Jumping the Bonfire

"It's wet again, isn't it?"

"Ah, it is that," Garett responded. "It is worrying, for the crops."

Old Joe continued to chew on his piece of straw, rain dripping from his hat, and gazing off into the distance. Garett unloaded sacks of grain off his cart for which he'd traded in the town. As miller, he was responsible for providing flour for the village but it was proving hard. Their crop yield was weak this past year and with the wet threatening to lessen it again this year, people were worried. How could they feed their families if this continued?

Garett was conscious of the grain getting wet and went to bid farewell to Joe when Joe said, "I reckon there's summat can be done about it."

Joe was often seen as a little loose in the head but as an elder of the village, he was tolerated.

"Solstice is coming. Reckon we need to do some bonfire jumping."

Garett looked at Joe, still chewing, still gazing, rain seeping into his clothes.

They were Christian folk now, although some of the old ways still held. Solstices especially could be lively, round quoits in fields and clearings in woods. Garett had heard things, but people often resorted to ritual when prayers weren't working. There was comfort in the old ways, more like a plea to the land, to the earth's spirit, than an idol or intangible and distant god.

Garett hadn't heard of bonfire jumping.

Joe drew his eyes away from whatever had snagged them in the bulging skies and turned to Garett, looking at him straight in the eye. He let his look travel down the length of Garett's tall form, focusing expressly on his legs. Joe gave a little nod in approval and added:

"Longshanks? That's your name?"

Garrett, bemused, said, "Aye. You know that."

Joe nodded again with a little more vigour and said, "I think you be the man."

Garett did not like the way that Joe said "the man" with gravitas and assuredness.

*

Later that evening, Garett's supper was interrupted by a knock. Putting down his cheese and bread, he took a swig from his flagon to wash down his mouthful and with some trepidation, went to the door.

"Who be there?"

No answer.

He cursed and grabbing the nearest thing to him, a mallet, he opened the door. Standing there was a cowled figure, head bowed. The rain was light tonight but Garett could see the droplets peppering the robe of the visitor like tiny white jewels.

"Yes?" he said, hiding the mallet, anxiety in his voice.

"Joe has sent me."

"Who are you?"

The figure continued to stand, the rain planting itself, sinking itself, spreading itself.

"I am Caradoc," and Garett gasped.

A druid at his door!

"He believes you are the answer."

"To what?" Garett blurted.

"To stop the rain, bach. To stop the rain."

And the old man removed his cowl and looked at the young miller with his blazing eyes of worldly wisdom.

"Can I come in?"

Garett stepped to one side as the druid glided into his home. Caradoc shook himself like a dog and the droplets released themselves and dissipated with little susurrations.

"Can I sit?"

Garett was a little awestruck and pulled up his best stool. A druid! It was like being visited by a god! He felt hesitant, nervous and didn't know what to do. His food sat and he felt suddenly embarrassed at his earthliness and his humble plate.

"Sit with me," Caradoc said, sensing Garett's nervousness and wanting him to be at his ease. If this lad was to jump the bonfire, he would need to be alert, willing and able.

Garett obliged.

"You are the miller, yes?'

Garett nodded.

"You hold a responsible position for one so young," Caradoc smiled. "You have people, your fellow villagers, depending on you."

Garett could feel a tightening in his chest, a foreboding at the way the conversation was going.

"There was an old practice, Garett. Ancient old, boulder-old and engrained in the lore of our ancestors. All believed," and Caradoc looked sharply at Garett, "not just druids and their like." He paused and added, "All."

Garett shifted uncomfortably on his stool.

"Tomorrow is the solstice, a night of openness." Here, Caradoc spread his arms wide, and raised his head to the ceiling. "It is the heralding chorus of warmth come and fecundity risen." Caradoc closed his eyes, his face a mask of blissful reverence. "We will be suffused by summer's love of the earth, and the stars, the sun, the moon will bear witness. But..." and here he paused, "...we can harness the power of the longest day. We can coil its might around our arm and hold it to wield throughout the rest of the year, such is her generosity, this Mother of ours. We can take it with its blessing and benefit from its goodness."

Caradoc shrank a little as if the expressing of this had sapped him somehow. Garett was in awe.

Caradoc let his words settle, risen as they had to the roof and drifting down as they were now, like the lightest of feathers, to rest on the head of the boy.

"Garett, you are the harness."

Again, Caradoc paused. And then, "You are the arm, Garett."

The young man's eyes were wide as the enormity of Caradoc's words began to take hold.

"You can save us, Garett. You can stop the rain. And all it requires is bravery, which I can see you have, and long legs." Caradoc nodded at Garett's legs either side of his stool.

"Tomorrow, Garett. You can save us all. You. And only you. Do you think you can do it?" The wily old druid placed his face into the perfect moulded expression of hope and uncertainty, mixed with a soupçon of belief and a hint of a smile.

Garett nodded, mesmerised and the druid reciprocated in a measured way as if it had never been in doubt.

*

Garett looked at the blaze and gulped. He was meant to leap that?

It had taken an age to light, the smoke billowing as the rain-soaked wood resisted the flame and hissed its contempt above the fire's weak crackles. It had been the longest day, literally, and for Garett, psychologically. It had also been the darkest, the sky contorted with sound and light, lumpen and black - blackest black. Rain had fallen like spears and pellets, and people had run and cried out as it ambushed them.

Garett was terrified and suppress it as he might, he could not shirk the feeling that this night would change him. He just hoped that it would be for the better.

He did not see Caradoc although he had told Garett that he would be there, to see his fire leap. Caradoc had told him that he would know when to jump, that there would be an "easing" and that this would be the time where all would come right. Joe would be there as a guide. Garett believed that this was meant as a solace, a source of comfort, but Garett got little of that from this knowledge. He knew that the villagers were there too. Caradoc said that witnesses were essential for all to gain. They were in the shadows though, seeking shelter in the tree cover away from the flames.

Caradoc had left a robe that it was essential to wear. Garett felt its stiff fibres against his bare skin. He was naked underneath as advised. He hopped from foot to foot, watching the flames when his eyes weren't smarting and wondering what he was doing and whether he was part of one big joke.

Joe came next to him and nodded. Garett nodded back.

And then the night fell quiet. Flames lowered and the sky ceased its tantrum.

"It is the easing," Joe hissed. "Take off your robe!"

"What?" Garett looked at the old man, who was glaring at him, earnestly.

"Now, boy! Before it ends! Run, boy! Run towards the flames!"

Garett felt a tug and his body was exposed as Joe whipped the robe from him and pushed him sharply towards the fire and then, he was running and leaping and his balls were hot and he hoped he was high enough and then he landed on something sharp which hurt but then the fire was behind him and he had done it. He had done it!

He laughed, a pure expulsion of joy and relief and raised his arms to the sky and whooped and hollered. He didn't care that he was naked, being viewed by his peers. Indeed, in the brighter days, he would find he gained more attention after his bonfire leap than he would have received had he not done it.

And as the moon emerged, the clouds having defied their rain overlord, and retreated into wisps, Caradoc chuckled to himself and breathed deeply the magic of the solstice night.