The Well of Youth

2. Seeking Balance

"It's the mildest winter we've had in generations," a plump villager said to a skinny one. "Bless Angus, the Summer King."

"May every winter be so," the skinny man answered.

On principle, Beira never engaged in human affairs, but she couldn't hold her tongue back this time.

"You know not what you speak of," she spat, hiding her face in the shadow of her veil. "A mild winter is a curse for the coming year. Winter cleanses, kills rot and weakness. You should be praying for the return of the Winter Queen instead."

The men exchanged a bewildered look and roared in laughter. "What nonsense, old woman," the plump man wheezed. "Pray to Cailleach?" He cackled. "I'd sooner bathe in my own piss."

This put the other man into a laughing fit while Beira glared at them so savagely, it was a wonder they didn't turn into stone on the spot.

But, as usual, she could do nothing. Walking away was the only power she had left.

After she made her purchases in the village market, she carried her basket down the valley and stopped at a stream. While filling her flask, the sun reflected off the surface, illuminating her hooded face, which reflected in the water. Beira startled, dropped her flask, and it floated away. A pitiful old woman stared back at her from the reflection, wrinkled and tired. Her beautiful blond locks had turned white. Her rosy cheeks became sunken and gray. No veil could cover the effects of time on a mortal body. How many winters had she left?

Meanwhile, the winters had warmed without her help, her deer were hunted without her protection, her name slandered without her threat. Where was justice? Where was Balance?

Balance. Yes. She could seek Balance.

─━━━━━━⊱༻ ༺⊰━━━━━━─

Beira stood at the crumbling altar of the Triple Goddess, doing what she never thought she would ever lower herself to—praying. Unlike the humans with their silly rituals and flattering songs, Beira knew how to call the attention of the goddess.

She closed her eyes, cleared her mind, and chanted,

The three faces of Morigna: Morrigan, I call on thee.

The three faces of Morigna. Badb Catha, I call on thee.

The three faces of Morigna. Macha, I call on thee.

And she waited, hoping Macha, the fertility goddess, would answer. Of the three representations of the Triple Goddess, she was the most reasonable one and having affinity to the land, she had the most in common with Beira. She understood the importance of Balance. Wasn't that the foundation of fertility?

A crow cawed above her, and Beira groaned internally. So much for hoping.

She looked up and found Badb looking back at her through the black eyes of the bird.

"Thank you for answering," Beira said.

Badb cawed but didn't descend from the branch. Something in the way the crow's beady eyes appraised her, the sharpness of its beak, and the glossy feathers, brought fear to Beira's stomach, reminding her once again that she was just as mortal as the human warriors that fled the battle upon seeing the crow.

"I am Beira, The Veiled One, and I seek the restoration of Balance."

The crow tilted her head but said nothing.

Beira continued, "Dagda and my traitorous son, Angus, committed a crime against nature in stripping me of divine powers. Who will oversee winter? Who will tend to the Wheel of Souls? Who will protect the beasts of the forest? The land needs its queen back."

The crow ruffled her feathers with her beak while a sinking sensation filled Beira's stomach.

"It is only just!" Her voice lacked the fierceness she wanted to instill in it. "The future of this land depends on me. You mustn't let me perish like a mortal."

The crow stopped grooming and stared at her, filling her insides with dread.

A croaky voice spoke in Beira's mind, Angus' beloved has made great use of your powers. She's developed the powers of Spring. Humans love her work. Does anyone miss your work?

Beira's vision was stained with red. "Humans know not what they need. What use are flowers when their crops perish from disease?"

Angus has blessed his bride with the Horn of Plenty. They will feed the people. They are a wonderful pair, those two. The crow looked up to the skies. I foresee many prosperous years as the people worship his bride under the name of Brigid.

"Worship?" Beira spat. "Just a few decades ago, she was nothing. Without my divine powers, she is nothing! They had no right! Return what is rightfully mine!"

The crow flapped her wings and cawed both, audibly and in Beira's mind.

You tormented people, Cailleach, and they will gladly forget about you while they will love Brigid. I stand behind Dagda's choice as it's better for mankind.

Beira picked up the first thing within reach—a rock—and flung it at the crow, who flew out of the way with a screech.

"Your doom will come as well, Badb!" she called. "Those pesky humans you're so concerned about will forget about you." She pointed out the decrepit old shrine. "Old Religion is already dying out. You'll sink into the pits of history, but winter always returns. This isn't the end for me!"

The crow swooped down from the tree right at her, forcing her to sink to her knees. When she hesitantly raised her head, she found that she was left alone with the whisper of the trees swaying above her.

─━━━━━━⊱༻ ༺⊰━━━━━━─

That evening, Beira returned to her home, hidden deep within the depths of Ben Nevis, and unleashed her anger on the eight hags that she shared the mountain with. As their bent figures fled from her rage, she knocked over cabinets, smashed pots, and trashed their storage with the carnage of a sea tempest as if she still possessed that power.

When she got to her chamber, her fury was not yet sated. Gods turned her back on her. No one remembered how important she was! Who would stand for justice? Who would defend her? She knocked over a coffer with the relics from the old times, and a little green box landed at her feet.

Panting from the effort of her little exercise, she was ready to fling it at the wall, craving the satisfaction of seeing the wood shatter into a thousand splinters, but then she recalled what was inside.

She pried the box open and took out the little pebble that had sat unused in this box for centuries. Her mortal memory struggled to remember the details, but she vaguely recalled a pair of human wizards who gave her this pebble as an offering in exchange for a power crystal blessed with her divine touch. Fools had no clue the pebble came from the Green Isle of the West and didn't know how to use it, but she recognized it right away, which had prompted her to accept their request.

Beira clutched the pebble in her hand and laughed for the first time in decades. The gods might have forsaken her when they left her to rot in a mortal body. They thought they could get rid of her that easily, but with this pebble, she could find the Well of Youth and live forever.

No one could stop the winter from returning.