NMR ISSUE 43

Antilion Fly, Abalone & Grouse
Astrological Forecast 43
Chant for the Goddess
Colm and the Unicorn
Dark Passages
Editorial 43
Esoteric Symbology of the Tarot
Evolution
Healing for Mild Depression
In the Fire
Meditation
Meditation is the Key
Midsummer's Eve
Mouse
Namaste Part I
Pathworking
Ravel Magick
The $ Word
The Deserted Castle
Working with Your Shadow, II

Articles
Authors
Rituals
Book Reviews
NMR Issues
NMR Covers

Colm and the Unicorn

By Trish Reynolds

Colm was frightened. The sky had darkened to a thick gruel and the air was dense, liquid and difficult to breathe. The boy of nine summers kept a tight hold on the twin lambs lest they bolt. They struggled weakly, bleating in short, frightened bursts as lightning smote the sky, and thunder rolled in waves from the sea beyond the mountains. Electric gloom crushed about the three huddled figures threatening to stifle them. Then the sky opened, releasing a torrent of cold rain. Hail stones pelted the boy as he tucked the frightened animals closer into the dubious safety of his arms, sheltering them with his thin body.

Finally, after an age, the hail stopped and the rain slowed to a chill drizzle. The thick gruel sky lightened to soft malt, the color of simmering hops, and Colm smiled. Such storms were not uncommon in the northern parts of Caledonia, though they never ceased to frighten him with their intensity. Old Magwyn would have warned the village in the past, but the Old One had died, and no one remained in the poor village of Moguhl Gwynt to take her place as Wisdom. All three of the learned ones who had come to study with the Old One had gone to seek fortune in the southern lands far from the harshness of the Highlands.

There were few Celtic tribes living so far to the north. The Romans had pressed hard, and Colm's people had fled the many difficult miles to safety, leaving behind their priests and their possessions. Even the Cruithni tribes, whose lands they had crossed, did not choose to live so near the top of the world. No, the Romans would not follow them here; here the enemy was Nature Herself. With Magwyn gone, that enemy might yet prove the stronger. Even the brief summer held forth unpredictably dangerous weather, and none left in the village had the Way, the Eye, or the Sight, to control, see or predict. With no Wisdom or Druid, they were completely at the mercy of the elements and the Sidhi both.

One by one stars winked into life as dark clouds scattered, shredded like the ruined web of some great cosmic spider. Colm led his small charges down from the high grass where they had wandered. The sky had turned a rich blue-black, bejeweled with the shining points of light which guided the young shepherd's steps unerringly to the lower grass meadows, where the flock would be huddled against the night, and his brother, Liam, would be waiting anxiously.

The moon rose, full and pregnant, shining down protectively to light his way. He was on familiar ground now, and the land was not so steep. For a moment he stopped to gaze upon the light of the Mother Moon, and his attention wavered for an instant. The soft black lamb, seeing its master distracted, struggled free, bolting toward the cover of deep shadow which marked the tree line. Colm cursed softly under his breath, and secured the remaining lamb with the leather sash from around his middle, leaving his coat to hang open, flapping as he chased the one, pulling the other reluctantly behind.

The black lamb paused, and stared back at the boy, seeming almost to laugh before disappearing into the dark. Colm could hear it bleating for a moment, then there was silence.

He tied the end of the makeshift lead to a low hanging branch, stroking the white woolly head.

There lass. Be nought a'feared, I'll be back for ye as soon as I've fetched your brother.

Soft brown eyes stared trustingly into his gray ones, as if the animal understood and was comforted. It was Colm's gift, his way with animals. Some in the village whispered that he was fey, touched by the faerie folk, perhaps even a changeling. More than once, Liam, older and larger-framed than his slight brother, had had to come to his sibling's rescue, when the children taunted and teased him for his small stature and quiet ways. Still, even Liam, who truly loved his little brother, noted that there was certainly something different about the boy.

Magwyn had spoken to their father, shortly before her death, about Colm coming to learn the Way of animals, but that was before. The Wisdom was no longer with them, having passed beyond into the realm of Summerland. Her spirit undoubtedly to be reborn as the Druids taught, but that of course would do the tribe little good now.

The black lamb blended well in the dark beneath the oaks, drifting like a wraith from shadow to shadow, seeming to draw Colm on deliberately, letting him nearly catch him up, then skipping easily away.

Come then, ye silly thing! It be getting near enough to midnight, and the faeries under the hill will get ye! Colm cajoled, speaking softly. It seemed to work. The little black lamb paused and turned, waiting as the boy drew closer. Then, with a gleeful bleat, he leapt away to be swallowed up in the darkness of beneath an ancient oak.

Colm lunged after, never noticing how tightly the shadows were woven together. Before he knew it, he was deep in the thick of a grove of ancient and sacred trees, and a virgin grove at that. No Druid had been here to call down the protection of the Gods, Cernunnos or the Oak King, to claim this place for humans. It was wild still and fey, Colm could feel it.

Nervously, he turned his eyes upward, but not a single shaft of light penetrated the leafy canopy. The Goddess Mother's protection did not extend to this place. It was as dark as if the moon was new. The hairs prickled along the back of his neck and his fingers moved reflexively forming the sign against evil, as his mother had taught him.

Gruagach, protect me, breathed the boy as the dark folded itself around him. Colm blinked, trying to pierce the black of night with his mortal eyes. A soft shimmering light beckoned dimly through the trees, and a softer mist seemed to pull at him. The sound of water came faintly, not rushing, as a stream or brook, but an almost silent splashing. He resisted the mist for a few seconds, fearing the water kelpies were calling him to trap his mortal body and steal away his soul. But the wild magick was strong, compelling, and Colm found his feet moving in slow, shuffling steps toward the water sounds. As his legs carried him reluctantly though inexorably closer, the young shepherd fancied he could hear other sounds floating just below the faint after sounds. The hushed strains of pipes sent music so sweet and so ethereal to his ears, that the boy's steps quickened, all thoughts of danger forgotten with the longing to find the maker of those sad, haunting strains.

His feet, no longer resisting the enchantment that drew him, carried him through the hushed grove to the very edge of the trees standing silent sentinel around him. The soft shimmer had brightened to a radiant glow, blinding Colm's eyes as he squinted, trying to bring the scene before him into focus. He could hear another sound now, rising in time to the music, a sound so soft that he almost missed it. Had he been another, he would have done, but Colm was like his mother, touched, (some say blessed, others cursed) with The Sight. As his eyes adjusted, shifting from his mortal sight, he heard a quiet, distressed moan, an almost human cry filled with a profound sadness totally bereft of hope.

That cry seemed to release something in the lad. His love of the animals transcended the bewitchment which had dragged him to this place, and he rushed forward, desperate to save his lost lamb from the fey clutches of the faerie realm. As he broke into the circle of light, the music stopped suddenly as though cut with a blade. The animal Colm could see struggling at the edge of a pool of dark water, stared at him with eyes huge and round with fear. It was with relief that he saw it was not his lamb, not any domestic animal in fact, caught in the kelpies' trap. At first he took it to be a fawn, a young red-deer, but then his eyes registered what was really there. He stared transfixed at the young animal, the nub of a single spiral horn jutting from its brow. His mother had told tales from her home, of a single horned animal, a kind of magical pony she'd called a Unicorn. This animal did not resemble one of the highland hill ponies, so much as it did a cross between a goat and a doe. Large frightened eyes stared at him. Her ears were large and wide, twitching in the chill air. The creature was mostly white, with delicate markings running from deep ginger to light brown on the front of its oval deer shaped face. A long silky mane, the only similarity Colm could see to horse-kind, trailed along the graceful curve of her neck, while shaggy fur-like hair of the same ginger-brown as the facial markings, lay like a ruff along the spine, ending in a short deer-like tail. Small, dainty rear hooves were dug in at the earth edging the dark pool, front legs, already mired to the knee joints in the enchanted waters. Never had such a creature been seen in the Highlands, at least not to anyone who'd ever spoken of it. His spirit was moved as much at the sight of the unicorn as at its plight. His hands shook as he reached beneath his shirt, fingers curling about the small wooden flute his brother had carved for him to while away the hours during the bleak winter months. He stepped forward, out of the shadow of the trees and held the small instrument to his lips.

In the heart of the fey glow, he could make out shadows, indistinct outlines. He played a few tentative notes, then let the music, a melody his mother had hummed to him as a bairn, lift itself from the depths of his soul, carrying plaintively along the still currents of air. As he played, he moved forward until he was standing just before the boulder where the faerie forms had solidified in his Sight. There was no movement as he played on. Even the struggling unicorn ceased her exertions, captured by his music.

The kelpies clung to each other as the music transformed the glen with Colm's magick, each note flying from the crude flute with a life of its own. The lad grew weary, but dared not cease, understanding instinctively, that to do so before the first light of dawn would doom the precious animal he sought to save. Time lost all meaning as his flute began to sing songs of its own, filling the dark night with light and laughter. As the music changed cadence, the faeries began to dance in rhythm, and an unearthly incandescence charged the fey dancers as they whirled. They were as enthralled in the music as the unicorn was enthralled in their Cimmerian pool.

Gradually, yellow light began to crawl along the eastern edge of the pool. Dawn was slow to come in the high country. At the first kiss of sunlight upon the water, an inhuman screech rent the air. Colm ended his reel and watched in fascination as the fey spirits dissolved before his eyes in the brightening day. With a single mighty effort, the yearling unicorn reared back, pulling its front legs free as the water turned to black rock with the sun. She turned away from the edge shuddering relief. With but a single glance over her shoulder at the child whose music had set her free, she bounded away to be swallowed up by the forest.

Colm smiled. Be free, wee one, he called as he white deer-tail disappeared into the bracken.

Exhaustion set in and the lad swayed, suddenly overcome with weariness seldom felt by mortals. He lay on the short turf, meaning to close his eyes for but a moment before finding his lambs and returning to the village.

* * *

The sun felt warm against his cheek as Colm's eyes fluttered open. There was a wrongness in the warmth. He sat up, staring wildly. The seams of his rough-spun shirt broke apart as he moved. His cloak felt tight, constricting his arms. He tried to stand on legs turned liquid with shock as his hands brushed a wiry growth along his chin.

On his left, a small spring bubbled up forming a tiny pool in the hollow that marked where the unicorn's hooves had been ensnared. He dashed the icy water into his eyes, hoping it would clear his head, but the growth was still there after he had scrubbed his face raw in the cold flow. Finally, he found his feet and managed to stand, stumbling his way back through the oak grove to where he'd left the white lamb. There was no sign of her. Slowly, a memory surfaced in his befuddled mind, fire tales of mortals who had dealings with the Sidhe and he shuddered, realizing what must have happened. The shepherd dropped to his knees, sobbing.

Leave off your weeping, Wisdom. The voice came clearly to his mind, bypassing his ears. Colm looked up. She stood a little distance before him, her wide black eyes liquid and clear as Spring rain.

I am nought but a simple herdsman, he croaked, voice cracking with change as he formed the words. He stared at the Unicorn, fully grown now and smiled through eyes blurred with tears. A boon, pretty one? May I but touch ye?

Silver laughter washed his spirit clear of sorrow as the beast out of legend approached and lowered her head to him. He touched the long horn, raising in a spiral between her eyes, and tangled his fingers in the silk of her mane. She was still mostly white, but the reddish-brown markings had darkened to near black, and there were two white blazes set in dark patches on either side of the horn. He smiled as tears flowed freely down his cheeks. Ye be real, he whispered, wonder filling his soul.

Return to your village, Colm, for they have need of you now, came the reply. It has been ten years since you saved me, and all that you need to know has been given to your spirit as you slept. Your father is old, but has never given up hope of your return. Tell your tale to the Headman, and all will know it for truth.

Will I ever see ye again? he asked.

When it is your time, child of Gruagach, I shall come for you. Until then, your life will be long, and you will be a Druid.

Colm bowed his head and when again he raised it, the unicorn was gone.

All was as he'd been promised. Upon his return, his father proclaimed him his son, verifying his identity with tears and smiles, by the small birthmark on his thigh. From that day, Moguhl Gwynt flourished, never again suffering for want of a healer, or one to call the rains or predict the storms.

A Druid, one of the elders traveling from the Holy Isle came to investigate stories of the Highland Wisdom. Colm took the man to the place where the kelpie pool had been, and where the Unicorn's spring had grown to a swiftly running stream. Together, the two consecrated the oak grove, and the Druid proclaimed the village Wisdom kindred of the Brotherhood.

On a warm spring day, when Colm was very old and had left off his duties to a young Druid new from the Isle, the Unicorn came again.

Ah, pretty one, he said, deep laugh lines etched about his eyes crinkling with delight. Is it time?

Time, child, came the silver voice, as she lowered her head to him. Come, and we shall go together into Summer.

Colm rested his head against the soft neck and smiled, his eyes closing. Soon, his slow breathing ceased, and his soul followed along into the mists of eternity.

The villagers found him just before dusk, his grey head nestled on his arm which was wrapped around an odd stone formation. The young Druid smiled, understanding, and from that day to now, offerings are left at the Unicorn Stone which guards the sacred spring.

Adapted from a local Scottish legend.

1993, Trish Reynolds