A Hearthside Tale of the Lady Elder

A log settles in the fire, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. I take the proffered cup, stirring the embers with a poker before refilling it from a blackened kettle hanging over the fire. The scent of peat smoke, cloves and elderberry seems to deepen in the room.. I lean forward, my voice low and warm, meant for the circle of faces lit by the flickering glow.

You can feel it, can’t you? When the moon hangs soft like that, caught in the windowpane... it makes you think on the old things. The quiet things.

I always think of the Lady, then.

You know the one. Not a tree, not truly. More a... a great presence. You feel her before you see her, down in the dip by the stream where the air goes still. She’s all knotted and wise, her branches holding up the sky and her roots... ah, her roots now, they go deeper than simply digging into the earth. Right down into the cool, dark quiet where all the old stories sleep. This is why you must never, ever take a knife to her without asking.

You have to bow your head, truly you do, and you say it soft... “Lady Elder, give me of your wood, and I shall give you of mine when I grow into the earth.” A promise, see? A trade. For she remembers a bargain. Cross her, and... well... the milk sours for no reason... the luck just leaves a place.

But oh, what she gives if you only ask. Those dark berries of hers, like little pools of midnight... they hold the whole truth of her. One side poison, the other the deepest cure. My gran would stir the pot for hours, singing some old rhyme, till that syrup turned thick and dark as a winter’s night. Just a spoonful could draw the fever right out of you, like pullin’ a shadow from a corner.

They say if you take her hollow twigs... the ones the birds have left... you can fashion ‘em into a pipe to carry a prayer on the smoke, straight to wherever such things are heard. And her flowers... oh, those pale, sweet clouds... they could be brewed into a wash for a young maid’s beauty, or a tea for a blessing. But you must only ever take what she offers. Never demand.

I take a sip from my cup, warm and comforting, and I see the reflection of the fire in peering eyes about the room.

She’s a doorway, that one... a branch over the door, and malice can’t find the latch. A whistle from her twig, and your prayer flies straight up. But to sleep beneath her on a night such as this... ah, that’s for braver souls. They say she shows you the faces of those who’ve gone through, who wait in her shade... and if you’re quiet, you might hear their chatter on the breeze. She rules the in-between places. The dawn and the dusk. The first breath and the last. She knows the path from the cradle to the earth, and she watches over both.

So she stands. Our dark-berried queen. The witch’s ally. The healer’s store. She teaches that medicine and poison are kin, that magic and death are neighbors, and that to walk with her is to walk with reverence for all three.

...Now, who’s for a drop more? This tale has a chill in it, for all it’s told by the fire.

•••

Spirit-Syrup of Elder and Bramble

You will need:

A good heavy pot

A wooden spoon

A fine muslin cloth for straining

Clean glass bottles for keeping

Ripe elderberries, a generous measure

Blackberries, an equal amount

Fresh, clean water

Your choice of sweetness: either a generous measure of good honey (for the sun's gold), or of sugar (for the earth's crystal)

What to do:

Set your pot upon the flame. Let the fire take hold. Speak to it quietly:
“Bright spirit of the hearth, old friend who warms our bones, I give these berries to your hunger. Burn steady, burn gentle. Do not rage and scorch, but coax the song from their skins, the medicine from their hearts.”

Pour in your water. Let it warm.
“Clear spirit of the well-spring, you who cradle all life, I ask you to hold the elder and the bramble. Draw out their deep strength, carry their virtue into every drop, and make of them one thing.”

Place your elderberries in the warming water.
“Lady Elder, root-deep crone, you who stands at the threshold where all truths are known. I honor your power. I stir your dark wisdom into this brew. Let your knowing guide us, your stillness guard us, your depth heal us, your roots hold us fast.”

Add your blackberries.
“Bramble spirit, thorn and sweetness twined, keeper of the hedgerow, protector of the small and the wild. I honor your tangling ways. I weave your fierce shield into this syrup. Let your thorns stand with us, your watchful eyes tend us, your wild heart keep us.”

Let the berries soften and give up their juice, stirring now and again. Then, add your sweetness.

If using honey:
“Golden spirit of the hive, summer’s treasure sealed in wax... I add your lasting warmth to this brew. Sweeten the virtue within, bind our lives together as you bound the flower to the bee.”

If using sugar:
“White crystal of the earth, pure light given form... lend your preserving strength. Keep this goodness through the dark months, and let your clarity guard it from all spoiling.”

Stir slowly, sunwise, until all is melted and woven together. Breathe into the steam.
“With each turn of the spoon, I braid your souls as one... Elder’s depth, Bramble’s guard, Fire’s transformation, Water’s flow, and the sweet spirit of preservation. Weave a cloak for my kin, a ward for this hearth, a sweetness to carry us through the long, cold dark.”

When the syrup is thick and rich, take it from the fire. Strain it through the muslin into your waiting bottles. Press the cloth gently to get every precious drop.

Lay your hand upon each warm bottle and whisper your final blessing:
“Spirit within, flow into our flesh and make us strong. Spirit within, dwell in our bones and make us steadfast. Spirit within, guard our breath against the chill wind. Elder and Bramble, now and always, walk with us.”

There now. It’s done. Let it cool in the bottles before you cork them tight. Keep it in the cool dark, and use a spoonful when the wind has a cough in it, or when the shadows feel too close. Mind you share it with those whose light is flickering low.