Date: Thu, 14 Jul 1994 09:21:07 EST
Subject: Fluff: Healing the Healer, pt VIII of VIII
Copyright 1994 by A. Fraser and L.M. Wallace
fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca and wallacel@ac.dal.ca
*******
Michael sat with his hands in the rich loam, quietly feeling the power
of the earth course through him. He could feel the garden growing, feel
the grass dying and renewing. Death was a part of life. Even grief
healed, in time.
He thought about what Pandora had said, about showing him the path. Her
kiss had startled him--there had been no passion in it, but rather she
had been a manifestation of... he could avoid it no longer... of the
Goddess. Did he dare to hope that he could find the path back to his
faith, as Pandora had thought he might? If he did, he owed Niamh a
great debt.
He untied his shoes, slipped out of his socks and let his bare feet
touch the healing earth for the first time since his return. The shock
of returning to his element felt like an electrical surge through his
tired body. His hands tingled with pent-up magick, and released a green
bolt of power for the sheer joy of being able to do so. It left him a
little weary, but not exhausted, not drained.
He could tell, fromt he feel of the earth, why Nicholas had chosen this
house. It hadn't been just luck that it had come on the market at
exactly the time Nicholas and Pandora had been looking for a new home.
This was a good place, as good as Fairlawn. He recalled the vision he'd
had when he'd come to that clearing in the woods, how the Goddess had
spoken to him.
The Goddess had spoken to him.
How had he forgotten? How had he rationalized that away, or the day
she'd come to a small band of starving young priests and priestesses,
hidden in the hills from the murdering Romans, and granted them
immortality in return for their service, in return for keeping her faith
alive? No wonder Nicholas had been so angry with him, Maggie so hurt,
Pandora so quiet... he'd been questioning everything they believed in,
their very lives.
The rich soil continued to work its subtle magick. Michael wondered if
he should take off the rest of his clothes and robe himself in dirt, if
that would ease the aches and remove the memory of searing hot iron.
Was he lost to his faith? Would the Goddess forgive him for turning his
back on her?
"I have always been here," said a voice. "You had only to ask, Tadg."
"Cerridwen!" Tadg the Archdruid exclaimed, and called her by her other
two names, as well. Maiden, mother, crone. A youngling on the verge of
womanhood. A woman with small children pulling on her skirts. An old,
old female leaning on a stick. A succession of female animals. All
these appeared briefly to the dazzled and weeping Archdruid. "Forgive
me!" he cried.
"There is nothing to forgive," came the voice from a she-bear, a doe,
the crone. "It is mine to ask forgiveness, for not answering you in the
Underworld," went on a dove, a flower, the maiden. "Or rather, we
should both forgive, and say all is mended," added a lioness, a spider,
the mother. "Come, Tadg, return to your friends, and know that my love
goes with you." She kissed him on the forehead, and vanished. But
where she had been, there grew wild flowers in great profusion.
Michael got up, neglecting to put his socks and shoes back on, and went
into the house. His eyes were shining, and Nicholas stopped playing
abruptly at the sight of his old friend.
"Michael?" asked Mary, never having seen her husband look so transfixed.
"Nevyan, Niamh," Michael said, the joy bubbling out of him, "It will be
my pleasure to perform the handfasting for you."
*****
Kali's Amazons approached Michael, red-hot iron in their hands.
"Speak, Druid," commanded their leader.
"You have no power over me," Michael replied, and the Amazons dropped
their instruments of torture and fled.
Michael woke up, but his heartbeat was normal and he was not sweating.
The nightmares had finally been banished, thanks to his friends and the
renewal of his faith. He was home, in more than one sense. He reached
out and gathered his wife into his arms. She woke and smiled sleepily
at him.
"I love you," he whispered.
"And I love you," she murmured back. "I'm so glad to have you back,
Michael."
"It's good to be home," he replied.
"I'm glad you're going to do the handfasting," Mary said. "It will be
beautiful."
"And at least they're only going to get married once," he laughed.
"Hm, I don't know, two wedding nights were rather fun," Mary chuckled.
He laughed again, thrilling in being _able_ to laugh, to feel the joy of
life bubbling through him, to feel the touch of his Goddess. He knew
now how dangerously close he'd been to dying--his own healing powers
told him how ill he'd been, in mind as well as body. He was still
recovering... there was no quick cure for severe depression and general
letting yourself go. But he was getting well, it was just a matter of
time, and Mary was watching him like a hawk to see that he ate properly
and rested when he needed to.
It had taken a severe shock to bring him to his senses--Bess' running
away. The girl was starting to squirm now when he walked up and hugged
her for no reason, but he owed her his life. He owed Pandora, Nicholas,
and Maggie his life, too.
"You're drifting," Mary accused him. "You woke me up, you can't go back
to sleep on me. That's not fair."
"Sorry, love," Michael replied, snuggling up to her. "What would you
rather do?"
"Want to try for another set of twins?" she asked, and was delighted to
hear him laugh again.
The healer was healed.
The End