Chapter 71 The Death of the
Woodland Saint
I think that
storytelling and creation are very close to what the center of what magic is
about. I think not just for me, but for most of the cultures that have had a
concept of magic, then the manipulation of language, and words, and thus of
stories and fictions, has been very close to the center of it all. – Alan Moore
Regenulfa
was weary. She had little strength. She, who had healed all manner of beasts and
men was dying. She was in her chapel,
being tended by both Ugar and Jocelyn.
But there was nothing that they could do for her, because she was
neither sick nor wounded. When she
thirsted they gave her water. They sat
with her, they talked with her, they held her hand. Ugar never left her side, and Jocelyn only
rarely. But there was nothing to be
done, but watch the girl die.
The
problem was a simple one. She who knew
the Language of the Birds, who could talk to animals, who was friend to savage
beast and Lord of men, developed yet one more gift. A deeper understanding came to her.
One
day when she was in the forest, her forest, a gift of the Lord of Carcassonne,
and tending a sick rabbit she heard something.
Well, it wasn’t a sound so much as it was something that seemed to her
to be a sound, but even she understood that it was simply inside her mind. A voice.
But this voice did not come from inside her mind, but simply was heard
there. But, she heard it nonetheless and
there was no getting by it. It came as
she broke off some grass and attempted to feed it to the poor rabbit.
Regenulfa
knew exactly what it was. It was
unmistakable in both its origin and its meaning. The voice carried no words, but was a cry…a
cry of fear and pain. And to her horror
it came from the grass she held in her hand which the sick rabbit began to nibble
on. She dropped both the grass and the
rabbit and jumped to her feet. Then she
heard all the voices. They came crashing
down upon her, like a deafening din. She
had learned the language of the plants and it was her doom.
The
whispers of the trees, the sighs of the reeds in the wind, the songs of the ivy
and the briars. And their cries. Throughout the forest, every bite a dear
took, every root attacked by a termite, every blade of grass crushed by boar or
bear…she heard the cries. She heard the
cries and she could not bare them. She
ran through the woods, she fled to her chapel.
She fell to her knees and prayed to God.
She
was never to leave the chapel again. For
three days she prayed before Ugar came to visit her. At once the young man saw her worried face
with sunken eyes.
“What
is it, Regenulfa?” he asked. “What vexes
you so? Are you ill? You do not look well.”
She
scarcely paid him any attention. She
remained focused on her prayers. She saw
Ugar fret. She saw him worry. But what could she say to him? There was nothing that he could do for
her. And she knew in her heart there was
nothing anyone could do for her. Not
even God. Because she had heard the
plant’s cry and she could not unhear it.
She knew the truth of everything. And it was terrible.
Ugar
would not move nor leave her. He stayed
with her two days. But she would not
budge from the foot of her altar. He
brought her water, which she would drink, and she brought her berries. She screamed when she saw the berries. She would not eat them. To her eyes they were the very babies of the
plants. As she had given up the eating
of animal flesh, she had given up the flesh of the vegetable. And she knew this had doomed her.
Ugar
left and returned with Jocelyn. Together
they entreated her to take substance, but she would not. She could not. The very thought of food had become a
nightmare of complete abomination to Regenulfa.
She would offer the occasional looks of loving concern to her lover and
her sister, but only for a few seconds here and there, before returning to her
prayers. Sooner or later God would grant
her last wish…this much was sure.
After
three weeks of this behavior, Jocelyn had left and returned with blankets, for
Regenulfa was unable to kneel any longer.
She had fallen from weakness at the very foot of the altar to God. Jocelyn and Ugar wrapped her gently in the
blankets’ warm and saw to her comfort.
In the end, Regenulfa of Incourt had given herself up to the altar of
her God, and left the mortal coil behind forever.
copyright 2017 Diana Hignutt
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