"Ever wondered who you were before?"
"Were before?" Claire was puzzled. She looked up at her friend, Louise, who was sitting on the sofa reading a magazine.
"Your past lives," Louise explained. "Caroline Rattenbury is offering a past life regression workshop in Netherbury Farm buildings next Tuesday night. Do you want to go?"
"Are you going?"
"I'd like to. I took one of Caroline's shamanic soul retrieval workshops last year. She was good. What do you think?"
Claire stroked the grey cat on her knees. "It is something I've always wondered about, but I'd only fall asleep!"
Louise laughed. Claire's reputation for drifting off during meditation sessions led to regular teasing by other members of their "personal development" group.
"You work too hard, Claire. It was eight o'clock when I arrived tonight; you'd only just got in. You really should cut down."
"I know," Claire admitted, "Apart from the evenings I go out with you or Sally, there's nothing to drag me back here. Sorry, Smudge," she apologised as the cat meowed, reminding her he was always home when she returned. "I didn't mean to forget you."
"It's a date then?" Louise put down the magazine and stood up ready to leave. Claire nodded. "I'll pick you up at seven. Don't be late."
"I won't," Claire promised, showing her friend to the door. Smudge went with her, standing on the doorstep sniffing the cool night air. The scent of rain still lingered from the sudden downpour earlier. Smudge ventured a paw onto the wet step and shook it. He sniffed disparagingly before changing his mind and disappearing off down the path.
"Will he be alright out this late?"
"Oh yes, he comes and goes as he pleases. I think he goes and complains to the new people at number seven until they take pity on him. I know he goes there sometimes during the day when I'm at work, they're company for him."
"I'll see you on Tuesday then. Bye!"
Claire waved her off then went to wash up.
"Who was I before this life?" she wondered as she cleared away cups and plates. "Probably a servant, dying of tuberculosis before she was thirty -no Egyptian princess like Katy." Her friend was always boasting about her royal connections when anyone mentioned past lives. She dried the last plate and laid the table for her solitary breakfast, as she did every night.
Methodical, people called her. "Maybe I'll find out I was a totally chaotic 1920s flapper; now I'm trying to make up for it!" She smiled as she put out the kitchen light and made her way to bed.
Tuesday came quickly. Claire was unsure about the proposed workshop, but she left work early, making her way home in time to eat, feed Smudge and change into something more comfortable.
"You'd better bring a rug and a cushion," Louise advised when she came to collect her, "Sophie said there would be a crowd when she brought the tickets round."
Netherbury Farm lay on the outskirts of Little Brompton where Claire and Louise lived. The redundant farm buildings, recently converted into craft workshops, were beginning to acquire a reputation for good quality gifts. The grain store was hired out for classes or meetings. Claire and Louise made their way up the steep stone steps clutching their rugs and pillows.
"Find yourself a space," Caroline Rattenbury told them. There were people of all ages lounging on the floor talking together. Claire and Louise eventually found a vacant corner to spread out their rugs.
"Now everyone is here, we can begin." Caroline brought the group to order. "I want you to relax and imagine you are walking along a path into a beech wood."
"Does it have to be a beech wood?" Claire thought rebelliously, "I'd rather go into an oak glade any day!"
"In this beech wood, you will find a very large tree. I want you to imagine you're sitting under the tree. Feel its warm bark against your back. In a moment, I'm going to start drumming. This will be your signal to leave the beech tree and start your journey back into a past life. You can keep in touch with your physical self by listening or being aware of the drumming, but when I change the speed, it means your journey is over and you must come back. Do you understand?"
There was a chorus of "Yes" and someone dimmed the lights.
"Good, now make yourselves comfortable, take some nice deep breaths and start on your journey."
The drum began its own unending rhythm. Caroline's voice died to a forgotten whisper in the darkness. Claire closed her eyes, waiting for the swirling mists of her imagination to settle.
It was the lean time of the year. She could smell frost while hunger gnawed in her belly. Claire stood in the foothills of a mountain. She was a dark-skinned woman wearing supple leather clothes. A single black and yellow feather adorned her beaded headband. Alone, she pulled a heavy sack across her shoulders; wrapping herself round with a brightly coloured blanket. The sun was just rising as she set off along the path. Already she was far above the green valley where her journey began. Claire knew she'd been travelling a long time, sleeping on hard earth in frost filled crevices, the last of her firewood consumed in the night.
This was a special journey, seeking answers for an unspoken question. She did not know the outcome - her only certainty, the journey itself.
Pink shafts of light touched snow clad peaks; the colour warming her heart, if not her hands.
"Too far," she grumbled to her boots as they trudged wearily one foot in front of the other. She knew better than to mark out time as the sun rose on its journey through the heavens. For her there was only the path, twisting and turning its way between the trees. Huge, they were at first, hiding their green tops in shadow. Now the giants were gone leaving only shrubs clinging to crevices. Their long spines caught her clothes; drawing blood from her hands if she did not take care. Once or twice she caught sight of a shadow thrown upon the rocks, a movement on her outer vision, disappearing if she turned her head to judge its size and shape.
She murmured prayers to the passing rocks, asking for safe passage.
"I've not come to hunt," she told the wind, seeking protection from those who might see her as an easy meal. Her ears craned for stealthy footpads or breath of mountain lion. The only sounds were her own laboured breathing and pounding of blood in her ears.
As the sun began its downward path, she stopped; searching for food in her pack. Dried meat and bread took time to chew, but they stopped the pangs in her belly until it was time to sleep. She rested against a low rock, watching clouds chase each other above other mountain peaks. A sudden flicker of movement caught her attention. When she turned, a man sat watching her on the other side of the trail.
"Where has he come from?" Claire wondered. The man sat, his arms relaxed against his sides, showing he meant no harm. His face bore marks of deep weathering from many seasons.
"He's not from my people." The men of her tribe kept their faces shaved, but this man's beard was flecked with grey, his hair hanging loose past his shoulders. His clothes seemed familiar, but his deerskin was dyed green and underneath she could see a cloth shirt nestling against his skin. His eyes were shaded by the broad brimmed hat he wore. She knew enough of strangers not to seek his gaze, lest it give him power over her before she set her own protection.
"Why is he here?" She made no move to greet him, trying to make some sense of his presence. "Am I not to travel alone?" she wondered. "Have the Old Ones sent me a companion, or is this just another test I must endure?
She noticed his gaze turn to the food in her hand. Was he, too, a victim of lean times? She broke off a piece of flatbread, offering it to him with a strip of dried trail meat. He accepted her gift with subtle grace, searching her eyes with his own as he nodded his gratitude. She wondered if she should speak, but was unwilling to break the companionable silence. She retrieved her water bottle from the carry sack and offered him a drink.
She watched him take in her clothes, the soft russet tunic and long skirt decorated with beads and feathers, each one matching the black and yellow striped feather in her headband. Her weathered hands bore the markings of recent paint, a sure sign of the sanctity of her quest. She pushed stray wisps of hair from her face, swinging the two thick braids over her shoulders to reveal curved markings on her forehead as well as under her eyes.
As he swallowed the last morsel of flatbread, she scattered her crumbs on the earth, uttering a blessing for their food. She could see him straining to catch the words of her chant, rising and falling on the breeze until the very rocks picked up the echo. She could not tell where her voice began and the earth gave back. To her it was but a moment's prayer, but it affected her new companion deeply.
With a gentle flourish, he returned the water bottle and she stowed it away in her carrysack.
"I go this way," she said, pointing to the path leading up the mountain.
He nodded his agreement. "I walk with you."
She hoisted the carrysack over her shoulders, placed a large felt hat on her head and threw the blanket around herself as she began the ascent.
She climbed slowly but steadily, stopping every so often to notice a plant or a bush. Sometimes she shared the name with him or spoke about its use. He would nod gravely, as if thanking her for the information. Sometimes he would repeat the name to aid his memory for another time.
"Look!" she cried, pointing to a hawk, lazing on the final thermals of the day.
"This is a sign from my totem," he told her, his voice deep and halting, "You lead me where my courage and wisdom will be tested to the full. This hawk brings knowledge of things far away." His smile at the sight of the bird was tinged with true reverence. "I came to the mountain to pray," he said slowly, "to be one with all things."
They stood and watched the hawk for several minutes until he was just a speck within the pale sky. Then she turned, leading the way to a large rock.
"This is the place I was searching for," she told him. "Will you join me in the time between time?" She did not wait for a reply, but sat down in front of the rock, watching the beginnings of sunset. He came and sat beside her. Leaning back against the rock, they waited to be bathed with sunset rays. Colours began to dance in front of them like huge dragons in the sky, their wingtips ebbing and flowing as the hues changed. First deep reds and oranges flooded over them, making their throats ache with intensity, only to be relieved by the cooler yellows, green and brilliant blues. Then, as violet light touched the stone behind the woman, it became apparent it was not a stone at all but the entrance to a huge cave.
