Scotland, year of our Lord 1266
The golden firelight flickered over her unwrinkled expression. Her face was still smooth, even after all these years. Her violet eyes were clear, her voice strong. Her hair was still that bright red, with but a few strands of silver woven in the mix. Her bones were straight and not bent with age, refuting her name of “Auld” Nana. She sat in a heavy oaken chair near the blazing hearth, working on her mending, when a young child by the name of Cristabel came to her knee. “Auld Nana, will ye sing us a song?” Cristabel dipped down into a careful curtsy, as her mother had taught her. Brushing back her pale blonde braids, she lisped, "Please, Auld Nana?"
The look on the child’s face is what drew Auld Nana’s decision. “Aye, my sweetie, get yer brothers and sisters, and all yer cousins while I put my mendin’ away. For I think they will enjoy this song I have a mind to share.” Firelight flickered in her eyes. "Hurry now! Ye do not want me tae forget it, would ye?"
The child scampered off, in a hurry to gather her family and friends. As she trod away crushing the herbs underfoot which were mixed in with the fresh rushes created a cheery aroma. Within moments, all the available space was taken up by hoards of children. Auld Nana turned to the small child who stood smiling next to her. “Ye must have been put up to this, to have gathered up so many before I had even laid my needle down!”
She then turned to the group who had gathered at her feet. “My dear little ones you asked for a song yet instead I have a grand tale to tell ye this eve! True love, sword play, and adventure-- everything you should be dreamin’ of! Faeries and Pixxies, Sprites, Elves, all of which look like Mortals! Where now should I begin?”
The throng of young looked up at her unlined face expectantly, for they knew that she could weave a tale as well as the cook made bread. These were not Auld Nana's people, but kindly souls who adopted her, for she was worldly and wise. In turn, she embraced them, and in a sense, they were her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, crafted with a love of good stories.
“My loves, listen to me well. As you know, there was time befur the Christ was born to the Madonna. In those times, befur yer mither and father, and their mithers and fathers, there was a religion. It was not based on miracles like ours today. No, my sweets, it was based on the knowledge that everythin’ was put here by a Goddess and her consort, a God.”
A young boy asked, “Was he Lord Jesus’ father?”
Auld Nana smiled at him. “No, dearie. This was befur that God ascended into heaven. This is befur the Druids, who held sway over the oaks and the Roman legions, who then destroyed the mighty oaks, and replaced the Celtic gods with Roman ones. This was at the Gate of Time. The Gate of Time is where the journeys of years begin. Oh, I know this sounds a wee bit queer, but I have it on good authority that this is how it began.”
Cristabel asked in a small voice “What does the Gate of Time look like, Auld Nana?”
When Nana looked up, she saw that along with the children, a great many adults had gathered, eagerly anticipating her narrative. Some were seated on the rush-strewn floor, like the babes. Others had dragged benches from the tables to sit upon. Everyone gazed expectantly at her, so she answered Cristabel promptly.
“Well, my dear, the Gate of Time is a large white gate. It glows when ye look at it, and when ye don’t look ye can still see it, for it is just that bright. It is surrounded by trees and flowers, of every shape, color, and height. The sky is a bright blue, not a cloud in sight. It never rains, but has a rainbow, just as sure as I am sittin’ here.”
A young dark haired boy asked in an awe-filled voice, “Bigger than the drawbridge?”
She smiled at Ewan. “Aye, much larger. Ye canna see the top of it. Ye would be havin’ your head attached upside-down to yer back if ye tried it. If the drawbridge was a wee mousie, then the Gate of Time is a grand warhorse. Ye couldna lie on the grass to gander at the top o’ it, either. The brightness would hurt yer eyes. But aye, my sweets, 'tis a lovely place.” The bevy of young faces had assorted thoughts, she could tell. The boys were taken back by the grandeur of such an edifice, and the girls were in wonder of the beauty. That was a good beginning for this legend. She closed her eyes and started her tale. As she began, her voice raised and lowered, creating music to the youngsters’ ears.
“My story begins with the most fair of all the Faery maidens. Her hair could rival the leaves in the autumn. She was fair of face and form; a smile always graced her lips. She never was unkind to her fellows. Well, she was on occasion, but she wouldna admit it! The most fair of the Faeries was a Princess. Her mither and father ruled the kingdom of Maicair Caylus with a just hand. This Princess Aibell was born under the Samhain moon, to the Faeries’ delight. Such a child could rule an entire kingdom, for when a child is born under the Samhain moon, they have more Magick in their little finger than the whole kingdom combined. But the Faeries never got along with the Elves. Faeries were the peace keepers of that hidden realm, while the Elves sat in their mountains, planning and plotting the take what was not rightfully theirs….”
Thank you for reading! If you’d like more of the story, help yourself to the rest of the posted chapters: