Origins

3. Charging an Amulet, Esbat, Seed Moon

The next morning I went about the cottage, performing my usual chores with a lightness in my heart, as if a heavy burden had been lifted. Suddenly it did not seem at all tedious to clean the cabin and air the linens and stoke the fire in preparation for breaking fast.

And the last eve I hadn’t minded when Ma had questioned me about the herbs I had gathered, nor when I was chastised about the dangers of returning home after sunset. I did not think she had believed my story about the herbs being sparse and difficult to find, and I could feel her eyes upon me, watching curiously. No doubt she was surprised by my suddenly blithe spirit.

As was I. The meeting in the woods had changed everything about my dull, suffocating life. Suddenly the Goddess had filled the very air around me with beauty, and the sure knowledge that I would see him again doubled the pleasure in each moment till then.

When Kyra arrived, I was eager to go off with her and tell her everything. And from the way she switched from one foot to the other, I could see she was equally anxious. Likely eager for her love amulet, which she didn’t know the half about.

“I must take some biscuits over to the market at Kirkloch,” Kyra said, resting a heavy basket on the table inside the cottage. Kirkloch was a nearby Christian village with a small marketplace and a blacksmith. “Ma and Da were hoping you would go along. Otherwise Ma will put off her spinning and go with me.”

“May I go?” I asked my mother. I was already untying my apron and brushing soot from my skirt. “I’ve finished my chores.”

But Ma was not so agreeable. “After our encounter with those thieves yesterday, I am not sure it’s safe. And what of the preparations for tonight’s Esbat?” Her arms crossed, Ma watched me with suspicion. Since tonight was the full moon, our coven would gather in the woods for an Esbat—a meeting of witches. We would worship the Goddess and take care of coven matters such as spells and charms. “Have you gathered what we need for the spell over the mill?”

“No, not yet.” I wiped my moist palms on my skirt.

“Then you cannot go. Not when you can’t be trusted to complete your chores and be home before sunset.” I couldn’t believe she was issuing such an edict, but she simply turned back to her spinning, as if I were being punished. Aye, perhaps she was punishing me for glowing with the Goddess’s joy. Sometimes it was impossible to understand my mother.

“But Ma...”

“Please, ma’am,” Kyra beseeched her.

“I’ve made my decision, and that is that!” Ma snapped. Although she didn’t bother to look at me, her anger was palpable.

The breath rushed out of Kyra as she gave me a desperate look.

I knew I had to get out of the cottage before my news burst forth like a cinder popping out of the fire. “The sharp objects I need for the spell,” I said, thinking aloud. “I’ve a good chance of finding things like that along the roadside. Broken spearheads and pointed stones and such.”

My mother stopped spinning, considering.

“And there’s the blacksmith’s shop,” I said. “He is sure to have some discarded metals and arrowheads.”

“Please?” Kyra added.

Ma touched her forehead. “At least you’re thinking like a witch now.”

“And we’ll be back in plenty of time for Esbat,” I said. After dark our coven would gather to celebrate April’s seed moon. It was a time to banish unwanted influences and cast spells of protection—a perfect time to help the MacGreavys out of their dilemma.

“All right, then, you may go,” my mother relented. “But do not forget your chores. I’ll not have the MacGreavys without a spell of protection because a daughter of mine neglected her duties.”

“Aye, Ma,” I said, feeling once again like the put-upon daughter of the high priestess. I hated it, but often I felt as if I did the work while she got the glory.

I grabbed my veil and cloak, not daring to stay to question my mother’s change of heart. The rose stone was in my pocket, a glimmering reminder of the fantastical spell I had conjured, and though I had promised it to Kyra, I was now afraid to part with it. Hence I had sneaked into Ma’s cabinet that morning and found a stone that might do just as well for Kyra—a pale green moonstone, which was known to promote love and compassion.

Before we reached the end of the path, I told Kyra of my meeting in the woods and of the splendid spell the Goddess had given me. As I spoke, her mouth opened, her jaw dropping in amazement.

“A kiss!” Her hand flew to her face. “You let a stranger kiss you?”

“Not a stranger,” I said confidently. “He’s a blood witch. My mùirn beatha dàn — I’m sure of it.”

“Who could he be?” Kyra wondered. “And from what clan?”

“I’ll learn his name and clan today. We’re meeting this afternoon,” I said, smiling at the promise of seeing the sparkle of his eyes again. Reaching into my pocket, I took out the rose stone and held it up to the sky. It glimmered and winked in the sunlight.

“That’s the rose stone?” Kyra asked, staring at it. “Oh, by the Goddess, it does exude power.”

While I dreamed of meeting him again, Kyra went on and on with dire warnings. How I should not trust a stranger. How I must beware anyone from another coven. How it was wrong to lie to my ma. How I shouldn’t have charmed the stone in the first place.

“Aye, but you had no objection when it was to be spelled for you,” I pointed out.

“You’re right.” She flipped a braid over her shoulder and sighed. “I’m a fool in love, and now I’ve even lost my chance at having an amulet.”

“Don’t despair.” I took the moonstone from my pocket and presented it to her with a flourish. “This stone promotes love and sympathy. And I heard one of the coven witches go on about its magickal ability to melt a lovers’ quarrel. It helps to open up emotions between two lovers.”

Kyra’s face turned pink. “But Falkner and I are not lovers!”

“Ah, but you shall be,” I teased in a singsongy voice. “Come, we’ll stop at my circle and charge the moonstone for you.”

My circle in the woods was on the way to Kirkloch, and Kyra had been there before for gathering and practicing spells of our own. Kyra always deferred to me, as we both knew my powers with the Goddess were strong. Of late, some of Síle’s coveners had seemed to notice my powers. Once while Síle was drawing down the moon, coveners saw a halo of light surround me. Me — not the high priestess. My body had trembled with life force that night, but Ma had barely said a word beyond reminding me to ground myself when the rites ended. Sometimes I truly believed she was envious of my powers.

I swept the circle with my broom, cleansing it for the spell. Then I placed the moonstone upon the altar and joined hands with Kyra.

“Do you want to put the spell on your charm?” I asked her.

“Would you do it for me?” She turned to me, her dark eyes beseeching. “You have so strong a bond with the Goddess, I think it’s best coming from you. Everyone knows you’re to be the next high priestess when Síle steps down.”

I squeezed her hand, feeling flattered. “I don’t know that everyone has accepted that just yet. My own ma questions my spells and whereabouts every minute of every day.”

“She’s trying to teach you.”

“Well, if chastisement and disapproval are teaching, I’ll not be her student.” I went to the altar, where the moonstone sat in the dappled sunlight. Ma always said spells were best cast at night, and it was certainly safer, but it was nearly impossible to steal off and make magick under the moonlight with her watching me as she did. After making certain we were alone, I bowed to the Goddess, asking for Her blessing over this stone. As always, I summoned the power of earth, wind, water, and fire. Then I turned and handed the moonstone to Kyra.

“Hold it next to the pounding in your breast,” I told her.

She pressed the stone to the bodice of her gown.

I felt the power above me. Lifting my chin, I saw the moon in the sky through a clearing in the circle. It was full and visible today, thrumming with life force and power. So much power for tonight’s Esbat. I went to my stash of tools and took out my athame, a long wand I’d made from a tree branch and a lovely pointed stone I’d spied in the river. Standing in the center of the circle, the athame in my right hand, I felt the moon trembling in the crown over the trees. I raised my arms directly above me and clasped them both at the base of the athame.

“I now draw the power of the moon into myself,” I said, “merging with her power, the pure essence of the Goddess.” My breath came sharp and fast as the moon flashed onto the tip of my athame. I could feel it there, coursing down onto the sharp stone. I let the moon fill the athame, then brought the tool down and pressed its sharp tip to my chest.

At once the power danced through me. Molten silver filled my breast, my body, my whole being. Beside me I heard Kyra gasp, but I could not turn my head to look over, so engrossed was I in drawing down the moon.

When I was fully saturated, I swung around and pointed my athame at Kyra, touching her chest to let the power soar into her. Her dark eyes reflected the silver light as she watched it stream through my athame.

“In this day and in the hour I call upon thee, ancient power.” I spoke slowly, steadily. “Kyra has a need that must be met, a true love to draw to her, Falkner to call for her. Charm this stone, O Goddess of Light. Bring her love to cherish and delight.”

The spell complete, I pulled the athame away and dropped to the ground, pulling Kyra along beside me. I had learned from coven circles that so much power could sap a witch, making the head light and the body weak. Grounding was essential.

After a few moments Kyra sat up, blowing dirt from her hands. “The Goddess has truly blessed you, Rose,” she said. “The way you summon Her power, ’tis like a circle with the elders, who have so much more experience.”

“The power runs in my blood,” I said, neither bragging nor awed by it. I had come to accept that my destiny was intertwined with the Goddess, even if my own ma wasn’t nearly so sure.

It seemed like hours had passed drawing down the moon, but the sun was still high in the clear sky. Carefully I hid away my tools, and we returned to the road to Kirkloch.

When we reached the gathering of cottages at the edge of Kirkloch, Kyra resolved to go directly to the market, but I would not have it.

“We must stop at the blacksmith first,” I insisted. “I have grave need of sharp objects for tonight’s spell of protection.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “Aye, and whose father happens to be the blacksmith of Kirkloch?”

It was none other than Falkner, I knew. “I’m here to help you get beyond your fears,” I teased her. “Where would you be without me, Kyra? Hiding in your cottage, under your ma’s skirts?”

“I would not,” she insisted, but she came close and kissed my cheek lightly. “But you’re a good friend, Rose MacEwan. A good friend indeed.”

I smiled, sure that our destinies were to be filled with love and happiness. It was such a good feeling after the heaviness that had fallen upon me of late, the pressing danger of persecution from the Christians, the unfair hatred from every rival clan. I took Kyra’s hand and skipped ahead merrily.

“I’ll drop my basket!” she protested, laughing.

“Well, then, hold on tight,” I said as I pulled her along. Outside the blacksmith’s shop, I let her compose herself before we ducked around the post and faced the blaring heat of the fires under the overhang. There was the usual wild flurry of activity as the black-smiths clanged and banged horseshoes and the like, sparks flying and fires hissing. It brought to mind the many times I had accompanied Kyra here and, indeed, to other places in pursuit of her beloved Falkner, who now stood off to the side, prodding the fire with a long poker. How many times had I encouraged her to speak to him, to smile at him, to call his name? All to no avail. He usually gave her a frightened look, then skulked away.

But today would be different.

By the power of the Goddess, my Kyra would have her boy’s love.

“Touch the moonstone,” I whispered to Kyra.

Reflexively she pressed a finger to her neck, where she’d strung the stone onto a piece of twine. Her eyes flashed to Falkner, who looked up from the fire.

And dropped his poker.

It was as if he’d never seen Kyra before. His heat-ruddy face went pale as he ignored the poker and crossed over to the railing where we stood. Kyra lowered her eyes, but her huge smile revealed her interest as she greeted him and offered a biscuit. Falkner accepted gratefully but didn’t take his eyes off her as he lifted the morsel to his mouth and took a bite.

I clapped a hand to my cheek, thrilled that the charm was working.

Blessed be. All thanks to your power, sweet Goddess.

Falkner and Kyra were still gazing at each other when Falkner’s father, a witch in our coven, finished with a customer and bade us good day. “And who’s been baking here?” he asked. I knew John Radburn from many a circle. He was a jovial man, far more spirited than his son.

“I baked with my ma,” Kyra said, lifting the cloth to offer him a biscuit.

He took one and set it aside on a tin plate. “That’ll go nicely with my beer at midday, thank you. And what can I help you with, lassies?”

“We came to trade the biscuits at the market,” I said. “But while I’m here, do you mind me poking about to find leftover sharp objects? Ma needs them to. to scare off the crows from her garden,” I lied. Blacksmith Radburn probably knew of the spell of protection to be cast at the mill, but it wouldn’t do to have strangers overhear talk of our magick.

“Help yourself.” The blacksmith moved the toe of his boot through the dirt to reveal a few jagged pieces of metal. He picked them up and set them on the rail before me. “But mind you don’t touch anything that’s still heated.”

“I’ll take care, sir,” I said, slipping the sharp items into a thick pouch.

The blacksmith turned back to his work, and I set to searching the ground for sharps. Falkner helped me a bit as he chatted with Kyra; then he, too, returned to tend the fires. When I had a pouch full of splintered nails and shards and arrowheads, Kyra and I thanked the blacksmith and headed away.

Falkner gave an excited nod of farewell, as if Kyra had just brought him a priceless gift.

She squeezed my arm as we made our way toward the market. “Did you see? Your spell worked. The charm is drawing his love!”

“Of course it worked,” I said. “You cannot doubt the Goddess.”

“No, but I have doubted how strongly one could be connected to Her. Until now. You have summoned Her power to bring me love! Oh, Rose, ’tis the most wondrous thing!”

“Aye.” I thought of my mystery boy. I still didn’t even know his name.

“And I’ll see Falkner tonight at Esbat circle. And at every circle. And from now on, when he looks at me, he’ll truly see me instead of staring right through me. What could be better?”

“Which reminds me of my appointed meeting this afternoon. Let’s make haste at the market so we can return quickly.”

Kyra nodded. “I’ll sell the biscuits to a vendor, and we’ll head home.” As she negotiated with merchants at the market, I wandered past carts of brightly colored ribbons, mutton pies, fresh fruits and vegetables. A small black pig squealed as children chased it through the maze of carts. It squeezed past a stout woman’s skirts and darted toward the churchyard.

I turned back to the vegetable cart, my fingers pinching a potato. Was it worth the price to thicken our Esbat stew? I could sense that the vendor was a blood witch. Glancing up, I saw that he was eyeing me suspiciously.

“An odd thing, the potato,” came a familiar voice. “When digging in the dirt, one has to wonder, is it something to eat or a stone to be cast away?”

My heart sang as I swung around to sparkling blue eyes. It was my boy!

“Aye, sir, I would not eat a stone, but these would do well in a stew,” I said, holding two potatoes out to him.

“Hmmm. Or for a jester’s tricks.” He took the two potatoes and began to toss them, juggling them aptly.

“What’s that, now!” the vendor growled. “I’ll not have you ruining my wares, boy!” The man, sporting a dense brown beard and red nose, came around his cart, stamping a foot at my love.

“Easy, kind sir.” My boy stopped his juggling and held out the potatoes. “I’ve not damaged them in the least.”

The vendor looked angrily from him to me, his eyes narrowing as he took in my petite stature and dark coloring. “And you were touching them.” He leaned close to growl softly at me, “You’re a Wodebayne, are you not?”

“I am,” I answered truthfully, astonished as I was that he would dare speak openly of clans and covens in public. I turned to my boy, wondering if he had heard. Did he know that I was a Wodebayne, one of the so-called evil ones? If he had heard, he did not seem daunted by the fact. He studied the vendor with a mixture of distaste and curiosity.

“Then you, ” groused the vendor, nearly breathing down my neck, “are not permitted to touch my merchandise. How do I know you haven’t cast a dark spell upon my wares so that the person who eats them will come down with a racking cough? Or a hideous boil. Or mayhap a burning fever!”

My senses stirred with alarm at his attack. The only consolation was that this man, whatever his clan, would not want to raise the hackles of the people in this Christian village. “Sir, I do not cast harmful spells,” I said softly.

“That’s what all your kind say,” the vendor growled again, suddenly aware that the villagers were taking notice.

All around us it seemed as though people had stopped their business and conversation to watch. I could feel the crowd closing in, watching, waiting. The witches among them were probably hoping the Wodebayne girl would get her comeuppance, as usual. I felt a tightness in my throat, not so much at the disapproval of the crowd as that my boy should be dragged through such turmoil. And surely the hatred of Wodebaynes would frighten him away.

“Just a moment!” the boy interrupted, holding the potatoes high in his hands. He lifted them, weighing and measuring with some degree of drama. “They do not speak, and I see no cryptic message carved among their bruises. There is truly no charm here,” he told the vendor. “But the potatoes must certainly be far more delicious for having been touched by a lovely maiden’s hands.”

A few people laughed, and he nodded at them, his cheek-bones high and taut above his broad grin. The crowd began to turn away. Somehow my boy had diffused the swell of hatred against me.

The vendor folded his arms across his chest, still not satisfied.

“I must insist, sir, that you let me purchase these potatoes—these two, no others shall do—for I find that I cannot leave this market without them.”

The vendor took a coin from the boy and crept back behind his cart.

“Thank you, sir. A pleasure doing business with you,” the boy called. He turned away and handed me the potatoes. “My gift to you. Though it can hardly make up for the way that ogre tried to defame you.”

“His hatred does not surprise me,” I said. “I’ve come to expect it, though I don’t know that I’ll ever become accustomed to it.” I dropped the two potatoes into my skirt pockets, where they bounced against my hips.

He watched with awe and reverence. “Would that I could venture where they go,” he said huskily.

I laughed at the temerity of his words, here in the wide-open marketplace. “Aren’t you the daring one?” I said. “When you’re not swinging from trees in the forest, you rescue Wodebayne maidens from mad crowds, then dream of their skirts.”

He shrugged and eyed me merrily. “And you despise me for that?”

I looked up at his handsome face and felt the rhythm of my life force increasing. “No, no, on the contrary.”

“Rose!” Kyra called, summoning me. “We must go!”

“Rose?” he repeated. “Like the rose on the bush, gentle and sweet, yet ready to prick a finger when approached the wrong way?”

“’Tis I.”

He lowered his head, his hair falling over his eyes in a shroud of secrecy. “We will talk later, Rose.”

I nodded, trying to remember every detail of his sultry looks, his feathery light brown hair, his sky blue eyes, his broad shoulders and long legs, coltish yet strong.

With a deep breath I turned away and joined Kyra, who had apparently witnessed the scene with the irate vendor.

“I was so frightened for you!” she said. “What do you think the man wanted? Would he have you locked in jail because you touched his wares? Everyone examines merchandise before trading.”

I shook my head, feeling a sense of warm, tender love. It wrapped around me like a cloak of security, just knowing that my boy cared for me, was willing to fight for me. “The man was full of Wodebayne hatred. I don’t know what clan he was from, but did you see what happened? The way my boy rescued me? He is the boy I’ve spoken of. He is a hero. My hero.”

“I’m not sure of that,” Kyra said regretfully. “Falkner knows him, Rose. His name is Diarmuid, and he’s a Leapvaughn. Not one of us.”

“Diarmuid,” I said, treasuring the sound of his name. I repeated it over and over in my mind.

“He cannot be your true love, Rose. Falkner and I both fear for your heart. He’ll hate you as much as his clan hates Wodebaynes.”

“Aye, but he doesn’t. That’s the blessing of the Goddess. It doesn’t matter if he’s Leapvaughn or Braytindale or Wyndonkylle. He has a good heart. Diarmuid doesn’t hate without reason. Didn’t you see? He defended me from that peddler. I ought to toss that old ogre’s potatoes into the brook!”

“He was a terrible man!” Kyra pressed her hand to her throat, touching her charmed moonstone. “I’ll agree Diarmuid did save you. I’ll grant you that, and he is a handsome lad. Falkner says he’s not of Kirkloch. Where does he live, Rose?”

“That I don’t know, but I shall find out. I must cherish this gift from the Goddess.”

Kyra shook her head. “But he cannot be a gift from the Goddess, Rose. Not a Leapvaughn boy.”

“Would you stop saying that? I’ll not allow you to be so small-minded!”

“But to get involved with someone from another clan...”

“I know.” The reality of it stabbed at me. Diarmuid and I would have to face more than our share of foes. But as I walked along, my mother’s words came back to me. She always said that the other clans would one day see the good in the Wodebaynes.

Perhaps I had been chosen to help the world see our goodness.

It lifted my spirits to know that Diarmuid already saw the goodness within me. I couldn’t wait to see him again.

Kyra walked alongside me, observing. “You look more in love now than before you knew he was not one of us. But then, you’ve always been stubborn, Rose MacEwan.”

“Aye,” I said, thinking of Diarmuid’s eyes, his suggestive words, his strong jaw. “I think the Goddess has a plan,” I told Kyra. “And I won’t let anyone meddle with Her gift to me. I will not be daunted.”