Chapter Three
Garlon followed the goddess into the mist to an open clearing, where others gathered around bonfires. They were drinking honey mead and wine, dancing and feasting upon nuts and apples, and roasted meat. Here, the mist parted to permit the moon to beam down upon the revelers. Faery lights flickered, and Will-o’-the-Wisp danced on the distant marshes. Garlon had celebrated the Yule feast many times, but never in the Otherworld, and never in a warm clime.
As if she’d heard his thoughts, Analee said, “’Tis never spring or summer here, but always winter—the land of Yuletide. We come to celebrate the death of light, and then return of the sun. The Great Wheel turns. We come in costumes, all the aspects of nature, lords and ladies, all.”
They were the only two dressed as frosty winter. All the rest wore earth colors, their costumes fashioned of leaves and moss, their headdresses wreathes of vines, studded with acorns, nuts and succulent berries.
“I wear the winter white, and I rule here as Lady of Winter. This the solstice, my day and night,” she explained. “You are garbed as the winter stag. You are my consort…for a little time.”
Garlon wished she wouldn’t keep reminding him all this was only for a little time. Though all aspects were strange to him, he breathed more alive, more than he had ever felt in the normal world. His heart wanted to stay here, for this magic to never end. How bereft his life would be to share this special place, to experience the sparkling enchantment, and tomorrow awaken in a world where he felt so alone!
All around him revelers had paired off, dancing around the bonfires to the music of flute and lyre. Scantily clad wood nymphs danced around him, trailing yards of spider silk spangled with an iridescence. It reminded him of the ethereal phosphorescence in the sea he’d seen at dusk along the shore. Mortal life would seem so drab when this wondrous time was snatched from him. Or, was there some way he could stay here forever, a part of Analee’s kingdom? Gazing at Analee in her near-naked beauty, his heart cried out he wanted more than a night with her.
The nymphs came nearer, almost touching him as they crowded close in their dance. How exquisite they were, one more beautiful than the next, their long hair whipping him as they passed him. They smelled of incense—patchouli and sandalwood, angelica and yew. It was like a drug, besotting him until his head reeled, and his body swayed to the plaintive music. All the while, the goddess looked on, her sparkling eyes riveted on him through the eyeholes in the winged half-mask she wore, her dewy lips parted.
Men in stag antlers appeared from among the trees wearing precious little else, save leaves for loincloths, and surrounded Analee. How long had they been standing there camouflaged by the tertiary bark and branches that blended with their antlers? She spread her cape wide as they danced around her. As they did, the nymphs began to stroke his arms, his back, though he barely could focus upon their faces. He could only see Analee. He wanted her, needed her with a force, a power like he had never known.
Myth said these Otherworldly creatures lived to pleasure themselves and each other. Their carnal cravings were like the lightning, untamable, and unpredictable, like the sea that had spat him out amongst them. They danced, swirled and embraced with abandon.
He wanted to join them, but he was fighting the tendrils of his old life. Would he remember this night, after? Was there even an after? He still feared the specter of death roamed at the edge of the wood’s darkness. Was he still by the side of the sacred pool, dying? What was the price for being granted this one night of perfection?
Someone passed him a wineskin and he drank until rivulets ran down his chin, his throat, and broad chest. Where had the garment Analee had given him gone? Had they torn it from his body? He was naked, and the nymphs were licking the wine from his skin; so many hungry mouths, so many groping hands. Every cell in his body, every pore was on fire, his body bursting, aching, begging—demanding release, and yet it would not come. What sorcery was this? What torment! Surely, it was nothing more than a dream of a dying man!
One by one, the male revelers began to leave Analee and pair off with the nymphs that were fondling him. Wine still glistened on his skin as the goddess incarnate approached him. All at once, she gripped her cape’s edge and raised her arms above her head, then whirled around him closer and closer. It was plain that she meant to cocoon him in the gossamer folds and drive him down in the cool, dewy grass at the edge of the thicket.
Garlon resisted, not even knowing why. His body craved hers, wanted to wrap himself in the heat of her gossamer wings. But he had to know. Was he dead or dying, and this had no more substance than trying to hold water in your hand and it slipping through your fingers?
“Why do you hesitate?” she murmured. “’Tis all part of the ritual.”
“I would rather stand back and feast my eyes upon you, my lady,” he said without reason.
She shrugged and continued her strange dance, until she’d spiraled to the ground, her mantle spread out wide. Finally, unable to find a reason to hold back, Garlon dropped down beside her. The tall grass was cool around them, and fragrant with scents he had never smelled before, some otherworldly species of wildflower. It reminded him of the heather that grew on the Cornish moors, ruggedly sweet, with the barest trace of the salty mist that drifted overland from the sea. He couldn’t see the flowers. All his eyes saw was the beautiful woman—the embodied Goddess of the Dream Well.
All else around them had vanished. Where had the bonfires gone? Where were the wood nymphs and male revelers? Where were the faery lights? All that remained were the Will-o’-the-Wisps bobbing about in the distance, and the moon beaming down upon their trysting place. It had not yet reached its pinnacle. Soon, it would sit high in the indigo vault above, and all too soon thereafter, it would begin its descent to keep its rendezvous with the dawn.
What would happen then, when his time in Analee’s arms was up? He would know soon enough, but now, oh, now! Her soft flesh was underneath him, her slender back arched to welcome him.
That was all that mattered.