Origins

14. Samhain

“ ’Tis time to leave the light and enter the darkness,” I said from the center of the circle. My coveners gathered around me, listening intently as their new high priestess spoke the words of the Samhain rite. “I plunge the blade of my athame deep into the heart of my enemy,” I said, lowering my athame into a goblet of wine held by Aislinn.

“Plunge the blade, let evil die,” they chanted, circling around me.

I went over to the ceremonial fire and stirred it with a stick until embers flew through the darkness. “I stoke the fires of vengeance and point the wrath of the Goddess toward their evil.”

“Stoke the fires, let evil die,” they chanted.

I stood naked before them, the round ripeness of my body so befitting the harvest ritual. The coveners were also unclad, and I noticed that a few others had taken to branding their bellies with the inverted pentagram. Aislinn had done it first, inspired by the marking on my belly, which had healed but was now a deep brown—a permanent sign of the powerful spell I had created.

Around my neck I wore a necklace with the amber stone Kyra had charged for me along with jet black beads to signify my position as high priestess. I had not seen Kyra or my mother since the day after the dark wave. At times tales of Síle’s coven trickled into our circle, and I listened with interest, despite the fact that I knew I would never see my mother again. I realized now how she had tried to undermine my strength, depriving me of the power the Goddess intended me to wield.

I touched the golden stone at my neck, wondering if Kyra knew the power of her charm. Amber was also an excellent protector of children and a spell strengthener, and I often held the charmed stone close to my breast in anticipation of the birthing rite. My child would be here before Imbolc, I knew it. I had enjoyed visions of her—a tiny bundle in my arms as I knelt before Aislinn, summoning the Goddess’s power through the lighting of the candles in the crown upon my head.

“Let us reenact the great event of our year,” I said, moving to the side of the circle, “the dark wave.”

Aislinn led the dance, playing me as I crafted the spell in my prison cell. Other coveners played the forces of earth, wind, water, and fire. As I watched the dancers move, leaping in the air and dipping to the ground, I thought of the hours I had spent schooling my coveners in the elements of the dark wave. We planned to cast the spell over the Burnhydes to the north, for they had been stealing sheep from Wodebayne herders repeatedly. ’Twas unforgivable, the way they committed crime with abandon. “They must be stopped,” Aislinn said often. “And we have the power to do it.”

The dark wave.

The coveners had proven to be apt students of the grave spell. Already they had collected hair and fingernails from Burnhydes for use in the magick.

My baby shifted inside me, and I smiled. Aye, little one, you will learn the spell, too. I will pass it on to you. It is your legacy.

When the drama before me ended, I arose and held my hands up to the Goddess. “I fell into deep darkness,” I said. “I greeted death. I tore the velvet darkness of everlasting light. Ablaze with glory, I was reborn. Now the old year ends.”

“The new year begins!” the coveners responded. “Plunge the blade! Stoke the fires!”

I went to the center of the circle, saying: “Their evil shall burn their own funeral pyres!”

The coveners danced around me, chanting: “Plunge the blade! Stoke the fires!”

I felt the power of the Goddess swirl around us. Aye, we were nearly ready to send the dark wave, so mote it be. “Welcome, new year, farewell, strife. From fiery embers arises life.”

“Plunge the blade! Stoke the fires...”