Dies the Fire

Astrid is very cool, Eilir signed. I am most definitely going to visit my anamchara a lot.

Juniper nodded absently. Her daughter cocked an eye. What's with, excessively spooky High Priestess Mom? You've got that the-Otherworld-is-talking-to-me look again.

The Chief of the Mackenzies made herself shrug and laugh. "Nothing, my heart," she said.

Oh, sure.

"It's just… the King is Bridegroom to the land, and the Goddess… "

Eilir looked at her. What is that supposed to mean?

"I don't know," Juniper said.

Suddenly she wanted to be home, very badly. She legged her horse up to a trot, and the clansfolk settled their longbows over their shoulders and followed, their plaids fluttering in the wind of their passage.

I don't know, she thought to herself, and made the Invoking sign. But perhaps You will be telling me, eh?

Epilogue

A Wicca

"… Come away, human child

To the woods and waters wild;

With a faerie, hand in hand… "

The oaks were leafless, and the spring burbled over rocks flecked with ice, but the last of the snow had melted; the grass within the trees was a soft muted frost-kissed green. The air smelled of earth and cold, a smell like deep sleep, and the chill freshness of the conifers. Eilir carried her brother-with the High Priestess and the High Priest both having children of their own to be welcomed, there would be a bit of juggling back and forth.

Outside the Circle they all stood silent for a moment, listening to the world. A crow cried somewhere, gruk-gruk-gruk, loud beneath the creaking of wood and the fall of water. De

Sometimes casting the Circle was a thing that made the hair bristle along Juniper's spine with awe. Today it was as if a hand was laid gently on her head, bringing spring's promise, dancing in a meadow starred with flowers. Sword and censer, water and salt went about the ring.

Chuck's face was smiling behind the elk mask as he spoke:

"Now do I call you to this our Circle, great Lord of all, by Your many names; Green Man, Horned One, Trickster, Brother, Lover; mighty Warrior, strong Defender, wise Sage-"

Her own voice was soft: "I call You as Mother-of-All. Triple Moon, Ever-changing One, I invoke and call upon Thee."

The words and gestures flowed, as each child was presented to the Quarters. For Chuck and Judy, things were a little different as they brought Mary and Sanjay and Daniel to the altar in turn, lighting a candle for each; the ritual changed a bit for an adoption:

"We chose this child above all others. We freely bring Mary to the altar to thank the Lady and the Lord for joining her with us…."

But for the solemnity of the moment she would have laughed with joy as the girl sipped gravely from the consecrated chalice and tasted the biscuit, face brimming with the moment, as the voices rose in the cry of Blessed be.

Then it was her own turn. Little Rudi had been quiet all through the rite, and he was now, as she took him from his sister's arms-still and wide-eyed even when she raised him to the Quarters, a small bundle of infinite possibilities.

She dipped her fingers into the chalice, and gently touched her son's forehead:

"We bless you with Water and Earth. I name you-"

Her tongue stumbled. Chuck looked at her curiously; that wasn't expected.

"- in the Craft, I name you Artos," she said very softly.

The High Priest's eyes widened, and so did the Maiden's-Judy was close enough to hear as well. Chuck passed the candle over her son.

"We bless you with Fire." He waved incense smoke towards the baby. "We bless you with Earth, Air, Fire and Water; Four do we give. The fifth is Spirit, and that lies in the gift of the Lady and the Lord."

The rite flowed on; she touched the infant's lips with a drop of the wine, a crumb from the plate; then she reached into the cauldron for the piece of jewelry. Normally she'd hand that to the parents; here she would pin it on his blanket herself.

Her foot turned on the damp earth as she reached across the wide top of the hewn boulder that made the altar. With a gasp she righted herself, but for an instant Rudi-Artos slid as she struggled for balance. Then she had him in both hands…

… but not before his own had reached out in instinctive reflex. The perfectly formed pink fingers waved, then clamped down with the surprising grip-strength of newborns.

On the hilt of the ritual sword that rested across the altar in its rack; the long steel blade quivered and turned as the baby groped at the rawhide-wound grip.

Time stretched. There was a long-drawn aaaaah from those within the Circle, awe and a little fear and wonder, too.

Then she knew what she must do; or better, knew that she must step aside and let Another do through her. Of themselves, her hands rose, lifting Artos upward-presenting him not to the Quarters, but to the altar itself, and the Ones who presided over it. With that, she turned, her son still raised over her head, feet and arms making the double-V of power:

The voice that sounded out in tones as perfect as cut crystal was hers, but the words…

"Sad Winter's child, in this leafless shaw-

Yet be Son, and Lover, and Horned Lord!

Guardian of My sacred Wood, and Law-

His people's strength-and the Lady's sword!"