THE DREAMMAKER

(folk tale from the Scottish Highlands, told by David Campbell)

I first came upon a version of this story in a collection of orally transmitted tales gathered by a woman in the early 20th century in the Hebrides, Western Isles of Scotland. To me it is a talismanic tale of a courageous journey to wisdom. It embodies the notion of a search following visions and ideals, time of loss and despair, courage to accept a difficult life apprentiship and the ultimate reward of endeavour. A richness of spirit, insight and wisdom. (David)



Once long ago in the time of the old gods, on a day of crisp autumn some young women were gathering blackberries on the lower slopes of The Cuillins on the island of Skye. They were laughing and chattering and singing. The boldest and fleetest and loveliest of them climbed higher and even higher up the slopes of the mountain, seeking the sharpest and sweetest of the blue-ripe berries. Full of dreams, higher and higher she climbed so caught in the search for the sharpest and sweetest and most perfect little berries that she no longer heard the singing and laughter and chattering of her companions.

A sudden chill ran in the air and looking up she saw rolling towards her a blank wall of mountain mist. Alarmed to be alone she turned to find her way back but saw that she was lost. Through the mist she saw above her, craggy shapes of rocks and below, dizzy gullies eddying with wispy apparitions of mist. She dared move neither forward nor backwards, upwards nor downwards.

At that moment she heard the sound of footsteps and saw approaching her, huge ghostly forms, like the legendary giants of the Cuillins. She shrank in terror and could not move. A sudden flurry of wind made a momentary clearing in the mist and she laughed out loud to see that her companions were a herd of deer, mostly hinds with young calves following at their heels. These deer seemed unafraid and so she followed behind them as they grazed and moved surefooted along the craggy ridges. They would, she hoped lead her to safety. As if they were obeying a voice from the mountain they all pricked their ears and set off purposefully along a narrow track. The track led not down but upwards and came to a cave high in the Cuillins.

In this cave were an old man and an old woman seated on two stools gazing into a dark rock pool on the floor of the cave. When the old woman heard the deer she rose to fetch her milking pail and seeing the girl at the entrance to the cave she stopped to ask her name and her business in that place.The girl told how she came to lose her companions and offered the old woman her blackberries saying, “Can you give me shelter for this night?”

“For a night?” said the old woman and she turned to her husband and together they spoke a while in a strange tongue. At length she replied. “For a night, no, but for a year and a night, yes, we can give you shelter if you will help me with the beasts for now I grow old. The deer will bring you back to the sea at the latter end of the year.”

To this the girl agreed. And the days ran by while she was busy milking and tending the hinds. The old woman taught her too, how to find and gather sweet-scented herbs from the mountainside; thyme she picked on the rock face, meadow sweet and wild mint from the edge of the mountain burns, golden asphodel and boy myrtle from the swampy peat ground.

These herbs the old woman dried and sprinkled on the peat and heather fire. Over this she heated the deer’s milk to make croudie. The making of this croudie was the old woman’s life.

While she worked at this the old man sat gazing into the pool in which was mirrored the world. When the croudie was prepared he took it and fashioned it into all the shapes and figures he had seen on the pool’s surface. This was his whole life. For he and his wife were the maker of dreams.

Each night as the red sun set below the sea foam the old man carried these dreams out to the mouth of the cave and held them up to take colour from the setting sun. Some he held in his right hand, some in his left. Those dreams from his right hand were airy and light, beautiful dreams full of comfort and promise. Out of the blue heavens they were carried by birds of good omen. Eagles, falcons, larks and even the cheeky little wren. These sweet dreams they carried under the veil of sleep through the whole wide world.

But from the left hand of the old man came nightmarish fantasies, ugly apparitions, dreams full of false phantoms, dreams to deceive. Out of the dark skies, out of the shadowy corries of mist these illusions were borne by birds of evil omen. The smell of carrion was on them, ravens, hoodie crows, rooks and kites. Through the web of darkness they took these deceptions and horrors under the eyelids of world.

When the year and one night of the young woman’s service came to an end, the old woman said to her, “You have served us well.” Then in her strange tongue she spoke to the leader of the herd, a hind grey with age. “Go well” she said to the girl, “your reward awaits you.”

Following the old hind, the deer led her by an easy path down to the seashore, but to no place that she knew and when she tried to walk along the beach the deer huddled round her, preventing her from moving and all were gazing out over the morning bright sea. Following their intent gazes she saw coming out to the sunrise a boat of skins, a little coracle, and in it a fair youth. Around his throat glistened a hoop of the finest gold showing him to be the son of a King. She looked upon this prince and he upon her and each thought the other fair. And she loved him.

He beached his little craft and came ashore his hands outstretched. The deer parted to make a path for him. “Fair one of dreams,” he said, “night after night in my father’s halls have I dreamed of you, seen your face in this place so hither I came to seek you as my bride, if you will come with me.”

Already the sun was setting as they sailed towards his father’s kingdom in the west. When she became queen of that land she taught its people the meaning of many dreams and they grew wise. But much is forgotten.