Once there was a child who was so poor and so alone that she had nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat. This had come about not through any fault of her own but because all her family had died in the Plague that had swept through the land.
The child, who had lost her name along with her family, wandered from door to door, from house to house, from village to village, begging for food and a place to sleep. But, afraid of the Plague, no one would help the child.
Occasionally someone threw out a scrap of food, and there was always water to be had from the streams. In this way the child survived, but she found no relief from her loneliness.
One night, after many days with no food, the child curled up in the roots of a tree. She was not sure that she would still be alive in the morning, and she no longer cared.
She drifted into sleep and heard an echo of the lullaby her mother used to sing to her when she woke at night from a dark dream. It was the same tune, but the voice was deeper and older than her mother’s voice:
“Little one, little one, do not fear
Little one, little one, do not fear.
Little one, little one, I am here.
Little one, little one, Mama’s here.”
The child smiled in her sleep, remembering a time of love and laughter, warmth and light. She felt her mother’s arms holding her close.
When she opened her eyes, she saw that the lowest branches of the tree were cradling her, and that the song had come from the leaves moving in the night breeze. The child slept again, the deepest, warmest sleep for many months.
Waking again, she found a bright, rosy-red apple just where she could reach it. At the first bite, the sweet juice filled her mouth and ran down her chin. She bathed her feet in the stream bubbling nearby. The water slid over her aching muscles like silk.
Soon she was at home in the forest, eating nuts and berries, gathering honey from the bees and eggs from the nests of birds. She always left enough for the creatures, taking just what she needed and remembering to give thanks. After a storm, she learned that a lightning-strike in a dead tree left coals she could use for warmth and cooking.
In this way the child survived, growing healthy and strong. She learned the language of air from the wind and the leaves, the words of fire from the sun and the lightning, the songs of water from the stream and the rains, the speech of earth from the soil and the trees.
Years passed, and the child grew into a young woman. One day she decided to visit the town where she had been born. After many days walking, she found her way to the town square.
The townsfolk looked at her with suspicion because she was not wearing fine clothes and did not hide her eyes from their curious stares. The Plague still haunted these people, but now the woman knew how to cure the fever. Her time in the forest had taught her how to prepare herbs and make teas to relieve the symptoms of illness.
Soon the townsfolk came to trust her remedies and to learn from her about balance and harmony, and about Nature, the Mother of all. The townspeople no longer feared the Plague, and the woman found her place in the village. She took her daughter and all the children of the village into the hills and forests to teach them the songs of air, fire, water and earth.
Meet Mago Contributor Kaalii Cargill