Chapter 10

Gateway to a New Reality

November 9 - 18, 1988

Selkie

Selkie crouched over her sweltering campfire adding logs and stirring the coals even higher. The smoked curled slowly upward in the crisp afternoon air at her sacred cedar grove in the woods surrounding Lake Pueblo. Selkie beseeched the blessed mother Gaea who rode the smoke trail to the heavens. This time she hoped the goddess would answer her cry.

The warmth of the fire brought a comforting sense of normal to Selkie's visit to the state park which, so far, had been decidedly non-normal. Frustrating to no end. She had spent over a week scouring the Faerie country without finding her husband. This had never happened to her before. The land of the Faerie was a large place, but with the help of Finvarra's friends she could usually find him - usually in a Faerie pub where he held the lowest tab. Not that difficult, really.

Upon her recent arrival in the Fey, she could not even find any one of their friends. In fact she could not find anyone at all. The land of the Faerie was suddenly barren.

To build strength for her next attempt, Selkie prepared the camp for her meal – a supper of warm beans, pine nuts, and chicory leaves. For a drink she boiled water for a warm cherry tea. She scarfed down the mix in seconds. While she was eating, a fawn wandered by, stopped and studied Selkie's behavior. It sniffed at the unusual blends of spices. The fawn seemed oblivious to the corruption of the Faerie land, right on the other side of the gateway. Selkie greeted it with a joyful "hello". The mother bounced behind her and both ran off. Bats gathered insects above the treeline.

Clean up time. She walked down to the lake, crunching the freshly fallen brown dry leaves. She rinsed her utensils in the water. Then she removed her own clothes and waded in the water for her personal ritual cleansing. Lake water stung with refreshing coolness. Soft slimy material from the lake bed caressed her feet and oozed between her toes. She tried not to consider that the bottom was formed of a blend of all natural substances such as plant waste and fish feces.

After her quick bath, Selkie brought her clothes and utensils back to the fire. She had no towels with her. Air drying in the nude seemed the best approach. The fire kept her warm while the cold breeze evaporated the water.

Following this respite, she had an urgent need to express herself in art. She removed her small sketchpad and oil pencils from her green nylon tent and went to work on her art. Slowly the picture began to emerge. Partway through the drawing, the evening chill began to take hold and she donned her denim jeans and sweat shirt. As it took shape, Selkie shaded the image with gray. His hair and beard were russet brown, but his dark soul clouded the image. Her only real variation was the peach hue for the skin and the haunting green for his eyes.

The picture still wasn't right. Something else was missing. She studied it for a few minutes, but she could not decide what it was. Upon closing her eyes, the image came to life, but Selkie didn't have the best paint. She took out her Bowie hunting knife, designed specifically for the army, and cut a small hole in her index finger. From this hole, she was able add just enough paint to bloody Owen's fingernails. Just the right touch.

With the sketch complete, Selkie returned her drawing pad to her tent and withdrew the bag containing a desiccated white powder from her knapsack. Jane always swore that Selkie had a problem, but this was not a narcotic. It was a concentration aid for her ascension to the land of the Faerie. Peyote had been used this way since the dawn of man in America. As natural as natural can be.

Selkie sprinkled some of the powder over the fire. The fire crackled and spit. She leaned in close for a deep breath of the acrid smoke. Woozy intoxication began to take hold. She added some of the powder to the remaining cherry tea and swallowed the tepid mixture. Collapsing next to the fire, Selkie scraped her cheek on the floor of the desert sands. She had returned to the land of the Faerie.

Clambering to her feet she scanned the rolling desert hills in all directions. Carrying only a full water bottle, she wore Khaki shorts, white tank top and rubber-soled sandals. In all directions waves of heat rippled upward from the ground. Within minutes, Selkie's nose was sneezing against the dust clinging to the dry desert air.

Which way to go? To the North and East she saw signs of rugged desert life – lizards, saguaro cacti, and rugged desert shrubs. The South was the rolling lifeless dunes of the deep desert. West was rocky and mountainous. She had tried North and East before and found nothing. A black dove landed on her shoulder and suggested "West". So the western path through the cliffs it was. She nicknamed the dove "Toto".

She wandered past a family of ravens tussling over the remains of a small body in a brown suit and matching hat. It stinks! Like popcorn in a popper, several of the ravens spilled across each other, fighting for one small scrap of meat. He's one of the Fenoderee of the Manx, a brownie; poor thing. The black dove motioned Selkie toward the Southwest. She left the carcass as fodder for the ravens.

Hours she trekked, tracking with the sun's motion across the sky. Perspiration boiled from her bare arms. She drained the last drop of water from her water bottle. The ground turned rockier, but in the distance she saw a rising forest. At last the land for which she was searching.

The path led to a forest much darker than she remembered. Creepers covered the openings between the dying trees and the underbrush. "Do you think we'll find lions and tigers and bears in there, Toto?" she joked. It would complete the myth.

A cedar tree rose in front of her. Three vultures sat clawing to three branches; heads bobbed up and down in cadence with their squawking. Selkie notice a man splayed, strapped face first against the trunk. His naked body, covered in boils, was burnt raw by the blazing sun. His sores were black with rot, while maggots crawled between the openings, enjoying the freedom of his flesh. His arms were tied with vines to branches and his legs wrapped around the trunk. The disfigured skin, so distorted by the suffering, blended with the bark of the tree. Alarmed at the site of this man, Selkie reached up tenderly to brush the worms off of his skin. She almost did not even recognize her husband. "Finvarra, what happened? Who has done this to you?" She asked.

Finvarra emitted only a mournful cry for an answer. Selkie reached around the trunk to loosen the vines. One of the vultures pecked at her fingers, forestalling her response. Toto crawled over Finvarra's back and fed on the worms. One by one, he swallowed the small, white segmented infections. Each time they were replaced by another.

After several hours of receiving unintelligible responses, Selkie laid down next to the tree to maintain a steadfast watch over her husband. For seven days and nights he suffered, strapped tight to the tree, answering Selkie's questions with only wails. Finvarra shivered through the freezing nights and burned through the sweltering days. She had little hope. Cedar smells were masked by his malodorous decaying flesh. She could only worry about the torturous suffering that this once joyful spirit endured.

Finally, on the seventh day, after night and day blended into one, Finvarra began to speak. "I curse the day that I had been born. I curse the night my mother and father first laid loving eyes on each other. I would be better off having been stillborn than suffer this agony. Why do I continue to live?"

Selkie stood up and brushed some more of the worms from his skin. "Who did this to you? Why do you suffer?"

"I am thirsty. Please bring me something to drink," Finvarra said with a rasping, throaty voice.

Selkie glanced at her long empty water bottle, guilty for having drunk it all. "I'm sorry, my love. I have nothing for you. I'll try to find something."

"You shouldn't be here. It's too dangerous. There is a terrible evil in the land." Finvarra paused and let out another moan. "Oberon has forsaken me. I don't understand why. I have done nothing wrong."

Before Selkie had the chance to go anywhere, the first vulture spoke up, "My friend, if I may be so bold. You have been kind to us in the past. I don't wish you to suffer from my opinion, but you must have done something wrong. You must be guilty of some evil. Why else would you be made to languish in pain? There is danger in your anger, you foolish faerie. It will not appease your accuser. Happy is the one reproved by Oberon. Seek out Oberon and thank him for your agony. Acquiesce and admit your wrongdoing. You will be happier for it."

This argument made little sense to Selkie. "Rufus, why do you claim such things?"

Finvarra seemed less than satisfied. "You are no friend of mine," he said. "My anger stems from my anguish. Why won't he just let me die? If I have committed some vile crime, tell me what it is. Show me the proof. I will accept my punishment gladly. But I have done nothing. Oberon is in the wrong. I cannot sleep. My dreams are consumed by visions of nightmares."

The second vulture spoke up. "I am not so concerned with your feelings, my friend. Oberon is just. He would not have punished you for nothing. Heed what others have learned. You cannot stand against the mighty justice of Oberon. Repent and seek his forgiveness."

Selkie could not stand by while hearing these criticisms from Finvarra's friends. "Mother, how dare you?" She complained. "Why don't you help him? Make an appeal to Oberon. Explain his suffering."

"No Selkie," Finvarra said, "they are right. Who can measure up against Oberon? We are all imperfect. We all deserve to be punished. But he destroys the blameless along with the wicked. I wish he would explain why I must suffer so much more than others." Finvarra cried into the tree. Thick tears of blood ran down the bark, like sap. "Why do you punish me like a mortal man?" He screamed. "Please tell me why. Or else allow me to descend to the land of darkness. … I am so thirsty."

"Is there a stream nearby?" Selkie asked Toto, the dove. He shook his head.

With a squawk, the third vulture spoke up. "You others are idiots," he said to nobody in particular. "Finvarra is not being punished enough. Oberon is merciful. Finvarra's greatest transgression is questioning Oberon's wisdom. He can see into your heart. He understands your wickedness. You should thank him for his mercy. Instead you blame him for your agony. Repent and you will abide in brightness and hope."

"Elizabeth, you are the wicked one for even thinking you can understand Oberon's mind," Selkie said.

Finvarra answered, "Oberon may be wise and just, but you are imbeciles. You aren't helping me, you are mocking me. I know I am in the right. Burn down this tree and new leaves will sprout where it is fallen. But let me wither in the sands and nothing will grow back. I long for death. This torment tears at me like a river eats away at a canyon's wall. Mountains fall with time, but I remain in agony. I am so ungodly thirsty."

Selkie became fearful for Finvarra's sanity. "Please don't say such things," she said. "I'll appeal to Oberon myself." Selkie jumped up on the tree roots grasping hold of one of the branches. She strained her neck to touch her lips to those of her once beautiful husband.

"You need to leave, Selkie. A shadow has fallen across the land. You will not find what you are searching for at Oberon's court. Please help me die. Just one drink and let me die. End this suffering."

From her perch on the tree, Selkie noticed a sharp, slate rock loose on the ground. She jumped down and raced over to it. Returning to the cedar tree made the vultures nervous. They pecked at her fingers, but she held tight to the rock. Selkie knew they would not allow her to cut the bonds fastening Finvarra to the tree. She dragged the sharp edge of the slate down her forearm cutting a long gash. Dropping the rock, she grabbed onto the tree branch and lifted her now bleeding arm above Finvarra's outstretched mouth.

Finvarra drank his fill of Selkie's blood. "You should not have done that," he said. "But thank you for helping me. You are the only one to show me true kindness." He leaned as far as he could toward Selkie. She returned his kiss - tart, bitter taste from her blood fueled his passion. The comforts of his lips were worth the sacrifice.

Still holding onto the tree branch, she pulled away from the kiss. Finvarra whispered to her, "I can help you find what you are searching for. I'm the only one." The force of his words knocked her from the tree. She fell to the ground with a loud thump. The distance was greater than she expected. She fell for what seemed like hours. When she slammed into the ground she lost consciousness.

Selkie had no idea how long she lay there. She came to in the woods outside of Lake Pueblo covered in blood over her arms and face. She felt herself being lifted from the ground. "Rufus, how did you find me?"

"Your sister asked to me to search for you," Rufus answered. "You're bleeding. Let's get you some help."

Selkie nestled comfortably within the strong arms raising her from the ground. "I think I know how to help him," she said.

"Help who?" Rufus asked as he carried her away from the campsite.

"Owen," Selkie answered. The cool air of Pueblo felt good against her skin after the long stay in the desert. She fell asleep in his arms.