WHO Adam Parrish ft. the psychic forest known as Cabeswater (Narrative!) WHERE Cabeswater, on the Barns property WHEN November 29, Sunday morning, Sunday night, then Sunday afternoon (whee, what IS time?) WHAT Adam spends quality time with his psychically bonded forest and gets a peek into the future. STATUS Complete! WARNINGS None? There's a moose! Hover for Latin translations if you want!
For Ronan, Sunday mornings were for church. For Adam, Sunday mornings were for Cabeswater. Much like how he carved out times for his friends and his boyfriend, Adam treated Cabeswater with the same sort of amicable respect. Not to be ignored, to be open with communication, to plan to hang out even if it just consisted of sitting in quiet, contemplative silence in each other's presence.
Mornings at the Barns were a pleasant quiet, even on the cusp of winter. Adam had softly kissed Ronan goodbye from the warm tangle of sheets and blankets from their bed as he headed off to mass with his brother. Adam gave himself one minute, one languorous minute after, to curl around the empty space left behind by Ronan in their bed, before peeling himself away. Sleeping in didn't have the same allure when he was alone.
Adam took a few minutes to stretch, blinking more into consciousness, and reached for his deck of tarot cards on the nightstand. This was the routine—get moderately dressed, brush his teeth, swipe a granola bar from the kitchen pantry, and eat it along the way to the sentient forest on the back of the property. Much of the world was still asleep, the sun barely reaching out from behind the horizon, the morning mist lingering. But Adam was all calm determination, a well-worn path under his feet, one hand shoved deep into the pocket of his coat thumbing at the cards stashed there.
"Bonum mane, Cabeswater," Adam said at the edge of the tree line. The answering response came from inside him, welcoming as always. Adam held up a card, like a key—Two of Wands, manifestation of planning, decision-making, progress would only come if Adam mapped out the next steps with Cabeswater. There was a purpose for today's "hang out".
Cabeswater ushered him inside.
The air was warm, the canopy bright with a midday sun. Adam shrugged off his jacket, then his socks and boots, folding them up and leaving them on a mossy rock. Then he started to walk with the deck in his hands, shuffling as we went. Butter-yellow cowslips and puffy dandelions sprouted between each step, branches and twigs slid out of his way clearing a path deeper into Cabeswater. He stepped across a puddle but not in it, and then leaves began to fall sticking to his hair.
He pulled the Lovers. Cabeswater's question: ubi est greywaren?
"The greywaren isn't here today. Next time?" Adam asked, and the branches shuddered with something that sounded interestingly like yes. Adam hummed and nodded before sitting down on the edge of the pond that formed in front of him. A moose, with a snowy coat and a tangle of vibrant wildflowers and rough vines as its antlers, slowly approached from a thick copse and bent down to drink.
Adam rolled to his stomach and began to lay out cards, his head propped in hand.
The Magician. Himself.
The Moon. This one was Cabeswater communicating with him.
This one he spent time considering the meaning, until the moose approached, biting down at the corner. "Wait, wait, shit, mane—" Adam said, not letting go as he was pulled to his feet, tethered by the card. There was a soft jingle, like windchimes, as its antlers swayed. And then more, from all around him, a musical domino effect, a call-and-response. Adam knew it was magic, knew it was the forest, because like always, he could hear the bells pealing in his deaf ear. He followed it around the clearing even as it bounced above him.
The moose let go of the Moon and looked upward to the clouds. Adam did too. With the card in hand, he reached up through a broken canopy, the sky suddenly, surprisingly, within his grasp. There the card, the moon, sat where Adam placed it in the air, melting the clear blue into a purple midnight. It was tonight's full moon, Cabeswater moving and playing with time under Adam's whims. The forest was softly lit, the stars and Ronan's ever-present dreamt fireflies roamed over the water, around Adam's body. The moose slowly stepped away and disappeared into the brush. The chimes rattled again.
Audi. Specta. Vide, magus, vide, Cabeswater said, as blood-red flowers with sharp leaves grew with ferocious abandon around Adam's ankles. He touched a star, and the same bulbs sprouted and blossomed under his ministrations, exploding into existences and floating down to the ground. Adam was more or less giving life to everything his body came in contact with. But that wasn't it, he knew that wasn't what Cabeswater wanted him to see.
Adam held out his hands, palms up. One drop in the center, then another, another, another, another. Snow. It was snowing.
As Adam breathed in and out in the unnatural night, his body went electric—pupils blown wide, body glowing from within, like the sun. Warmth in the stillness. The ambient noise of Cabeswater went quiet with him. He needed it to focus, and the forest knew.
A bell chimed again, but the sound was lower, rhythmic. A church bell, similar to the one above St. Agnes. Adam tried something else, pressing his hands outward, extending his mind further, farther, within the safety of Cabeswater. It was his protection during scrying, and with the flow of Vallo magic feeding Cabeswater's roots, and the full moon coating Cabeswater—and Adam—with its natural power, slipping past his boundaries was easy.
Adam was Cabeswater, Cabeswater was Adam. It took no effort at all.
A familiar laugh, punctuated by the heavy tolling bell, made Adam's breath catch. He wanted, but wanting something while tied so intrinsically to the psychic forest was dangerous. Every wish, every desire, every feeling had to be in complete control—Cabeswater could mistake it for something else, would be too generous to appease its magician. And so Adam said, "Iterum, Cabeswater, iterum." Again came the laugh, the chime, but now hoofbeats in the snow. Opal.
Kerah! The small voice echoed back. Not scared. Not hurt. Only excited, only happy, and Adam chased the sound. And then was tugged back. That was Cabeswater, holding him down.
Quoque procul, magus. But Adam could only hear that as you're not ready yet. Frustration burned inside of him. He needed to know if she would be here, if she was coming. What was the point of having this power if he couldn't use it? His eyes snapped open, still glowing blue-white. He stood in a circle of exposed muddy dirt while the snow continued to fall. It had grown high—another sign, another clue. But Adam didn't want to play the game anymore.
He reached for the moon, snatching it from the sky. Adam held it out in front of him like a beacon, chasing away the shadows of the dense forest, as he walked through the snow. It melted away where he stepped, but when he reached the clearing's edge, the forest walled up. Adam couldn't even slip through the trees, and deep in the underbrush, he saw eyes staring back. His eyes staring back. Cabeswater was being protective and threatening, trying to tell Adam that it wasn't safe. Telling Adam they would keep him safe. But not out there, not that long.
Adam knew what happened when he went too far when he was scrying, and sighed with resignation. He crushed the moon in his hand—a compromise, a way to say they were done with this conversation for now—and plunged the forest into unshakable darkness for a moment.
Then the sun was rising, speedily, to return to its previous position. And Adam held The Moon card in his fist once more.
He needed to talk to Ronan. He needed to forgive himself for not being better. A sapling grew beside him, Cabeswater's way of saying I'm sorry. Adam touched a leaf from the tree—so am I the gesture said—and when he glanced up the moose was in front of him again. But this time, in its mouth, it extended out another card from Adam's deck. The Empress.