[Critique Group 2] Emailing: The Fires Of Forever- a short story for our Group 2, 11-21-19 critique session

[James]

The Fires Of Forever
C By Brad Corallo
Word count 1049

In leg irons he sat on the filthy floor of a cold, dank cell. Tomorrow his
Earthly life would end as he faced the trial of fire. He was a very old man
who had lived the life of a dedicated agriculturist chieftain and was held
to be a hierophant of his people. They followed the ancient ways that have
been practiced from time out of mind. His name was Arma.

He had been imprisoned and condemned by the local Christian magistrate who
denounced him as a dark warlock leader of a Godless group of witches. He
remembered well when the Christians first came to his part of the world;
preaching peace and love and killing anyone who didn't adopt their beliefs.
With immense cleverness, they adapted the sagas of their religion to the
"wheel of the year" which was the center of Pagan belief and slowly their
high holy days renamed and transformed the celebration festival days of his
people. 

The old ways were still practiced in secret by many of the folk. The leader
of this group was his grandson, Kornog. 

In the noisome cellar in which Arma was held, there was a guard who was a
decent and kindly man who would sneak Arma bits of meat and bread. He
appeared in front of Arma's cell and said"under Christian law, you may have
one visitor prior to your execution, and so, your grandson, Kornog has come.
Will you see him?" 

"Yes your honor said Arma." With that Kornog was let into Arma's cell. 

He was a large dark- haired, young man, who was unusually tall for his
people. His strong and well muscled body was the result of many days of hard
work in the fields. When he saw the emaciated state of his grandfather,
tears came to his eyes. 

"Be not sad, son of my son. We are all here in our current forms for a brief
time as is a summer. But all are reborn again and again. I will be back."

Kornog wiped his eyes and smiled softly. He knelt in front of his
grandfather and took both of his hands in his. 

"I know it well. We are like the very cycle of the Earth in which rebirth
and death are forever" he said. 

"Grandfather, I ask one thing. I would hear the story once again of how you
and my grandmother met and loved one another at a long ago Beltane
festival."

The old man nodded and closed his eyes.  He began: "long, long ago, before
the Christians came and our people's hearts were full of love for the Earth
and each other, the eight festivals of the year were held. All rejoiced in
the gifts and bounty of our Great Mother and our place in her cycles. Even
those festivals that acknowledged the fading of the light brought joy as all
knew it would be back once again. When I was about your age, I was assisting
our elders with the laying and lighting of the great Beltane fire which
ushers in the beloved summer. The people all came bearing food and drink
with joy in their hearts. 

As the fire grew, reaching toward the starry sky, and the ancient drum
rhythms commenced, the people began to dance. We became as one and the
immense gratitude of the people was offered up to the Goddess" Arma
continued.

"After a while, the dancing slowed and the people dispersed into small
groups to eat and drink. It can not be denied that honest worship is hungry
work. I found my self with folk who I only knew distantly. This was the way
of our people as we all knew that we were all sons and daughters of the
Great Mother. 

As the food and wine were shared out and enjoyed together, it was at that
time that, she who became your grandmother and I first cast our eyes upon
each other. 

She came to me with a brimming two handled cup of wine and said" let us
share this cup and forever dedicate our love for the Goddess and for each
other." 

"For a moment I was dumbfounded" Arma said. But we looked deeply into each
others eyes and both knew that her words were true ones. And so without any
fear we drained the loving cup together. Following our hand fasting and
joining we dwelt in joy together for many years and brought your father and
his brothers and sisters into the community of our people. So, be comforted
my good Kornog, and know, I do not fear the fire" he said with a beautiful
warm light shining in his eyes. 

With that, the sound of marching boots grew and the magistrate and a group
of armed guards came to Arma's cell. 

""It is our law that all proven witches and heathen barbarians be consigned
to the flames for their evil under the only true Lord of Love" he
proclaimed. And so saying they struck off Arma's irons and marched him out
to a tall steak with brush and wood heaped up around it. After all his
nonexistent crimes and sins were intoned by the magistrate, one of the
guards, using his torch ignited the pyre. 

Kornog stood a distance away and with grief and sorrow, watched the barbaric
rite. As he watched he felt his entire being suffused with the comforting
awareness of the Goddess. And knew in that moment more truly than ever
before: though they can kill one of us, our people will live forever!

***

NOTE: The purpose of this piece is not to point fingers at anyone. Rather it
is to tell a story that: Jews, Armenians, Vietnamese, Poles, gypsies,
Palestinians and on and on could all too easily tell. It does highlight the
nature of many zealot missionaries who arrogantly charge into peoples'
worlds and in the foulest way disrespect their long held and cherished
beliefs. As we enter the holiday season - sorry, some might be offended if I
don't say Christmas season and others might be if I do call it Yule - we
would do well to remember that there are few if any artificial sub divisions
of humanity whose hands are truly spotless. 

jamesstarfire at gmail.com


  
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