Long ago, in a certain kingdom, there lived a pair of twins, the King's Remembranter and the King's Remembrantrix. The Remembrants' calling was to remember everything for the King, for the written word was not invented. Especially, they remembered who owed money to the King, what interest had accrued, what was the due date for payment.

As Remembrants, the twins travelled the length and breadth, the height and depth of the King's land. They knew every person by name, every path to every village, every farm and field and sod. They got to know every bird that flew, every creature which crawled or scuttled or sped over the ground or beneath it. They remembered physic and mathematic, the herbs of healing and the ways of cleaning wells.

Every year the Remembrants walked the boundary of the kingdom, checking every border fence and boundary stone. They knew to an inch the locus of the King's domain. They remembered everything.

Before them had been many generations of Remembrants, stretching back into the antiquity of antiquity. The twins scarcely remembered how they had been taken from their family by the previous generation, the Old Remembrants, when they were but seven years old. The Old Remembrants had known of the birth of the twin boy and twin girl seven years before, had chosen them according to ancient lore to follow in their footsteps and had watched over them at a distance, until the day came when they took them to be Apprentice Remembrants.

The twins scarcely remembered how they had been taken from their family. And scarcely forgot the anguish and disbelief on the faces of their parents and their own wrenching pain and the unbelieving grief of such sudden separation. The parents had pleaded and coaxed, wailed and bribed, clutching their children and tugging at the garments of the Old Remembrants. But the Old Remembrants' faces were implacable. They had chosen the twins seven winters since. They were not going to change their minds. They took the children away.

The twins remembered every moment of their twenty one years of apprenticeship, for that had been their task. They remembered the slowly grinding hours spent on the lists, the genealogies of all the people in the kingdom, interweaving ever backwards into a single colossal relation of kinship. They remembered then, when they met the people face to face, how the living came alive for them. And, as they looked into the eyes of the people, whilst holding their genealogies, how even the interwoven dead became alive for them.

They remembered the ceremonies for cleaning the wells and maintaining the irrigation ditches. They remembered best how they learnt to follow the paths of the kingdom, in company with the Old Remembrants, by singing the lay of the land.

The twins remembered the solemn, secret rite when the Old Remembrants laid down their mantles and the apprentices were installed as the King's Remembranter and the King's Remembrantrix at the age of twenty eight. It had been a troubling time for the Old Remembrants and for the New. For the first time there had been no boy and girl twins born anywhere in the kingdom during that year, no twins from whom to choose the succession. They sat together and time and again searched the lists, at times almost doubting their powers, following the twisting branches of the genealogies, going carefully over those lines of heredity marked by the birth of twins. Nothing.

The Remembrants never doubted their calling to maintain an ordered land through their remembranting of it, the wells and ditches, the fertile fields in pasture or plough, all bounderied and abutting, the neat villages, the well kept paths, the people all in their place in the great genealogy.

If there were no twins, there could be no apprentices. If there were no apprentices, the ancient science of remembranting would be forgotten. All that vast, millennial knowledge would crumble. And without his Remembrants the King's treasury would empty, his rule would fail, the people would forget themselves, the wells would be broken and polluted, the crops would wither and the kingdom would fall into chaos.

Now seven years have past. The Remembrants are deeply troubled. They have dreams. They have dreams which they share. As apprentices they had been strictly taught, in remembranting there is no place for dreaming, only for what is real, be it people, path or plough.

At first there had been but brief snatches of dream, an unfamiliar tree, the paw of an unknown creature, the sparkling of an unremembered rill in soft sunlight through the shade of trees. The dreams had puzzled the Remembrants, for they remembered everything, yet here were images of which they had no memory. When they sought to put away their dreaming, the dreams increased.

Now each night the dreams came to them both. The dreams troubled and disturbed them. They feared the paths their dreams took them, through dark forests with tangled undergrowth, all spikes and thorns. From the strange creatures they encountered, they recoiled in horror and dismay. Grey, cloven-hoofed animals with sharp bristles and curling tusks charged at them. Mighty creatures with brown fur, shaggy coat and powerful jaws rose up on their hind legs and reached out to them with heavy clawed paws. Packs of lean, dog like creatures with long black fur stealthily surrounded them and gazed upon them with hungry eyes and lolling, slavering tongues. Then they would together howl the howls of nightmare.

In the Remembrants' dream land, the mountain streams were shrill to their ears, the great high circling eagles a threat to them. Worst of all, dark and still, was the lake, to them a great expanse of water like they had never seen, holding a menace which filled them with silent screams. This was a disordered land, a wild land, a strange and fearful land. They felt its baleful influence seeping through into the kingdom they knew so well. They heard mutterings of discontent amongst the people, they received reports of ploughed field unsown, of cattle herd prey to disease. As they walked the boundary of the kingdom, they found broken fences to repair and fallen boundary stones to be up-righted.

At last, they took their troubles to the King. He heard them out with solemn, patient looks. When they had finished, he spoke to them, "You are my Remembrants. You have fulfilled your calling faithfully for seven years. Now in your dreams you have received a further call. You must discover and explore this dream land of yours." "But, where can we begin to look," protested the Remembrants. "You must go to the centre of the great moor which lies at the heart of my kingdom," said the King, and would say no more, save to dismiss them to set about their quest.

When they entered the palace courtyard, they found two sturdy little horses, a mare and stallion, all saddled and bridled, their packs filled with food and warm clothing. Thinking the horses to have been provided by the King, they mounted them and began their journey to the great moor.

As they journeyed, they puzzled over the King's words. They knew the great moor. Travelling around the kingdom in the early days they had often sought to take a short cut across the moor, but each time, by some trick of the light or dissembling geography they had always found themselves where they had begun. Once, they had taken a compass, but some force deflected it, little by little, for the compass led them to the place from which they had started.

It came to them, as they journeyed, the King had sent them to the one place in the kingdom where they had never been, the centre of the great moor at the heart of the kingdom, the empty place at the centre of the Remembrants' memory. It was for them an emptiness filled with fear.

They rode loose reined along the paths from the palace to the great moor. At each way-mark, the horses turned their noses always towards the moor. Finally, the path took them across the edge of the moor, before turning off it into a nearby village. But the horses turned their heads towards the moor and began to canter across the coarse grass where the villagers grazed their sheep and goats.

After some distance into the moor, the coarse grass gave way to a bright yellow, pale purple and green carpet of thick-piled gorse, ling and bracken. The ground here was undulating, with outcrops of rock, and the horses slowed their pace to pick their way safely through this trackless terrain. The twins' fears intensified as they entered more deeply into such unfamiliar and unremembranted territory. Towards evening a line of snow-covered mountains came into view ahead of them. That night they lay on a bed of bracken, dreaming of tall trees and tangled undergrowth, of nightmare creatures and of the still lake, dark with menace.

The horses were awake early, grazing quietly in the dawning light, and as the sun's rays touched the mountain peaks with an orange glow the horses nudged the twins from their sleep for a frugal breakfast before their climb. The twins barely lifted their eyes to the warm peaks, too wrapped up were they still in their dreams, and too full of fears were they to have room for more than a few morsels of bread.

All day they climbed. For much of the time the mountain side was too steep to ride and the twins walked beside their horses, holding on to their saddles for support. Underneath their feet were rough rocks and coarse bracken, hard walking when their feet were already heavy with reluctance to enter the wild land of their dreams.

By nightfall they had reached a col between craggy peaks high above them. The cold bit into them. The night was spent in the slight shelter of a rock overhang. The twins were glad of the heavy cloaks they found in the packs, with thick horse blankets for the horses, who lay encircling the twins to keep them safe and to share their bodies' warmth. Still it was cold.

The twins awoke from their dreams with icy bodies and cold dread gripping their hearts. They made themselves eat bread and fruit and drink water from their packs, huddling together in their cloaks while the horses grazed whatever scraps of grass they could find in this stony place.

The horses were saddled and they were on their way before the sun rose over the mountain wall behind them. The horses made a way down into a deep gorge below the col. The incline was so steep the twins had to lie right back over the horses' haunches, gripping their saddle backs and almost standing in their stirrups, lest they be thrown forward into emptiness. But it was not the riding which frightened them. Descending into the gorge in the dark before dawn, cold energy of fear shivered wave upon wave up the twins' spinal columns, for they felt they were falling into their own darkness.

Daylight came. The air was cold in the gorge, but the sun was warm on their backs. The gathering waters from the snow peaks formed a noisy, fast flowing stream, white with foam, strange and shrill to the twins' ears like in their dreaming. Following the stream's stony bed they finally reached a place where a shallow pool had formed. Here the stream paused and circulated a while before plunging into a high cataract in a rush of chatter and spray.

The horses stepped into the pool and stretched down their necks to drink. When they had drunk their fill, they stood still, waiting for the twins to dismount. This they were loth to do, fearing some nameless ill would assail their bodies, as it had their ears, if they were to immerse them in the strange, white waters. They coaxed the horses to come out of the pool, but the horses were not willing to move. The twins had no choice but to dismount. They took off their boots and let their feet down slowly into the water.

To their surprise, far from hurting them, the cool water was a soothe to their tired and aching feet. They felt the water carefully with their fingers. It was soft and pleasant to the touch. They put their whole hands into the water and felt it rippling through their fingers. They wiggled their toes and felt the gentle flow between them. They began to make little splashes with their hands and feet. Then bigger splashes, which splashed each other. They splashed each other more. Soon they were splashing and laughing and whooping with delight.

The horses watched, slowly nodding their heads. When the horses moved out of the pool, the twins remembered their quest, and their mood swiftly changed from delight to dread at what they must face next. They could not follow the stream as it surged into the cataract, but to one side the gorge began to widen and beyond a stretch of thin grass was the beginning of woodland. Towards this the horses now turned their steps.

Dread lay heavy on the twins as the horses entered the forest. They could not go back and could only dare go forward because the horses bore them, hunched in their saddles. The forest was as dark and wild as the twins' dreams had foretold. The horses stepped gingerly, raising their legs high as they picked their way through the matted and thorny undergrowth between twisted oak and tall, spiky spruce.

In time they came to a grove where beech and birch grew, more sparsely than in the surrounding forest, letting the afternoon sun filter through the canopy. Here the undergrowth thinned and on the ground lay a soft carpet of leaves. The twins saw a sudden movement. Through the trees they saw the grey, cloven-hoofed animal with its sharp bristles and curling tusks staring at them from the edge of the dark forest. The twins held their breath and stared back, their arms and legs shivering.

The boar had been snuffling for tubers in the humus of the grove, when he heard movement in the forest. His sharp nose picked up an unfamiliar scent in the forest air. He was turning away when he saw two creatures enter the grove. He had never seen a creature like them, tall as a bear but with two heads, one round and staring the other long with pricking ears. The boar watched the creatures stamping their hooves on the soft ground, lowering their long heads, snorting and waving them from side to side.

The boar remained transfixed as the impulse to flee and the impulse to fight wrestled in response to the unfamiliar threat. The creatures with two heads looked tall and strong, with hard hooves and powerful jaws and teeth. But they offered broad, unprotected flanks to the boar's sharp tusks. Then one of the creatures raised its long head and let out a loud whinny. It was enough for the boar. He turned his tusked head and fled into the dark of the forest.

The twins blew out their breath in a long sigh of relief when they saw the curly tusked animal disappear in the undergrowth. Still shivering a little, they dismounted. Once recovered from their brush with curly tusk, they felt hungry and tired. They unsaddled the horses and left them to forage for food at the edge of the grove, then they ate well on bread and cheese, pickled onions and ripe, juicy apples. Soon after, the horses lay down encircling the twins as usual. Night came quickly and the twins slept comfortably on the soft ground, their cloaks around them.

The following day, they continued their journey through the forest, the horses picking their way on a gradual downhill course. Suddenly, not more than two strides from them, was the mighty creature with brown fur, shaggy coat and powerful jaws. The animal rose up on its hind legs, towering above them and reaching out its sharp claws. The twins cowered back in their saddles, feeling vulnerable and afraid, expecting in that moment the jaws and claws to fasten upon them and to sink into their unprotected flesh.

The bear had been searching for food. She had turned over a rotting log and ripped it open, quickly picking off the scurrying ants and beetles, when she was confronted by two strange creatures. She raised herself to her full height, alert and ready for any attack.

In the moment they expected to be attacked by the furry creature, the twins saw her young, peeping through her legs, a smear of honey and bee larvae on its brown snout. The great, furry creature was simply ready to defend her young. The horses backed away slowly and took a safe route around the bear and her cub.

They spent three more days travelling through the forest. After three days they came to the edge of the forest, where they faced their next peril. The lake.

The twins sat on horseback at the forest edge. Before them was a wide stretch of grass running down to the lake. The grass swayed gently in the light breeze and amongst the grasses bright flowers grew, alive with wild bees and butterflies. Sunlight on grass, the hum of bees and the broad day might have offered a welcome contrast to the narrowness of the forest. Except for the lake beyond. Trees reached right down to the lake shore on its far bank. The lake was black with still, silent peril.

The horses moved forward slowly, stopping some distance from the lake to let the twins dismount and unsaddle them. The horses began to graze the sweet grass. The twins lay down in the grass, their eyes never leaving the silent lake, but in a short time their eyes succumbed to the warm sun, the light breeze, the humming of bees and the soft grass. They slept.

The twins awoke to the sound of children's laughter nearby. A boy and a girl about seven years old playing tag. The horses were gone.

The children were chasing one another barefoot and rolling around in the long grass when they tripped each other up. The twins were about to call to the children, when out of the forest ran a pack of the dog like creatures. Before the twins could act, the pack had surrounded the children, the creatures' tongues lolling from their mouths. The children were sitting upright on the grass. The twins were transfixed with fear. They felt helplessness and choking despair. Suddenly, the pack moved in on the children.

The animals licked the children's faces and nuzzled up to them. The children hugged and stroked them. Then children and animals were all running together, the children chasing the animals then turning to let the animals chase them in turn. Now the twins were transfixed with astonishment.

But not for long. The children and animals seemed to notice the twins were awake for the first time. The animals made to hunt the twins, surrounding them and with their bodies low making sudden swift darting movements to nudge the twins or nip their ankles in play. The children stood aside, smiling, until the twins raised themselves, removed their boots and joined the chasing game, surprising themselves with howls of mirth and joy and rolling in the grass with exhilaration.

After a while, the animals formed a pack and ran towards the forest. At the forest edge they turned, and with their lolling tongues there seemed to be smiles of glee on their long faces. The children waved at them. The twins waved. Then they turned tail into the forest.

With the animals gone, the children turned their full attention to the twins. They took the twins by the hand and led them slowly and watchfully to the water's edge. The twins still feared the dark waters of the lake. At the same time, they were touched by the children's ease with the wildness of their land and its strange creatures. As they stood uncertainly by the lake's edge, the children cast off their shirts and plunged into the water. Then together they took a deep breath, turned upside down and disappeared from view. The twins peered into the black water in fear and wonder, and a few moments later the children surfaced yards from the shore, laughing and beckoning to the twins to join them.

The twins stayed on the shore. They hesitated. But they liked the feel of the sand, crunchy beneath their bare feet and between their toes. The children came out of the water and taking the twins by the forearms they led them gently but firmly into the water, little by little, first to their ankles, then to their calves, then to their thighs. The lake, fed by mountain streams, was cold and invigorating, but its surface was warm in the afternoon sun.

When the twins were up to their waists, the children got them to squat down until only their heads were showing. The twins looked at one another and thought how funny it was to see disembodied heads. Then they began to laugh. Still laughing they bobbed up and down in the water, lifting their feet briefly from the sandy bottom. The children stayed close to them. Smiling. Watchful. In the same moment the twins leaped high then plunged their heads right under, coming up quickly, all laughs and shivers and splutters.

Over the next few days, the children showed the twins how to raise their legs and remain afloat on the surface, and how to make rhythmic movements with their arms and legs to propel themselves through the water. Then the children showed them how to fill their lungs with air and holding their breath to swim below the surface with their eyes open. There they discovered a whole new wild world of plants and fish and tiny crabs.

Each day the twins explored, with the children, the wild world they inhabited. They climbed the forest trees, sometimes catching glimpses of the cloven-hoofed animals with sharp bristles and curling tusks. Once they saw again the mighty brown furred creature searching for food with her cub. Sometimes they played the chasing game with the dog like creatures. And they encountered many other strange animals and birds and insects.

Now the twins were bold enough and so at ease with the water to swim with the children right across the lake to the opposite bank. As the twins sunned themselves on the shore, the children foraged in the forest for a fine lunch of sweet leaves and nuts and wild garlic and truffles and wild honey. As they sat there on the shore, the twin sister turned to her brother and said, with surprise in her voice, as if realising something for the first time, "This is a beautiful place." The brother raised his eyebrows at this realisation, looked askance for a moment, then smiled and nodded. The twins turned to the children and embraced them, with feelings of tenderness and thankfulness. The children hugged them back.

The following day the horses returned. Soon, they were saddled, packed and ready for a trek over the mountains. The twins and children mounted two by two and began their journey, through wild woods and beside wild waters, rejoicing in the abundant life of the forest and the singing of the mountain stream. After several days travel and a hard descent from the col they reached the great moor. They dismounted to rest the horses and stretch their limbs. As they stood and stretched and talked, a spring bubbled up at their feet and ran, the tiniest rill, seeking its way through the bracken. The twins were astonished. They crossed several more little becks and rills as they journeyed across the great moor to the village at its edge. There the people were in a state of panic and uproar. Several springs had burst forth on a nearby hill, running together to form a stream barely two arms width to the north and west of the village. They had never seen such a thing, only the wells and irrigation channels. The villagers recognised the Remembrants, and turned to them in consternation at this happening which was so unforeseen, so unremembranted.

As the twins and the children consulted together they came to realise the land was giving up its water, and with this gift of abundance the kingdom was forever changed. There was wilderness along with neat and fertile fields. There were flowing streams along with wells and ditches. This was one land, a land where bears and boars and wolves roamed and goats and sheep and cattle grazed. And at the heart of the kingdom, there remained the silent, secret waters of the lake.

The twins and the children reassured the people, teaching them to welcome and conserve the new waters, the plants which were to flourish along their banks and beds, the creatures which were to make their home in their soft depths. The twins became, with the children, the King's Celebrator and the King's Celebratrix of the land and its waters.

Note: The Queen of England's 'Remembrancer,' a distinguished court official, looks after her finances and gathers in the debts which are owed to her. This is the origin of the story's title.

© David England, 2004