Death held no fear for me I was used to the moment when life slipped away. When silence deepened and resounded through space and what lay before me was an empty husk. This had always been my duty, to bear witness at life’s end and bring down the silence. They call me Dea Tacita, The Silent One and to me, they bring their dying.
Some stagger up the rocky path to my cave on their own, they lie down upon the bier and reach a hand to me. By taking their hand I give absolution, the clutter of their life flows from them to me in a silent stream and they move quietly into the silence.
Some are carried up in a noisy procession surrounded by family and friends wailing their grief loudly. They don’t want to enter the silence; they want the world to acknowledge they were here, that they mattered. They clutch life to them so tightly. They don’t give me their hand as they don’t want absolution. Their life is handed down to their families to carry into the future and be relived again and again. The silence isn’t interested in what they want; they are no more, when it swallows them whole.
Then there are those who arrive with anger sparking around them, they fight the silence, not for them a peaceful journey. When I take their hand their life rushes into me in a flood, raging into the silence. They throw their life away as they have danced with death many times.
This day began as any other day. Night yielding to day as dawn brightened the sky. I slowly woke and began the rituals of my day. Water from the well, left over rabbit from last night’s dinner, mint tea to freshen my breath. A quick check over my herbs, I needed to gather more mullein and bay laurel. I decided to collect these herbs while the day was still young. I gathered my basket and knife and walked around the rock outcropping to the pastures above my cave dwelling.
I spend a pleasant few hours and as I returned I could see a group coming up the path to my cave. I quickened my steps and rounded the outcropping as they reached the top of the path. A quick scan of the group to identify who would require my services failed to show any of them facing life’s end.
I put my basket in the cave and looked to the group who had come to a stop in front of me. I looked at the man I thought was their leader and opened my hands, palms up, in question.
He didn’t look as if he belonged in this region, tall and straight with white hair and eyes that matched the sky behind him. He stared at me “Are you the death girl, then.”
His words had a strange flow, they rolled together and I had to focus to understand them. Again I showed my open palms.
“It’s true, you don’t speak” he said
.
I placed my hand vertically across my lips and shook my head.
I heard the word “witch” muttered behind him.
Another man with fiery, sun coloured hair came up beside him. “It’s a waste of time. If she can’t talk she’s not going to be able to ask him the questions” he murmured.
I tilted my head slightly sideways. Looking straight at White Hair I held out my hand.
Behind him the mutters increased. Slowly, looking directly at White Hair, I raised one eyebrow in challenge whilst holding out my hand. He reached across and grasped my hand. Immediately his life flowed into me. With a delicate touch I touched his memories, linking those that belonged together into groups; in his eyes I saw comprehension. He took control of his memories and deliberately brought specific memories to the surface, a dead man who looked like him, a child who looked like them both, a castle, men in battle, a flag, the child, the dead man.
Letting go of his hand, keeping my eyes on his, I knelt on the dusty earth, picking up a stick I drew the images in sequence. Looked back up and raised my eyebrow.
“You have to ask him where the child is” he demanded.
I got to my feet, pointed my toe at the picture of the man and shrugged my shoulders. I turned to go into my cave. He reached out and grabbed me. I looked over the shoulder at him with a frown. Shrugged his hand off and beckoned him in. He said something to the group in a foreign tongue, then followed me into the cave, with him came Fire Hair.
Inside the cave I pointed to the bier and indicated someone lying upon it and me giving them my hand, then I pointed to the drawings on the walls. I look straight at White Hair and shrugged.
“I think she wants his body’ Fire Hair said
.
“I get that” White Hair replied. He turned to me “we don’t have a body, you talk to the dead, ask him where he hid, Erin, his son”
I pointed to him, pointed to the bier and twined my finger together, then open my hands.
“My brother, William, he died in battle three days ago. I was to join him but he died the day before I arrived. He hid his son from his wife’s family and I need to find him” he replied.
This was something new. These people had an odd idea about what I did, I was able to see the memories of a person as they died but to find a dead person somewhere in the silence. I couldn’t call them like a lost sheep. How was I supposed to do this? Somehow I had to ride on the river of his memories into the silence and link them to the brother. I had a feeling they would not take no for an answer and leave quietly, so I had to do something.
I indicated to White Hair to lie of the bier, I pulled up my stool. I looked at Fire Hair and then looked at the cave opening and looked back at Fire Hair. He looked straight back at me planted his feet, folded his arms across his chest and stated unequivocally “No, I’m staying right here”
I frowned at him, then for good measure I frowned at White Hair and raised my hands into the air. Huffing out a sigh I took White Hair’s hand and released the core of silence. Like a waterfall his memories of his brother poured into me. I could taste his love for his brother and the bitterness of grief, the guilt of arriving too late. I could see his brother in all his glory. This William was one who clutched at life tightly; he would not have gone into the silence quietly.
I dropped like a stone into a pond, falling deeply into the silence, listening to the echo of my ripples. As they flowed back I listened for anger at goals incomplete, challenges not achieved, regrets for things undone. Faintly something came back. Like a sunflower turning to the sun, I turned to the reverberation. Grasping White Hair’s memories I sent them out into the silence like a kite in the wind, flowing and dancing on the waves. Then I pulled back on the memories, and sent them out again, pulled them in and cast out again. This time I felt a weight attach itself to the memories, I pulled harder and then before me in the dark I saw the spectre of a man just like the one lying on my bier.
Now I had one living and one dead brother. I needed William’s memories but if he were dying on my bier he would not give them to me. Forced to enter the silence; he still wanted the world to acknowledge him, that he mattered. I reached my hand out to him, while still pushing the flow of White Hair’s memories. He did matter, he mattered to this brother. I hoped that this would be enough.
Suddenly in a rush he came forward tumbling into the memories. The flow of his memories swirled into the flow of his brother’s memories. Now I had to reverse the flow and send his memories into White Hair’s mind. Foremost in William’s memories was the boy and every image was rimmed with regret. His life flowed through me, his memories passed on to his brother and his life through me into the silence. As the silence swallowed him his spectre faded from my mind. I tamped down on the silence shutting it away.
I opened my eyes and looked at White Hair. He and Fire Hair were staring back at me with eyes that showed the white around the pupil. They must have seen the spectre also. I raised my eyebrow and opened my hands in question. Picking up a stick of charcoal I drew the boy and question mark.
“I know where he is” White Hair replied.
I walked over to my altar and lit the embers and threw in some Rosemary. White Hair and Fire Hair were at the entry. White Hair placed a bag in the offering niche. I walked to the entrance and watched as they joined their men. I heard mutterings of “Witch” and as they were leaving White Hair turned to look back at me.
Day was turning into night. I needed to check my traps tomorrow. Tonight I would eat the remainder of the rabbit. Today had been an interesting day and I had learned something new about myself.
