“Indeed it did,” Rhiannon smiled.
“But I’ve been trying to do this for so long and it never worked before!”
“You never had such a good reason to make it work before,” Rhiannon said dryly.
Gwen frowned. “But I’ve seen you use the gift, and it never takes this long. You don’t even use the triskale—you just do it. Why can’t I do it like that?”
“You can. It’s only a matter of practice. With clairvoyance or telepathy the person must be in a relaxed state. Visualizing the Body of Light and using the triskale are means of relaxing you. With practice you can relax your mind in seconds, without the use of anything else. The important thing is to learn control. A highly emotional state, like rage or fear or even joy can release the gifts, but the person has no control.”
“Psychokinetics use a different way, don’t they?”
“Yes. The Druid must be in a state of intense concentration—not relaxation.”
“And that’s why you can’t teach me how to use it.”
“Yes, that’s why. I don’t know anything about how that is achieved.”
“Then how will I learn if you don’t know?”
How indeed, Rhiannon thought. The knowledge that she had made a prison for her daughter came crashing in on her. So she spoke more sharply than she intended, “We’ll talk about it at another time.”
Rhiannon abruptly got up from the table and moved to the entrance, pushing aside the curtain and gazing through the gentle waterfall into the night. Beyond the waterfall she could see the full, silver moon rising over the forest. Seen through the curtain of water the moon wavered and rippled across her eyes. Nantsovelta, Lady of the Waters, goddess of the Moon, don’t judge me too harshly, she begged. I’ll put it right. Just give me time.
Taking a careful breath, she turned back to face Gwen who stood forlornly by the table, fingering the snowdrops that were scattered there. “It’s time to celebrate Calan Morynion,” Rhiannon said.
Gwen fixed a spray of snowdrops behind her ear. “Brush your hair first,” Rhiannon said. Sighing, Gwen plucked the sprig out and went to get the comb. Rhiannon unbound her black hair from its tight braid. “Let me use the comb when you’re done,” she called, as she picked up the large golden bowl from the shelf and set it on the table. She placed three candles in the middle of the bowl, fixing them to the prongs set at the bottom. She set eight candles around the outer rim and filled the bowl to the brim with water, scattering the delicate, white snowdrops. The tiny white flowers, the first flowers of spring, floated gently on the surface of the water.
Gwen handed her the comb, then went to the hearth. As Rhiannon combed her hair Gwen scraped the burning coals off to one side, then laid the branches of an ash tree into the fire pit. They both fixed sprays of snowdrops in their hair and stood by the table, looking down into the golden bowl.
“This is the Wheel of the Year before us,” Rhiannon chanted. “One candle for each of the eight festivals in which we honor the Shining Ones.” As Gwen lit each candle, Rhiannon named them. “Alban Awyr, Calan Llachar, Alban Haf, Calan Olau, Alban Nerth, Calan Gaef, Alban Nos, and Calan Morynion, which we celebrate tonight.”
When the eight outer candles were lit, Gwen lit one of the three inner candles. “Great Goddess of the Moon, Lady of the Waters, we honor you,” Rhiannon said.
As Gwen lit the second candle, Rhiannon went on, “Nantsovelta of the Pearls, Lady of the Swans, we honor you.” As the third candle was lit, she said, “Silver Queen of the Night, the Bride of Day, we honor you.
“Let the Shining Ones be honored as they gather for the wedding of the Sun and the Moon. Mabon, King of Fire, Bridegroom to the Moon. Taran, King of the Winds and Modron, Great Mother of All. Annwyn, Lord of Chaos and Aertan, Weaver of Fate. The Protectors, Cerridwen, Queen of the Wood and Cerrunnos, Master of the Hunt. Y Rhyfelwr, Agrona and Camulos, the Warrior Twins. Sirona, Lady of the Stars and Grannos, Star of the North and Healer.”
“We honor you,” Gwen said in a solemn tone.
“With water are we refreshed and cleansed. With fire are we purified. Blessings on the marriage of fire and water,” Rhiannon said, gesturing to the candles floating in the bowl. Then they chanted together,
O silver flame of the night,
Enlighten the whole land.
Chief of maidens,
Chief of finest women.
Dark the bitter winter,
Cutting in its sharpness.
But Nantsovelta’s mantle
Brings spring to Kymru.”
Then they each picked up a candle from the bowl and went to the pile of unlit ash wood in the fire pit. “Now let the Bridegroom, Mabon of the Fires, come to claim his Bride.” They lit the fire with the candles and the wood began to blaze, bathing the room in its cheerful glow.