Louisa Shorney

Louarn is struggling to maintain consciousness. Trying to focus his mind on Breac when it is in a thick fog, is nauseating. With no sense of orientation he can not tell if he is on his paws or his haunches. He shakes his head in an attempt to clear it and peers out with as much clarity as he can muster. Engulfed by a dense cloud of mushroom spores, each breath he takes dulls his senses and makes him even drowsier. If he does not get out of this quickly he will be overwhelmed. Lowering his muzzle to the leaf mulch he starts to hunt for spore-less air. His clever nose soon sniffs out a draft of freshness, breathing in deeply his head begins to find some clarity. As he follows the stream of clean air the spore fog begins to thin in front of him and a level of normality returns. He can see the ground beneath him and the towering tree canopy above encircling a small patch of sky, a hole for Breac to find him. Looking around to get his bearings he sees that only the area around the dead tree’s once mighty trunk is clear. The spores are closing in trying to shroud him. His hackles rise and lips curl into a snarl of defence. A hunter does not like being herded. The cloud thickens pushing him further towards the stump of the ripped trunk, where the old oak’s roots still plunge into the ground. His only hope is to keep his head clear of the fog long enough for Breac to find him. Backed up against the mighty fallen trunk, Louarn crouches down on his fore paws, hackles and tail standing to attention, teeth bared, he growls a threat at the fog and tries to bring his image of Breac into focus.

‘There’s no need to be so aggressive friend. We only wish to treat with you.’

His left ear is scanning the ground behind him following the trail of verbal vibrations. This voice is not in his head, there is someone with him. Afraid to turn his back on the fog incase it engulfs him, Louarn is held fast with uncertainty.

‘Friend? What kind of friend has you pinned up against a tree with no way out except through a sleeping fog?’

‘You must excuse my kin. They are simple folk with out the mind of you and I. They were asked to keep you safe until my arrival, this is the only way they know how.’

‘Safe! The only danger I am in is from their intoxication.’

‘My dear friend, they needed to hold you fast for it is imperative that I treat with you.’

‘I would be more inclined to converse with you if I were allowed to do so of my own free will.’

‘As you wish. It is only fair after all. If I wish you to trust in me, then I must first show trust in you.’

As the spore cloud disperses Louarn’s first instinct is to run but his curiosity is far stronger than his fear. Moving away from the tree trunk he circles around to face the stump, keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings as he does so. The only beings near the tattered old stump are two large, spotted Redcaps.

‘Show yourself. Why do you hide?’

‘Oh but I am not hiding fox. I am right before your eyes.’

Louarn looks on incredulously as one of the red caps begins to grow taller, as it does so its firm flesh starts to ripple in the breeze and cascade to the ground forming a bright red velveteen cloak. The strange beings face hiding deep with in the hood so that its voice seems to emanate from a dark void.

‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Amanita Muscaria. Agar of the Fungi Folk and Shaman of the Woods. I bid you welcome brother fox.’

‘Pleased to meet you, I think. My name is Louarn.’

‘I know who you are, young fox. I have been looking for you.’

‘Looking for me? Why?’

‘Our great Lady Achren as sent me with a message and hopes that I may guide you on your journey.’

‘Thanks but I didn’t need any guidance until you lured me off the path.’

‘The journey of which I speak you have yet to begin. Worry not you will not miss the council at the Fall. But there are more important matters she wishes to impart to you.’

‘Who is this Lady Achren? I’ve never heard of her.’

‘Indeed? Have you not? She is all around you fox. Our lady is the forest.’

‘I don’t understand. I know many tree beings, each are independent individuals.’

‘And that they are. But they are also connected and entwined through their roots and branches, as are we, the Fungi Folk, connected to each other and the trees through the latticed web we weave below the surface. Hundreds of thousands of individual minds linked together to form one living consciousness, that is the forest. With a mind of her own.’

‘I see. I think.’

‘You do a lot of thinking fox but not so much knowing I fear. This we must remedy. For if you travel with me too much thinking will lose you your mind.’

‘I wasn’t aware that I was travelling with you. I am waiting for my friend Breac so that we can continue our journey together.’

‘Your Messeer will not be able to join you on this journey friend.’

‘How do you know we are Messeer?’

‘I know all the children of the forest and all of the connections between them.’

‘Even so, as I said, I have no intention of going any where with you.’

‘If you do not travel with me Louarn and see what I have to show you then the Lady Achren will be lost forever and all the life she holds with in her will perish.’

‘Why me?’

‘Because she chose you. She says only you have the courage, the cunning and the clarity necessary.’

‘Can I not wait for Breac?’

‘This is a task for you alone Louarn or you will not find the truth of yourself.’

Louarn feels as though he is still backed up against the tree stump. The Agar is very persuasive but Breac had warned that he was a tricksy being. As long as he does not eat anything it should be safe to play along with the Agar’s requests and he may be able to stall long enough for Breac to get here.

‘Ok, so if I agree to travel with you where are we going?’

‘Into the consciousness of the forest, fox.’

‘And how do I get there?’

‘By partaking of my flesh. You must eat me Louarn.’

So much for stalling. Louarn looks up at the sky hole in the canopy hoping that he will see a black and white breast flying toward him. Focusing all of his will on picturing Breac clearly before him he makes a last call out to his friend.

‘Breac, hurry my friend. The Agar is here. I can not hold him off any longer.’

Not expecting a reply, Louarn pads cautiously towards the inanimate Redcap. Delaying for as long as he can he gives the fungi a full olfactory investigation then looks back at the Agar.

‘Amanita, how long will I be taken?’

‘You will be back on your journey by nightfall, if you succeed.’

‘What do you mean succeed? I thought the forest wished to speak with me. I was not aware that this was to be a test.’

‘The test, my dear fox, is whether or not you have the cunning, courage and clarity to hear her truth at all, let a lone bring it back with you.’

‘So what happens to me if I fail?’

‘Like all others who try to master the Muscaria and fail. Your mind will be trapped like an arachnid’s lunch lost in the web.’

‘Very reassuring, thank you. Is there no advice you can give me?’

‘Yes. Do not fail.’

‘Great. That’s so very helpful.’

The mere fact that the thought of making this journey with out Breac by his side fills Louarn with terror, reassures him that this is something he must do by himself. Courage has alluded him ever since his family dropped before his eyes and there can be no real clarity when your heart is so full of fear. But cunning, cunning is something he has in abundance. He can weave a web or two himself. Taking a deep breath to centre himself, Louarn lowers his nose to the Redcap, opens his jaws and wraps his muzzle around its flesh.

‘Louarn! No! I can’t follow you there.’

In a flurry of feathers, Breac swoops down to land by Louarn’s side.

‘I know brother but I must make this journey. I’m so glad you found me in time, please stay with my body and keep me safe.’

‘But Louarn, what if you get lost in the web? Our connection will fail, I won’t be able to help you.’

‘I will come back Breac, trust in me.’

Louarn closes his jaws and lets his teeth sink into the flesh of the Redcap.

‘I do trust you brother. Rest assured I will stay with you whilst you journey. May I ride ruff?’

‘Of course, hop up and make yourself comfortable. Is there any guidance you can give me as to what I am to expect? The Agar was not exactly very forthcoming with his instruction.’

‘I have not met the Agar. I have no personal experience of his journeys only the tales of others.’

‘Well you can meet him now. I’ll introduce you brother.’

‘He only presents himself to those he is about to take. I can not see him Louarn and whilst I can join you physically while you travel, I will not be able to see and hear all that you can. As the Muscaria opens your mind it will perceive a fuller, more intricately layered reality than the one you have lived in up until now. Once opened in this way it will never close. How you handle yourself and your responses to this deeper reality will define your journey within it. The web it weaves will either free you or ensnare you.’

‘So there is no set path?’

‘None. But there is one thing common to all the tales I’ve heard. You will meet your shadow. When you do you must have the courage to stare him in the face and embrace the truth behind the reflections he throws at you.’

‘Breac, I’m feeling quite strange. All my senses are bristling with anticipation and my head feels…..open….like the sky. And the air is alive, all sparkly and dancing before my eyes.’

‘It would seem your journey begins brother.’

Overwhelmed, by an equal measure of excitement and trepidation, panic threatens to consume Louarn. Panting heavily his muscles start shaking as he tries to stumble forward.

‘Stop brother. Pause for a moment and breath. Do not hurry yourself.’

Breac’s familiar chattering behind is ears calms his rising fears. As he takes in a deep breath he catches the scent of woodbine on the breeze. It is a little late in the year for the honeysuckle to bloom. Intrigue overshadows any sense of dread his bright inquiring mind can conjure. With his attention focused on the sweet scent he scans the area around them for signs of its maker. The dance of sparkles in the air in front of him begins to collect together and sway as one, bound by mutual resonance, forming an unmistakable trail. Louarn leans his muzzle into the sparkling trail and gently sniffs, not wishing to disturb their dance. The sweet smell of the woodbine fills his nostrils.

‘So this is what smell looks like.’

‘Have you found something brother’

Having forgotten all about Breac, with his intense engagement of his senses, Louarn is some what surprised to hear his voice in his head. The scent trail evaporates.

‘What the….?Where the….?’

‘Ha! Do I fall so easily from your mind brother?’

‘No I…I just lost awareness of everything….everything except the fabric of the scent, dancing in the air before me. But it’s gone now.’

‘I’m sorry brother, I will try to remain a silent observer. Unless it sounds like I’m needed. May be if you follow the direction of the trail, as you saw it last, you will pick it up again.’

‘Yes. And I will try not to forget you again my friend.’

‘Do not worry about that Louarn. It is better that you let your mind be free, least it bind you in knots.’

‘This way then.’

Breac takes flight as Louarn bounds into the undergrowth in search of the woodbine trail. With his attention focused again the trail is easy to see winding its way through briar and bramble, baby saplings and creeping ivy, until it disappears behind a wall of holly. Several bushes growing so closely together, lower branches hugging the ground, that their spiky foliage provides an effective barrier against anything larger than a rodent. Louarn trots around the perimeter looking for its end, only to find himself back where he started. There is no sign of the trail coming out only going in, so the woodbine must be hiding inside of the holly’s defensive corral.

‘Why did you bring me here if you do not want me to find you?’

Louarn sends his thoughts into the scent trail hoping that it will provide the necessary connection. He pads back and forth, in frustration, waiting for a response. His mood growing darker with each passing moment.

‘He will not let you pass whilst fear rides your back and anger clouds your mind Louarn.’

‘Who? What? How do you know my name?’

Louarn spins around looking for the source of the voice. No one is there, not even Breac.

‘Where are you? Who are you?’

‘I am all around you fox and my name is Riviniana.’

‘What do you mean ‘all around me’? Are you the air or some form of spirit?’

‘Ha, ha! No. I am the carpet under your feet.’

Looking down Louarn can see that the ground around him is covered in the delicate purple flowers of Dog Violet.

‘You do not usually bloom so late in the session.’

‘No, you are right but like Feithleann I have been waiting for you.’

‘Feithleann?’

‘Ah, you will know her as Woodbine or Honeysuckle.’

‘Is that why she brought me here?’

‘It is.’

‘So why have you been waiting for me?’

‘To aid you on your journey.’

‘Well if that is so can you tell me how to pass through this wall of holly?’

‘You must eat me.’

‘Eat you? That sounds uncomfortably familiar. What will happen if I eat you.’

‘I will help you to remember your courage and calm your anger. You can not journey further without it.’

‘Will you please tell my friend Breac where I have gone. He will be looking for me. Ask him to wait for me.’

‘I will, of course. Now eat. She is waiting for you.’

‘How much of you do I need to eat?’

‘All you need is in my petaled heads. Look at them as you did Feithleann’s scent, you will know which ones.’

Louarn lowers his muzzles to the violet carpet and sniffs expecting to pick up the sparkle of the scent dance, as he had done with the woodbine but he can only smell leaf mulch and loamy soil. A little confused he raises his head slightly and softens the focus of his eyes. Just on the edge of his vision field, near the foot of the holly wall, he sees a tiny speck of purple light twinkling at him. Moving towards it the violet hue glows brighter beckoning for him to come closer. Staring into the perfectly formed flower of violet light he feels a strange but pleasant sensation flow along his spine, filling his entire body until he is awash with calm surety. He gently plucks the flower with his teeth, holding it in his mouth for a moment, its velvety texture tingles on his tongue before he swallows it. Then he sees another and another, a small cluster of violet lights at the foot of the holly where Feithleann’s trail enters. With great reverence he plucks each delicate flower, holding it for a moment upon his tongue before swallowing.

‘Thank you Riviniana for you kindness. May you rest well through the coldness my friend. I hope to see you again after the snows have been.’

He bows his head before turning back towards the wall of holly. Where he had plucked the flowers there is now an opening in the barrage of spikes just big enough for him to crawl through. Feeling calmer now than he has in more time than he can remember, Louarn musters his courage and enters the holly tunnel. The fallen foliage on the floor prickle his pads like the hedgehog balls he used to play with as a cub. Memories flash through his mind. Madrach and Siobhan are yelping in excitement as they play pounce a dormouse, scuttling from its woodbine nest on the bank behind their den. Sadness fills his heart but the anger that usually follows is quashed by an effervescent explosion of violet light. A tear rolls down his jowl. Thick, sweet, honeysuckle scent tickles his nose as he scrambles out from under the holly, into a small clearing dominated by the cavernous trunk of an ancient oak squatting at its centre.

‘So, you have found some clarity and regained some courage. Now, what cunning do you grow?’

‘Is that you Feithleann?’

‘I am of no matter. But what worth is your matter?’

‘I will show you all that I am and you can deem if it’s so.’

‘Very well then. Enter. Let’s see how you fare in Hedera’s helix.’

*

Louarn in hunt mode is not an easy fellow to follow and Breac no longer has him in his sights. Flying as high as the canopy will allow, for a branch free view, he looks around for any sign of his enthusiastic friend. There is neither sight nor sound of fox anywhere with in his scope. Perching on one of the higher branches, to maintain the best vantage, he focuses his mind on Louarn and tries to reach him.

‘Louarn, my friend, where have you gone?’

He waits patiently for a response but there is none.

‘Louarn! Don’t loose me now brother. Louarn! Where are you?’

He waits a little longer but to no avail. Where ever Louarn has gone he has taken his mind with him and Breac will not find him until he returns with it. It is wisest for him to wait close to where he last saw his friend, in case he has dug himself in somewhere close by. Alighting upon a bramble thicket he snacks on the deliciously juicy berries, to placate his hungry belly and his worried mind. Hopping down to the ground he tries to pick up Louarn’s trail but magpies are more opportunist than hunter. A little flash of sparkling violet light catches his eye and his inquisitive nature. He hops through the undergrowth to investigate. A towering wall of holly keeps the undergrowth in check allowing a blanket of violets to carpet this patch of woodland floor. Another flash of violet sparkles calls Breac to the foot of the holly. Pecking and scratching at the foliage, trying to find its source, he sees paw prints in the soft soil beneath. Fox prints, if he’s not mistaken, disappearing under the wall of holly. But this is too thick a prickly tangle to let a body as big as a fox through. Breac stands with his head cocked to one side, staring into the impenetrable deep green, bemused by the conundrum of the disappearing fox prints.

‘Is this Breac I have the pleasure of meeting?’

Breac flaps off the ground squawking, startled by the voice from nowhere.

‘I am..It is.. Who the..’

He franticly scans the area for his unknown companion. A patch of purple starts to glow in front of him, not a flash this time but a steady gentle light. His startled fear washes away as he comes to land by the violet glow.

‘You’re late to flower friend, what keeps you awake so long?’

‘I have been waiting for your journey this way Brother Breac.’

‘How do you know my name?’

‘I promised to give you a message from your friend.’

‘Louarn? Is he alright? Where has he gone?’

‘Yes. He asks you to wait with me here. He will return. He entered the Holly but where exactly he will go I can not say and his alrightness or alwrongness is for him to discover. But I will aid him where I can.’

‘Well I thank you for that friend. And whom is it that I have the pleasure of meeting?’

‘My name is Riviniana.’

‘He went through the holly you say but how? It is a tight tangle that even one as small as I would not find passage through.’

‘This is no ordinary holly my friend. This is the Holly that guards the Ancient Oak, the seat of the Elders, only the Lady herself decides who may pass into its sacred halls. And only one who’s metal has been found true will be able to pass back.’

‘I have heard tales of these Rites at Tidings but thought them only to be myth.’

‘They are no myth Brother, they were a regular practise amongst all the races before the Great Divide but none has been practised since the Leaving of the Elders. There is great change in the air my friend, the Lady has returned and walks amongst us once again. She is mustering the forests and gathering them to arms.’

‘The Lady Achren?’

‘Indeed.’

‘It is war then?’

‘I fear it is so. What else can it mean?’

Their conversation is interrupted by the loud snufflings, unmistakable odour and thunderous footfalls of a large, heavy badger barging his way through the undergrowth into the little violet clearing.

‘Broc?’

Broc stops in his tracks and lifts his head from the trail he had been snuffling.

‘Ha. Breac! Thought I’d caught the stench of Fox. Where is he?’

Breac puffs up his feathers protectively.

‘Now look Broc, we don’t want…’

‘Oh don’t worry magpie I’m not here for a fight. I just don’t want to be blindsided again by an angry fool. Took me a long time to recover the last time and I’m too long in the tooth, my flesh I can heal but my heart won’t stand another wounding like that.’

‘Well he’s not here anyway.’

‘What’s the silly fool up to now?’

‘He fell into a Muscarian Lure if you must know.’

‘Ha, ha, ha so old Amanita’s got him in his web has he. Well that’ll teach him a thing or two, if he’s remembered where he left his brains that is.’

‘He’s been called into the Sacred Halls by the Lady and we are awaiting his return.’

‘Has he now? And who might you be?’

‘I am Riviniana.’

‘I am Broc, pleased to make your acquaintance.’

Broc bows his head and snuffles the delicate purple flower glowing by Breac’s feet, then turns his head and looks up at the great wall of holly.

‘So this is the Guardian Holly, eh? Well friends, then we must stand vigil least he has need of us on his return.’

‘Indeed Brother. I have given him what medicine I can to help him through his trials.’

‘That is good friend. He will need it.’

‘You surprise me Broc. I thought you hated Louarn.’

‘It was not I that filled my heart with hatred Breac. He was like son to me.’

Broc’s head sinks in sadness and the company still in silence. Their calm is quashed by screeching howls of terror from with in the holly compound.

‘Louarn!’

Breac darts to the holly wall where Louarn’s paw prints mark his entry, hammering himself at the spike filled barrier trying to gain entry. Feathers fly and blood splatters.

‘Breac! Breac Brother! Stop this madness. You can not help him this way.’

Broc tries to stop Breac from impaling himself on the barbed blockade but he hears nothing but his own fear and that of his Messeer.

‘Riviniana is there something you can do?’

‘He must eat my petals.’

Broc swipes his forepaw at Breac, as gently as he can, knocking him to the ground momentarily stunning him. Lying on the ground with his beak open, the old badger is able to stuff a violet petal in with his long digging claw before he comes to. Hopping back on to his feet he shakes ruffling his feathers, a few more cascade to the ground, swallowing the petal as he does so. Slowly the cloud of fear dissolves and reason returns.

‘I’m sorry Brother if I caused you harm but I’m afraid you would have done yourself worse if I had not knocked you out.’

‘No it’s alright Broc. Thank you. I was overcome.’

‘We can not go where your Messeer has gone Breac but that does not mean that there is nothing we can do to help.’

‘What can we do out here? I have lost my link, I can not reach him.’

‘Not with your mind, Brother, no. But whilst there is strength in our hearts we can send him that. Riviniana will help us.’

‘Brother Broc is right Breac. Do not fall foul of fear. Hold him in the light of your calm heart and he will gain strength from it.’

Broc digs a small burrow at the foot of a hawthorn growing at the edge of Riviniana’s carpet and curls himself up comfortably with his head resting on a pillow of violets. Hopping up on to the badger’s head, Breac nestles into his ruff, as he is so used to doing with Louarn. Silently they return to their vigil.