6 10 105 https://filianicstudies.org/cms/files/original/fb309d26fa89678234071b16257e576f.pdf 92fe5054b042ecc9b3cf337e928573ae Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Coming Age Description An account of the resource The official magazine of Lux Madriana from 1975 to 1982. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1975–1982 Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Oxford, England Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data magazine (22pp.) Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Coming Age, Issue 19 Description An account of the resource Contents: The Bitter Withy [poem], Evolution: The Last of the Great Dogmas, The Other Crusade, The Three Moiras, The True Origin of Species, The Coming Season (Day of All Heras through Moira's Day), The Question, Heralds of God, The Vandals: When the Sane Act as Lunatics Perhaps Society is Mad, Symbolism: The Bridge, Human Rights Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Personal collection of Sister Sophia Ruth. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Lux Madriana Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource Summer 1981 Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Todmorden, England https://filianicstudies.org/cms/files/original/7436092bf34a2b21c63908e31dcbe83e.pdf 7457761d166121d8f1722723ffcdc173 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Coming Age Description An account of the resource The official magazine of Lux Madriana from 1975 to 1982. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1975–1982 Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Oxford, England Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data magazine (30pp.) Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Coming Age, Issue 04 Description An account of the resource Contents: Editorial, The Coming Season (The Feast of Divine Life to the Festival of Artemis), The Madrian Way of Life, The Goddess in Tibet, The Scientist and the Book, The Myth of the Twentieth Century, Works in Progress, East of the Sunset and West of the Dawn [story], The Veil of Matter, Thanatos: The Ultimate Death-Wish, Symbolism: The Apple and the Tree of Life, Advertisements Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Personal collection of Sister Sophia Ruth. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Lux Madriana Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Oxford, England Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource Autumn 1977 https://filianicstudies.org/cms/files/original/21cb67d5e25b3a4889e34e74f9556d9c.pdf cb14454eb24f45bfc64bdb553ee16599 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Coming Age Description An account of the resource The official magazine of Lux Madriana from 1975 to 1982. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1975–1982 Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Oxford, England Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data magazine (22pp.) Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Coming Age, Issue 06 Description An account of the resource Contents: Editorial, Meditations (Passion, Resurrection, Exaltation), The Forces of Darkness, Work in Progress, The Hanged One, Discovering the Goddess, Art & Spirit, Like a Dove Into the Flame: The Experience of Initiation, An 'Exorcism', The Coming Season (Eastre through Anthea's Day), The Talking Well [story], The Truth About Easter, Book Reviews (The Moira Handbook, If Women Want to Speak..., Arachne Rising, Communion with the Goddess), Lady of the Dance [poem], Symbolism: Water and the Willow, Advertisements Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Personal collection of Sister Sophia Ruth. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Lux Madriana Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource Easter Spring 1978 Language A language of the resource English Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Oxford, England https://filianicstudies.org/cms/files/original/4f6a7088cda1c2cbbeea9888274b2050.pdf 45392331a71dc9cc0d795dafdce6ebc7 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Artemis Description An account of the resource Proto-Aristasian magazine. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource c. 1984 Language A language of the resource English Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data magazine (28pp.) Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Artemis 6 Description An account of the resource The sixth issue of Artemis. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Artemis Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1984 Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant London https://filianicstudies.org/cms/files/original/96caeb3b6b248434b080a5ba44adc447.pdf 43a5a6210cbc560e82d3bbdcf57490e8 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Artemis Description An account of the resource Proto-Aristasian magazine. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource c. 1984 Language A language of the resource English Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data magazine (22pp.) Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Artemis 5 Description An account of the resource The fifth issue of Artemis magazine. Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Personal collection of Miss Dessie Octavia Vargas. http://www.filefactory.com/folder/945a9d180cc7be72 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Artemis Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant London https://filianicstudies.org/cms/files/original/4575e3805b8294f8455ee7825b5a4737.pdf aace832e211078dbb6848204397fa661 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Madrian Literature Circle Description An account of the resource Documents issued by the Madrian Literature Circle between 1973 and 1982. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Madrian Literature Circle Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-1982 Language A language of the resource English Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data loose leaf, handwritten (20pp.) Text Any textual data included in the document Silverwolf Project: SILVERWOLF Section 1: "Should Old Acquaintance be Forgot". Chapter 1: Mayanna. Scene: Industrial Street. One of the grimier areas of a large English city. Night time. Princess Mayanna walks down Industrial Street. She is tall. Her hair is in long golden braids studded with jewels. The braids fall down from beneath a rich silver helmet. Her clothes are of richly embroidered silk and at her left hip hands a sword. Nobody looks at her. Nobody sees her. Princess Mayanna is a daydream. What they would see, if they bothered to look, is Petra Stone, an ordinary sixteen year old schoolgirl. Petra doesn't live in this world. She doesn't like this world. She lives in daydreams. Her mother says it will get her into trouble, but her mother doesn't know about Mayanna. Nobody knows about Mayanna, because Petra will never tell anybody. They will never know about a beautiful, brilliant, heroic world a million miles away from the boring, trivial stupidity of modern England. Ten times a day, her mother says, "One of these days you'll come down to Earth with a crash." She does. Petra Stone is lying on the pavement, bewildered and slightly bruised. For a moment she can't work out where she is. A voice brings her back. "Gotcher 'ead inna clouds, intcher?" Two louts in black leather jackets are leaning against a wall. "Fell over me foot, dintcher? Wanner watch where yer goin', dontcher?" She tries to get up, but a motorcycle boot pushes her down again. Petra Stone is scared. Princess Mayanna isn't. She's angry. The Princess wins. With unexpected speed and agility, Petra springs to her feet, kicking her assailant in the knee. Hard. As he bends to clutch his knee, she kicks him in the face. SNIK. The sound draws her eyes. The other lout has sprung a flick knife. SNIK. The first one is scrambling to his feet. He's sprung one too. "Yer've really asked for it now, kid." She believes him. No Princess now. Just Petra Stone. Scared stiff. She runs. They run. She's fast. So are they. A few streets on she turns into a used car yard. They aren't there yet. She gets under a car, praying they won't see her. They run right past, heading for the gate at the other end of the yard. Once they go through it, she can get out the way she came in. She'll be safe. But why should they get away? The Princess is back, angrier than ever. Get up, get after them, you snivelling coward. Let them learn what it is to attack a warrior princess. She's up. She's shouting. "Come back here, scum!" They do. She hears them talking. "I dunno about this, Mick, there's something funny about 'er." "Wodgermean? She's just an ordinary kid. Wassamatter, yeller?" "Awright, just watch me, I'll show you 'oo's yeller." SNIK. "Just an ordinary kid." The words hit her like a bucket of cold water. "Of course I am. What was I thinking of? It must be mad. I am mad. Thank God they're walking slowly. They're still only halfway across the yard. I've got a start on them." She runs. They run. Out of the yard, down the street. She's tiring now, but they're still behind her. "Maybe I can give them the slip again." She swerves into a little alley. It's pitch dark. No houses, just high walls on both sides. They're still behind her. Then her blood turns to ice. A high wall ahead. It's a dead end. Her thoughts race. The alley's empty. The street outside was deserted. Nobody will hear her. Or didn't she see a small child go into the alley? But what would that... She runs into something. A large arm closes around her. A gruff voice speaks. "What's all this, then?" She looks up, her eyes growing accustomed to the dark, and sees a burly policeman. He has a dog. The louts nearly tun into him, then turn and run the other way. Princess Mayanna is furious. "They're getting away! Get after them!" "Hold on a minute, Miss, there's a few questions I'd like to ask you first." "I'm not going to run away. I'll wait right here if you like. Just get after them before it's too late." "But, y'see, it isn't them I'm looking for, miss, it's you." "Me... what do you mean?" "You are the Princess Mayanna, are you not?..." Project: SILVERWOLF Section I: "Should Old Acquaintance be Forgot". Chapter I: Mayanna. ENDS. Project: SILVERWOLF SECTION 1: "Should Old Acquaintance be Forgot". Chapter 2: Gateway. Scene: Churchyard. A mile and a half from the previous scene. At one end of the churchyard are two large standing stones. They look as if they've been there for thousands of years. They have. About the stones stand three figures dressed in casual clothes and combat jackets. Normally, Petra Stone wouldn't go into a place like this at night. Tonight she has no choice. The policeman is going in, and she's handcuffed to him. One of the figures by the stones starts running towards her. It's a girl... and she's in tears. She cries out "Silverwolf!" She takes her in her arms, she kisses her, she lifts her off her feet as if she weighed nothing. "Silverwolf, is it you? Is it really you?" Petra is too bewildered to answer. She doesn't know the answer. Mayanna, yes. That's her daydream-name; though how anyone else would know that... but Silverwolf. The name means nothing to her... or does it... "Do not be foolish, windchild, time is short." Another of the figures is approaching. Petra has never seen anyone so big. Seven feet tall, easily. But the voice is even more surprising. Definitely female. It isn't a man, despite her size; that's clear as she comes closer. She's pretty, maybe twice Petra's age and getting on for thrice her size. Her thoughts are cut short by the arrival of a third member of the party. She is the most striking of the three, although there is nothing especially unusual about her appearance. She is a much older woman, her steel-grey hair combed severely back from a handsome, intelligent face. She is not wearing a combat jacket, but a long grey trench-coat. She has an air of command which almost makes the air about her crackle. Hands in trenchcoat pockets, shoulders thrust back, she steps close to Petra. Is she police? Who is she? "Time, indeed, is short. You are to answer my questions briefly and truthfully. You are the Princess Mayanna?" "Y-yes." "Where do you come from?" "Number 60, Saint John..." "Please, child, is that where the Princess Mayanna comes from?" "You mean you want the details of my daydream?" "Time is short, Silverwolf, please do not waste it. Where do you come from?" "From Sun-City." "Rayapurh," the first of the three interrupts, "she means Rayapurh. It is her." "Silence." The older woman cuts her short. "So you are from Rayapurh; Sun-City in your language. What is it like? Where do you live? Who is your mother? Tell me." "It is beautiful. The palace is white. The towers tretch up to the sun. My mother is the Queen and I live with her sometimes. And sometimes I live in the forest with the Riders..." "Enough. You have said enough. I am convinced." "But it's all daydream. I made it up..." "No, you did not make it up. It is all perfectly true. To you it all happened about five thousand years ago. To us, about five years ago. I will explain that later. The important thing is this. The Princess Mayanna is a reality. Rayapurh is a reality. You can go back there now, tonight, if you choose to do so. But there are two things you must understand. Firstly, if you do go back you can never return to this life here. Secondly, and rather more importantly..." Her voice stops dead. It begins again, swiftly but calmly. "The time has turn out. We are under sttack. In a moment they will be coming through that gate. Thunder, protect us." Things start happening quickly. Almost too quickly to follow. The big one runs to the gate the Leader pointed at. She must be Thunder. Two gunshots ring out before she gets there. She stops, staggers. She's been hit. Hald a dozen soldiers pour in through the gate. They're wearing berets. Look like special commandos – SAS or something. Thunder straightens up. Was she hit? She leaps forward with a speed that belies her size, grabs the two nearest soldiers by the throat – one in each hand – and just picks them up and throws them into the others. The teenager – the one they call 'windchild' – is among them too. How did she get there so fast? She's hitting them with her fists and they can't seem to touch her. She's only a sliver of a girl, but she's hitting like a heavyweight boxer. The soldiers are falling but more are pouring in through the gate. Her attack intensifies. Her movement is a blur of speed. Her feet, her hands, her elbows, her knees: every part of her is an offensive weapon. She doesn't hit any soldier twice. She doesn't need to. Thunder is slower, but her strength is unbelievable, and she seems almost immune to gunfire. It looks as if they'll mop up the commandoes in minutes. Suddenly the Leader cries "Retreat!" At the same time the six foot high railing which runs along the length of the churchyard shudders and crashes to the ground. Commando boots are tramping over it. There must be hundreds of them. Thunder and the windchild are fighting their way back towards the standing stones. The policeman's arm tightens around Petra's throat. "It's alright, boys, I've got her." It isn't the policeman's voice. She looks up. It isn't the policeman. It's one of the soldiers. The policeman has gone. The handcuffs have gone. Is this a dream or what? She knows it isn't. "But Colonel," one of the soldiers speaks, "if you hold her like that we can't..." "Shut up. I know what I'm doing. I've got my orders. Get out of my way." The Colonel pushes a path through the soldiers toward the standing stones, dragging Petra with him. Ahead she sees Thunder and the windchild. They run between the stones... and disappear. The Leader follows them. She passes betwen the stones and doesn't come out the other side. Petra can see clearly through the stones. They aren't there. They've just vanished! And that's where the Colonel is taking her. Suddenly a voice rises above the tumult. "Hey, what's going on? That isn't the Colonel. He's back here. Stop them!" They're almost between the stones. The Colonel, or whoever he is, is trying to push Petra through. She's putting up a good struggle. He isn't as strong as he looks. In fact he's having real difficulty. Another voice cuts through the air. "Contingency B. The Mortar. Get back, men." Suddenly the crowd of soldiers isn't there any more. They're scrambling for cover, throwing themselves to the ground. A dull boom. A mortar shell screams through the air. With a sudden violent thrust, Petra is shoved between the stones. She vanishes. Her captor follows her. Fireworks. When the smoke clears the stones are gone. Blown to rubble. Two soldiers walk slowly toward the wreckage. "I'm sorry, Colonel." "I don't believe it. We've blown the job. I just don't believe it." "I'm sorry, Colonel." "Not your fault, sergeant. The Brigadier's going to have my head for this." "If it was that flippin' important we should have blasted the flippin' thing in the first place. 'Preservin' a national monument'. I sometimes wonder if they've got their heads screwed on right. Project: SILVERWOLF. Section 1: "Should Old Acquaintance be Forgot". Chapter 2: Gateway. ENDS. Project: SILVERWOLF. Section 1: Should Old Acquaintance be Forgot". Chapter 3: Home. Scene: A clearing in a forest. At the centre, two large standing stones. They look like the two which have just been blasted. They are. Daylight. One second the black shadows of midnight. Next second, broad noon daylight. Petra stumbles out from between the stones, her eyes dazzled by daylight. It's been a strange night, but nothing in the world could compare to this for strangeness. Before her stand the three from the churchyard. She falls at their feet, off-balance from the soldier's push. The soldier comes up behind her. It's been a strange night, but it looks like being a stranger day. A hundred emotions teem through her soul. For some reason the one that comes uppermost is anger. She's on her feet. "Who do you think you're shoving, soldier? Who are you anyway?" For a moment the soldier seems to swim before her eyes, like a reflection on rippled water. And in his place stands the policeman. "Surely you remember me, miss," he says. "Leave thy tricks, Imp," cries the windchild. "Is she not bedazzled enough already?" The policeman shimmers, and there stands a little child. A tiny golden haired wisp of a child with sharp features, a turned-up nose, and pointed ears. "There, there, no tricks soever, ma'am. I'm myself again, or so much of a self as I have. Let her remember my loving-kindness the next time she threats to tie me in a tree by my tail." "Enough of this." The Leader speaks. "Time is still short. Silverwolf, you have answered my questions, now I shall answer yours. All that you desire to ask. But first we must quit this place. We are lucky that there was no ambush awaiting us. Let us pray that our arrival has been unobserved. Thunder, the horses." "Here, Ma'am," Thunder, who had disappeared into the wood, returns leading four horses. "But..." Petra interjects. "Briefly, then," the Leader replies. "The Imp, as must be obvious, is a shape-shifter. We are in a forest a few miles outside Rayapurh, and we may well be in very grave danger. That must satisfy you for the present. We must ride and ride hard." "But I've never ridden a horse in my life." The Leader smiled. "That all depends on which life you mean. Just mount up and I think you will find that you can ride very well. But hurry. Every moment increases the chances of the wrong eyes becoming aware that we have arrived." --- Scene: A dark room with dark, heavy furniture. In a heavy oaken chair sits a man of enormous bulk and power. His name is Fear. He has a black bears and thick, sensuous lips. Before him stands an old man with stooped shoulders and furtive eyes. He is a man-witch. He speaks. "They have arrived." "What!" "Everything went awry. They arrived much sooner than expected. They were to explain everything to the child before they brought her. Give her time to decide. It should have taken at least an hour. Apparently they were ambushed by troops and had to leave suddenly." "Ambushed by troops! Five thousand years hence! How could they know? Why should they care?" "It is a mystery, Lord Fear. It evades all my calculations." "I should have your head for this. Why did we not destroy the stones while they were gone and leave them trapped in the Dark Age?" "You know that we dared not do that, Lord Fear." "If I had known of this I should have dared." "Is it so grave a matter, Lord Fear? I have seen the girl. She is little more than a child." "Greyface, you are a fool. With the single excpetion of Rhianne, Silverwolf is almost certainly the most dangerous maid in these islands." --- Scene: A great lake at the edge of the forest. Petra: "Britain. We're in Britain." The Leader: "England to be exact. Or Abolan as it is called in these days. What did you imagine? The stones cannot walk. They will stand in exactly the same place for the next five thousand years, until the night they are destroyed. The night we have just left." Thunder: And the curse of the stones... the curse upon the sovereign powers of these islands if they are destroyed?" Leader: "Presumably it will come into effect. But that is a long time from now. It need hardly trouble us. Let us dismount." They do so, and the Leader takes off her trenchcoat. Beneath it she wears a long black dress of a velvet material with a silver belt and silver pendant. She places a little black cap, studded with jewels, upon her head. The others remove their modern clothes too. They are dressed in shorter dresses with leather belts and daggers. Tall leather boots. About their heads they tie long bandanas, knotted at the back and trailing down. "Dispose of these," says the Leader, indicating the clothes they have shed. Thunder ties the clothes in a tight bundle, her powerful hands compressing them into a surprisingly small, dense package. With a graceful swing of her arm, she sends it soaring hundreds of yards into the centre of the lake where it sinks without trace. Petra watches her. Her body, her movements are beautifully elegant. Stripped of the combat jacket, it is clear that she is in no way bulky. She is a well-proportioned maid, with the body of an athlete. She is simply constructed on a larger scale. It is also clear that her strength is far more than proportional to her size. Leader: "Perhaps it is time we introduced ourselves – or rather reintroduced ourselves. You, of course, are the Princess Mayanna, known to friend and foe alike as Silverwolf. I am Rayanna, the leader of this little troop. Clothed in brown is Teressa. She is more commonly known as Thunder, for she is as steadfast as the thunder-tree, the oak, and as mighty as the thunderbolt itself. "The windchild, Vitrina, is your dearest friend. I hope you will learn soon to remember her, even if remember not the rest of us. Her clothing is blue in significance of the wind, for it is said that she can outrace the wind in her speed, and her attack is like the tornado. They call her Whirlwind." Imp: "Might you not be forgetting somebody, ma'am?" Rayanna: "Is it likely that I would forget you? This is Uisce, whose form flows like water, who has not true form of its own. As you see, it dresses in green. It is not of our troop, for it is not human; but it seems to have attached itself to us. We call it the Imp." Imp: "You'll hate me. We were worst enemies." Petra: "I don't think so. I think I like you... when you're not pushing me around." Imp: "Me push you around. There's a turnaround." Petra: "You only manhandled me when you – er – were that soldier... you only did it to save me from getting hit by a stray buller, didn't you?" Rayana: "It wouldn't have been a stray bullet, child. Their mission was to kill you. They weren't interested in us. That is why we were unable to leave you a choice whether to stay or to come. But now that we are here, the position will be the same [?]. It is you that are in the most immediate danger. You that will be the target." Petra: "Oh, gosh. Well, at least we won't be facing guns and bombs here." Rayanna: "The history they teach in your time is very limited. It is controlled by knaves with the purpose of making a world of slaves. They do not know much, but the powers that control the world you have come from conceal all but a fraction of what they do know. You believe that you have come into a simpler, less "advanced" world. But you have come into a world where there are things far more powerful – far more terrible than guns and bombs." --- Scene: Lord Fear's chamber. The magician has left. A warrior enters, clad in leather armour. Warrior: "Heil, Milord." Fear: "Heil, warrior. We know the approximate whereabouts of Silverwolf. She is travelling with a very small company, but they are among the deadliest in Abalon. We shall despatch the Swarm to destroy them." Warrior: "The Swarm! Forgive me, Lord, but is that not akin to taking a battering ram to crush a fly?" Fear: "It is. Through our errors they have come too far already. We dare not risk any further failure. See to it." Project: SILVERWOLF Section 1: "Should Old Acquaintance be Forgot". ENDS: Chapter 3: Home. ENDS. --- Next: THE SWARM. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Silverwolf Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Personal collection of David Kay. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Madrian Literature Circle Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource c. 1980 Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Text https://filianicstudies.org/cms/files/original/f5b976feaa80faab5b419fcfaeb4b11b.pdf ca7df1a73009173d572fdd8056d7d7d3 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Madrian Literature Circle Description An account of the resource Documents issued by the Madrian Literature Circle between 1973 and 1982. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Madrian Literature Circle Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-1982 Language A language of the resource English Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data loose leaf, typewritten (2pp.) Text Any textual data included in the document THE SONGS OF THE WOOD-MAIDEN In those days when the Goddess was worshipped across the face of all the earth, there was a maid who lived alone in a hut of sprouting willows in the deep woods. And there she tended the wild beasts and healed their wounds with her herbal potions and gentle care. She especially loved those animals that had lost their mothers, and said that the Goddess had made her their protector. All the beasts and birds of the wood were without fear in her company, and there were those who claimed to have heard her talk and sing to the beasts in a strange language unlike any of the tongues of the earth. Her gay and carefree spirit won her many friends from the nearby city, who often brought her gifts and stayed to eat with her and hear her singing. For her voice was a rare wonder in those days, sweet and clear. And one day towards the middle of summer, several of these friends were gathered at the Wood-Maiden's home. And they called on her to sing their favourite song, which told of her childhood. And so she sang of her early life in the city and of her mother's death which had stricken her dumb and filled her with terror so that she ran blindly into the woods. She sang of her ceaseless weeping and of her prayers to our Lady, and of how the Goddess had led her to a young fawn whimpering beside its mother's corpse, so that she forgot her own sorrow in comforting and caring for the little one. And finally she told how our Lady had restored her voice and increased its beauty so that never a day passed when she failed to raise it in songs of praise and thanks to Her. And after this her friends spoke of fears of famine in the city. The uninhabited grassland and forest further inland had suffered badly from the drought so that the birds had flown toward the city to look for food. Usually the people did not mind the birds taking some of the grain, but this time they feared that the fields would be stripped. "And what is being planned?" asked the Wood-Maiden. But her friends were silent, and she guessed that there were some urging that the birds should be destroyed. This so worried the Wood-Maiden that she went into the city to find out if it was true that they would kill our Lady's creatures. And she found the people so stricken with fear that they saw no other course. So she prayed to the Goddess for guidance. Then she went into the fields, black with birds, and began to sing in a high and piercing tone so that the birds flocked to her, and the people covered their ears. For the space of three hours the maid sang, and then the birds rose in a flock and flew toward the mountains. The Wood-Maiden told the people that the birds were going to a safe place. But she would say no more, and ran away to the woods as soon as she could, for the found the thanks of the people embarrassing. About a year after this, some of the maiden's friends visited her in great distress. Some ambassadors had come from another city, famed for its philosophers, who had laughed at the people's devotions to the Goddess. For, they said, She did not care for earthly creatures who were beneath Her contempt. And they said that She had a consort and a son whom She loved greatly, but She did not love the people, nor consider them Her children. And the maid's friends told her that the people believed this and had abandoned all their devotion. The Wood-Maiden thought it at first mere foolishness, but the more she thought about it, the more she thought it wrong and wicked. "But it is nonsense!" she cried, "for She created us and is our Mother, and no mother would neglect any of her children. We have only to look at this beautiful world to know it is a gift from Her. And She loves us all equally, as a perfect mother will not favour any of her children. Even we know that it is wrong, although we sometimes do it." And the maid went once more into the city and said these things. But the people would not hear her arguments, thinking the philosophers must know better than a simple maid from the woods. And she was perplexed. And as she was leaving, she saw a child throwing stones at a dog that he had tethered to a tree. She took hold of the child and shook him, saying: "How can you do that to one of our Lady's creatures?" But he said: "If She doesn't care about us because we're lower than Her, why should we care about animals?" And he ran away. The Wood-Maiden wept, and took refuge in the temple, which was now quite cold and empty, praying for the Goddess' aid. She rose next morning very early with joy in her heart, for the Goddess had spoken to her in a dream. She sang softly and thrillingly until the city was filled with her singing. Some of the older people stirred restlessly, but on the children woke, and were compelled to run to her. She told them that she would take them to a beautiful garden, and bade the older children fetch the babies. When the people awoke to find their children missing, they were frantic with worry. And it was not until the next day that the Wood-Maiden returned to the city. They begged her to tell them where their children were, but she refused, saying only that they were safe and happy. She told them they were not fit to raise children if they could tell them nonsense that made them cruel and wicked. After much persuasion she seemed to relent, and said she would return some of the children, but only those who were favourites and worthy of love. But the people protested, saying they loved all their children and wanted them all back, even those who were naughty and rebellious. And the Wood-Maiden laughed and said: "And can you not see that your Mother in Heaven loves you all? And that She has not picked out two of Her creatures to be with while she neglects the others? Believe that and I will return your children." And the people thought and saw that the maid was right after all, and this was not only because they missed their children but rather because their own hearts had been saddened to think the Goddess did not love them; and they now realised that it was a foolish notion. So the Wood-Maiden brought back the children, who were happy and excited and talked of the beautiful country they had visited. And some thought the Wood-Maiden must have sent the birds there because there had been so many. And about this time the ambassadors came again and said the philosophers had changed their minds and discovered why the Goddess loves us. But the people only laughed at them. And they never listened to philosophers again, but only to their own hearts. * First published in The Coming Age No. 3. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Songs of the Wood-Maiden Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Personal collection of David Kay. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Madrian Literature Circle Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource c. 1980 Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Text https://filianicstudies.org/cms/files/original/c001e09e95a1c35fc8a32a9f24361059.pdf 40839abbc5ef60f47e7c35073efa38a2 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Madrian Literature Circle Description An account of the resource Documents issued by the Madrian Literature Circle between 1973 and 1982. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Madrian Literature Circle Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-1982 Language A language of the resource English Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data loose leaf, typewritten (5pp.) Text Any textual data included in the document VIVISECTION AND ABSOLUTE VALUES I should like to describe two pieces of specialised laboratory apparatus. The first is called the Blalock Press. Its purpose is to produce experimental shock in dogs by crushing the limbs without breaking the bones. The hind legs are clamped into the press which exerts a pressure of up to 5,000 pounds per square inch. After some hours the flesh is reduced to a pulp while the bones remain whole. One group of researchers crushed four hundred dogs by this method. Most died in extreme pain within five to twelve hours. None was given any sedation. The second machine is the Noble-Collip drum. It is designed to produce traumatic shock in guinea-pigs, hamsters and other small animals. They are placed in the drum with feet taped together, unanaesthetised; the drum is then turned by an electric motor. The interior is then fitted with small projections, so that at each revolution the animal is carried to the top of the drum and dropped. In one experiment, the animals were "drummed" to death, observations being taken at every hundred revolutions. Injuries included fractured skulls, bruised livers and engorgement of the bowels, lungs, kidneys and stomach. The term "to drum" in this sense has passed into the language of biomedical research. Each of these machines is an expensive and sophisticated piece of equipment. No department is likely to invest in one unless it is to be used extensively over a period of years. They are not the only devices of the sort, nor even the worst, but they do serve to indicate the nature of the cold matter-of-fact atrocities which are performed every day by scientists who in private life are, for the most part ordinary, kindly, respectable people. Nor is there any reason for such experiments to stop at animals. Most of us have heard accounts of the hideous medical experiments practised on human beings under the Nazi regime. What is usually comfortably overlooked is that the practitioners were not, for the most part, sadists, neither were they politically motivated. Most of them had held eminent medical positions long before the National Socialists came to power. They justified their conduct by exactly the same arguements as the vivisectionists; the suffering of a few experimental victims was far outweighed by the widespread relief of suffering which could be brought about by the medical discoveries which resulted. Logically the argument is incontestable. There is no reason to suppose it will not prevail in the future – particularly under political systems where the collective is valued above the individual. There is no reason to suppose it does not prevail at present in some places. The cozy myth that the Nazis were the only really wicked people to walk the earth (at least in our enlightened century!) is largely due to the fact that there were powerful vested interests in exposing the crimes of that regime, whereas in most cases the powerful interests lay on the side of keeping them hushed up. What guarantee can we have against a future of unparalleled cruelty? At the moment there are residual feelings of respect for the human being which prevent brutality from becoming public policy; but why should we expect them to last? There was a time when public opinion would have revolted against vivisection or the battery system, but it has been moulded into shape by propaganda and the bogus "authority" of science. There is no absolute morality. Any atrocity can be justified by sophisticated arguements [sic] and sentimental appeals to "the greater good". There is only one defence against evil, and that is an absolute standard which can state that evil is evil; not merely on the shifting grounds of human sentiment, but according to an eternal and Divine law. A society which sees nothing beyond the physical world will always be brutal. It can torture without compunction, because it fears no higher justice beyond this world. Because it sees nothing beyond this life it will scrabble in the slime of depraved cruelty in order to find ways of prolonging that life for a few more miserable years. Blind to all but the grosses physical effects, it does not see that the massive practice of cruelty (100,000 animals per week die in experiments in this country alone, 85% of which are conducted without anaesthetic at any stage) is releasing a spiritual poison which must pervade the psychic atmosphere at every level; and that the seed of cruetly, once sown, must sooner or later spawn a hideous harvest. Once we can see beyond this world, we can begin to face the hard realities of life: that human life, at the best of times, is short. That no human life is ever "saved", only prolonged a little; and that what happens to a person beyond this life is a direct result of the way she acts while she is in it. Once we realise this, we will know that it is not the length or quantity of life that is important, but the depth or quality. Seeing life in its true perspective, we will give up the abject and cowardly dictum that "no price is too high for saving lives", and realise that dragging our souls into the mire of cruelty is one example of a price that is far too high. Life has a purpose; a spiritual purpose that lies far beyond this earthly life itself. The fanatical passion for preserving life for its own sake at whatever costs comes from forgetting this. And so long as it is forgotten, we can expect to live in a society which is ultimately prepared to perpetrate any kind of cruelty in the name of "practical" necessities of life, or even in the name of luxuries and pleasures which have become the only goal of profane life. It is true that cruelties have been perpetrated in the name of religion; but it is also true that religion has been degenerating into materialism for a great many centuries. The world's original religion was purely spiritual; God revealed Herself in feminine form and the whole way of life (for it was far more than just a "religion" in the limited modern sense) was imbued with the qualities of love and compassion for all creatures. With masculine religion and the supplanting of the old priestess-queens by warrior kings, the slide into materialism became inevitable, as did the orgy of cruelty which has dogged patriarchy from the Roman (often lit by human torches), through the Inquisition, to the present. Archeological records show matriarchal societies which lasted for thousands of years, vegetarian, ruled by priestess-queens and pervaded by the love and worship of God the Mother. Millenia passed without war or violence. Three things made this possible: divine love, a knowledge of immanent justice ("I can do no harm to another creature which will not rebound on my own head in the fullness of time"); and an understanding of absolute values, far beyond the slippery arguments of human convenience. For a Madrian, ancient or modern, there can be no quibbles about whether a particular factory farming technique is cruel or not: to treat animals in such a way is out of Harmony, against nature, "anathemis" [athamic]. Divine Law is absolute, and no human sophistries can weigh against it. This is the only guarantee against evil. Once morality becomes a merely relative matter, an atrocity is possible and most are probable. The immense prestige of the "science" which perpetrates these evils is directly due to the ignorance of the real nature of things. The ultimate truth about the material universe lies in its spiritual meaning and purpose. When we have lost this metaphysical knowledge we are all to[o] ready to take merely physical descriptions of the mechanics of the universe as a substitute for Absolute Truth. The scientist-materialist word-view in turn reinforces the error that the physical world is all there is, that there is no super-material justice, that life must be preserved at all costs, etc. It is a vicious circle. The only way to break it is by a return to the primordial Truth. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Vivisection and Absolute Values Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Personal collection of David Kay. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Madrian Literature Circle Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource c. 1980 Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Text https://filianicstudies.org/cms/files/original/07cbac08c0ba7766ad91405dc39b7344.pdf 8682bbb7d382ad4dac6e41170ce00d45 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Madrian Literature Circle Description An account of the resource Documents issued by the Madrian Literature Circle between 1973 and 1982. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Madrian Literature Circle Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-1982 Language A language of the resource English Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data loose leaf, typewritten (11pp.) Text Any textual data included in the document Madrian Literature Circle The Mountain [Story] Once upon a time, there were three sisters who lived with their mother and father in a little cottage at the foot of a high mountain. [hand drawn illustration] Their names were Cora, Dora and Flora. Cora was the eldest, and she was as beautiful as a butterfly in a summer meadow; Dora was the middle in age, and she was as beautiful as a swan on a calm blue lake; and Flora was the youngest, and she was as beautiful as a perfect red rose, jewelled with the dew of the early morn. Now, when Cora was fourteen years of age, and just entering the full beauty of maidenhood, she went one day to her mother and said: "Mother dear, I am fourteen years old and almost ready to be a maiden and mistress of my own house, yet I have never been to the top of the mountain which shelters us from the harsh east wind. Please, mother, wrap some bread and cheese in my apron, and I will climb the mountain and look over the lands to the east." But her mother was sad, and said, "Daughter dear, I am afraid for you to climb the mountain, for folk say that there is an old hag who lives up there all alone, all crazed with evil and loneliness, and that she kills any who go up the mountain, and sucks the marrow from their bones." Cora was frightened when she heard this and went away. But the next day she asked her mother the same thing and had the same reply, and the next day, and the next, until her mother sadly and with a heavy heart did as she asked and wrapped a loaf of bread and a round of cheese in Cora's apron. And she bade farewell to her daughter and placed around her neck a golden chain from which hung a little golden rose. Cora said farewell to her father and her sisters and set off to climb the steep, winding path which led from the door of the cottage to the summit of the mountain. When she had walked for a little time and a long time, and had eaten her loaf of bread, and her round of cheese was no more than a memory, Cora came to a place where the narrow path became wider and more level, and where a little stream dropped from the mountain to run into a dark, rocky pool. But as she put her hand towards the water, she heard a harsh voice behind her saying, "What are you doing by my pool, maid?" Cora turned round and saw the ugliest, crookedest old hag that she had ever seen. Her hair was grey and hung over her face like rope from a sunken ship; her hands and feet were filthy beyond description; and her nose was exactly the right size and shape for taking the cork out of a wine bottle. Cora was terrified and stammered that she meant no harm, but was very thirsty and craved some water from the pool. "Well," said the beldame, "if it's water you want, drink your fill, but you can pay me for it by cleaning my house." Cora thought this a mean way to treat a traveller, but as the last drop of water was some three miles down the path, she drank her fill and, taking more water in the bucket the old woman pointed out to her, she followed her new mistress to a tiny but very dirty hut, which was built squarely across the path which led to the top of the mountain. Now, the hut may have been small, but it was more than a few years since it had seen water and a scrubbing brush, and Cora saw that she would have her work cut out to clean it in a day and a night. Still, she set to her task with no very good grace, and scrubbed and rubbed and polished until her back ached, and her arms and legs were stiff and as heavy as marble. She was still no more than half done, when she heard a little voice above her head: "Little Mistress, Little Mistress," it said, "of your kindness please give me a sip of clean water." Cora looked up: there, hanging from the rafter was a [a] cage, and in the cage was a small, bedraggled lark. [hand drawn illustration] "Please, Little Mistress," she pleaded "a mouthful of clean water." Cora looked about her, but the only water in the hut lay in her bucket, and that was so black that had she had a pen she could have written with it. The only way she could bring clean water to the little bird was by fetching it from the pool, and that would mean that she would not finish her cleaning before night fell again, so she said to the bird, not unkindly, "You must wait, Little Sister, until I have finished my work, and then I will bring you all the water you need." The bird sighed deeply but said nothing more, and when Cora next looked up, it seemed to her that the bird and her cage were smaller than they had been before. At last the work was finished, and the hut was so clean that it sparkled in the sunlight. Cora put away her scrubbing brush and polishing rag and poured the dirty water away outside the door. Then she remembered the thirsty lark, and looked up into the rafters, but neither of the bird nor of the cage was there any sign. Cora went out to where the old woman lay sleeping under a tree, and, not daring to waken her, or to try to find a way around the hut to the upward path, she fled down the mountain and back to her mother's cottage. And before many years she took the son of the woodcutter for her husband, and they did live together until they both died. Now, although she loved her dearly, Dora had always thought that her elder sister had shown too little spirit in her encounter with the old woman of the mountain. And when she in her turn was fourteen years old and just entering the full beauty of maidenhood, she went one day to her mother, and said, "Mother dear, I am fourteen years old and almost ready to be a maiden and mistress of my own house, and yet I have never been to the top of the mountain which shelters us from the harsh east wind. Please, mother, wrap some bread and cheese in my apron and I will climb the mountain and look over the lands to the east." But her mother was sad, and said, "Daughter dear, I am afraid for you to climb the mountain, for folk say that the old hag who lives up there all alone and crazed with evil and loneliness, kills any who go up the mountain, and sucks the marrow from their bones." And Dora went away, but the next day she asked her mother the same thing and had the same reply, and the next day and the next, until sadly and with a heavy heart did as she asked and wrapped a loaf of bread and a round of cheese in Dora's apron. And she bade farewell to her daughter and placed around her neck a silvern chain from which hung a little silvern rose. Dora said farewell to her father and her sisters and set off to climb the winding path which led from the door of the cottage to the summit of the mountain. When she had walked for a little time and a long time, and had eaten her loaf of bread, and her round of cheese was no more than a memory, Dora came to the place where lay the dark, rocky pool, and she stopped to drink. But as she put her hand towards the water, she heard the harsh voice saying, "What are you doing by my pool, maid?" There behind her was the aged beldame with the corkscrew nose, looking even dirtier and uglier than she had before. Dora was made of sterner stuff than her sister, but even she was frightened by the sudden appearance of this horrible hag. But she gathered her wits about her and asked the harridan for a little drink of water to quench her thirst. "Well," said the old woman, "if it's water you want you can drink your fill, but you can pay me for it by cleaning my house." Dora accepted this bargain as gracefully as she could. She drank her fill and, taking more water in the old woman's bucket, she followed her new mistress to her tiny hut which lay across the path to the summit. Now, you would not have thought that that hut had been cleaned within the last twenty years, and Dora saw that it would be more than a day and a night that she would spend cleaning it. But she set to her task with determination, and scrubbed and rubbed and polished until her back ached, and her arms and legs were as heavy as marble. She was still no more than half done when she heard a little voice above her head: "Little Mistress, Little Mistress," it said, "Of your kindness, please give me a sip of clean water." Dora looked up, and there, hanging from the rafter, was the cage with the small, bedraggled lark. "Please, Little Mistress," she pleaded "a mouthful of clean water." Dora looked all about her, but the only water in the hut was that which lay in her bucket, and that was so black that that she could have blacked her shoes with it. The only way she could bring clean water to the little bird was by fetching it from the well, [pool] and that would mean that she would not finish her work before night fell again. But she remembered how thirsty she had been when she reached the pool, and sighing to herself, she took down a cup from the shelf, filled it at the pond, and brought it back to the caged bird. She held the brimming cup against the bars of the cage, and the little lark dipped her beak gratefully into the cool, clear water. To Dora's amazement, as the bird drank, her feathers became more glossy, and she seemed to grow larger and handsomer; even her cage was bigger. Dora listened entranced as the lark began to sing of the eastern lands beyond the mountain, but, too soon, they heard the old woman stirring in her sleep beneath the tree. The lark ceased to sing but whispered in Dora's ear, "You must return to your work, Little Mistress, or the old woman will be angry; but beware, for she will not want you to leave when the work is done." "Oh, Little Sister, what shall I do?" sobbed Dora, "I want to climb to the top of the mountain, and, even if I escape from the old woman, her hut blocks the path to the summit." "Listen carefully and do as I say, Little Sister," said the bird, "On the night of the day which belongs to no year, this hut spins around like a wheel, and it is possible to leap out of the door onto the upward path. But the old woman is sworn to destroy any who try to make that leap, so before you can attempt it, you must wait until she falls asleep, [hand drawn illustration] then take the hatchet and chop her head right off." [hand drawn illustration] Dora was horrified and she cried, "Little Sister, that would be a shameful thing, to murder an old woman in her sleep, however foul she be." But the bird bade her be silent, saying, "Do not say so, Little Mistress, for in truth the old woman was never maid nor mistress, but a serpent in human form. Do you as I advise, and you shall come safe to the top of the mountain; but take care to chop off her head with one blow, for you will never have the chance to strike a second time." So Dora went back to her work, and by the time the old woman came into the hut it was so clean that it sparkled in the sunlight. Dora put away her scrubbing brush and polishing rag, and pour the du[i]rty water outside the door. The old woman was surprised to find Dora still in the hut, but she summoned from her cunning mouth the most ingratiating words that she could find: "You must be tired, maid, for you have worked so hard. Lie down, sweetling, on this bed and rest yourself." Dora did as the woman said, and the ancient crone flung herself down on a pile of rushes and was soon sound asleep. Now this was the night of the day which belongs to no year, and the old woman was no sooner asleep than the hut began to spin like a wheel; slowly at first, then faster and faster. Dora rose cautiously from her bed and crept to the chimney corner where the hatchet lay. Then she walked on tiptoe to the place where the old woman slept. She raised her arm and brought the hatchet down on the hag's skinny neck. But at the last moment her heart misgave her, and the blow landed on the mound of rushes. The hag awoke with a shriek. Dora, in panic, fled to the door of the hut and, without a thought for the spinning, leapt through. But at that moment, the door opened not unto the upward path, nor even onto the downward one. Below Dora's feet, the ground fell away five thousand feet to the crags which loomed over her mother's cottage; and there the corpse of the maid came to rest. There now remained to the aging parents only the youngest daughter, Flora, and on her they poured out all their love, for she was a gentle as the fawn and as wise as the subtle serpent. But when Flora was fourteen years old, and just entering the full beauty of maidenhood, she went one day to her mother, and said, "Mother dear, I am fourteen years of age and almost ready to be a maiden and mistress of my own house, and yet I have never been to the top of the mountain which shelters us from the harsh east wind. Please, mother, wrap some bread and cheese in my apron, and I will climb the mountain and look over the lands to the east." But her mother wept and said, "Daughter dear, I am afraid for you to climb the mountain, for I fear that the old hag who lives up there, all alone and crazed with evil and loneliness, killed your sister and will kill you too, and sucks the marrow from your bones." And Flora went away, but the next day she asked her mother the same thing and had the same reply, and the next day, and the next, until her mother sadly and with a heavy heart, did as she asked and wrapped a loaf of bread and a round of cheese in Flora's apron. And she bade farewell to her daughter and placed around her neck a necklace of crystal beads, each one carved into the shape of a perfect rose. Flora said farewell to her father and set off to climb the steep, winding path which led from the door of the cottage to the summit of the mountain. When she had walked for a little time and a long time, and had eaten her loaf of bread, and her round of cheese was no more than a memory, Flora came to the place where lay the dark, rocky pool, and she stopped to drink. But as she put out her hand towards the water, she heard a harsh voice saying, "What are you doing by my pool, maid?" There behind her was the crone with the corkscrew nose, looking fouler than she had before. But Flora kept her wits about her and replied courteously: "Mistress, I ask your pardon if I am trespassing, but, of your kindness, please let me drink from your pool." "Well," said the crone, "if it's water you want, drink your fill, but you can pay me for it by cleaning my house." Flora agreed wholeheartedly to this bargain and, after drinking her fill, followed her new mistress to her tiny hut which lay across the path to the summit. Well, you may not believe it, but that hut looked as if it had not been cleaned since the day it was built, and Flora saw that it would be more than a day and a night that she would spend cleaning it. But as soon as the old woman had gone to lie under her tree, Flora noticed the cage hanging from the rafter and the little, bedraggled lark which was asleep inside it. "Oh, Little Sister," she said, "Your water bowl is quite empty. Let me bring you clean water from the pool." So saying, she took down a cup from the shelf, washed it in the clean water in the bucket and ran down to the pool to fill it. Then she hurried back to the hut, without spilling a drop, and held it against the bars of the cage so that the thirsty bird could drink. To Flora's amazement, as the lark drank, her feathers became more glossy, and she seemed to grow larger and handsomer; even her cage was bigger. She began to sing of the eastern lands beyond the mountain, until she heard the old woman stirring in her sleep beneath the tree. The lark ceased to sing but whispered in Flora's ear, "You must begin your work, Little Mistress, or the old woman will be angry and beat you, but beware, for when you have finished, she will not want you to leave." "Little Sister, give me your advice," said Flora, "How can I reach the top of the mountain when this hut blocks the way? I would gladly serve the old woman for seven years, if I could only hope the find the path to the summit." "Listen carefully and do as I say, Little Mistress," said the bird. "It is not by serving the old woman that you will find your way to the top, for she is sworn to prevent any from reaching the summit. But on the night of the day which belongs to no year, this hut spins around like a wheel, and it is possible to leap out of the door onto the upward path. But, before you can do that, you must wait until the old woman falls asleep, than take the hatchet and chop her head right off." Flora was horrified and she cried, "Little Sister, for shame. I cannot murder an old woman in her sleep, however foul she be!" But the bird bid her be silent, saying, "Do not say so, Little Mistress, for the crone would destroy you. In truth, she was never maid nor mistress, but a serpent in human form. Do as I advise, and you will come safe to the top of the mountain; but take care to chop off her head with one blow, for you will never have the chance to strike a second time." So Flora began to clean the hut. And she scrubbed and rubbed and polished, and all the time she pondered on the words of the lark; and she prayed for help to make the right choice. In less time than seemed possible, the hut gleamed like a new pin, and Flora put away her scrubbing brush and polishing rag, and poured away the dirty water outside the door. When the old woman came back to the hut, she was surprised to find Flora still there, but she summoned from her cunning mouth the most ingratiating words. "You must be tired, maid, for you have worked so hard. Lie down, sweetling, on this bed and rest yourself." But though her words were honeyed, Flora looked into her eyes and saw that they were the lidless eyes of a snake, and she determined to do exactly as the lark had told her. She lay on the bed and the old woman flung herself upon the pile of rushes and was soon sound asleep. Now this was the night of the day which belongs to no year, and the old woman was no sooner asleep than the hut began to spin like a wheel; slowly at first, then faster and faster. Flora rose cautiously from her bed and crept to the chimney corner where the hatchet lay. Then she walked on tip-toe to the place where the old woman slept. She raised her arm and brought the hatchet down on the hag's skinny neck. And her stroke was straight and true, and the old crone's ugly head was riven from her malformed body. As the blow fell, the cage door sprung open and the lark flew free with a glorious song of praise to the Mother of All Things. And as she sand, her form changed to that of a beautiful maiden shining like the sun and dressed in a robe of dazzling white. Flora was filled with wonder. "Who are you, maiden?" she asked. "I am the one who lay in thrall to the snake but whom your courage has freed," replied the maid. "Go now towards the summit, for the path is at your feet. I will come with you." Flora realised that the hut was no longer spinning, but the door opened upon the upward path. The two maids climbed it with light hearts and light feet, until they reached the summit. There, below them, the fair, shining lands of the east were spread. Despite the distance, they could see the folk working in the fields and the fair houses and noble temples of the towns as clearly as if they stood among them, [hand drawn illustration] and Flora heard the singing of the temple maidens rising to greet the dawn. At last, the lark-maiden said: "Go now, sister. Return to your own folk. But remember what you have seen and heard, and some day you will return to walk in that fair land." So Flora took her leave of her sister, and returned to her mother's cottage, to the great joy of her parents. And in later years she became a great teacher and was beloved of all her pupils, who saw through her the beauty of the eastern lands, until at last she returned, as the lark-maiden had promised, to walk in that fair country, to her heart's content. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Mountain Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Personal collection of David Kay. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Madrian Literature Circle Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource c. 1980 Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Text https://filianicstudies.org/cms/files/original/f625c9622034dc6fd49b07b773803217.pdf 70e75196cdb79d970468c46d5678f3fc Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Madrian Literature Circle Description An account of the resource Documents issued by the Madrian Literature Circle between 1973 and 1982. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Madrian Literature Circle Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-1982 Language A language of the resource English Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data loose leaf, handwritten (7pp.) Text Any textual data included in the document How the Light Came to the Terrible Forest Once upon a time, when the sun and the moon were young, and the world still remembered the great darkness before the lights were set in the sky, there was a vast forest, set in the marshes beside a wide, black river. I cannot begin to tell you what a horrible place it was. Try to imagine a thick tangle of twisted trees, whose roots rose up in the middle of the pathways to catch your feet, and whose brances and dripping leaves met overhead to stop any light from reaching the ground. Between the trees grew long brambles, with thorns like darning needles, and never a trace of sweet blackberry. Long creepers hung from the treetops, with stems like stinging nettles and burrs which clung to anyone who passed underneath. The ground was thick sticky mud, more than five feet deep in places, and even on the paths it would come up to your ankles; and, under the mud, leeches lay in wait to fasten themselves between your toes and drink your blood. Try to imagine it; but the forest was a hundred times worse than anything you can think of. For in the forest lived all the bad, wicked creatures who hated the light: the dragons and the werewolves; the ghouls and the night hags; the goblins and the big, black spiders; and, most terrible of all, the Dark Queen, who had the face of a huge snake and spat poison into the eyes of those she hated. She hated everything that lived in the light and made terrible plans to destroy the children of the earth, who loved to sing and dance under the sun and the moon. But she could not attack them openly, because she and all the creatures of the darkness were afraid of the light and dared not travel out of the wood. Sometimes travellers who came near to the dark forest wandered into the shadow of the trees, because the paths were wide and dry near the edges, and were gay with brightly coloured flowers and scarlett [sic] butterflies. But those who tried to take a shortcut through the forest were soon hopelessly lost, and ran shouting through the brambles, weaving in and out of the curtains of creepers. The wicked creatures of the forest always gathered in the trees around a lost traveller, laughing and jeering and, sometimes, offering to lead the way to the edge of the trees. But anyone who followed such a guide was soon wading through thick mud, and many found themselves sinking up to their necks in the marsh, while the goblin – it was usually a goblin who played this trick – shrieked with laughter in a nearby tree. Now, every night, the Moon Princess passed over this awful forest, and she was sad when she saw that many of the children of the earth, whom she loved dearly, were lost under the trees in the black darkness. She decided that she would bring her silver light into the shadows to comfort them and lead them back to the bright lands beyond the woods. So, one night, when the moon was full, the Moon Princess came down to the earth as the sun was rising and walked into the dark forest, by the path lined with purple flowers, that so many of the children of earth had taken. As she walked under the trees, her soft, silver light shone for the first time in that place, and the travellers who saw it were filled with hope; but the wicked night creatures hated and feared her. Yet they were glad that the Moon Princess had come into the forest, because they thought that they could trap her in the thickest part, so that the moon would not shine upon the earth, and the Dark Queen could attack the children of earth when the sun had set. A small group of the boldest goblins moved before her, hidden by the thick screen of creepers, making the path plainer so that she could reach the black heart of the forest more quickly. At last, she came to a place where the trees grew so close together and the brambles were so thick, that she could go no further, and the creepers formed a blanket around her so that her light could not be seen. When she stopped, the thick creepers wound themselves around her arms and legs and held her so tightly that she could not move or free herself. Then the Dark Queen came and stood before her and laughed to see her hanging among twisted creepers; and she said, "You fool, to come into my forest! Now you will be my prisoner, and you will hang there until I decide to kill you with my poison. But first, my armies will destroy the children of the earth, when the darkness falls." When she had spoken, her daughters and the other wicked creatures surrounded the Moon Princess, pressing close about her, and tying her arms and legs even tighter with thin, spiney brambles and the fierce, stinging creepers. They boasted of how they would kill the children of earth when night fell, except for those few who would live forever as slaves in the Dark Queen's fortress. The Moon Princess did not cry, or plead for mercy, but hung from the trees for a day and a night, and her light died. At evening time, the sun set, and the children of earth were very surprised when the moon did not rise as usual. They gathered together in small groups, looking towards the east, and asking each other if it was not the time of the full moon. But they knew that something was terribly wrong; and, when they heard the stirings in the dark forest and realised that its wicked creatures were ready to attack them, they were afraid. Some hid in their houses and whimpered with fear; some collected stones and kitchen knives and ran about to all their neighbours, shouting to keep up their courage; and those who loved the Moon Princess best wept for her, for they thought that she was lost for ever. Then the Mother of the Moon Princess, the Star-Blazing Queen, heard the cries of the children of earth, and saw that her daughter was a prisoner in the dark forest. She came at once to the earth, and as she came near, the children of earth hid their faces and did not dare to look at her; because, although she loved them, they now lived far from her and they could not bear her light. The children of earth could not even look directly at the sun, for their eyes were weak, but the Star-Blazing Queen was brighter than a thousand suns and they were afraid to see her – even those who loved her daughter's silver light. When the Star-Blazing Queen came near to the forest, the creatures who saw her fled in terror, and scattered ove the earth. The travellers threw themselves to the ground covering their eyes with their cloaks until she had passed. As she walked through the forest, the thick, sticky mud dried and became firm; the thorns and creepers shrivelled and burned up under her fiery gaze; and the trees stood for the first time tall and straight before her, for they knew that she had made them. Behind her, the fresh, green grass sprang from the newly dried soil, and the flowers of the bright wood – primroses, violets, bluebells and woodbine – opened their petals to the light. She came at last to the thicket where the Moon Princess was held prisoner. The Dark Queen did not wait to meet her, but, at the sound of her footsteps, she ran out of the forest so fast that she overtook the wind before her, and did not stop until she reached the sea at the edge of the world. The Star-Blazing Queen took her daughter into her arms, and the creepers and briars which bound her withered away, and her light shone forth again. The Moon Princess hugged her mother, and both of them cried for joy, because the Moon Princess was free and the Dark Queen and all her followers had fled. But the Star-Blazing Queen knew that her light was too bright for the children of earth, and so she rose again into the sky, leaving her daughter to light the forest and bring the lost travellers safely home. There was one creature of the night who had not run away when the Star-Blazing Queen appeared in the forest. She was the youngest daughter of the Dark Queen, and she had felt sorry for the Moon Princess when the other wicked creatures tormented her. Now she was trying to hide behind a gnarled old tree at the edge of the thicket, for she longed to come to the light but was afraid. The Moon Princess saw her, and called to her to come nearer. The daughter of the Dark Queen threw herself at the feet of the Moon Princess, wrapping her cloak about her head and trembling in every limb. The Moon Princess raised her to her feet and kissed her, and the daughter of the Dark Queen loved the Moon Princess, and forgot her wicked mother and walked in the light. The Moon Princess walked through every part of the forest, and, wherever she went, the forest became light, the paths became firm and dry, and the grass and bright flowers covered the ground beneath the singing trees. All the children of earth who were lost in the forest followed her and came at last into the bright open country under the sun. When they looked back into the woods, they saw the sunbeams playing under the branches of the trees, and wild roses blossoming in the warm sunlight. When the sun set on that day, the moon rose into her rightful place in the sky, and the children of earth danced and sang on the flower-studded grass in her silver light; but the creatures of the dark forest hid in their holes and quaked with fear. To this day, the wicked creatures cannot bear to come out into the moonlight; but if ever you see one come sneaking out on a dark and moonless night, thinking that the Moon Princess will not see it, you have only to remind it of this night when the Star-Blazing Queen came to find her daughter in the darkness, and it will run to hide itself in a deep hole and not dare to come out for a very long time. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource How the Light Came to the Terrible Forest Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Personal collection of David Kay. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Madrian Literature Circle Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource c. 1980 Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Text