In Search of the Alter Dom (27 page)

A heavy drum of hooves made everyone turn. A Centaur was approaching at a gallop. ‘Quick,’ says Grunwalde, ‘hide the wine – Centaurs get a bit naughty when drunk – they cannot hold their drink!’ All the wine containers were quickly hidden under the table, much to the delight of the three Tartarus Hobs who quickly set about quaffing!

‘Where is the wine?’ the Centaur asks, looking disappointed.

‘All gone!’ answers Grunwalde, letting out another burp and giggling. The Centaur picked up a leg of lamb and wandered off.

Grunwalde checked under the table and was just in time to see the last of the wine disappearing down the thick necks of the three Hobs. She is furious. ‘Get out of my sight you drunken, useless, lazy, smelly swines – I give you fair warning – I will bite all three of you!’ But even Grunwalde could not remain angry for long, in True Arcadia.

The three hyena-like Tartarus Hobs slunk away; but not before Bulrus Khan cocked his leg on a maypole!

Pan the Goat-Man, returns from his bath. ‘Me-thinks bathing makes man and goat weak,’ he complains. ‘Have a drumstick,’ says Grunwalde.

‘Thank you no,’ answers the Goat-Man; holding his hand over his mouth just in case; Grunwalde was tempted to push a drumstick down his throat. ‘My mother told me never to eat between drinks!’

‘Then lets us dance,’ says Grunwalde, smelling the Goat-Man first. The quaint looking group of grinning musicians with red spiky hair and purple noses quickly struck up a lively Irish jig called ‘Rakish Paddy.’ Grunwalde leapt around like a mad woman, while the Goat-Man drummed the earth with his cloven hooves; in between hops – while playing his panpipes.

Blodwyn noticed the two small suns of Quilla Prime slowly sinking below the backdrop of the pink and orange streaked horizon. While a massive Moon began to rise, tinting the meadows and forests with rays of amber and gold – giving the scene an enchanted, shimmering magical look! Clouds began to resemble fluffy golden candyfloss.

This change of light allowed Blodwyn to realize that the pale beings she had seen hiding in the clouds, were descending onto the wildflower meadow: transforming into old and young people alike; and other beings. At the same time, several people and beings left the meadow and shot upwards; turning into winged creatures.

“What is happening?” she wondered. “If this is paradise, everyone would choose to be young – not old!”

The enchanted music made Blodwyn want to join in the dancing. (Blodwyn and Myfanwy used to make up all kinds of crazy dancing. Anyone watching them would think they were having an epileptic fit). Joining in, she did a spinning dance; Grunwalde began a hopping step, while the Goat-Man did a punkish pogo! The three of them looked like demented hatters! The watching Lings howled with laughter and mimicked the dances.

Back at the table, a buttoned-eyed Sisling appeared in front of Blodwyn, face grinning with eyebrows raised – it was Boochi! Behind the Sisling was the lovely Mayling Boodi – they had survived! In a flash they were gone without any emotional reunions. Lings are not emotional or sentimental or even unpredictable. Blodwyn was delighted.

Now she wanted answers from Grunwalde. ‘Look,’ says Blodwyn, ‘I deserve some true answers. Are there other worlds beyond the clouds – who are those pale beings – why are they coming and going?

‘What is this,’ answers Grunwalde, ‘Twenty Questions?’

‘I want some answers,’ demands Blodwyn.

‘I am a Star Worshiper – a pagan, how should I know?’ replies Grunwalde. ‘You are a good liar – more like,’ responds Blodwyn.

‘Aren’t I,’ replies Grunwalde feeling proud of herself, ‘but I always cross my fingers behind my back.’

‘If you don’t tell me the truth, I am going to pull your hair like I used to and I mean it this time!’ Blodwyn threatens. Two small mischievous Sislings hovering near Blodwyn’s head and listening to the conversation, whispered in her ear. ‘Bite her too!’

‘You would not dare!’ says Queen Angharad, hearing the Sislings’ suggestion.

Grunwalde thought for a moment. Blodwyn took Grunwalde’s hands and held them, so that she could not cross her fingers. ‘Now tell me – Myfanwy Jenkins,’ Blodwyn demands.

‘Can’t,’ replies Grunwalde. ‘Why not,’ demands Blodwyn? ‘Because I am not dead yet,’ giggles Grunwalde, ‘anyway, I will go straight to Venus when I die!’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘there are two-hundred-mile-an-hour winds on Venus – and no atmosphere!’

Grunwalde sighs. Blodwyn realized that even Grunwalde did not know her own destiny. ‘I am waiting,’ says Blodwyn.

‘All right,’ answers Grunwalde. ‘Yes, the beings are Star-children – angels, both pagan, and Christian. They are Star-children, until they touch the ground on the first level False Arcadia and the second level True Arcadia. They become what they want to become! There are seven different levels of paradise – beyond the clouds, to suit all tastes. Some spirit souls never leave their paradise of choice, and are in “seventh heaven.” Others, mostly Terasils, flit from one level to another; typical humans – can’t make their minds up. They find it strange – awkward not to have substance, as spirit souls. The pale beings you saw in the clouds had arms and legs, etc – but are no longer aware of them.’

‘Why do they keep coming down here?’ Blodwyn asks. ‘Are they lost souls?’

‘No,’ replies Grunwalde, ‘they still miss their heavy crude earthly bodies; others miss tending their flocks or vines, some miss ploughing their fields.’

‘Do you mean they are not content in Paradise?’

‘They are content – just not sure – they don’t stay here long. You see – if I was in Paradise,’ continues Grunwalde, ‘and I wanted to make a rude noise, or bite someone, or eat like a pig – I would come down here; just to feed those basic needs!’

‘Why are some people here old – why aren’t they all young in Paradise?’

‘Not everyone was happy when they were young – you can return to the age you were happiest at – be it sixteen or sixty. That is all I know,’ concludes Grunwalde, ‘you are beginning to bore me.’

Blodwyn was still not convinced. Grunwalde was a very good liar and told you only what you wanted to hear!

Blodwyn’s attention was drawn to a circle of dancing teenagers. One lovely flame-haired girl with bright dancing green eyes caught her attention. The girl stopped dancing: turning she looks straight at Blodwyn, then smiled. The girl then gaily skipped towards her and stopped directly in front! The lovely young girl’s face had a radiant glow, her eyes sparkled; her skin golden and perspiring. Blodwyn found the young girl’s beautiful face faintly familiar – somewhere far back from distant memories! The young girl gently touched and admired Blodwyn’s hair, with delicate fingers. Then the young girl softly stroked Blodwyn’s face; with a kind of distant, detached affection!

Her hand was warm: her breast rose and fell with the exertion of dancing, just like anyone alive. In the girl’s left hand she held a posy of wild wood peonies; one of which she gave to Blodwyn. Blodwyn wanted to speak – but found she could not! The girl smiled: then turning, runs back gracefully to her companions who were waiting. Did the young lovely girl know her – they were about the same age, or was she just admiring their similar hair colour?

‘Who was that?’ Blodwyn asks.

‘And now I see through a light glass darkly,’ answers Grunwalde.

A gay procession in the distance entered the wild meadow from a small leafy wood, dressed in the leaves of young summer. A young couple led the group; all were singing the Cornish May song. Several small beautiful Floranas “fairies” flew above the couple, throwing blossoms.

Suddenly the weird-looking red spiky-haired musicians struck up a lilting Celtic tune. The young couple approached Grunwalde and stood under a bower of wild flowers.

‘Aah,’ says Grunwalde, ‘don’t they look lovely cariad. I must marry them – you can be bridesmaid Blodwyn – it may be the only chance you will get before you become an old wizened maid!’

Blodwyn ignored the sarcastic remark and took up her position as bridesmaid. Grunwalde stood in front of the young couple, while her Lings formed a circle. Grunwalde stood solemnly then raised her arms: facing a bright star. Incredibly, the star grew brighter and sparkled over her head like a starry crown! Enriched with the star’s power she turned facing the young couple to conduct the Fairy wedding vows.

Grunwalde spoke: ‘Join your hands and then join mine.’

The Lings answer in chorus:
‘Like two wild woodbines entwine.’

Grunwalde:
‘With the Lingly star behind: let the Fairy law two lovers bind.’

Lings:
‘You now be safe from wild fang and claw – for you both now be under Fairy Law.’

Grunwalde: ‘
This vow between the Lings and thee, between the butterfly and the bee. This sacred covenant is now made – if broken – you will burn in Golgin Hade
! Now kiss the bride – she is your wife under Lingly Law.’

Lively music struck up. ‘Let’s do our crazy dancing again,’ says Grunwalde.’

‘No,’ answers Blodwyn feeling homesick, ‘I want to go home!’

Gliding, floating on the evening came she by, every colour of Earth

had she. Shades of fire, sea and sky; paid she no heed of mortal

me as over passed: A thousand spangles lit her wake. Tis Angharad the

Fairy Queen I knew; by the spell she cast: but alas I dare not keep

her pace and watched the night take her away.

‘Don’t worry my cariad,’ answers Grunwalde, ‘the Centaur will take you to Nymphs’ hill. You will see a large rock – stand upon it and face the bright star in front of you – I will make the star sparkle. Just close your eyes and spread your arms cariad.’

Blodwyn’s stomach churned at the thought of returning to Earth alone! She quickly collected her rucksack and changed into her own clothes: the Centaur was waiting; pawing the ground. Blodwyn climbed onto his back and held on.

They went at full gallop through the enchanted, moonlit, surreal forests and meadows; splashing across silvery-ribbon streams, in the golden glimmering moonlight.

Reaching Nymphs’ Hill, Blodwyn climbed the rock. The Centaur smiles: turning, he gallops away without a word.

Blodwyn felt alone and very frightened. Tilting her head back, she faced the bright star. Stretching out her arms and closing her eyes as instructed by Grundwalde: she waited.

Blodwyn felt herself spinning – then becoming dizzy, she felt her body rising up and up – then falling as if into a black abyss – was she dying? Terrified, Blodwyn was forced to open her eyes. She was falling into a dark void of nothingness, down and down. She heard distant noises, groans of despair, mingled with cries of joy. Above this terrible din she thought she could hear the Ava Maria being sung in dulcet tones by some invisible host of angels – or was she dreaming?

In the distance a multitude of people of every race and creed, including, aliens and alienoids! All were crossing, or waiting to cross some kind of fragile land bridge over a great chasm that seemed barely able to support them, and it seemed to be raining! To Blodwyn’s horror, she began floating slowly towards the multitude waiting to cross the fragile bridge – she was not ready yet! She had not died – or had she?

Then to her relief, Blodwyn passed over the scene. Was this a dream, her imagination, or a glimpse of reality? But she was being logical – rational – it had to be real. But she knew this argument was not proof – Blodwyn was always logical and rational in her dreams!

“So judgment day was constantly ongoing: not just at the end of the world!” Some of the spirit souls, heavy with sin, were falling through the delicate surface of the bridge. Despair and terror distorted their faces! Their terrified screams, and out-stretched hands: pleading to their family or companions for help.

But no one was able to give assistance. They could only reach out in desperate sadness at the loss of their loved ones, or companions, as they fell and disappeared out of sight. Looking more closely, Blodwyn was sure she saw eight Galla Qualls crossing, holding tentacles – the exact number that had died! Blodwyn began to hope this was all a dream and not actual reality. On the other lighter side of the chasm, more beings with fainter outlines beckoned and encouraged the crossers. It seemed to Blodwyn that souls laden with sins were too heavy for the fragile surface, and fell to the depths and out of sight – never to return or see there loved ones again!

Other souls made it two-thirds over the fragile bridge only to fall – but they fell onto a desolate dim barren plain: where thousands milled around aimlessly. “Was this purgatory?”

Suddenly, Blodwyn noticed above the whole terrible scene, a faint outline of a giant being – bigger than any mountain – who seemed to be looking down! The rain was coming from the being’s face – or was it tears! Was this her imagination again? Blodwyn’s heart raced – this was a nightmare that she couldn’t seem to get away from! ‘Suddenly, the young flame-haired girl she had met in True Arcadia appeared and gently held Blodwyn’s hand. To her relief, the flame-haired girl guided her away from the terrible scene below; Blodwyn than became an observer not a participant.

The scene passed away in the distance and the young girl disappeared as mysteriously as she had appeared. Blodwyn closed her eyes again – had she witnessed judgment day?

A voice seemed to penetrate through the blackness.

‘Blodwyn – wake up – it’s Saturday morning – I have a job for you.’ Her mother’s voice drifted up the stairs. Blodwyn felt she was now in her own bed but afraid to open her eyes!

‘I won’t tell you again,’ she heard her mother say. Blodwyn could have shouted for joy; she was back in the beautiful valley where she was born, in lovely Gwynedd. ‘Mum,’ says Blodwyn entering the kitchen, ‘how old was I when Grandma Jones passed away?’

‘Look – Grandma Jones did not pass away – pass over – pass under – or pass out – she died…. you were four,’ her mother answers. ‘Now get a move on, I have a job for you.’

‘What did Grandma die of, mum?’ Blodwyn asks.