Dun Juniper, Willamette Valley, Oregon
September 22nd, 2008/Change Year 10
"N ot much longer," Nigel Loring muttered to himself. "You can do it, Nigel-not much longer!"
Juniper Mackenzie laughed aloud as the crowd filed up the mountainside towards the nemed, the Sacred Wood, and felt her feet trying to skip a dance beneath the steady pace. She'd made the trip so many times; alone sometimes to speak with the Mighty Ones and the landwights, with her Coven before the Change, and even more since-in sunlight and dark clouded night, by moons that shone on spring flowers or white as salt on winter snow, but seldom with a crowd as joyous as this, as the couples went up two by two. The path wound back and forth up steepness, through towering Douglas fir where summer's last heat baked out the resin scent like strong incense, past hardwoods whose yellowing leaves glowed even as the sky began to darken ahead over the snow-peaks eastward that made a wall to the world. Squirrels streaked chattering along branches, wings were thick overhead as the flocks went south ahead of oncoming winter, and somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.
"Nigel, you're going up this path to be married, not executed," she chided gently, squeezing his sword-hardened hand in hers. "You're supposed to enjoy this, you know! And you're looking so indecently handsome I could ravish you on the spot, sure."
He did, erect and slim, trim and graceful in kilt and ruffled shirt, the plaid belted and pinned at his shoulder with silver plaques bearing the five roses of the House of Loring, gifts from Major Jones over in Corvallis.
Rudi went by, skipping nimble as a goat on the rough verge of the trail, at the head of a pack of boys his age doing their best to induce maternal despair as they plunged on heedless of carefully arranged finery. Juniper's eyes followed him for an instant, as the bright red-gold hair shone in the cathedral dimness beneath the flat Scots bonnet.
Thank you, Mike, she thought. Thank you for my son, and for the sweet night when we made him, in that time of terror and despair. Thank you for your strength, and your kindness, and for saving us all. Horned Lord, he'll be so surprised there beyond the Gate! Guide him home to the lands of Summer beneath the forever trees, and be a friend to him, for here among us he walked in Your forms: the wild Lover, the wise Father, the strong Warrior who wards the folk.
The shade of the great trees gave breaths of cool grace between bursts of sunlit summer warmth, like autumn casting a shadow through time before itself, and the beams of light that slanted through them made a green-gold glow that seemed to explode on bushes of late Cascade azaleas, their last blooms frothing white and filling the air with their sweet-tart citrus perfume. Glimpses westward where the path and the forest allowed showed blue distance and yellow-brown stubblefields, sunset flashing from river and pond, and the thin spires of smoke that marked the hearths of humankind, all nearly lost against the sinking sun. Earth was warm and dry beneath her strong, bare feet, duff and fir needles prickly, the fallen leaves rustling and crunching, even the swirl of her robe across her insteps like a caress. The circlets of silver bells she'd strapped about her ankles chimed in chorus with those the other women wore. Her neck felt bare without the torque, but that was for a reason this day.
She and Nigel went with wreaths on their heads as well, pink fireweed and scarlet gaura, daylilies creamy white and lavender, orange rose mallow. Drawn by the nectar, moving flowers-California Sister butterflies, black and orange and silver-fluttered about their heads.
"You look like Silenos the father of fauns dancing with the wood-nymphs," she whispered into Nigel's ear.
"My dear, you look like a dancing wood-nymph. My son looks like a young Apollo with Artemis on his arm. Even John Hordle is managing to do a credible imitation of Hercules with your lovely daughter as Hebe. I look like a complete middle-aged idiot, or at least I feel like one."
"You're being English again, my darling."
He grinned at her, the wreath a little askew once more. "Something to that. I felt the same way the first time, you see, even though it was only dress uniform and not this kilt."
"You could have worn a robe, too," she said, just to see him shudder theatrically.
The others followed, wreathed as they were for the joining. Eilir and John Hordle were just behind Nigel and Juniper-he'd complained that he felt like a bull at a county fair and bellowed like one when Eilir nodded in calm agreement, stately in her robe and airsaid. Alleyne and Astrid followed, both in long robes of fine white linen as well as garlands, looking like the Fair Folk come again in their tall blond handsomeness-though she'd bristled like a great cat with silver-blue eyes blazing at the sight of Tiphaine d'Ath in Mathilda's train, the Protectorate warrior quietly bristling right back. Others followed them in turn; Judy and Chuck's Dan, beside lanky brown-haired Devorgill the huntress, her long bony face transfigured into beauty, and many another. There was nothing like the memory of a war just past to put a hand on shoulder and say: hurry.
But now we have peace, she thought. And new beginnings.
"I'm sorry we were too busy at Beltane," Nigel murmured.
"Mabon is a good time for handfasting too. It's a season of fruitfulness, isn't it?" she said, and laid a hand on her stomach for an instant. "I wasn't going to tell you just yet, but I want you to be as happy as I this moment, my darling nervous one."
For a moment his reserve cracked into incredulous joy, and she laughed at the sight; and again at how quickly again a tinge of worry crept in. He would always be concerned for her, and that was like welcoming light burning through a window on a winter's night, when you'd traveled through sleet in darkness.
"My beloved, I'm a mother twice over, remember, and neither birthing gave me the slightest problem, and Judy is the best midwife in all the Willamette country. Have some confidence! Shall we name her Maude?"
His brows went up under the wreath; she reached out and straightened it.
"It: it: " He stuttered for a second, and she basked in the look he gave her. Then he won back to self-mastery, as this man of hers always would. "It, ah, might be a boy."
"No, somehow I don't think so." She looked at him slyly, green eyes glinting from under her fox red brows. "And I'm a witch, you know."
To herself: And there's power in names. All our loves return to us, my poor, strong, stoic darling. We and they are braided together, the dancers and the Dance.
More flowers starred the sides of the pathway, planted by nature or patient hands. Today there was an arch of roses over the place where the pathway gave onto the flat knee that stood out from the mountainside.
Music played as they emerged from the close hush of the forest into the open wind and the vast blue distances of the mountainside clearing; flutes like that wind given form, the sweet eeriness of the uilleann pipes-the great hoarse war-drones were put aside for this-a harp, a rattle of bodhran-drums, and a choir of girl-children singing:
"A Bhennain, a bhuiredain, a bheichdain bhinn
Is bhinn linn in cuicheran do ni tu sin ghlinn"
"Antlered one, belling one, you of the sweet-tongued cry, we love to hear Your song in the glen," Nigel murmured, surprising her for a moment.
The High Priestesses and High Priests waited for them there, robed, crowned with the Moon or masked with the muzzle and stag antlers of Cer-nunnos, with opal and silver and tricolored belts, staffs and wands in their hands; Dennis solid and smiling beside his Sally, Judy and Chuck as familiar as they'd been so many years, Melissa Aylward grave and matronly with a twinkle breaking through now and then and Larry Smith the shepherd doing his game best beside her, Tom Brannigan and Mora all the way from Sutterdown.
Behind them scores of friends waited on the meadow and around the pool, Sam Aylward with his arm in its sling, looking on with pride-and relief, she thought, that he wasn't wearing the stag-mask: even Eric Larsson and his Lu-anne and Will Hutton and Angelica from over in the Bearkiller territories, both given special dispensation by Abbot Dmwoski. They grinned and waved; Juniper answered in kind, and even Nigel did as well. Smiles were well-omened on a day like this.
Children raced around, or stood importantly holding their pieces of the ceremony, her own Rudi among them, and his friend Mathilda standing back looking envious. Adults passed canvas chagals of wine from hand to hand-it was Mabon, wine-harvest, after all, and there was an occasional shout of "lo, lo, lo, evoii!"
She took one and squirted a mouthful in a single stream past her lips, tasting the blood of Earth, wild and strong; then she passed it on and threw her arms around Nigel for a long, lingering kiss, ignoring the whooping and cheers and bawdy good wishes shouted in the background, for those were also luck-bringing.
The great circle of oaks stood ready, rough-barked columns thicker than her body and a hundred feet tall, the tattered late-season lushness of their leaves making an arch around the Circle itself, streaked with old-gold yellow as they caught the setting sun high above. Today they were draped and joined with ropes of garden blossoms and great wreaths at the Quarters as well. The same light glinted on the spring-fed pool beside the nemed and the place water tinkled downward over rocks, glowed on the nodding flowers of the alpine laurel that grew thick around it, deep pink bowls above the low matted leaves.
Juniper gave Nigel's hand a final squeeze. Then she caught her daughter's, and she her anamchara Astrid's, until all the women were linked. The music grew wilder, and they danced out to the spring, the laughing crowd giving way before them and following in their wake as they coiled around the waters with feet skipping on the soft, dense turf amid a chime of silver bells, their unbound hair tossing beneath the flower-wreaths. Juniper lifted her strong soprano in a high wordless note for an instant, and then they sang together as they danced:
"Sister of Waters
Daughter of Light
Dreamweaver, spelldancer
On scented air
Teach me Your magic
That I may this night
Make love like fine music
Both glorious and rare-"
Then solemn quiet fell, as Judy cast the Circle and admitted the celebrants: "I conjure you, O Circle of Power-"
Salt and water and incense smoke and steel, and the crackling of fire in the central hearth of the nemed. The other pairs of High Priest and Priestess stood at the Quarters, and the ritual went forward.
"-as in the Beginning, so it is now. As above, so below. The Two are One."
Juniper took up the torque, and Nigel bowed his head as she spoke and placed it around his neck. "As symbol of my love, I give you this token. I will comfort and honor you in all our days."
He was smiling as he rose and took the torque he'd made for her in his hands; smiling more deeply with his eyes than his lips.
"As a symbol of my love, I give you this token. I will honor and protect you in all our days."
They each took a taper and lit the offered candle, and faced the altar as the High Priestess brought the ribbons from the cauldron. Her face was still graven with sadness, but there was happiness there as well when she met her friend's eyes.
I wish Aoife could be here too, and her Liath, Juniper thought, and knew the thought shared. They were brave and glorious and full of life and love. But they're together in the Summerlands, and we'll see them again, even if we call them by different names.
Judy bound the ribbons about their crossed wrists.
"Ribbon of white, for the Maiden and the Son; new life and beginnings. Ribbon of red, for the Mother- and the Father-of-All; growth and change. Ribbon of black, for the Wise One and the Keeper-of-Laws; death and the silent rest that comes before renewal. Can you walk this path together; bound by the freedom of your choice; to be as one, yet also Two; your love the fire that warms without destroying?"
"I can," Juniper murmured softly, and turned her hand within the loose circle of the ribbons.
Nigel's fingers gripped hers, and his voice was firm as he answered: "I can."
Judy removed the ribbons and placed them on the altar knotted together. Then she lifted the chalice and cried: "By the Lord and the Lady, I call down blessing on these two. As the Lord and Lady join in the Sacred Marriage from which springs all creation, so are they joined. By the power of the Goddess, as Her priestess, I decree it. Blessed be!"
The antlered man joined her, hands touching on the chalice. "By the Lady and the Lord, I call down blessing on these two. By the Chalice and the Blade, they are joined. By the power of the God, as His priest, I decree it. Blessed be!"
As the pair drank, Judy laid a broom on the ground before the altar, the rough twig besom scratching on the flagstones. "Over the broom and into new life!"
They joined hands and leapt over it; then Nigel gave a shout of laughter and caught her up as if she were weightless, twirling her around and bearing her away to the side where they'd wait while the others came before the altar. When he put her down again she sank forward with her head against his shoulder, feeling the strength of the arm around her shoulders, the scent of flowers and wool and faint, clean male musk.
Nigel shifted, and she opened her eyes. Rudi was there, looking up at her with that heartbreaker grin. Then he turned it on her husband, and said quietly: "Can I call you Dad now? I never had a dad, not really. Uncles aren't the same. But you're the one I'd pick to be father."
"Yes, son, you can."
"Good. See you later, Mom, Dad!"
He slipped away, and Nigel's eyes twinkled at her. Juniper watched the others approach the altar, waiting quietly content. At last Chuck stood forth and called to them all:
"Rejoice, beloved! The God and the Goddess are honored in all celebrations of joy and love. This ceremony is accomplished-so mote it be!"
"Always," Juniper murmured, turning to look into Nigel's blue eyes; they blinked back at her in their nest of fine wrinkles.
"Always, my dear. While the Gods allow."
People were filing forward to light the torches that would guide them home; sunset was an arch of crimson and hot gold in the west.
She looked up sharply at the ahhhhs that ran around the Circle. A raven came out of the western light, first a dot and then a wingspan wider than she'd ever seen in that breed.
It circled over their heads and landed on the altar itself, and shocked silence descended, a silence so complete that breathing was the loudest sound under the fire-crackle, and she could hear the rustle of its feathers, and the scritching of its claws; one set of talons on the stone, the other on the hilt of the ritual sword. Rudi was there, and he sank to his knees before the altar.
A whisper of sound went through her: her own voice, near ten years gone. "And in the Craft, I name you Artos."
Then Rudi spoke himself; clear, yet without any stress, as if he spoke to her rather than the great black bird whose wings near enfolded him. And he smiled, a smile full of joy, and fearless youth.
"Of course, Mother. Whenever You call for me, I will come."
Juniper blinked. She saw her son, the child she had carried and nursed and loved, here in the dawning of his days. The raven's wings moved, slowly, once and twice and again, and its beak dipped forward. Despite herself she caught her breath in fear; that flint-hard dagger could take out an eye in a single motion. And peck it did, a quick sharp stab, but all that left was a single drop of blood between his brows.
And then she saw him still, but not the child she knew, or in the nemed.
Instead the wings beat about another face, the face of a man in the first flush of his grown strength, jewel-cut strong-jawed handsomeness, with a bleeding slash on his forehead that he dashed at with one impatient hand, scattering clotted drops into his glory of curling red-gold hair. His mouth was stretched wide in a shout that was like the expression in his blue-gray eyes, a cry terrible and fierce and beautiful. His black horse reared beneath him, and in his right hand was a sword held aloft with more red drops flying from its sweep-a great, straight double-edged thing with a crescent guard and staghorn hilt, its pommel a glowing opal gripped in spreading antlers, like the head of Cernun-nos raised against the Hunter's Moon.
Behind him she could sense banners, the moon and horns of the Clan, and others besides. Around and about him a great bare plain, and mountains rearing above it bleak with winter's snow; a shadow of pike and lance and painted faces yelling; the sound of battle, screams of human and horse-kind, and the iron clangor she knew all too well, the massed whicker of arrows and the harsh snarl of steel on steel.
As the horse reared and the sword shone in the light of another setting sun a growing chorus sounded, louder even than the threnody of pain. A roar from thousands upon thousands of throats, beating like the heart of some great rough beast, or like the Pacific surf once, when she'd stood on a cliff in a time of storm and felt the living rock tremble to the blows of Ocean.
"Artos! Artos! Artos! Artos!"
Juniper closed her eyes and shuddered for an instant; above the chant and woven with it, she heard the words she'd spoken in this very nemed at Rudi's Wiccaning, or which Someone had spoken through her as she lifted her infant son over the altar:
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 swordl
When she opened them again her Rudi knelt before the altar, watching the raven sweep aloft and vanish into the blaze of the setting sun, mouth and eyes open in wonder. Red light washed over it, from the direction that held the Gate of the Summerlands, and back into the dying sun.
Juniper stepped forward, putting her arm around the boy's shoulders as he rose. "I: I think I saw something, Mom," he said slowly, looking at the drop of blood on his questing fingers.
She nodded and stroked his hair, then looked up at the people and spoke, her voice soft-seeming but pitched to carry:
"Now indeed, I am thinking that this is a sign, and a wonder."
Folk looked at her, and to her-and blinked, and shook themselves a little, and began to breathe once more. Eilir's eyes stayed wide, and Astrid's; they had seen something as well, then. The others were uncertain; only a fleeting moment had passed, after all, less than a minute between the raven's landing and its departure. Most had been aware of nothing else.
Juniper smiled at them all, feeling weight lifting from her shoulders and a return of everyday happiness. Suddenly she was hungry, and eager for feasting and dancing and love.
"But my best beloved-" She looked at Nigel and smiled again; at her daughter and new son-in-law, at Astrid and the others. She held out her arms in what might be the gesture of blessing, or a welcoming. "All my beloved ones, look around you. Isn't everything a sign and a wonder?"
She put her hands on her hips then, and her grin had an impudent, urchin glee. "So let's take the feast prepared, not to mention enough music and wine to grow tiddly but not soused, and the nice soft bridal beds, and the season of our happiness. The story never ends, but our part in the tale does, for a while, and I'm in the mood for some happy-ever-aftering! We earned it, as the Gods themselves know!"