Mother of the Forgotten: A journey into Hel’s embrace
by Ksenia Anthony
The Seeker stands in the misty field full of wildflowers. Darkness creeps in around her, but the light of the moon shines upon and shows her the way into the unknown. But she can’t see it, not yet. The world around grew still, there was no movement in the air, no sounds in the surrounding forest. Seems like everything that exists, holds its breath, awaiting.
All her life she searched for meaning. Year after year the world grew thicker, meaner and cruel. Nothing gave her true satisfaction, happiness and sense of belonging. The woman was a walking shadow in a constant struggle to exist. She couldn’t break the chains around her soul and she was afraid of how close she was to give it all up. Tonight was no exception. Something woke her up in the middle of the night and she decided to have a walk in the park nearby. It’s not something that she’s done before. Darkness frightened her, shadows following when she walks alone, invisible eyes watching every step. The woman hugged herself and sped up her steps until she almost broke into panic and ran, ran, ran.
She was so scared that she only stopped running when her feet and dress were wet by dew. Stunned, the seeker looked around in awe. In the mist-choked field clusters of pale yarrow swayed like ghostly hands, and the gold of buttercups flickered like dying embers in the dark. Forget-me-nots, with their sad small blue eyes, looking at her with the question: «Are you ready to be cast out to see the truth?». Out of nowhere, wind picked up and started to dance around a lonely female figure of the seeker, making flowers move in trance. They swayed as if caught in the charming rhythm of an unseen chant. The woman watched. She watched how every petal in the field shape-shifted. The flowers lean to each other, forming shapes of faces - familiar, half-remembered, lost. Some shapes wore her face, which terrified her even more. All of them started whispering with voices of people she used to know and at the same time she never really knew.
«Do you remember?»
The Seeker shook her head in refusal. She remembers. She hates that she still does. All the pain flooded her mind, made her feel so small, so insignificant, unmemorable. Her hair got caught in tears that started spilling as silent words she can’t say out loud.
«You still wear your wounds».
One-eyed crow flew past and sat on the big stone by the woman. The bird angles its head with the question: «Can you let go of what no longer serves you?». Crow’s smart eye penetrates her soul and dares to take this challenge.
«You call yourself strong, but we remember when you begged the sky for death».
She can’t breathe. The whispers grew into screams so loud, that the woman closed her ears and fell on her knees.
«The ones who loved you bled for nothing».
A scream slices through the mist and field. Sharp and desperate. She screams until she hears no more. It’s just a field. No crow. No wind. Flowers are just flowers. All alone with the moon as the heartless witness. With her eyes shut, she started crying and swinging back and forth, full of pain and sorrow. Her lips chanted a prayer to the unknown forces, pleading for help and to show any sign. She cried until nothing was left in her, no tears left to spare. Then she hears a female whisper. «Get up, my child».
When she opened her eyes, the woman inhaled in surprise as she found out forget-me-nots formed a circle around her. Eery-blue, these flowers gently touched her bare skin, almost hugging her. The stone, which housed the one-eyed bird, still was there. But instead of a bird there was a black feather as a gift. The seeker stood up, shaking off the dew and sadness. She picked up a feather and gently placed it in her pocket. It felt warm, like the presence of a guardian. The mist slowly parted in front of the woman, leading into the forest. She had no fear. In fact, she had nothing left in her, so she just walked towards the unknown with an open heart. A huge gallows tree waited for her. Its branches are like grasping arms. Sacred. Ancient. Purely on intuition she hugs the tree and falls asleep.
Next morning she wakes up in her bed. Her dress is dry, but her feet still keep dried flowers and grass which sticks to her ankles. The Seeker can’t separate a dream and reality. She questions her sanity at this point, but something has changed. Her core was shifted. Now she knows what to do. How, why and who - she can’t answer. All she has is a deep ancient knowledge within her. It feels so right and true, and she has no doubts about it. In the next few weeks, without even realizing it, she’s busy gathering bones, feathers and particular stones. Every other day the gallows tree gets small offerings from the seeker. Her dreams are full of signs and omens from a mysterious woman, half alive half rotten, silently watching from the darkness between the trees.
Bit by bit, the seeker rebuilt herself from the ground. Like a phoenix, arisen from the ashes, anew, she’s no longer afraid. Patterns appeared. The dreams grew clearer. The ancient knowledge sat deep in the bones. Hel, The mother of the Forgotten, The Queen of the Dead offered her cold hand and walked beside her, guiding, protecting, teaching her.
She was no longer lost. She was no longer the woman who begged for light and bliss. She was the one who carried it through the darkness. The Bone Mother’s daughter. It is said that those who marked by Hel are never truly leave the shadowed lands. The Seeker knows it now. Her blood sings with the wind, which carries thousands of forgotten voices. And though the world would call her mad, cursed, or touched, she would never again stray from the Bone Road.
After all, it was always hers.
