The Rosemary Saga

Prologue

The Weakness of Gods 

     The heavens were governed by the gods. It was a known fact. They lived within the clouds that seethed above the towering Orange Papaver Mountains and grew black with thunder when the gods were at odds. 

     And the gods were at odds.

     “He has escaped!” the cry carried through the court and echoed through The Garden of Time. 

The Bromeliads, out of breath, bowed to Quercus, “Cicuta has disappeared from The Garden! He has left the mountains; there is no sign of him!” 

     The Bromeliad Guards stood well over the highest trees and had massive, fortified strength—each with eyes like an eagle. They patrolled the great Garden from the edge of the Temple—their keen eyes never missing a movement. They reported to Quercus any and every activity—even the smallest of ventures made by Cicuta—or his followers—or anyone for that matter. 

     Cicuta had appeared to be quite well-guarded… .

     The gods and goddesses ran to the court and knelt in front of their leader. “How did he get out? Quercus, what do we do?”  

     Quercus controlled the storms, the mountains and seas. He was gifted with guidance and authority, love and patience. He thundered with crimson eyes and a voice as loud as a thunderclap, yet in gentler moments, his eyes were calm as night, his voice purred like a cat and his laugh rumbled like a wave on the sea. These qualities were what made him sovereign.

     Quercus stood, his height expanding and reaching the tip of the tallest aspen, Pando. 

     Pando was a gigantic aspen growing with roots that rambled beyond the Temple of the Quaking Giants, where the gods resided, and into the surrounding garden creating a massive forest of dancing aspen called The Quaking Giants. Cut into the huge trunk of Pando was the intricately carved and jeweled throne called The Altar of Pando where Quercus ruled and judged his court.

     Quercus stood over the court. His eyes raged and fury enveloped his face. There was a howl in his cry, “How did you not see him? You tower over The Garden! You possess great strength. Find him!”

     “We have searched everywhere!” A Bromeliad wavered, “He must have fled to the world of mortals.”

     “FIND HIM!” Quercus barked.

     “My Lord,” trembled another Bromeliad, “we are too large to enter the lands of the mortals. They will consider us an omen and think we are there to assassinate them. There will be suicides and massacres. There will be no stopping the panic that will overrun the masses. We cannot!”

     The Bromeliad looked at his brothers and back to Quercus, “Besides…it is your law that prevents us from entering the mortal kingdom. There has to be another way.”

     Quercus cursed, mumbling the faintest rant and sent the clouds over the lands to roll with thunder and lightning. The strikes destroyed trees and forests on the mortal country resulting in fires that were washed out from torrents of rain that exploded from the black thunderheads. Waters filled the rivers and floods wiped out harvests. 

     The mortals panicked and waited. Quercus was angry, but they knew not why nor where they could hide. What had they done?

     “I am outraged!” Quercus’ roar vibrated the walls of the Temple. “I am…” his voice subsided and almost quivered, “…sad… .” 

     Quercus resumed his size and dumped himself upon his throne. His shoulders slumped. His mind churned. No one in the Temple moved… .

     Quercus’ chiseled face displayed a sharp nose and round lips. He was dark-skinned and ruggedly handsome. His head of lustrous hair curled in tight waves as dark as the oak tree’s bark and shot out from his scalp like a sword fern. He was tall and muscular, as firm as a mighty oak. He moved slowly as if deep in a forest where the winds gusted and whistled through the leaves. He smelled of a warm-summer-night that beckoned at the goddesses to walk beside him and wish they were his.

     He looked about the court, “There are times,” his voice still soft, “that I wish I were one of you and not the leader. This is indeed an unfortunate situation.” 

     Like all the gods, he wore a chiton. He pulled it between his knees, sat and leaned his elbows upon them, his head resting on his hands. 

     The chiton he wore was much like a tunic but worn at the shoulder with a diamond clasp—or other gem. It fell gently to his knees. The goddesses of the court wore much the same but the hems reached their ankles. Its fabric was woven from silver or gold and was tied with a silver or gold braid at the waist. Quercus studied his court. It dazzled and radiated with beauty. Quercus was proud of his court.

     He pulled it between his knees, sat and leaned his elbows upon them, his head resting on his hands“Bring me the Dream Weaver. Perhaps he can tell us where Cicuta has gone.” The calmness in Quercus’ voice was almost as frightening as his thunder. 

     The court stepped back and let the Dream Weaver pass.

     Each god and goddess held one unique gift of magic granted by Nature and accepted by The Great Magus. The Dream Weaver’s gift of magic was being able to see into mortal dreams and guide the dreams into solace or nightmare. He could guide the mind to think what he encouraged it to think and search the mind for remembered dreams. No other god had this gift. 

     Quercus looked upon the Dream Weaver, “I hope you have some information, Armeria. Have you seen anything in the minds of the mortals—in their dreams? Do you have any suspicions as to where Cicuta has gone?”

     Armeria—as dark as the night and almost as tall as Quercus—clapped his hands together like he was praying and bowed low, “I searched the mortal’s knowledge and found nothing—no remembered dreams. Tonight, I will invade their dreams to see if any have nightmares about a god running amuck or any kind of evil. There, as yet, is no information. No mortal night terrors remembered. No mortal thoughts that might show a sign. No mortal sightings. I will continue to look, my Liege… . I will go rampantly through the minds of the mortals and not stop until I have found some kind of image—idea.” 

     Armeria, the Dream Weaver, bowed again and went back into the huddle of gods.

     What now shall I do? thought Quercus, where is this brother of mine?

     Quercus pondered upon Cicuta. There was a deafening silence as the court waited.

     Cicuta was Quercus’ younger brother. He was a striking god and looked much like Quercus, but wore his hair cropped close to his head. At the right side he left a long braid like some mortal warriors. His face was bit more chiseled, deadly looking; his body, a bit thinner but showing superb muscles like his brother’s. 

     He was agile, moved quickly—sometimes so fast he seemed a blur. His real power—his gift—lay in his brain and its ability to focus and reason. His dark side showed itself when he was quite young—when he became jealous of Quercus. His brainpower took a turn with this jealousy and he became persuasive, assertive and belligerent—never assuming he could be wrong. His inner strength was bias not compassion. Just one look at his eyes caused cold shivers and a sensation of peril.

     Quercus knew his brother well. 

     It wasn’t long ago that the gods mingled with the mortals enjoying the lifestyle of the mortal body, but the consequences were ghastly. Most enjoyed the Game that teased and tested but others reveled in their strength of supremacy. Quercus’ brother, Cicuta and his nine followers took this advantage and caused great devastation on the mortal land. Quercus was furious and decreed that the divine and the earthly would no longer fraternize. It was too easy to take advantage of the weak. 

     Quercus brought his hand to his eyes and rubbed. How he loved his brother! Why had he caused so much trouble? If only…it had worked! Or better…he had never become such a…pain!

     Because of this fraternizing, Quercus instructed Nature to create more deadly plants and beasts in The Garden of Time that surrounded the temple and protected it. Its lush greenery, pleasurable scents and deadly poisons which guarded the temple from mortals was not enough to stop the gods from leaving. Nature responded rampantly, enjoying herself immensely! She recreated a great vastness of toxicity, not only in the plants but also in the beasts—from the smallest insect to the largest mammal. Quercus was elated with the results! 

     Why hadn’t it worked?

     Quercus pushed against his eyes rubbing them harder and remembered. Not so long ago… .

     “Try now to play your Games,” he declared to his gods. “Try now to mingle with mortals and meet your death! This Garden is no longer passable!”

     Why hadn’t it worked?

     In retaliation, Cicuta tried to overtake the throne, only to be thwarted by Quercus’ great power. Cicuta’s anger was tyrannical but nullified—quickly. The peace remained—never really threatened. 

Many thought that Quercus should never have spared the life of Cicuta. No one understood their fear better than Quercus, but he had wanted to give Cicuta a chance. Quercus loved his brother and could not commit him to a permanent end. He hoped that his brother would find love and compassion and share the throne—use his wisdom and skills to benefit rather than impede.

     So Quercus gave him a choice. He could live in the poisonous Garden or yield to Quercus’ authority. But Cicuta’s self-righteousness made it impossible for him to submit to his brother. Sadly, Quercus had the god Papa Hops—the only god Nature permitted in The Garden—construct a living area deep within the toxic walls of The Garden of Time where the god Cicuta was exiled. A place, Quercus hoped, that Cicuta would rebuke his crime and seek clemency. 

     Why hadn’t it worked?

     Cicuta’s nine followers were given the same choice. Join Cicuta in the Garden or admit their failings and submit to Quercus. None chose The Garden—the plants too deadly. So the nine denounced Cicuta, and made their promise to Quercus. A promise that Quercus and his Bromeliad Guards watched closely even to this day.

     This escape would cost him, Quercus thought, but nevertheless, he was not sorry…but now…now! Quercus was in trouble! The court was angry and afraid! Cicuta was gone!

     What could he do?

     The court’s many voices screamed, “Cicuta is dangerous. He is an evil god. He is planning something horrible. He is going to kill us all!” 

     The call was not ignored but, also, not answered. 

     Quercus was tormented by his brother’s greed and selfishness. He sat up laying his hands on the armrest of his throne. The gods and goddesses looked upon his gloom with horror and distress. 

     He finally took a deep breath, “Datura, fetch me some wine. Perhaps it will settle my angst.”

     As he sat on his throne thinking, his wife Datura approached carrying a small crock of red wine and a crystal cup in the other. As she glided by the court, a green leafed stem sprouted, bloomed and died at her feet. Its large trumpet-shaped white flowers, called jimsonweed or devil's trumpets in the forests and gardens beyond, opened briefly and perfumed the air with a lasting, luring scent of temptation and envy. 

     Datura handed him the cup and poured the wine. She bent next to him and sat at his right knee. She laid the crock on the floor beside her and raised her head to him. 

     “Are you happy, my Lord?” her voice sang like a deep throated bell, sultry and erotic. Quercus quivered and touched her hand that lay on his knee. 

     “Only you, my Love, can calm my raging seas and ebb my recoiling eddies with just a touch and a word… . Yes, I am very happy…but…there is still the matter of Cicuta.”

     Datura was sometimes called Hell’s Bells by the jealous goddesses and laughter was often heard in the hallways as the goddesses joked, accused and ridiculed. But if Datura heard them and confronted them, they hid or lied and trembled for days.

     Her profound abilities included the gift of temptation and compelling envy. Temptation brought mortals a choice that could strengthen the heart and humility that could soften the heart and create genuine faith—or could wreck a life if used improperly. Envy could motivate action and security—or the opposite, causing hate and jealousy. Jealousy, if understood, could instill right standards that could lead mortals to treasure things. But then, too, it could go the opposite with loss, heartbreak and betrayal. It was up to the mortal to use these offerings wisely—the gods, too,  had this choice. 

     Although Datura was the most beautiful of goddesses, she was also the most revered and the most avoided. 

     Quercus pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it. There was great power in the kiss. The court saw his authority shift the air in colorful waves and Datura felt it hit her core making her gasp and lower her eyes. She belonged to this god in mind as well as soul. 

     Her milky complexion, pallid gray-blue eyes and her silvery ivory hair reflected the jimsonweed that grew as she walked. She glowed and sparkled in moonshine and radiated in the sun. Her stance was elegant like a sleek dancer. She carried herself with grace and agility. Her body, sensual and curved. All this in itself was reason for her throne. No other goddess had this power of intoxicating beauty; this power of scent so becoming that no god could resist. But that scent carried with it a dark side–a narcotic side. She was a temptress. She was persuasive and potent. 

     Accepting the cup, Quercus glowed with pride as he looked upon her.

     While he sipped the pungent wine, he gazed about the court and saw the gods’ desire for her. He smiled, pleased. He ignored the goddesses in spite of their obvious furrowed brows and frowning lips. 

     Inwardly he admired himself for he knew no other god could hold Datura in his arms the way he could, nor could they silence her outbursts or pacify her demanding needs. 

     Quercus regained his bearing and put Datura’s hand back on his knee. She laid her head on his knee beside her hand and wrapped her other arm around his leg. He accepted her touch with the grace that powered him.

     “Paulownia! Nerium! Come to me.”

      Datura scrambled to her knees, “No!” she whispered.

     Quercus put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from standing.

     The court was baffled. Why did he call his children? What is Datura’s problem? She seems agitated.

     Quercus gently pushed on Datura’s shoulder and made her sit back down. 

     She shook her head and mumbled, “No, Quercus, please do not send them.” 

     The court strained their necks to hear, what did she say?

     He patted her cheek and kissed the top of her head. 

     “There is no other option,” he whispered back.

     Many decades before, Datura gave birth to twins, a boy, Nerium, and a girl, Paulownia. Both were greatly loved and cherished. Datura feared if Quercus sent them to find Cicuta that Cicuta would harm them, even kill them. 

     She silently wept knowing that nothing she could say would sway his mind. 

     Her two babes ambled down the center of the court and she forgot herself and yowled. Quercus touched her hand firmly and whispered, “Please, Datura, courage! Do not show your pain to the court!”

     Datura shut her mouth but little whimpering sounds prevailed.

     “What is her problem?” A resentful goddess asked but the reply was only a shrugging of shoulders. 

     Nerium looked proud and raised his head so he could look down on all those he passed. His self-absorbed movements sauntered majestically. He enjoyed the gaze of the court. Although he was cocky and narcissistic, he carried the quality of love bestowed upon him from his father. He was generous to his fellow gods and bore concern and compassion for them and all living things, yet sometimes, he used this compassion and generosity for his own benefit and advantage. He measured love by action not devotion or passion. He was spoiled.

     Nerium’s hair was a wash between dark brown and white gold. His skin was not as dark as Quercus’ nor as ivory as Datura’s. His was golden. His eyes, too, carried a golden hue. He was as tall as his father and as fluid as his mother. His smile was contagious. Much like his mother’s gift of temptation and envy, he could beguile and dazzle. This was his gift.

     As he grew stronger and handsomer with age, his love and vanity grew just as much. He often wondered how the mortals loved; wanted to see if their love was just as intense as his. He was consumed with the desire to venture into the mortal world and find out for himself, but the Garden was impassable. It was a futile wish.

     Paulownia, like her uncle, acquired an ability to focus and reason, a knowledge of depth and understanding. She didn’t care about her beauty even though she bore her mother’s softness, allure and gentleness in the face.

     Her skin and hair were like her brother’s, but her eyes were the palest of green. Like her father she bore a great love for all, but her love was different from his and nothing like her brother’s. She wasn’t concerned if anyone could love more than she and she didn’t use it to manipulate or connive or control. Even though she was lavished with love and overindulgence, she did not grow vain like her brother.

     The two stopped before the throne and bowed to their father. Seeing her mother’s tears, Paulownia bent to comfort her. 

     Quercus cleared his throat, “Stand, child.” She did. 

     Loudly he announced, “This is my only choice, as I know that no other of my subjects have a desire to venture into the mortal world—at least not anymore since I have made the law.”

     Datura shuddered and whimpered.

     Paulownia was shocked. Does he know? she thinks. Will he send me to find Cicuta because he  knows what I have done?

     At a very early age Paulownia ventured toward the Garden, avoiding it but learning about the plants and their poisons. Eventually she found ways to protect herself and by her preteens she had found a way to sneak past the Bromeliad Guards—and Cicuta—and venture into the outer walls of The Garden and walk into the valleys of the mortals. 

     Her early teens brought on enjoyment from watching the valley and an entrancement by a certain type of mortal. She found solace in spying on them. She was cautious and crafty and avoided the Bromeliads, but if caught…well…who knew what her father’s law would do, so she was very careful.

     Paulownia looked at her father…did he find out? Did a Bromeliad see her? Was she caught? Her thoughts raked over her as she remembered.

     The mortals she watched had an endurance of hardship and an acceptance to suffering which was remarkable to her. They were persistent yet giving and those who were humble, lacked selfishness. When she heard the laughter coming from their homes deep within the valley, she was overcome with joy, wishing she could be with them, taking pleasure in their banter. 

     Through this desire came her need to know more about them. When she saw them suffer from illness and desperate for living, she became interested in what it took to heal them. She developed a knowledge of all the great plants in the surrounding mountain valleys. This gave her an edge in understanding the mortal body. 

     She continued to sneak into the valley and search for vegetation and herbs unknown to her. She conjured cures and potions from a depth of knowledge that she acquired through books from the court’s library and her own common sense.

     As Paulownia grew into her mid teens, her knowledge became complete and her love, all giving. Her secret gifts laid deep within her soul and she wished only to use them and honor them. All she needed was a sick mortal.

     Well, thinks Paulownia, if it is a punishment and I am sent into the mortal world, then…that is…exactly what I want! She grinned wildly and her knees wobbled. She staggered.

     Quercus noticed and gave her a stern look. But soon it was replaced with a knowing twitch of his lip. He knew that secretly these two had fantasied about visiting the mortal world. He knew that both would welcome the objective and go willingly.

     However, he didn’t know about her adventures. He thought her giddiness was from her sight. That she had foreseen that she and Nerium would be asked to go to the mortal world and bring back Cicuta. Quercus was pleased she used her gifts so well.

     Quercus raised his voice for all to hear, “These two are best suited to find Cicuta.” Datura wailed throwing her hands in the air and crumbling to the floor.

     There was a jumble of voices and confused comments but…

     …the court agreed! 

     Who would want to traipse after that madman? 

     These two youthful gods look happy about it! 

     Quercus rose again from his throne and addressed the court, “I know not how these two shall overtake and capture my brother…but what I do know is that they are the only ones who are able—the only ones who do not fear Cicuta.”

     Quercus adjourned the court.

     As the last god joyfully left the court, Quercus brought Datura to his lap. He hugged her stroking her back and kissing her all over her face, tasting her tears of sadness. 

     “They are strong, my Love, and courageous.”

     “How will they bring him back? I can’t fantom how… ?

     “Papa Hops has already helped Paulownia with her studies. Her knowledge of plants and mortal life is superb, although she is not aware that I or Papa Hops know—it will remain that way… . Datura, they must believe they are venturing into this den of wolves with only their knowledge and desires. They will be successful if they think they aren’t being controlled. It will give them fortitude and strength.”

 

     Nerium and Paulownia prepared themselves for the descent into the valley of mortals. Both excited and ready to search for their uncle while interacting with the mortals—an agreeable mission.

 

*               *               *

 

     On the outskirts of The Garden of Time, Cicuta beamed at the roar of the gods and laughed at the cowering mortals who hid from the thunderbolts and cold cloudbursts. It wouldn’t take much to fuel the mortal’s fear; but before that, there was much to do, a place to settle and more magic to research and conjure. 

     His steps were springy. He felt alive! He felt novel and fresh. A new beginning! Before he reached The Sleep of Death, he heard Quercus call Nerium and Paulownia to his throne. 

     Is that all he has? A couple of weak children? They can never overpower me. He laughed as he trudged through the poppies and then a little…tiny…thought…nudged at his brain. 

     It might be possible that Paulownia could overcome him. She had the knowledge and power. He would have to keep an eye on her. She was a threat—a weak one but still a threat… . Nerium, not so much. 

     He recalled watching Paulownia in the Garden. It wasn’t long after he was exiled. Even under the watchful eye of the Bromeliads, Cicuta was able to copy Paulownia’s ability to protect herself from the poisons—and them. What troubled him, though, was Paulownia’s mystical powers for magic. Since his childhood he studied the power of magic and potions, yet her magical talents were far beyond his own, and it seemed to him her tonics and elixirs were easier for her to recognize, easier to achieve. This frustrated him. He needed to know more than her, needed to be better than her.

     So he listened and watched her constantly. His own knowledge grew, but instead of finding the good—which Cicuta thought only hindered her abilities—he found the bad of the plants and pulled out the black magic. He conjured and wrote in his journals and observed Paulownia—all the while under the cloaked eye of the Bromeliads. 

     He believed—no he knew—that his power was greater than Paulownia’s because his power fueled fear and fear was the only way to control the masses. Unconditional love was something most mortals did not share. He would always overcome love with fear and knew the people of the valleys harbored no immunity to fear. All he had to do was kindle the fire and fear would not relent. 

     So that little, tiny thought was pushed back into the corners of his brain. He relaxed.

 

Soon there was a pause in the rains and a silent whisper of wind and all life returned to what is was before…except there was an undercurrent of foreboding. Something was coming.