The Fruit of Passion – Chapter 21 – Part IV

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‘’It appears the worms have left the mud and crept back to the surface,’’ murmured Rhys as he watched Trevor and Ellis emerge to the upper storey, tongs in one hand, an oil bell at the other–its golden light a reminder of Trevor’s folly and irreversible doom. Barely hushed murmurs broke from the miners’ lips as the pair walked amongst them to resume work.

Maddox nodded, a thundering look constricting his pupils. ‘’I hope they’ve learnt their lesson. For all our sakes. One more misstep and their lives are forfeit.’’

‘’At least their allies seem wise enough to keep their distance.’’ Rhys jerked his head to the once stalwart companions of Trevor and Ellis who now avoided all contact with them as if they carried a cursed disease.

‘’I see such portents as ambiguous.’’ Maddox’s fierce frown darkened even further his swarthy face. ‘’Wolves isolated from the pack often turn even more vicious.’’

Rhys heaved up a sigh, then brought up the hem of his soot-streaked apron to sweep the sweat from his forehead. ‘’The prospect of rebellion makes your blood run cold, doesn’t it?’’

‘’Whatever your flaws, dull-witted you’re not. In a hive where the dregs of society are all cramped together, that is always a possibility. It’s a strife between savagery and civilization, everything hanging by a thread. One easily snapped when the lawless band together.’’

‘’And if push comes to shove, have you prepared yourself to impose order once more?’’

Maddox brought himself flash against Rhys, his words tumbling out in a low pitch. ‘’Perhaps it’s not a matter of imposing order. Perhaps it’s a matter of survival or, better yet, a chance at rebirth. If a collapse is in store, I’m determined not to see myself buried beneath the rubble. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re of a like mind.’’

Rhys stilled for a moment, the thread of understanding unwinding from one man to the other, each piercing the other’s gaze. ‘’Let earth mix with fire then. We both have much to live for.’’ Rhys put out his arm and the men clasped one another at the elbow.

The buzz of everyone’s remarks grew louder. Maddox broke away, the crack of his whip reverberating off the rocky walls. ‘’This isn’t a performance on stage. Stop gawking and chattering and complete your tasks. You’re not here to laze around.’’

The palaver soon died as the miners scrambled back into the tunnels. Except for Trevor and Ellis, the latter bending his head to whisper to his companion. The pair regarded Rhys for interminable moments, their stare as venomous as a viper’s bite, Trevor’s even more so despite his incapacitated sight. Rhys remained silent. Keeping them both in his field of vision, he opened his mouth and blew out a cloud of fire, burning down the hardest of the silver-pregnant matrix, the jutting rock smashing down with a deafening boom that made the pair flinch and slowly withdraw.

From that moment, there started mounting some unidentifiable strain of both muscle and mind to which all fell prey. A quickening that birthed some terrible anticipation crying out for release. It was evident in the ever-alert glances of the miners who tracked every movement and every gesture of Rhys as well as of Trevor and Ellis. It was tangible in the way they always took care not to render themselves vulnerable or caught unawares by having their backs turned or the way they always kept themselves armed by not parting with their gads and pickaxes even during their brief pause from work.

Even when they retired to bed, sleep was ever fitful which further soured everyone’s mood, scuffles erupting out of the blue.

‘’Fear’s making them lose their bleeding wits.’’ Maddox ground his teeth, then spat on the ground. ‘’It’s been a wythnos and I’ll I’m doing is jumping around, trying to break everyone apart. I’m sick and tired of it. If I raise my fist against them, they’ll grow even more irrational.’’

Rhys let out a sigh, his hands rubbing his bleary eyes. ‘’We need to ensure that everyone enjoys proper rest. Well, as much as that is possible given these tumbledown driftwoods we have for beds. A decent slumber will surely relieve some of the anxiety.’’

An excerpt from my mythic fantasy novel currently titled The Fruit of Passion.

Please, share your impressions. All constructive feedback is welcome.

Protected: The Fruit of Passion: Chapter 21 – Part III

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Protected: The Fruit of Passion: Chapter 21 – Part II

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Olwen: Myth and Religion in the Fantastic (Part I)

Ysbaddaden

Culhwch at Ysbaddaden’s court. An illustration by E. Wallcousins in Celtic Myth and Legend, Charles Squire, 1920

In my mythic fantasy novel, currently titled The Fruit of Passion, I’ve drawn extensive inspiration from various sources of Celtic myth and legend and incorporated many events and episodes of fabulous origin into my main narrative.

However, Celtic tradition is divided into several branches. Of particular interest to me is the rich and wonderful material pertaining to the Welsh, namely the Mabinogion (the earliest prose stories of the literature of Britain, compiled in Middle Welsh in the 12th–13th centuries from earlier oral traditions) and The Spoils of Annwn (Preiddeu Annwfn), a cryptic poem of sixty lines in Middle Welsh, found in the Book of Taliesin and  recounting an expedition with King Arthur to Annwn, the Welsh name for the Celtic Otherworld.

The stories contained in the Mabinogion are highly entertaining, providing a wide panorama of fantasy, romance, drama, philosophy, tragedy and humour. Beasts and giants, magic and illusions, kings and noble ladies, knights and fair maidens, quests and lasting friendships, battles and deceptions, mercy and valour are only a small sample of what one will encounter in the pages of this book.

Set in the dual worlds between the valleys and forests of Wales and the mysterious, shadowy realms of the Otherworld, many of the tales move within a dreamlike atmosphere that weaves a web of seduction all over the reader.

And I was seduced in the twinkling of an eye. It was love at first sight for me. As soon as I finished reading the first page, I was bewitched. Deeply moved by the tales, I thought to transfer many of their motifs, themes, episodes, characters and general ambience into my own novel in an attempt to infuse my own work with the Celtic mentality and worldview, keeping as close to the original source but doing so in my own way so as to create a distinction between my narrative and the Mabinogion.

It’s my personal view that the creation of a new religion is one of the most intriguing and fascinating aspects of world-building in a work of fiction. Immediately, we writers are called to answer the question of how we can go about crafting a new system of divine faith. Do we rely upon preexisting religions? If yes, do we borrow elements and doctrines from one or are we to consider multiple at the same time? Do we blend facets of one familiar to us with made-up dogmas and creeds our imagination conjures? Or are we to give complete and free reign to our fancy and see where this path leads us?

I believe there’s no definite, clear-cut reply to that as the most important thing in fiction that eclipses all other ”rules” and ”regulations” is to write and incorporate that which best serves our narrative and story arc.

With that in mind, my own approach was to combine a few attitudes already found in a religion familiar to me with those found in paganism. So, I kept some Christian tenets like those of love, benevolence, truth and forgiveness and aimed for an amalgam with the concepts and tropes that abound in one of the stories in the Mabinogion, namely that of Culhwch and Olwen.

One of the most complex and celebrated stories in the collection, Culhwch and Olwen recounts the trials and tribulations the titular character face in order to enjoy their happily ever after.

After a difficult childbirth, King Cilydd, son of Celyddon, loses his wife, Goleuddydd. When he remarries, his son, the young Culhwch, rejects his stepmother’s attempt to pair him with his new stepsister. Offended, the new queen puts a curse on him so that he can marry no one besides the beautiful Olwen, the daughter of the giant Ysbaddaden Pencawr. Though he has never seen her, Culhwch becomes enamoured of her at the sound of her name, but his father warns him that he will never find her without the aid of his famous cousin, Arthur.

Culhwch sets off and finds him at his court in Celliwig in Cornwall. Arthur consents to aid him, and sends a number of his finest warriors to join Culhwch in his search for Olwen. The group meets some relatives of Culhwch’s that know Olwen and agree to arrange a meeting. Olwen is receptive to Culhwch’s attraction, but she cannot marry him unless her father agrees, and he, unable to survive past his daughter’s wedding, will not consent until Culhwch completes a series of about forty impossible-sounding tasks. The tasks completed, the giant is killed, and the lovers are free to marry.

Although the titular characters do not feature prominently in the tale, the challenges Culhwch undergoes in order to earn his happy end with his beloved are beyond fascinating. So Culhwch’s determination and Olwen’s limitless patience operated as a canvass for me in order to work on their personalities and make them both fully-fledged individuals.

My novel being highly character-driven, I couldn’t relegate these two into shadowy presences at the fringes of the narrative. I transformed them into characters of cunning and action and strength, motivated by their goals and desires. Populating my novel with a series of female characters of undeniable agency, I thought to add one more in the form of Olwen.

Assigning to her a much more active role than the one she enjoyed in the Mabinogion, I conceived her as an otherwordly maiden to be courted not by Culhwch this time, but by a strong warrior named Sil, the son of an eastern enchantress forced to flee her natal land and seek refuge in the isles of the North: thus bringing into the mix the legend of the ancient king Sil who is rumoured to be buried atop his horse with his golden armour in the mound of Silbury).

When Sil completes the tasks requested by Olwen’s father, King Pen, the couple marries and they flee with some of the maiden’s kin to the mortal realm, to the fictional island of Rumia where Sil and his kniswomen live. Now populated, the island begins to thrive and due to her innate kindness and her magical abilities associated with fertility, Olwen is venerated by the islanders and at her death, she acquires divine status and is worshipped as the goddess of the sun.

Etymologically speaking, Olwen means white footprint. In the Mabinogion, she was so gentle and fragile that white trefoils would grow beneath her feet. Something which I changed in my novel, opting for white lilies instead. Some authorities consider her to have been originally a solar goddess, based on the etymology of her name and light-related attributes. And that is the line I’ ve followed in my own novel.

Below follows an excerpt from the story of Culhwch and Olwen where the latter is described in exquisite, vivid detail.

The maiden was clothed in a robe of flame−coloured silk, and about her neck was a collar of ruddy gold, on which were precious emeralds and rubies. More yellow was her head than the flower of the broom, and her skin was whiter than the foam of the wave, and fairer were her hands and her fingers than the blossoms of the wood anemone amidst the spray of the meadow fountain. The eye of the trained hawk, the glance of the three−mewed falcon was not brighter than hers. Her bosom was more snowy than the breast of the white swan, her cheek was redder than the reddest roses. Whoso beheld her was filled with her love. Four white trefoils sprung up wherever she trod. And therefore was she called Olwen.