The veil between the living and the dead

Here is an excerpt from my published paperback novel

“Let us be the first to call you king.” Parsifal nodded. “Aye? We’re your true friends.”

“Aye,” Arthur smiled. “I’d value that more than any pompous show of royal shields of arms. And I’d like this party to be a long one. And the more parties, the better.”

“And it’s Samhain in a few days,” Nimm reminded them. “Celtic New Year, forget the Roman calendar, I can’t follow it anyway!”

“But, Mum,” Rake said, “but we have no harvest of food to celebrate with.”

“We have a new king for the land,” Parsifal said. “And that’s harvest enough!”

“Aye,” Nimm agreed. “A fresh King and cauldron of plenty to bring back fertility. And just in time, because at this time of year the veil between the living and the dead is the thinnest.”

Arthur asked, “So that all the dead people will watch us? I’d feel even more important then, to have such an ancient audience.”

“Nay! Don’t be silly,” Nimm scolded him. “It has nothing to do with those who died before us. They’re not watching us. They’re happy and getting plump in Summerland. They’re only thinking of themselves. The veil between the living and the dead is for us, alone, and we’re very alone at this perilous time.”

Arthur asked, “Dead people aren’t watching us?”

“Nay. It’s only about us. It’s about seeing into the veil as far as we can, on this side if it, into our own coming death. At this time in the year we contemplate our own starvation. The seasons have been cruel. We adults will all be dead by Mayday, that’s certain since we’ve had such a drought for so long now, but if O’ Fortuna smiles on this village then all of our children will have health enough to be able to carry on with a new planting. And the oldest ones will frolic in the spring fields and beget new children. New life will rise.”

Rafe wept. “Mum, you’ll live!”

“One must eat to live,” Nimm said. “And I’ll not eat another bite, to save those shares of the seeds for the next spring planting.”

“Nay, Mum!”

“Aye, and promise me that come spring you do what you must to make new babies grow so the village will live on.”

“Nay, Mum!”

Arthur promised her, “As King, I’ll order the Horned God to make it rain geese!”