by Mair Riley-Jones
The wheel of year turned anew and the Callieach, ancient and revered goddess of the dark and cold winters knew that the time would soon come for the world slumber. The time of the long dark and warm hearths, the time to regain strength and rest in preparation for the next turn of the cycle.
And so she began to knit a great, woollen cloak, which she would lay across the lands to bring slumber and rest. She worked hard on her cloak for months as the world grew cold. Row upon row of stitches she knitted and the cloak grew and with it the chill in the air.
But The Callieach’s work drew the eyes of the other gods. The Morrigan, knew that wars are fought best in the blazing sun, where Cruthen could clash and bleed without fear of losing toes and fingers to frost and ice. Interested in preserving her bloodshed year round, on the 31st of October, she sent a Raven to sit upon The Callieach’s shoulder and tell her stories of blood and battle.
The Callieach, not to be deterred, shooed the Raven away. But in doing so, dropped a single stitch in her great cloak. A gap in the veil between our world and the other place.
From that gap, fae folk, tricksters and spirits spilled out. To dance and play amongst the living.
The Callieach, realising her mistake, turned to Lugh and asked to borrow a tiny piece of his fire. He granted this, and she placed this piece of the sun in the centre of the world, and lit the first Samhain bonfire. And the Callieach promised that at midnight on Samhain, every Samhain, she would let out a great scream to guide the spirits and mischief makers back to the Other Side.
When the Fir Cruthen people saw this great light, they took pieces of the bonfire to light their own hearths, and guide the wandering spirits away.
And so, on the final day of October, with each turning of the year, strange creatures and the dead spill into our world to make mischief or break bread with one last time. And so we light fires, to keep fae folk from our livestock and babes, or perhaps to guide our loved ones home one last time. We feast and make merry and tell stories to honour these great spirits.
And when the sun rises, and the echoes of The Calleiach’s scream have died away, so too have the wandering spirits and wyrd peoples. And the wheel is free to turn anew.
