Sacred Waters

By Jessica Louise Inman

In the ancient days, when the land was considered special and sacred and its importance was far more greatly understood, water was revered as a precious element that was essential for life. Each well, due to being such a cherished and vital source of water, was therefore appointed a guardian: a maiden, whose duty it was to care for and protect the water. The Maidens of the Wells would offer refreshment to those who passed by, and were also healers and oracles, with the ability to divine the future. Each Maiden possessed a chalice with which to draw her water, which was considered to be a sacred and magical tool, and its use was at the very heart of her work.

 

One day, King Amangons raped one of the maidens and took her chalice from her. He then bid his men to go and do the same, ordering them to take the cups and bring them back to him. The Maidens of the Wells were deeply afraid, and without their chalices could no longer do their work. They retreated into the Otherworld to hide in fear. Without their presence, healing, and magic, the wells became dry, and the Earth itself began to suffer. Eventually the whole of the land became a barren wasteland as all signs of life withered away.

 

 

Gwaynten lives a peaceful life as Maiden of the Well, guarding the water and tending to weary travellers. But when her healing chalice, Kerensa, is stolen, and the land begins to wither, she retreats to hide in the Otherworld: a mystical world not quite like this one, where things, and time, happen differently.

She learns that the Maidens of the Wells are in great danger: and that many others have disappeared, robbed of their chalices and unable to perform their duties at their wells. The disappearance of the Maidens has caused the Earth to lose its connection with the healing energy of the feminine, and the once-thriving lands have become barren.

Gwaynten vows to find her chalice and restore harmony to her well and the land around it, and embarks on a great adventure. Magical beings cross her path along the way, and challenges arise at every corner. With no indication of where her chalice may be, will she ever regain it and return to her world? And what will become of the other Maidens, their lost chalices, and the barren lands?

Based upon the legend of the Lost Maidens of the Wells, this is a story of courage, mysticism and romance, which will remain with you long after you have finished reading.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessica Louise Inman
• Release date: Feb 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781739731816

Book preview

THE LEGEND OF THE MAIDENS OF THE WELLS

Traditional

In the ancient days , when the land was considered special and sacred and its importance was far more greatly understood, water was revered as a precious element that was essential for life. Each well, due to being such a cherished and vital source of water, was therefore appointed a guardian: a maiden, whose duty it was to care for and protect the water. The Maidens of the Wells would offer refreshment to those who passed by, and were also healers and oracles, with the ability to divine the future. Each Maiden possessed a chalice with which to draw her water, which was considered to be a sacred and magical tool, and its use was at the very heart of her work.

One day, King Amangons raped one of the maidens and took her chalice from her. He then bid his men to go and do the same, ordering them to take the cups and bring them back to him. The Maidens of the Wells were deeply afraid, and without their chalices could no longer do their work. They retreated into the Otherworld to hide in fear. Without their presence, healing, and magic, the wells became dry, and the Earth itself began to suffer. Eventually, the whole of the land became a barren wasteland as all signs of life withered away.

1

AMANGONS

ANCIENT TIMES

The water was cool as it trickled along the back of Prince Amangons' throat, and the heat of his anger diminished as he was overcome with the calmness he only ever felt at the well. He admired Bennath's long, delicate fingers as she took her silver cup out of his hands, and he felt a wave of excitement as his hand brushed against hers. Her skin was soft, smooth, and pale, and her forehead creased in concentration as she examined the delicate carvings upon her cup's bowl. Amangons gazed longingly at her rosy lips and sky-blue eyes, vowing to himself for the thousandth time that one day he would marry her and make her his Queen.

You're angry, she said after a moment. What happened?

His eyes turned to thunder as the rage began to boil up inside him again at the memory of the morning's events.

They don't respect me.

You always say this. Her voice was deep and smooth as she turned back towards the well and dipped her cup back into the water. Her soft golden curls danced in the summer breeze, and Amangons longed to run his fingers through every strand. The leaves of the trees began to rustle around the edges of the clearing, and the pink and yellow flowers swayed from side to side on the grass around him. He did not think the place to be beautiful, not in the same way that Bennath was beautiful. But he could not deny that something there was different to the castle, and even the forest. That was why he always came when he was angry, although he did not truly understand it.

Bennath steadied herself on one of the large, square stones that surrounded the well, as she slowly lifted the cup, which was brimming again with glistening water. Each delicate movement she made evoked in Amangons a greater feeling of desire. He had never wanted anything so much as he wanted her right then. He pictured her as his Queen, standing by his side as he sat upon the golden throne. She was so beautiful and would be his greatest treasure; for surely there was no other King in the world who had a Maiden of a Well of his very own.

Well, they don't, he said, as he gulped back the water. I ordered them to give me their swords, but they wouldn't. They danced around me, laughing and calling me names, and then Father told me that I had to earn their respect if I ever wanted to be a good King. And Wesley... well... we know that he is the worst of them all. He said that every day he pleads to every single one of the Goddesses and Gods, by their individual names, that the day will never come.

Bennath stifled a giggle, keeping her face as straight as she could, and silently prayed that his visit would not last long. The tranquillity of the well and its surroundings always seemed a little disturbed when Amangons was there, as if the land were agitated. Though, of course, she wished the best for him and did all she could to help him through his woes, it was always a great relief when he announced it was time to go back to the castle.

Why did you want their swords? she asked calmly.

They wouldn't fight with me.

Of course not, you always cheat.

I always win.

Because you cheat.

His dark eyes glared menacingly at her, and she swiftly turned towards the well to fill another cup.

A good King always wins, he said, his cheeks red with fury, as he took the silver chalice to his thin lips once again.

A good King is fair, Bennath said softly, and respects the people of his Kingdom.

Why should I respect them when they don't respect me?

Well, my mother always said that a good King sets an example for his people, and creates a Kingdom that is of the greatest good for everyone. For, in truth, it is one whole being that cannot truly thrive unless every person and every part of it is thriving. Just like the Great Mother Goddess loves all of us, and provides us with all we need, because we are all a part of her and her Kingdom. Your job as King is to keep the people thriving and happy: to make sure that everyone has what they need, and to encourage the people to live harmoniously. To be the first in line to protect them if there is any impending danger. It is important to have a happy and prosperous Kingdom, because it is a part of you and you are a part of it, and then you will become known as a great and noble King, just like your father. Mother said that your Father is a very good example of this. That the people respect him because he respects them and takes care of them. He knows how important it is that they are fulfilled in their lives and everyone always has what they need.

Amangons wasn't paying attention. He had that look, the one which always made her feel nervous and wish he would leave right away. His eyes were intense and greedy, and she felt that she would never want to know whatever thoughts were passing through his mind.

Her heart broke with pity each time he visited, but he did not make things easy for himself. It was unfortunate, of course, that his nose was so crooked, and that one eye sat a little lower than the other – he certainly wasn't handsome upon first glance. But nor was he unsightly, for his jaw was square and his cheekbones high, and his solid body was wide and strong. If he would only smile, she often thought, he would look quite attractive. But he took the name-calling to heart. 'Prince Nosey', the other youths would call him, or 'the Crooked One'. Bennath knew they didn't mean it, that they were only retaliating to his foul moods and unwillingness to befriend them, but Amangons refused to see it. Year by year she had watched him grow ever more angry and bitter, blaming his looks and his peers for all his problems. Though she had tried her very best, so far she had been unable to show him how to look inside himself; for he was always so stubbornly deaf to good advice.

It will be different when we're married, he said factually.

Bennath sighed.

I can't marry you, Amangons....

But you must. It was not a request, and Bennath knew it. As she shook her head, feigning remorse, she wondered how many more times he would propose to her before he finally understood that she had no desire to ever be his bride. She always did her best to remain polite, for he was royalty after all, but in truth she could think of nothing worse than marrying such a selfish and arrogant man.

But Amangons... Prince Amangons...Your Highness... I have to be here at the well. To tend the waters and to do the work of the Great Mother Goddess. It is important for everyone. For the land, the trees, the animals, the people... for everything. If I leave my duties, the whole land of the Kingdom will suffer, more than you could ever imagine. She spoke calmly, although her heartbeat was rapidly increasing with fear, for it always intimidated her when he spoke like this.

If it wasn't for the all-consuming desire that was rapidly overtaking every cell of Amangons' body, he would have wanted to kill Bennath right there and then. But he felt such a passion to possess her and to keep her at his side for always. He ignored her nonsensical ramblings about the Great Mother Goddess he did not believe in, and instead pictured their life together when she was his Queen. He would never let her go, he decided. She would remain beside him at every moment: the most willing, loyal, and devoted servant of them all.

I will be the King, I can do whatever I want. I shall change the rules so you can be at the castle with me.

I can't...

You think I am ugly. His eyes had blackened, and he looked at her with hatred. She shook her head frantically to disagree, but he moved towards her at such a speed that she gasped in fright, and suddenly his hands were upon her shoulders and he was shaking her violently.

I want you to be my Queen! he yelled. His face was red and his eyes bulging.

Bennath was terrified, and taken very much by surprise, for this was by far the most raging she had ever seen him. Usually he threw the chalice down in a rage and stormed off. She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could let out a sound, he pressed his lips against hers, and she felt sick to the stomach as the coarse black bristles of his beard scratched her face. She tried to push him away, but he only gripped her more tightly, and then she felt a wave of pain violently wash over her entire body as he wrestled her roughly to the floor. She wriggled and kicked, but could not contend with the strength of his bulky arms, and she cried and screamed as his body pressed against hers and he tore away at her dress.

I always get what I want, he whispered cruelly when it was all over. He quickly turned and walked out of the small gate as she shivered in fear, naked and bruised.

That was the last time she ever saw Amangons; for never again did he choose to seek solace from the sacred waters.

Many years passed, and Wesley watched in despair as King Amangons became yet more greedy, spiteful, and hungry for power. What had once been a happy and abundant Kingdom was now a desolate and depressing dictatorship, and wars had become frequent as Amangons never tired of sending his men to steal new treasures from afar. What saddened Wesley the most was that many people appeared to have begun to believe their own servitudes and willingly followed the King's commands, without question, shouting 'Long Live the King' with gusto. Wesley watched as men he had once known to be good and fair donned Amangons' black uniform and rode into the most murderous and unnecessary of battles, becoming cruel and villainous, and doing the King's bidding without question. He knew that, deep down, they were afraid. But perhaps they had even forgotten in themselves what kindness and nobility looked like.

Wesley always said his piece, of course, remaining faithful to his promise to King Opie. Sometimes Amangons would laugh in amusement, and often times retort with anger. But, still, Wesley persisted in the hope that some of his words were going in somewhere. He knew the tip of the sword intimately, but despite the wild swings, and threats of death, it had never once made contact with his skin.

It was a well-kept secret that Amangons did not truly know how to sword fight. So well kept that Wesley was not certain if Amangons realised that he knew it. He was a bully, that was all. He knew how to threaten and steal and wave the sword menacingly; but when he sent his men to war he never once joined them. And though he had, many times, held it in a deadly, threatening position, he had never actually used it to pierce a man's flesh. He didn't know how, thought Wesley, for he evidently had no morals around killing, and had no problem ordering another to do it; he just didn't know how to do it himself.

Wesley watched as Amangons sat on the grand golden throne, scraping the sword's tip along the hard granite floor. From time to time, Wesley almost believed what King Opie had said to him. For inside Amangons, somewhere, there was still that awkward child that he had once known, who was teased for his crooked nose, and who cheated at games because he didn't understand how to play them. He was hurt, Wesley knew, and he was not sure if it was already too late to heal that hurt, but he stayed true to his vow that he would do all he could, until the day of his death.

It was a windy autumn afternoon, and Sol, the young messenger, came scurrying in, his black hair tousled upon his head from the breeze. As he knelt before the King to report that there was no important news, Amangons peered at him curiously, the lines on his forehead wrinkling more deeply as he squinted through his beady black eyes.

Your leg! he barked suddenly, poking the sword at Sol's right foot. Yesterday you were limping! Today you are running! How did you do it? It's not possible to recover that quickly!

Sol looked up at him nervously, his green eyes wide, his pointed chin shaking slightly.

I... I went to the well... he stammered, to the Maiden. She bathed it in the water and put some herbs on it and within hours the pain was gone.

Amangons' face was dark. Darker, perhaps, than Wesley had ever before seen it.

The Maidens... he said slowly, his voice foreboding and almost evil in tone. You like the Maidens, do you? People like them? Respect them?

Sol nodded fearfully.

Y...yes... your Highness. They are very important for healing, and for the land, and...

Enough!boomed Amangons. I once knew a Maiden of a Well and she was nothing more than a harlot!

Sol gasped in shock, as if he had just heard the worst kind of blasphemy. Wesley sighed deeply and placed his head into his hands, praying that the King was just having one of his rages and would send the boy away soon, and nothing more would be said of it.

What I want to know, Amangons went on, is why people are paying so much respect to these Maidens when they should be paying their respects to me.

Well, Your Highness, Sol quivered, they keep the land thriving and heal people's wounds, and it is said that without them there would be no trees or food or flowers, it would all just be a wasteland.

Silence! Amangons screamed. I am having no more of it! I wish to go to this Maiden and put a stop to whatever witchery she is seducing my subjects with!

Sword in hand, he marched towards the door, and Wesley and Sol ran quickly behind him in protest.

Please, Your Highness, without her the Kingdom will fall to ruin. Wesley's words fell upon deaf ears as the King marched furiously along the narrow path that led through the forest to the well on the hillside.

No one is more important to the Kingdom than me, he muttered to himself angrily.

He can't hurt her, Wesley whispered to Sol, whose eyes were tearful and face was more frightened than he had ever seen of a man. The wells have a special kind of protection, to keep the Maidens safe. He won't be able to do anything to her, and he might even start to feel better once he gets inside and drinks some of the water.

Anna ran to greet them and curtsied to the King with a gracious smile. It was odd, thought Wesley, how alike they looked now that he saw them together. For she, too, had that strange long nose that veered towards the left, and her thick hair and narrow eyes were also as dark as a raven. It was curious, he thought, but he did not think any more of it than that.

Oh yes, the magic cups. I had all but forgotten. Amangons peered suspiciously at the silver cup, which was overflowing with glistening water. The cups that heal wounds.

Anna nodded timidly.

How does it work? he barked.

The... the Great Mother... she stammered.

I believe it's complicated, Your Highness, said Wesley, as the tip of the sword flew towards his nose to silence him.

I wish to do it! said the King. I want to heal someone with the water! He grabbed Wesley's hand, and for the first time the sword pierced his skin and Wesley winced as Amangons cut a small line into his palm. Bright red blood came pouring out and slowly dripped red splashes onto the green grass below.

The water will heal it. Correct? Amangons grabbed the cup from Anna, and Wesley yelped as the King spilled it clumsily over the cut.

It's not quite that simple, Anna offered softly, then bit her lip as Amangons gave her a dark glare.

Can you do it? he asked sharply, thrusting Wesley's bleeding hand into hers.

Anna nodded quietly and gently trickled the remaining water from the chalice into Wesley's palm. Almost immediately the bleeding stopped, and Wesley ceased to gasp in pain as a neat scab formed where the sword had pierced the skin.

How did you do it? barked the King. How come you can do it and I can't?

Your Highness, it takes them years of training to learn how to use the cup, Wesley offered, and Anna nodded in agreement.

You have to learn to speak with the Great Mother, she said, and as she spoke Amangons' face grew red with rage.

Nonsense! he yelled. There is no Great Mother! This is pure Witchcraft! I will have none of it in my Kingdom!

He pulled the chalice from Anna's hand and angrily threw it towards the well, where it clunked against one of the square granite stones and fell into the water with a loud splash.

Anna fell to the ground in tears and began to sob loudly. Amangons grabbed Sol by the arm and violently threw him to the grass beside her.

Do what you want with her, he said cruelly, but make sure she dies in the end.

Sol gave a dutiful nod, but exchanged with Wesley a knowing glance and, safe in the certainty that Anna was not going to die or be victim to any kind of horror, Wesley followed the King back through the forest, lecturing him on the importance of the Maidens and the land's fertility through barks of 'Silence!' and 'It's all Witchery!'

The following day, King Amangons' great hall was filled with hundreds of men, waiting to hear his next big announcement.

Another war, Your Highness? Do we really need it? Wesley asked in grief, as Amangons called for his audience.

Oh no, Wesley, this is far more important, said Amangons, shaking his head with a sly smile. And he refused to say any more, claiming that he did not want to spoil the big surprise.

Men! he boomed, as his subjects took their seats and the great wooden doors slammed closed behind them. We have an extremely important mission, which you must all be a part of! For people have been revering the Maidens of the Wells for far too long, believing them to be sacred and magical beings when the truth is that they are nothing more than witches! They must be stopped! Travel far and wide, throughout the world, and take from every Maiden the silver cup with which they cast their wicked spells, and bring them all back to me! There will be no more Maidens of the Wells! The power of the Kingdom will lie in the hands of the King and the King alone!

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Wesley's stomach began to turn in nauseating somersaults; it was worse than he could have ever imagined.

Your Highness, a young man at the front spoke up nervously.

Speak! growled the King, glowering angrily down at him.

It's not that I wish to disagree with you, Your Majesty, the man said timidly, but the Maidens of the Wells are so important. Without them, the water will lose all of its purity and power. And we need them and their magical cups to heal us when we're sick.

All around other men murmured in agreement, speaking of the sacredness of the wells and their Maidens, concern over what would happen without them, and that the chalices were special and were not for anyone else's use. There were whispers that it was the Maidens who kept the land green and thriving, that they were more than just healers, and that their importance was deeper and more special than any ordinary man could ever know or understand. There were even speculations that the soul of one who took away a cup would be cursed for eternity.

Silence! bellowed the King. They are witches and temptresses and they need to be stopped! Any healing powers that come from the cups, I will discover how to use for myself! And when you need healing you will come to me for it! I will not have people paying their respects to those terrible Maidens when they should be paying them to their King! I am the ruler of this Kingdom, and I want those chalices!

It was as if the most terrible thing had already happened, just through the speaking of those words. Something which the men did not fully understand, but which they knew to be so deeply wrong that it evoked grief and terror in the very depths of their souls. Wesley scanned the hall with dismay and saw many of the men's faces writhing with anguish. The Maidens were the heart of the land, and the bountiful life itself depended upon their presence and their magic. He shuddered at the thought of what could happen without them and knew he could not even begin to conceive of the potential horrors that would come if Amangons got his way.

The King appeared to be aware of the men's reluctance.

If you do not follow my orders and go, he shouted angrily, you will be executed! Bring me the chalices! Do what you want with the Maidens, kill them if you wish. Just make sure they will never work any of their Witchcraft again! And his mouth twisted into a sinister smile, which was truly the nastiest and most vile thing that Wesley had ever seen.

A great number of men chose to die, for a world without the Maidens, they said, would be a world so dark and desolate that it would not be worth living in. Others vowed to secretly help them. They sent word of warning far and wide, and each man found a well to stay at to protect the Maiden, lest someone should arrive to trouble them. They promised that they would give their lives, if necessary, to preserve the Maidens, the wells, and the magic of the water. These men became discreetly known as the Maidens' heroes, and their stories eventually became the making of legends.

Some men chose to run. Under the pretence of following the King's commands, they rode away never to be seen again. Settling in faraway places, or perhaps travelling on forever, they left Amangons and his terrible mission far behind them. But many were tormented at night by dark nightmares of tortured Maidens, and they were always consumed by the fear of the world they may one day wake up to.

And then some chose to be loyal to their King and to do his bidding, Dressed proudly in their black uniform, with the foreboding crest of the sharp-toothed black ferret with its glaring red eyes and a pointed dagger behind its head, they went in search of the Maidens and their chalices, intent on bringing every cup back to Amangons, and ensuring the Maidens would never work any of their healing magic ever again.

As Wesley watched fleets of men ride away into the forest, he could not keep himself from weeping. He had failed more deeply than he could ever have known was possible. There was nothing more that he could do, he realised, and he had no desire to see what darkness and desolation were to follow.

As he ascended the hill above Anna's well, he relived his times with Amangons, searching for his mistakes and cursing himself for not having been firmer, or louder. He had done his best, but it had not been enough by far.

He sighed as he took a last look around himself at the land he had always known as home. He breathed in the reds, browns, and golden yellows of the autumnal trees and the smell of the forest foliage, and sighed at the beauty of the soft trickling stream. Already, its water had turned a little brown and did not flow so abundantly, and the grasses, he thought, seemed to be wilting a little, their greenness fading. They were all going to wither into desolation, he knew, as he thanked and loved and appreciated them more deeply than he ever had done before.

He slowly tied a noose around a branch of the great oak tree, then dropped to his knees and pleaded the Great Mother for forgiveness, although he knew very well that he would never forgive himself and could not expect, nor deserve, forgiveness from Her. He prayed with all his heart that something would happen to save and protect the Maidens. That perhaps the men would not find them or, even better, that he would awaken the following morning to find that it was all a terrible nightmare.

And then, deeply guilt-ridden, his heart and soul torn to pieces, he placed his head into the rope and said goodbye to the world he could no longer bear to live in.

THE HOLLY AND THE OAK TREES

Gwaynten/Traditional

Oh the Holly and the Oak trees,

When they are both full grown,

Of all the trees in the winter woods

The Holly bears the crown.

With the setting of the sun,

And the sleeping of the bear,

The Holly king stands strong and green

When the Oak's dark leaves are ne'er.

The Holly bears a berry,

As red as any blood.

In its winter nest the Robin's ruby breast

Red and green adorn the woods.

The Oak tree stands still solid.

Its strong branches touch the sun.

In the midst of snow the Oak King strikes a blow

And cuts the bleeding Holly down.

Oh the Holly and the Oak Trees,

When they are both full grown,

Of all the trees in the winter woods,

Now the Oak tree holds the crown.

2

GWAYNTEN

ANCIENT TIMES

Blue, grey, and golden ripples swirled upon the surface of the water. I relaxed my eyes and mind and watched as the separate spirals merged into bigger patterns. Beneath them, the well appeared to be endless, as if its depth were deeper than the deepest part of the Earth herself. A pair of shells sat still and quiet on the smooth rocky surface beside me: the homes of sleeping snails who had no cares for my visions. I tried to fix my attention on the patterns in the water, but found my eyes wandering to Kerensa, my silver chalice, and the bright beams of sunlight shimmering on her silver surface.

It was a frosty morning, and all around the grass was glowing. The sky was a clear blue and the sun shone brightly. There was a stillness about the forest and a crispness in the air. All I could hear was the relaxing bubble of water overflowing from the well and gently trickling towards the trees.

I took another deep breath of the cool air and tried to focus my mind once again. I looked at the spirals, the ripples, and the glistening reflections, and reminded myself that they were, in fact, all were one; all were a part of the same great life force; all were the body of the Great Mother. I let my breathing slow and looked beyond the patterns into the depth of darkness that lay behind them. My field of vision narrowed as I became more focused, and released my thoughts, concentrating only on the infinite void within the water.

Black was no longer just black; new shapes were beginning to form. I tried not to think too much, to just let them be and give them time to evolve. I sensed something in there which looked as if it could be a bird, or perhaps a fish, but pushed my thoughts away - analysing the symbols before they had fully formed would only make them weaker. Re-focussing, I felt the air flow deep into my lungs and let the outer world slip further away.

I continued to gaze for what felt like several minutes but did not receive any more clarity. It was as if the visions were hidden behind a thick cloud and I did not have the psychic strength to unveil them. I had never been good at scrying. My mother was a gifted seer and could slip quickly into a trance whenever it was needed. As a child I would sit beside her as she divined from the water, retrieving messages, advice, or warnings for those who passed through. I had always been enchanted by this magical activity she would so often undertake, and had desperately wanted to learn to do it myself. But, despite Mother's many hours attempting to train me in the skill, I had never really taken to it. However long and hard I tried, I rarely saw more than a jumbled pattern with no clear form, and there was never a sense of any real meaning. But I hadn't given up trying. Despite my frustration, I always enjoyed watching the water and connecting with its inner depth, and it was rejuvenating to be so still in my mind and body. I never let go of the hope that one day a true vision would appear before me.

It was not of any use. I sighed and thanked the water and the Great Mother for their time, and walked past the thick holly bushes to my small wooden hut, which was just footsteps away from the well. It was almost empty inside, save for my bed and some pots, pans, and knives for cooking; and a tall pile of dried wood in the corner. I carried an armful out into the clearing and arranged it onto the ground in preparation for the Midwinter fire.

There had been no visitors so far that day. There rarely were around Midwinter, for it was a time to be with family and most would stay indoors feasting. It was likely that I would be alone for the twelve nights of the fire. I finished stacking the sticks into place, taking care to arrange each one precisely, and then made my way to the garden, which lay on the other side of the clearing, opposite the hut. Though it was winter, it still blossomed abundantly with chamomile, mint, and agrimony. It would be more colourful in the springtime, of course, but every season brought with it its own magic. I sat before the herbs, as I did each day, and thanked the Great Mother for such blessings. I always had far more than I had ever needed and never failed to give thanks for how perfectly everything always grew.

Content with the day, I decided to make one more attempt at scrying, just in case something had changed, for I always told myself that one day something would have to. The shapes and patterns twisted and the water gently rippled once again.

And then I saw it! A white animal-like shape which soon formed itself into a horse! I was startled at its clarity and detail, for it was entirely different to the muffled blurs I had perceived as visions before. The horse had a long white mane that glowed under the bright winter sun and looked strangely familiar somehow. Then its rider appeared, a young man with thick brown curls and a warm, friendly smile. He was familiar, too; I knew him! It was Lew, a messenger who often stopped by on his journeys between towns, with his horse, Steren. My heart jumped and I prayed that this was not a warning he was in some kind of danger. I was still shocked by the clarity and detail of the vision itself. The colours were so bright and vivid, and the images so clear; it was thoroughly unlike anything I had perceived before.

Lew dismounted, and I heard the thud of his heavy black boots and the whinny of a horse. The water rippled, and with it the reflected images blurred back into an abstract mesh of colours. I was jolted out of my trance, and as I looked around and saw Lew standing behind me, with his wide, friendly smile, my heart sank a little, for I had been so sure that what I was seeing had been a real vision. That I was finally able to scry.

My feeling of disappointment was short-lived. Lew's visits were always a pleasure, and seeing him reminded me of how fond I had grown of him over the most recent passings of the moons and turnings of the seasons. His stays were often lengthy and he would always joke about stopping for far too long with me, which had often made me wonder if perhaps he was fond of me too.

Good morning Gwaynten! Lew's cheeks were rosy from the frost as he continued to smile warmly. How are the waters and their guardian on this beautiful winters day?

All the better for your visit, I replied with a cheerful grin, rising and brushing the moss and soil from my gown. I still can't scry though, I thought I had a great vision of a man on a horse and it turned out to be no more than your reflection.

Well never mind, Lew laughed. You are a fantastic Maiden of the Well and some of your healing water would be very gratefully accepted. The air is crisp and chill today and I have built up quite a thirst whilst riding.

I reached for Kerensa and gently dipped her into the well, watching as the crystal-clear water trickled into the cup, making a light musical sound as it lapped against her silver brim. I handed her to Lew and, as he