Troubadour sets out

The Enchanteur has invited us to set off on a new journey, this time in search of the elixir of creativity.

I bade farewell to the abbess and made my way, as directed, out of the back door of the abbey complex, and walked towards the wall at the far end of the herb garden. The enchanteur was waiting for me, bubbling with barely suppressed excitement. She handed me a small pouch, telling me that it contained a packet of dream seeds, spectacles, a candlestick, a tiny anchor, a medallion with the imprint of a unicorn and a set of wings. She told me there was something else in the pouch that was specifically for me and I would find out what it was when the time was right. She adjured me to keep the pouch with me at all times and not lose it.

 

 

Behind her was an old door set in the wall. It was obvious that it hadn’t been used for ages as great swathes of ivy almost concealed it and it would have escaped the attention of all but the most alert. A stone stoup was set in the wall and next to it hung a metal cup on a chain affixed to the wall. A small plaque, the words so worn that it was hard to read, encouraged travellers to “drink from my spring the water of life which will suffuse your veins with the desire to seek the elusive grail of creativity”. I drank deeply of the cool spring water.

 

The enchanteur gently pushed me in the direction of the door, twisting the heavy door handle for me. She pulled hard and amidst a shower of dust and leaves and the startled squawks of some birds nesting there, the door opened. I hesitated on the sill, took a deep breath, walked through and heard the door slam shut behind me.

 

The cold hit me at once. I pulled my cloak more closely around me, glad of my warm boots. Ahead of me stretched fields covered in snow, bare brown stalks showing, with violet hills in the distance. A kestrel, hovering silently above me, suddenly plummeted to the ground and flew with a small animal in its claws. But it was the smell that I really noticed. It took me a few moments to realise I was surrounded by alpine lavender fields and the smell of the lavender in the cold was much more intense than in the summer. There was only one track in front of me so I set off towards a chapel, half-hidden in the snow, that I could dimly make out on the horizon. There were no sounds at all save the crunch of the snowy pebbles underfoot. I was awed by the quality of the light and the wide-open space around me.

At first glance the chapel had seemed quite close but after a couple of miles I seemed to be no nearer. I was beginning to feel thirsty and eventually resorted to licking snow out of my cupped hands, which did little to quench my thirst. How stupid I’d been to set off so ill prepared. I was beginning to feel hungry by now as well.

 

I pushed on and at last walked through the gate up to the chapel door. It was late afternoon and the light was fading fast, casting long blue shadows across the snow-covered ground. It seemed I was expected for the door opened before I’d time to knock. An old man invited me to come in, and told me I was welcome to stay the night and share his evening meal.

I sank down onto a high-backed chair and closed my eyes for a minute while my chilled fingers and toes gratefully absorbed the warmth from the open fire. He poured me a goblet of mead, the honeyed liquid tasting like nectar on my parched tongue. He pushed a wooden plate of biscuits towards me and I happily nibbled one while glancing round the room - whitewashed walls, bunches of herbs drying, a couple of pictures, rush matting on the floor. “Supper won’t be long,” he said “and then you can sleep for your journey will be long tomorrow.” While I stayed seated at his insistence, he laid the table with 2 more goblets, wooden bowls and a loaf of bread on a wooden board. He removed the pot from its hook above the fire and ladled the contents into the bowls. We sat for a few moments, heads bowed in prayers of thanks for our fare and ate the stew – rich, bubbling brown flavoured with many herbs and onions – delicious. From a dusty old bottle he poured us both cider. After dinner, replete and more relaxed, he questioned me about where I had come from and what, if anything, I knew about where I was headed.

I told him of my travels and showed him my map – incomplete – for it shows only where I have been and not where I am going.

The enchanteur had told me to head for Owl Creek Road, towards the old mining town of Leaning Birches in the Olympic Mountains. He raised his eyebrows slightly at this. “Leaning Birches, eh? That would be the one in the Olympic mountains, would it?” I nodded my assent. “Strange goings-on up there. You’ll need to keep your wits about you”. “Can you explain?” But he wouldn’t be drawn into further revelation. A companionable silence fell between us, broken by the soft collapse of a log on the fire, now burnt through.

At length he showed me into a small side room where I found a bed and a small table with a jug and bowl on it. After the briefest of washes I sank gratefully into bed with my mind at first too busy with the events of the day to allow me to fall into a deep sleep. Eventually the warmth overcame me and I slept but stirred as I woke from a dream where I had been trying to mount a camel, its rope held by a dark-skinned man with blue-black kohl markings round his eyes, which looked like a bandit’s mask. I lay in the bed remembering last year’s caravanserai journey, when we had travelled on camels.

With the cold light of dawn I got up, washed and dressed and went back into the main room. The table had been laid again but this time only for one. I guessed it must be for me and devoured a bowl of strawberries (at this time of year?), warm milk, brown rolls and honey. As I finished the last mouthful, my host appeared. “I trust you have had enough to eat, I have prepared some food for your journey”. At this my heart jumped into my mouth. How could I repay his hospitality when I hadn’t brought any money with me? “You have no need to pay me, your tales were gift enough. Travel safely on the path and may you find that which you are seeking”. I stepped out into the cold snowy landscape and set off towards the hills.