the faint=hearted. In a jiffy, she guts him and skins him and chops him into little pieces to throw in the cauldron with some onion, a little garlic, some sage, a pinch of rosemary. Et voila! Goat stew!
And just as everyone sits down to eat, Mother Berhta tosses her old goatskin sack down on the floor right next to the table, yelling: "Throw the bones in here and don't break any!"
Of course as we eat we are careful to do just as she asked. When the feast is over, Berhta grabs the sack and gives it a shake, and in a voice to wake the dead she bellows, "Come on out, you old goat!" and sure enough, out capers Gnasher Skeggi, just as raunchy and as randy as ever. Mother Berhta slings the sack over her shoulder, hops up onto Skeggi's back, and off she goes.
And don't forget the presents. Along with the feast out of her sack come presents like you've never seen before, in all shapes, colors, sizes, and styles.
Of course, it went this way for I don't know how many years, until one day everything changed. A little boy, whose name I'm afraid nobody remembers anymore, broke on e of the bones when throwing it back into Berhta's sack. So when Berhta gave the sack a big shake and hollered, "Come on out, you old goat!" Out hobbled poor old Gnasher Skeggi on three legs, looking not at all happy.
Well! In all those years of Berhta, nobody had ever seen her quite as angry as this. "you imbeciles!" She yelled. "Now I'll have to carry my goat instead of riding him!" - which, of course, is where that expression comes from, if you've ever heard it before.
Before anybody realized what was happening, Berhta had grabbed the little bone-breaker by the scruff of his neck and stuffed him into her sack just like that. Then, slinging the sack over one shoulder and Skeggi over the other, she tromped out into the dark. I'm sure I don't need to tell ou that nobody ever saw that little boy again. And now, on midwinter's eve, when the door flies open and Mother Berhta comes storming into your living room, you never know for sure whether she's going to dump gifts out of her sack - or stuff little kids in!
In another time, in a place far from where we sit, a traveler walked the paths of the earth. He moved from one place to another ... never staying long and never leaving a village, or her people, unchanged.
You see, he gathered wisdom and knowledge. Sometimes the traveler would learn from the elderly and sometimes from the babes ... sometimes from the mother worried about her household and sometimes from the warrior fresh from battle. Each had their story and the traveler always quietly listened.
With calm suggestions and stories of the gods and other places, the traveler managed to plant seeds of new wisdom.
One day, his travels took him through a land almost barren. The trees were twisted and showed little sign of bearing fruit. The land was brown with just a few stalks of grain standing upright.
The traveler paused, gazing about him, shaking his head. The sky was clear ... a river ran pure and strong. The feeling here was bleak ... but it also felt like something done by man.
A short walk away was a small village. The stone buildings were as poorly kept as the land.
What could the problem be?
A glance at the sky revealed it was towards midday, and the traveler stepped up to knock at a closed and shuttered door. Perhaps over a meal, he could find out what had happen in this place.
"GO AWAY!"
The traveler started to hear such harsh tones in answer to a simple knock. "I am a simple traveler and I was wondering if you might have some bread and ale to spare. I can pay for what I eat...."
A small viewing window in the door opened and a woman peered out. "Stranger, I have enough for my own family, and none to spare. So begone!" The peephole slammed shut.
This was indeed strange, since most people were eager for coin and any news a stranger might bring.
After getting the same response to several more knocks, the traveler paused to think about what to do. Finally, he began to smile.
Pulling the hood of his cloak forward to shade his face, he started to collect wood from the ground. Building a small fire in the middle of the village square, a pot was filled with water and set to heat.
Feeling people watching from the windows around him, the traveler took out two stones. One was the darkest black and the other purest white. With a smile, he dropped them into the pot.
Next went two pieces of bone ... bone so old that the edges were dry and splintered.
Humming a merry song, he started to stir the mixture ... and waited.
Slowly ... very slowly ... people began to leave the buildings and walked towards the stranger and his fire.
"Hey! What do you think you are doin'?" one man demanded.
An elderly man leaned over the pot, balancing on his stick. "Stones and bones?!" his high voice asked. "You can't make soup out of those! Any fool knows that well!"
A small boy settled down at the traveler's side, smiling up at the stranger. "How wonderful! I never heard of stone and bone soup before!"
Sparing a smile for the boy, the traveler looked out at the villagers with a very bland look. "Then I must be a fool, for I am making such a soup." He stirred it again, paused for a taste. "In some places that I have traveled, stone soup is quite a tasty dish." Satisfied with the taste, the traveler continued to stir the water. "Tell me.... What happened to this place? The fields are barren and the people unfriendly."
In the uproar that followed, it was hard to weed out the facts. The tale of feuds and hoarding and unneighborly behavior had the traveler sighing. He tasted the 'broth' again, and again sighed. "If only I had some potatoes," he stated. "With potatoes, this would be fit for a king!"
The boy tugged at the stranger's clothing. "Swen has potatoes. I know he does. He brags about it."
All eyes went to the one named Swen. Swen turned a bright red. "Yes, I do, but my family..... " The eyes stayed on him and finally, he shrugged sheepishly. "I will fetch some potatoes...."
Cut up, the potatoes were a wonderful addition to the soup, but soon the traveler was looking wistful. "If I only had some onions... Can you just imagine what flavour they would add?"
A stout housewife smiled. "I have a few onions ... just a moment!" She hurried away and returned with an armful of onions. "Here ye go!"
The onions were quickly added, as were carrots, leeks, dried meat, and milk. Each time the traveler mentioned a food, the boy whispered who had hidden hoards of the food. Finally with a dusting of salt and spices, the traveler declared that the soup was done.
"Of course, soup is only part of a meal .... It takes bread and ale to fill it out," the traveler proclaimed. "And of course, good company. Go ... bring your families and bread and drink ... and we will feast together!"
The villagers looked around at each other, then shyly smiled. Nodding their agreement, they left to gather together their families. Soon only the young boy was left at the stranger's side.
Peering up, the boy asked a question that was bothering him. "It is such a small kettle .... How will it be enough to feed the whole village?"
The traveler chuckled, then laughed. "Small one ... trust in the gods and in miracles." Laughter continued to dance in the stranger's one eye. "Everyone will be fed."
And so it was. The soup was shared and pronounced excellent. Ale flowed into each cup and there was plenty of bread.
When everyone was full and feeling merry, the traveler stood. "I must leave you now, even though you have fine ale. But think on this after I depart....
Together we made a good soup. Just think what else you could gain by being one people! Look around you ... do you wish to go on like this? Or by each of you contributing what you can make this village a happy place to live."
There was a silence as his words fell into their hearts. With a final grin for the young boy, the traveler strode away and was soon out of sight.
The villagers took his words to heart and the small community became a fine place to live.
About 400 years ago, along the coast of Big Sur, California, lived a young Indian maiden whose name ws Monacca. Monacca's family belonged to the Esselen tribe, who considered the coast of Big Sur thier homeland. During the day, members of Monacca's tribe would hunt sea otter for food and fur along the rocky shoreline. At night, they returned to themighty Redwood forests where they lived.
The Redwood trees were majestic. Their massive cinnamon-brown trunks and verdant green needles dominated the forest. Only the luckiest of sun rays could reach the forest floor because the groves were so dense. Monacca's grandmother told her the Redwoods were very wise and had seen many things during their long lives.
Near Monacca's home grew a very special redwood tree. Its branches and needles were pure white instead of green. The leaders of the tribe said the tree was special because it was different, and treated the Redwood with great respect. They also said that on a moonlit night, the glow of the albino redwood could be seen from the heavens.
One late summer afternoon, Monacca was picking sweet berries for her mother. many of the berries had already been harvested throughout the summer. Because there were so few berries along the creek, Monacca decided to go deeper into the forest.
Monacca's family had often warned her about wandering too far from home, that the forest could be too much of a challenge for a lost girl. But Monacca carefully looked at her surroundings, memorizing certain rocks and trees as landmarks, just in case she lost her way. She even made some trail markers pointing toward home. Confident she had taken every precaution, Monacca set out to fill her basket with spring berries.
The redwood groves were like giant umbrellas keeping the heat of late summer out. It was difficult to know what time of day it was in the forest because the sun was always blocked out by the taller trees. By the time Monacca reached the spring berries it was later than she thought. She knew there was no time to waste because it would soon be too dark to see her markers. She quickly filled her basket to the rim and started down the trail, but she was too late. The forest was almost pitch black.
Monacca shivered when she thought about the forest animals that ate the berries and hoped they did not care for little girls. Monacca could hear twigs snapping and night critters prowling about, owls hooting and leaves rustling, but she could not see a thing. she wished she had taken her family's warning about wandering off more seriously.
As the hours passed, Monacca thought about her mother and father an how much she missed them. She remembered the stories the elders would tell around the night fires. She filled her mind with these stories so she would not think about the scary sound all around her. As Monacca thought about the legends, a full harvest moon was rising above the valley floor. It illuminated a nearby ridge that stood high over the forest. The moonglow reminded Monacca of the story of the albino redwood and how it could be seen from the tallest of mountains, even from the heavens on a moonlit night.
This gave Monacca an idea. If the sacred tree could be seen from the heavens, surely it could be seen from the ridge, and the tree was right by her home. Monacca quickly hiked toward the ridge. The moon was so bright once she got above the treeline that she could see reasonably well. With hope in her heart, she climbed to the top.
When Monacca reached the summit of the ridge and looked down on the valley floor she saw one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen. In the distance, a shimmering tower of silver seemed to be dancing with the moonbeams. It was the albino redwood, piercing the darkness of the forest like a dagger of light, illuminating the way home. Monacca smiled for the first time that night. Soon she would be with her family.
By following the top of the ridge and using the white redwood as a landmark, Monacca finally found herself above the night fires of her community. All she had to do now was follow the sparks and flicker through the forest, and she would finally be safe at home.
When Monacca's family saw her, they cried tears of joy. They knew the dangers of the forest and had feared the worst. Monacca told everyone how she became lost and how the albino redwood guided her back to safety. She also said how sorry she was for worrying her family.
Monacca's adventure had made her very tired. There were only a few hours until the sun came up. so she lay down on her bed and fell asleep quickly. In her dreams she knew and sang melodies that belonged to the windsongs that whistled through the branches of the mighty white redwood. From that night on, Monacca understood the specialness of the albino redwood and treated the tree with the respect it deserved.
A group of little faeries huddled in their home deep under the roots of a giant oak tree. They were safe and snug in their tiny underground cave lined with dandelion fluff, bird feathers, and dried moss. Outside, the wind blew cold and the snow fell softly down to cover the gournd.
"I saw the Sun King today," the faery named Rose said as she pulled her mossy cloak tighter around her. "He looked so old and tired as he walked off through the forest. What is wrong with him?"
"The great oak said he's dying," answered Daffodil.
"Dying? Oh, what will we do now?" Little Meadow-Grass started to cry. "If the Sun King dies, our little plant-friends will not grow. The birds will not come and sing again. Everything will be winter forever!"
Lilac, Dandelion, and Elder Blossom tried to comfort their friend, but they were all very sad. As they huddled together, there was a knock on the tiny door.
"Open up, fairies," called out a loud voice. "Why are you hiding instead of joining us in our Solstice celebration?"
Rose opened the door and the little gnome Brown Knobby pushed inside, shaking the glistening snowflakes off his brown coat and hat.
"We are too sad to celebrate," Daffodil said, wiping her eyes. "The Sun King is dying. Haven't you heard?"
"He's dead, you silly faeries." Brown Knobby's round dark eyes sparkled with laughter. "Now hurry, or we'll be late for the celebration."
"How can you be happy and laughing!" Elder Blossom stomped her little foot and frowned at the gnome. "If the Sun King is dead, it will be winter always. We will never see the Sun again."
"Silly little child-faeries." Brown Knobby grabbed Dandelion by the hand and pulled her to her feet. "There is a secret to the Winter Solstice. Don't you want to know what it is?"
The faeries looked at him in surprise. "Secret?" the all said. "What secret? We are only new little faeries, you silly gnome. We've never been to a Solstice celebration before."
"Come and see. Come and see. Get your capes and come with me." Brown Knobby danced and jigged around the room. "Hurry, hurry, don't be slow! To the sacred grove through the snow!" He danced out of the door and disappeared.
"What did that gnome mean?" Rose asked as she gathered up her cloak of dried rose petals held together with cobwebs and lined with goose down.
"I don't know, but the Lady lives in the sacred grove." Meadow-Grass pulled on her hat. "Perhaps if we go to see the Goddess, She can explain what Brown Knobby was talking about."
The faeries left their snug little home and trudged off through the snow toward the sacred oak grove. The forest was dark with only the light of the Moon shining down through the thick fir branches and bare limbs of maple and hawthorn. It was very difficult for them to get through the snow because they were very, very small. As they waded through the wet snow and shivered in the cold wind, they met a fox.
"Where are you going, faeries?" the fox asked.
"To the sacred grove," they answered. They were cold and shivering.
"Climb on my back and I will take you there swiftly." The fox knelt down so the faeries could climb up. Then he raced off through the dark.
"Listen!" Lilac said as they neared the grove of sacred trees. "Someone is singing happy songs. A lot of someones."
The beautiful music carried over the cold, still, moonlit air. It was the most beautiful music the faeries had ever heard. The fox carried the faeries right to the edge of the stone altar in the center of the grove, then knelt down.
"Look!" said Elder Blossom as they slid to the snow-covered ground. "There is the Maiden and the Mother and the Old Wise One. And many other Little People."
"They are all smiling and happy," said Lilac as she looked around at all the creatures.
"All the animals are here, too," whispered Dandelion. "Why are they all looking at the Mother?"
The faeries moved closer to the three Ladies seated on the altar stone. The Mother held a bundle close in her arms, smiling down at it . The Maiden reached down and took the faeries gently in Her hands. She held them close to the Mother so they could see what She held.
"A baby!" the faeries cried. "A new little baby! Look how he glows!"
"He is the newborn Sun King," said the Maiden smiling.
"But brown Knobby and the old oak tree said the Sun King was dead," the fairies answered Her. "How can this little baby be the Sun King?"
"That is the secret of the Winter Solstice." the Old Wise One gently touched the baby's cheek with Her wrinkled hand. "Every year the old Sun King must come to the sacred grove during the darkest days of winter where he dies. I take his spirit to the Mother who gives him new life again. This is the way of life for all creatures, not just the Sun King."
"You mean everything lives and dies and lives again?" The faeries looked down in wonder at the baby Sun King, nestled in the arms of the Mother.
"Yes, Little Ones," answered the Old Wise One. "There is never an end to life. This is the great mystical secret of the Winter Solstice."
The faeries laughed because they were so happy.
"I think the little Sun King should have gifts," said Rose. "I will show him where the wild roses bloom in the early summer."
"And I will teach him to call the birds and listen to the songs of the wind," exclaimed Dandelion.
"When he is older and stronger," said the Mother, "then the flowers will bloom at his touch, the birds will return to sing their songs, the air will be warm from his breath, and winter will be gone for a time. Then the Sun King will run and play with you in the forest."
The little faeries sang to the baby Sun King, songs of the coming spring, the sweet-smelling flowers, the bumbling bees, and all the secrets of the forest. And all the creatures within the sacred grove sang with them.
Then the fox took them back to their snug home under the roots of the giant oak tree where they dreamed wonderful dreams, waiting for the warmth of spring and the fun they would have with the little Sun King.
Siberian shamans believe that stars are the "windows of the world." these are sky openings which provide air for the various celestial bodies. The Milky Way is one such "hole" of light. So, when the norther lights shimmer across the blackened sky, this Siberian folktale of how the milky way came into being is often told.
There was once a Saami maid who ran very fast. many youths came courting, but she would run into the forest and no one could catch her. Yet there was one boy who was sure he could catch her and made up his mind to marry her.
When he came calling, she ran into the forest as usual, and he gave chase. This time, the chase continued through the forest and across the plain. realizing that she was harder to catch than he thought, he forced the maid to run uphill. The maid reached the tip and disappeared into a dark puff of cloud.
The young man lay on the frozen ground, his energy spent. When the maid saw that he was helpless, her fear turned into pity and she came out of her cloud to tend him.
"What can I bring you?" she asked.
"Water," he replied with rasping breath.
There was no water on the hill, so the maid thought to revive him by squeezing several drops of breastmilk onto his lips. But the wind spread the milk across the sky and covered the maid also, turning her into a silver block of ice.
When the youth opened his eyes, he saw the maid standing over him. She was as beautiful, graceful and bright as always, but solid as stone. Sad and confused, he returned to his village and there passed the days until his heart broke. You can still see the Silver Maid mirrored in the cold night sky and her mild splashed by the wind across the Milky Way.
The winter snows still lay thick over the frozen ground and the cold wind whistled through the bare limbs of the trees. Even the new Sun felt cold to the little birds, who huddled together in the trees to stay warm.
"The wizard isn't awake yet, is he?" asked a tiny chickadee.
"No, the door to his house is still closed." A bluejay cocked her head and stared down at the little hill in the meadow below. "I haven't seen so much as a hair of his beard at the window either."
"I wish the Maiden would awake. Then we would know spring will soon arrive." The chickadee fluffed his feathers as he looked off across the snow-covered fields.
A gray squirrel suddenly poked his head out of a hole in the tree and chattered at the birds in a grumbling voice." What is all the noise out here?" he asked. "I'm trying to sleep, you silly birds!"
"The wizard is still asleep, and the Maiden hasn't awakened yet," the chickadees answered all at one time. "Perhaps there will be no spring this year." The bluejay flew to a limb nearer the squirrel and looked at him with her black eyes.
"Nonsense," the squirrel answered as he squeezed out of his hole to sit on the bare branch. "Spring always comes." He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then fluffed his tail with his paws.
"We're so hungry," chirped the chickadees. "If the Maiden does not wake up soon, we will starve." The squirrel cocked his head, listening for the sweet song of the Maiden as She calls everything in the forest to begin waking up. He heard nothing but the whistle of the cold wind and the rattle of the bare tree branches.
"This is the right time of year for the Maiden to wake and the young Sun King to dance through our forest," the squirrel said. He scratched his head as he thought. "I'll go wake the wizard and ask him if he knows why the maiden still sleeps."
The squirrel dashed down the tree trunk and jumped out across the snow. In long leaps he ran across the ground until he reched the rocks surrounding the hidden door to the wizard's home. He stopped and listened, but he heard no movement within the hill-house.
"Wake up! Wake up wizard!" The squirrel pounded on the door. "Sleepy old wizard," he grumbled to himself. "We need your help." He pounded again on the door with both paws.
Green Leaf, the little gnome wizard, stirred restlessly in his downy bed. Someone was pounding on his door, making a terrible racket that echoed through the rooms and halls of his snug little hill-house. He opened one eye and looked around the room.
One beam of pale sunlight crept through a crack in the shutters and lit up the face of the strange clock beside the wizard's bed. Instead of hours and minutes, the clock face had the names of the seasonal festivals: Imbolc, Spring Equinox, Beltane, Summer Solstice, Lunasad, Autumn Equinox, Samhain, and Winter Solstice.
Green Leaf yawned, then opened both eyes to stare at the clock. "It's Imbolc!" he said as he sat up suddenly in bed. "I've overslept. Oh my, oh my."
The little gnome wizard scrambled out of his warm nest of blankets and hurriedly dressed. The pounding on his door kept banging through the hill-house.
"I'm coming," Green Leaf shouted as he hopped toward the door, pulling on his boots. He fumbled with the lock, finally opening the little door.
"The Maiden is still asleep!" exclaimed the squirrel. "There are no lambs in the fields! The young Sun King hasn't arrived! Hurry wizard, hurry!"
Green Leaf sighed as he put on his heavy green cloak and his tall pointed red hat. With his wooden staff in one hand, he trudged out into the snow and headed for the thickest part of the forest. Soon he was deep inside the bare tree trunks and snow-covered firs and pines.
"I wish the Maiden would sleep in the same place each year." he grumbled, but he knew She didn't. It was his job each Imbolc to find Her sleeping place and wait there until the young Sun King arrived.
Green Leaf searched and searched for the sleeping Maiden until at last he found Her curled up in the shelter of a hawthorn thicket. She looked so beautiful, Her long hair falling down over Her arms, that Green Leaf couldn't be grumpy anymore. he smiled, then raised his arms and began to sing his Imbolc greeting to the Sun King.
The forest suddenly lit up with brilliant sunbeams as the young Sun King danced through the trees toward the gnome. The glow about Him was so bright that Green Leaf had to squint his eyes to see.
"Blessed Imbolc, Green Leaf." The deep voice and loving smile of the Sun King warmed the little gnome wizard. "Blessed Imbolc, Lord," Green Leaf answered as he bowed to the Sun King. "I thought I was late."
"No, my little friend. Everything in this world knows when Imbolc comes, all the animals and plants and even gnomes." The Sun King's smile lit up the trees around them. "Awake, my Lady," He said as He knelt to kiss the sleeping Maiden.
The Maiden sat up, stretched Her arms, and smiled. "It is time for all the world to wake," She said, and the Sun King nodded as He helped her to her feet. They went off together through the forest, dancing to awaken the life-energy of the Earth.
As Green Leaf trudged back through the snow to his hill-home, he could still hear the wake-up song of the Maiden and feel it spreading out through the world. Around him, the life-energy in the trees began to stir. Deep in the ground he could feel the little burrowing creatures starting to wake from their winter sleep. The gnome wizard crossed the meadow where the sheep were and found the first of the newborn wobbly-legged spring lambs blinking in the sunlight.
"Welcome to the world," Green Leaf said to the little lamb. "Soon everything will be wide awake and growing. The grass will be sweet and green, and you will have other little lambs to play with." The lamb and its mother looked at the gnome wizard and blinked their eyes.
"Yes, the life-energy from the Maiden is once more running through the world, making everything new," Green Leaf said as he tramped down the path to his house. Suddenly, he felt the energy flowing through his own body. He leaped into the air and clicked his heels together in joy. "The Maiden is awake!" he shouted to the squirrel and the birds waiting for him near his door.
Green Leaf went back inside his hill-house and hung up his cloak and hat. "Now I am going to have a cup of tea, then go back to bed and have a nap until Spring Equinox." And that little gnome wizard did just that.
The night was very dark, with a Full Moon hanging in the cloud-filed sky above. The air was crisp with the feel of late Autumn and the doorway between the worlds was wide open. Carved pumpkins sat on the porches of the houses in the little town, and the laughter of children dressed in costumes could be heard from the streets.
It was a sad time for Beth as she climbed the little hill behind her house. In her arms was her cat and friend Smoky, carefully wrapped in his favorite blanket. A little grave was already dug on the hill, waiting, for Smoky had died that day.
"Do you want me to go with you?" Beth's father had asked. "I dug his grave beside MacDougal's at the top of the hill." Beth clearly remembered when their dog MacDougal had died after being hit by a car.
"No, I want to go by myself," she answered.
Beth stopped at the top of the hill and knelt beside the little grave. She carefully laid Smoky's blanket-wrapped form in the earth and covered it with dirt, laying several large rocks on the top. Then she cried and cried.
"Oh, Smoky, I miss you so much!" Beth looked up at the Moon, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why did you die?"
"It was time to rejoin the Mother," said a deep, gentle voice in the darkness.
"Who said that?" Beth looked around but saw no one.
"Ding is part of the cycle of life, you know." One of the boulders on the hill stirred to life.
"Who are you?" The moonlight shone down on the little woman, and Beth could see she was not human.
"I'm a troll-wife," said the creature as she came to sit across from Beth. "This is a sad night for both of us, girl. I, too, came to this hill to bury a friend." The troll-wife wiped a crystal tear from her cheek. "The squirrel was very old. Still it makes me sad."
Beth stared at the troll-wife. The little woman was the color of rock in the moonlight, her hair like long strands of dried moss, her bright eyes like shining crystals. She wore a dress woven of oak leaves and tree bark.
"The squirrel and I lived together for a long time." the troll-wife said. "We often talked to your cat when he was hunting here on the hill. Smoky and I were friends. I shall miss him, too." The little woman patted Smoky's grave gently. "Sleep well, little friend. When you are rested, we shall talk together again."
"But he's dead," Beth said, her voice choked with tears.
"Child, this is Samhain. Don't you know the ancient secrets of this sacred time of year?" The troll-wife motioned for Beth to come and sit beside her. "It is true that our friends have gone into a world where we can no longer physically touch them, but the Mother has given us other ways of communicating with them. We can do this any time, but the time of Samhain is the easiest."
"I don't understand how this can be done," Beth said, "or why Samhain makes it easier."
"At this time of year," the troll-wife answered, "the walls between this world and the world of souls and spirits is very thin. If we are quiet and listen, we can hear our loved ones and they can hear us. We talk, not with spoken words, but with the heart and mind."
"Isn't that just imagination?" Beth looked down at Smoky's grave, tears once more coming into her eyes. "Like my thinking I can feel MacDougal get up on my bed at night like he used to?"
"Sometimes it is, but mostly it is not imagination, only our friends come to see us in their spirit bodies." The troll-wife reached up her hand and patted something Beth couldn't see on her shoulder. "Like my friend the raven. He is here now."
Beth looked hard and saw a thin form of hazy moonlight on the troll-wife's shoulder. "I've seen something like that at the foot of my bed where MacDougal used to sleep," she whispered. "I thought I was dreaming." She jumped as something nudged her arm. When she looked down, nothing was there.
The troll-wife smiled. "Close your eyes and think of MacDougal," she said. "He has been waiting a long time for you to see him."
Beth closed her eyes ad, at once, the form of her little dog came into her mind. His tail wagged with happiness. She felt a wave of love come from him, and she sent her love back. Then she felt the little dog lie down against her leg.
"Can I do this with Smoky?" Beth asked.
"Not yet," the troll-wife answered. "He needs to sleep a while and rest. Then he will come to you. This gives Smoky time to adjust to his new world and you time to grieve for him. It is not wrong to grieve, but we must not grieve forever."
"I never thought of it that way," Beth said. "It's kind of like they moved away, and we can only talk to them on the phone."
"It is this way with all creatures, not just animals." The troll-wife stood up and held out a hand to Beth. "Will you join me, human girl? Although I buried my friend squirrel this night, I still must dance and sing to al my friends and ancestors who have gone on their journey into the other world. For this is a time to honor the ancestors."
Beth joined the troll-wife in the ancient slow troll dances around the top of the little hill in the moonlight. She watched quietly while the troll-wife called out troll-words to the four directions, words Beth couldn't understand. Deep in her heart the girl felt the power of the strange words and knew they were given in honor and love by the little troll-wife.
When the troll-wife was finished with her ritual, she hugged Beth. "Go in peace, human child," she said. "And remember what I have told you about the ancient secret of Samhain."
"I will," Beth answered. "Will I ever see you again?"
"Whenever the Moon is Full, I will be here," the little troll-wife said." And especially at Samhain."
"I wish I had something to give you." Beth hugged the little woman. "You have taught me so much." She felt the tears come to her eyes again.
"Let's exchange tears for our lost friends." The troll-wife reached up a rough finger and caught a tear as it fell from Beth's eye. The tear glistened on her finger. The troll-wife gently touched her finger to her cloak, and Beth's tear shone there like a diamond in the moonlight.
Beth reached up carefully and caught one of the troll-wife's tears as it slid down her rough cheek. It turned into a real crystal in her hand.
"Remember the secret of Samhain, and remember me," the troll-wife said softly as she disappeared into the darkness. Beth walked back down the hill, the crystal clutched in her hand. Her father was waiting for her on the porch.
"Are you all right?" her father asked as he gave Beth a hug.
"I will be," she answered. She opened her hand under the porch light and saw a perfect, tear-shaped crystal lying there.
"Did you find something?" her father asked.
"A troll-tear," Beth answered, and her father smiled. For he also knew the little troll-wife and the secret of Samhain.
It just so happens that a long time ago, the Moon used to come down to Earth and bathe in the water. Now, the Moon sometimes wears a long dark veil, but underneath She shines silver. (In fact, when She wears Her veil, if you look in just the right place you can see Her as She sneaks across the sky! I swear!) Anyway, She would come down to bathe and splash in the water, and just generally have fun.
Now, the Sun was out wandering around, playing with the shadows He cast, and He had wound Himself in a cloud to muffle His light. He was just about to take off the cloud robe, when He heard a splashing. He got curious and decided to sneak closer, to see what was making the noise. Then, He saw the Moon! She had taken off Her black veil, and She was shining bright silver. The Sun just stared. She was so beautiful! The mottled darker patterns on Her skin reminded Him of the shadows He loved to make by shining on something Himself, and Her shape was perfect and round. Before He even knew it, the Sun had fallen head-over-heels in love!
He was so much in love that He let the cloud veil slip! His light shone out, and the Moon looked up. For a moment, She was startled. But She saw the Sun, and She was amazed. He was so strong! She couldn't look at Him for too long without hurting Her eyes, and when She looked away She discovered something else even MORE startling: when She looked away, His image followed! It seemed everywhere She looked, there He was.
At first, this scared Her, and She darted away, grabbing up Her veil as She went. She tried to run fast, all wound up in the black stuff, but She just couldn't! The Sun stood dismayed, and then called out. "Wait! Pretty one, I mean you no harm! Please, don't run away!" And He started to follow her, meaning to apologize and actually find out Her name.
Now, when the Moon heard the Sun's voice, She was less afraid. After all, She hadn't expected anyone to come up behind Her! She also knew She couldn't run for long with that big black veil around her. So She started to let some of it slip off Her shoulders. As She did, a bit of the brightness shone out, bright silver. She called back over Her shoulder, teasingly, "You have to catch me!" And as She ran She let more of the veil slip free, showing more and more of Her silvery brightness.
The Sun was relieved! This had turned into a game! So He ran as fast as He could, but He just couldn't catch Her. For the faster He ran, the more of the veil She let slip, and the faster She could run! He began to slow down, getting tired.
The Moon looked back, and saw that the Sun couldn't catch Her. So She slowed down to gather up Her veil. As She did, the Sun got closer...but less of Her brightness could be seen. He got closer and closer, until He had almost caught Her. He'd had a chance to rest, after all. Then She darted off again, laughing, and letting Her veil drop behind Her again. Once, She even dropped a piece of Her veil for the Sun to pick up!
They are still chasing each other, the Moon and the Sun. They love each other very much, and they LOVE their game of tag! And that is why when the Moon is at her brightest, the Sun is not in the sky. And when you can't see the Moon, you know She is close to the Sun.
Now, sometimes, the Moon gathers up Her veil to her as She runs, and veils Her brightness. She always does this when She is farthest from the Sun, so that He'll know that soon, He'll be able to get closer. We call that a Lunar eclipse. She dances with Her veil as She runs, almost like She's winking! And sometimes, even more rarely, the Sun lifts a piece of the Moon's veil to His face, just for a minute, to smell Her perfume. We call that a Solar eclipse.
The Celts were a race who lived in Britain long ago. This is a story that the British people used to tell long, long ago about a Goddess of the Celts, the Goddess Rhiannon.
Lord Pwyll was a powerful man who was a leader of the Celts thousands and thousands of years ago. One day he went up onto a hill which was supposed to be magickal. It was said that if you slept the night there you would see a fabulous thing. He camped on the hill with his men and put a sentry to guard them.
In the early morning a beautiful lady came riding along the path on a beautiful white horse. And this Lady was Rhiannon. The sentry called to Lord Pwyll who told him to run in front of Her horse and stop it. But by the time the man got to the path the Lady had already ridden past. Lord Pwyll was a bit cross with the man.
The next night they camped again and again at dawn the beautiful Lady came riding on her white horse. Lord Pwyll ordered one of his men to mount his horse and stop Rhiannon. The man rode after Rhiannon but could not catch Her. If he rode fast then She rode fast too. If he slowed down then She slowed down too, always remaining the exact same distance ahead. The man came back to Lord Pwyll and told him it was impossible for him to catch Her.
On the third day Rhiannon came by again. This time Lord Pwyll had his own horse ready. It was the finest and fastest horse in the land. There was no way she would get away from him, he was sure. He jumped on his horse and rode after Rhiannon. But he too could not catch her. Again She stayed just the same distance ahead of him. They rode over the hills and through the valleys. He never cought Her up. When he went slow, She too went slow. When he rode fast, she too rode fast, always staying the same distance in front. Lord Pwyll dug in his spurs. Faster and faster they went. Finally his horse could run no more and it stopped. It was sweating and bleeding from Pwyll's spurs. Yet Rhiannon's horse was not tired at all. Lord Pwyll jumped off his horse and fell to his knees, calling out: "Lady! For the sake of the one you love please stop." Rhiannon answered "I will gladly stop. And it would have been better for your horse if you had asked me sooner."
And the moral of this story? In love as in all things, you would be better to ask than to try to take.
taken from the CD 'This Winter's Night' by Mother Tongue
Have you ever wondered why there's so much singing at Christmas? This is the story of the very first song. It's a true story just as all stories are, if you believe in them
This story begins a long long time ago when Earth and Sun made the first beings. -- the very first plants and animals and people.
It was springtime and the Sun shone warm and bright from His high perch above, and Earth, proud mother that She was, held and fed Her newborns and relished them with tenderness and love.
It was a time of joy, it was a time of great delight. The Moon waxed and waned time and again in the night sky, and the children of the Earth grew well and strong through Summertime. They played and danced and Earth and Sun watched over them.
Then Autumn came, and the Earth began to sleep much longer every day. She grew tired and pale. She could no longer feed Her children and had no strength to make new life. High above the Sun grew more distant and took longer to return each morning. The nights grew longer and cold winds blew where none had blown before.
And then, one day, Earth went to sleep and never did wake up. She wrapped Herself in a blanket of snow and rested Her tired head on pillows of dried leaves and She did not wake up. Her children could do nothing to rouse Her from her slumber. They prodded Her, they called Her, but She would not awaken.
In the sky, the Sun was nowhere to be seen and the children of the Earth felt fear and also felt despair. This was the longest night that they had ever known. "What shall become of us" they pondered. "Earth Mother sleeps, and Father Sun is oh so far away that we can barely see Him in the sky. He is much too far to hear our call. What shall we do?"
So they brought their questions and their fears to the Moon, the sister of the Sun, for they knew not where else to turn. She closed Her eyes and took a slow deep breath and looked within Herself and awoke thoughts that had never been awakened until then.
She opened Her soft eyes and said "When hope is lost, the best way to get it back is with a song. Climb you the tallest trees, the biggest hills and the mountains and yule a song to reach the Sun.
Now 'yule' is a word from one of the worlds oldest tongues. It is related to words like 'yell' or 'yodel' and it means 'to call out in song'.
But the first beings had never heard a song so once again they sought the Moon's advice. "How shall we yule?" they asked. "How shall we sing a song?"
"Take the best of what you have," she said, "the best of what you are. Take what you love; take what you cherish most. Take your joys, your dreams, your fondest hopes and weave them all together in a sound." And so they did. They climbed atop the tallest trees, the mountains and the hills. They stood in all the places that would bring them closest to the Sun. They shut their eyes and thought and felt the best of thoughts and feelings and dreamt the finest dreams. And as they did their voices rang out and made a bridge of song across the sky to reach the distant Sun.
He heard, and turned, and smiled, and wrapped Himself in all His light and warmth and sped to where the yuling voices called. As He drew near the sleeping Earth did stir and dreamed a dream of Spring. And so the wheel of life made its first turn, and hope and joy prevailed. And ever since, that time of year has been called Yule in honour of the song.
But the first song did not end. It had such power, such allure that the first beings kept singing it throughout, and then the second beings born of the Earth took up the song, as did the third and so it ever since has gone, through years and years until this very day.
At times the song is very soft and scarcely can be heard above the din and clatter of our lives, but when Yule comes it rises and swells in memory of that night when the Sun heard, and light and life returned.
And so do we upon (this) that longest night gather with those we love and who love us and stand upon the body of slumbering Earth and light the log with last years and lift our voices soaring to the Sun and join the song that first was sung so very long ago.
We sing our thanks to those who went before and sing our fondest wish to those who come after. We bask in the returning light of re-awakened hope and welcome YULE.
This is the story of Arianrhod, Bride's daughter. Her name means 'silver circle'. Her husband was Gwydion the God. She had two castles -- one in the sky, up on top of the clouds and the other on Earth in Wales. She had two children. The second child grew very fast. When he was a year old he seemed to be two years. At the age of two he traveled by himself. When he was four he was a tall as a boy of eight and was his father's constant companion. Alas Arianrod did not like this boy and would not give him a name. She laid a magic curse called a 'destiny' on the boy saying that he will never have a name until she chose to give him one. Now to have no name was, to the ancient Britons, like not having a soul. Gwydion tried to think of a way round this spell. How could he get a name for the boy.
The next day Gwydion took the boy went down to the sea-shore. They went disguised as shoe-makers. Now Gwydion could do very good magic and he magicked a boat out of sea-weed and magicked some beautifully coloured leather out of some dry sticks. They sailed to the port of Arianrod's castle and anchored it where it could be seen. Naturally they were soon noticed and Arianrod sent someone to see who they were and what they were doing. When she found they were shoe-makers she remembered she wanted some shoes. But she didn't go down to the boat herself, she sent her messenger. Gwydion knew what size her feet were but he deliberately made the first pair too large. And the messenger took the shoes back to Arianrhod. "Go and get me a smaller pair" Arianrhod ordered. But the next pair Gwydion sent to Arianrod was too small. At last Arianrod sighed "I'd better go down to the boat myself. It's the only way I'll get the right size." And down she went. But she didn't recognize Gwydion or the boy.
While Gwydion was measuring Arianrod's foot for the shoes a tiny wren came down and landed on the boat. The boy took his bow and shot an arrow right between the tiny bird's legs. The Goddess was amazed and said "Truly, the lion aimed with a steady hand". And that's how she accidentally gave the boy the name of Lion. Gwydion said to Arianrod "It is no thanks to you but now he has a name. He shall be called 'Llew Llaw Gyffes'" which means the lion with the steady hand.
Arianrhod was very cross and put another destiny on the poor boy. "You will never bear arms" she said, "unless I give you them." which meant he will never have any weapons so could never be a warrier. So Gwydion magicked a huge army round the castle. Arianrhod was very frightened and said "Quick, get someone to protect us". Gwydion said "Llew will protect us if you give him a sword." So She gave him a sword. Then the army just vanished with a wave of Gwydion's hand. Arianrhod said "Where has the army gone?" Gwydion said "There was no army, I just tricked you into giving Llew a sword". And so she had broken her own curse she had laid on the boy and given him arms.
So now she got very angry and laid another destiny on the boy. "You shall never have a wife" she shouted "unless I give you one." So Gwydion went out into the garden and picked the nine most beautiful flowers from the plants and trees and weaved them all together until he had made a beautiful Lady, and he gave her the name "Blodeuwedd" and she married Llew.
There was just one problem with Blodeuwedd. She wasn't a real person. Real people aren't so beautiful, they aren't made of flowers. Blodeuwedd had no heart and she had no love. So Llew could never be happy.
When the spring comes it is as if Blodeuwedd is walking over the land and the little clumps of flowers, the snowdrops, crocuses and the primroses flower wherever Her feet have stepped.
What is this story about? Is it better to marry a real person who is not so beautiful or handsome but has a kind heart?
taken from the book "Tell Me Another Story," by Lisa Suhay to be published by Paraclete Press on Sept 1, 2001
Leaf looked out across the broad, dawn-pink sky and down over the beautiful spring garden. The dewy breeze grazed it and left it shimmering, fluttering.
As it moved, Leaf saw all the corners of the garden with its flowers, bushes, trees and animals. Leaf stretched to catch every sight and sound. It was a new leaf at the top of a very old tree.
Leaf adored all the elements - wind, sun and rain. But it was in love with the wind.
Wind gave it the freedom of motion. Without the breeze it would never have seen the world below or from side to side. Wind rocked Leaf to sleep and shook it awake. Wind made Leaf dance.
Wind whistled haunting tunes through the branches, it whispered and sometimes it even sang.
On many days, Wind told Leaf of the places it had been. "All across the Rivers and down to the sea have I been," whispered Wind. On that day, Leaf could even smell the scent of the water and salty places of which Wind spoke.
"High up the mountain to the very door of Heaven today," Wind told, as the fresh clean smells settled down upon Leaf. "I have seen where the Blue-sky ends and birds cease to wing. I have heard the voice of Life itself and it is so beautiful."
Leaf shuddered with the thought of having Life speak to it as it did to Wind. "When will life speak to me?" Leaf asked Wind.
The breeze warmed as it blew over Leaf and Wind said softly, "You can Hear Life's voice in me."
Whenever it blew past, be it a breeze or gale, the little green leaf waved a joyful greeting to Wind - like the hand of a happy child to a loved one.
"I will love you for all time," Leaf whispered to the moving air around it. "I could not be happier."
Hearing this promise Tree itself shook and emitted a deep chuckle. "I am glad you are happy now," the tree said. "Enjoy your youth and beauty while you can, for soon enough you will be withered and brown, dry as dust and blown away with by the same breeze that stirs your heart today."
Leaf stiffened at these words. The other leaves said nothing. One or two fell like tears before their time, so stricken were they by the sadness.
"That is not so!" Leaf cried.
Tree shook again and said, "Oh but it is true. I have seen many, many leaves from many trees fall and crumble. Your time will come to curse the wind and the way of things. Wind is old and you are young. Ask Wind sometime."
The tree said no more. Leaf tried not to think about what Tree had said. Of course it had heard the stories of how leaves grow old and die, but still it would never be hateful.
That very day, Leaf made a decision. It shouted to the world, "I will Never hate Wind. I will not give in to fear or unhappiness."
Still, the next time Wind came to call, Leaf could not help but ask. "When I become old, dry and brittle will you destroy me as Tree says," Leaf asked.
Wind was silent for a long moment. "I will not destroy you my dear one," Wind said. "All Earthly things grow old and dry. That is not my doing."
Leaf was shaking and Wind could see the fear beginning to overtake Leaf. Wind added, "Keep your promise not to give in to hate and sorrow and when the time comes for you to fall, I will be there to catch you. It will be a beginning and not and end for you."
Again Leaf felt strong. "Tell me of your travels," Leaf said. Wind spoke well into the night.
Time passed. Leaf grew and changed. At first it became very big and strong. Then, as the air grew chill, Leaf began to take on the most magnificent colors. First a yellow cast and then little patches of red and gold began to creep across it.
"You are most beautiful today," whispered Wind. "I do not think that of all the leaves in the world there is one to match you."
Leaf shook a bit, knowing full well that many of the others had also begun to change and take on different hues. Still, the words brought joy.
"It is the beginning of the end for you and all your kind," Tree said. "Soon now, oh so soon, you will be nothing but a speck in the dirt."
All the other leaves began to droop and some even tumbled from their homes early as the weight of that unhappy thought dragged them down to Earth.
Not Leaf. "Words, words, words," Leaf laughed. "You cannot harm me with words. I choose to be happy with my fate. Others choose to be sad. The only one who will be sad when I am gone is you old tree for then who will you talk to?"
Tree shook with frustration and anger. "You will see," Tree bellowed. "You will be dirt!"
As days passed Leaf began to feel thin and tired. The bright colors that covered Leaf darkened to brown and Leaf knew its time grew short. Still it would not be sad because each day now Wind told Leaf of the wonderful adventures that were to come.
Just seeing Leaf cling to happiness while all those around it fell made Tree angry. One day it could stand it no more and when Wind came to call, Tree shook for all it was worth and Leaf snapped away from its branch and began to fall.
Tree watched and waited for Leaf to scream and cry, to realize what horror had just befallen it. Instead Tree heard the sound of laughter.
One moment Leaf was held fast to Tree and the next it was falling, flipping end over end. "I am flying!" Leaf laughed in pure joy.
"You are falling! Plunging," shouted Tree.
"I am soaring like a little bird," Leaf sang out. "See how I go!"
Leaf felt something lift it up. It was Wind come to keep its promise. "I cannot take you far right now, just to rest on the ground. No matter what happens, do not be afraid. I will return for you."
Wind carried Leaf ever so gently to the ground and allowed it to rest there. Leaf could feel the rumble of the roots from Tree as it laughed and said," You see? Now you are ready to become like all the others. It is all just as I said. Just give up now."
Leaf was not stirred to sadness by Tree's words. It did not answer, but lay quietly looking up at the world. It all looked so different now. After a time, Leaf nodded off to sleep and a long time passed before it woke.
Instead of feeling old, stiff and papery, Leaf felt suddenly free to move about. It could hear wind singing softly through the trees and felt itself being lifted and spun higher and higher.
"Did I not promise all would be well," crooned Wind. "You have become the dust of the Earth, so light and so fine that I can carry you anywhere with me."
And so Wind did carry the dust of Leaf and scattered it over fields, onto the backs of birds that flew to mountains and into streams that led to oceans. Finally Wind seeded the clouds with the last few tiny grains that were once Leaf and Leaf came back to Earth with rains and snows.
Everywhere it fell the remains of Leaf brought a grain of pure joy, a drop of hope and touch of love for wind and life.
One day in springtime Wind rustled past Tree and heard Tree telling all the young leaves about the Leaf that had loved the Wind and perished in the dirt.
Wind came back through Tree singing a breezy tune, "Listen my children, but not to those who tell you that your fate is in the dirt. Listen to me instead. I will tell the tale of how you will become Heaven's Dust. Believe and you will never dread."
If ever you wonder which leaves listen to Wind and not Tree, look up on a stormy day and see, which ones wave, a joyous greeting and which fall down in sorrow.
