By Flame

by T Thorn Coyle

  There was a sense of excitement and tension in the air. Tobias softened the edges of his aura, cast his attention outward, and felt. The protections were holding. The camp and its people felt strong.

  Good.

  A woman ran up and stopped, doubled over her knees, panting out her message. Cops in riot gear were massing, two blocks away. Text messages went out, phones buzzing in pockets. The word spread.

  Tobias found he didn’t really care. Nothing could make him feel afraid. Not tonight. Tonight, the plants were moving through his bloodstream. He was filled with justice, strength, and love. Nothing could stop him. Not even a truncheon to the head.

  He breathed in the rain and the night, and as he exhaled, sent a breath to the edges of his energy field, sealing his aura once again. He would need a strong container tonight. It would help him remain centered.

  Arnie led the men carrying the big drum toward the spiral of doors, heading for the heart of the camp. The beaters kept on with the rhythm, steady and true. He didn’t know how they managed, but they never missed a beat. The sound of their chanting faded in and out as they entered the spiraling pathway.

  Tobias wondered what was at the heart of those brightly colored doors. He realized he hadn’t asked to see.

  Perhaps Open Heart camp had its own secrets. That was okay. Every person and place did. Mystery helped keep the spirit alive.

  The marching people streamed around the edges of the camp, preparing to surround it. He could feel the drum as it continued on its walk to the center of the the spiraling doors, and felt the energy begin to roll out from the center toward the edges, connecting to the blessed quarters in the corners. Air, Fire, Water, Earth. Above, Below, and Center. The sacred sphere was here. Activated.

  The power of the people was part and parcel of the power that rotated Earth upon its axis, and sent it spinning around the sun, a dance that mirrored the spiral of galaxies, and the unfurling of flowers come dawn.

  All things wound in and out. Every circle was complete, until it wasn’t. But the thing about life? he realized. There was always another phase, a second chance. Even death brought something new to bear.

  The sound of boots on tarmac joined the sound of the big drum. The cops were coming, jogging in formation.

  He’d better start getting his own people into position. Looking down the line, he saw that, just as planned, members of the Interfaith Council, Bread and Roses, and all the others, were interspersing themselves among the other people who had felt the call and shown up tonight.

  “Let’s line up, facing out,” he said to everyone within reach of his voice. “Link arms. Don’t let go. No matter what happens. If you feel scared or unsafe, the time to move is now. Head toward the sound of the drum. Go to the center of the spiral. There’s more protection there. Wheelchairs? Your choice. You can stay with us in the line, or help shore up the protections in the center.”

  No one in his group was leaving. Tobias’s heart pounded in his chest, and, not for the first time that night, he felt his throat close up, and his eyes filled up with tears. Every face within hearing distance was trained on him, waiting for further instruction.

  He sniffed and cleared his throat, then stood a little taller.

  “Okay. Get ready to link arms. We’re forming a circle of love and protection around this encampment. If I shout ‘down!’ we all kneel or sit on the ground or in our chairs. Sitting is more stable and you’ll be comfortable longer. Remember, the earth is your friend. Call on earth and she will hold you. Think of gravity like a lover who doesn’t want you to leave his bed.”

  People smiled, faces damp with rain.

  “The main thing is, don’t let go of the people next to you. Solidarity is the reason we’re all here tonight, and solidarity is the only thing that’s going to keep us safe and alive, and protect this encampment.”

  He looked at the people. Men. Women. Those who were neither or both. Black. White. Asian. Latinx. Some with bandanas wrapped around their faces, others in ponchos, or rain hats, or hooded coats. And he loved them. Every single one of them.

  “One more thing,” he said. “You’re all beautiful.”

  “We’re all beautiful,” said a voice behind a black bandana.

  Tobias smiled. “Right. Okay, let’s link up. For Open Heart!”

  “For Open Heart!”

  He slipped an arm into a crooked elbow on his right side and felt an arm slip through his own crooked arm on the left. He held his own hands, and encouraged the people next to him to do the same. He felt the line tighten up around him as the word got passed.

  The ground felt sturdy underneath his boots. He could feel Arrow and Crescent in their spots around the perimeter. And, if he softened his awareness, just enough, he could feel Aiden somewhere to the north. It felt like he was smiling.

  The rain continued to fall, like a blessing, as the riot cops arrived.

  34

  Aiden

  She was everywhere. He could see everything. Brigid was with him in the cell that flickered in and out of his consciousness.

  He heard a guard call his name, but couldn’t respond. He heard someone else reply, “Just leave him. He’s nuts.”

  His torch illuminated the faces of the men he shared this cell with. They gave him his space. He felt as though the men had cleared a circle around him, allowing him to pray undisturbed, arms outstretched.

  Even the raving men had quieted down.

  The torch illuminated all. Every person rested in its light.

  Except those it was meant to expose.

  Aiden saw them, too. He saw the mayor in his office, manicured fingers massaging his temples, bottle of ibuprofen on the desk next to a glass of water. He was moaning.

  He saw the city council members, choking down their dinners, snapping at wives, husbands, children, or drinking alone in the gleaming shadows of a bar. He saw a few other people, meeting together in Terry Benson’s living room. Sharing a bottle of wine, serious looks on their faces.

  Aiden saw himself, body swaying over his knees, surrounded by a group of men. The bars just fell away. They didn’t matter anymore.

  Aiden saw that the stream of marching people had become a mighty fortress, a beautiful wall. He saw them holding to each other. He felt the spiral, the energy of it swirling in and out. The four corners, holding down the space. Anchoring the people to the land.

  He saw plexiglass shields. He heard the pounding of the drum and the discordant, unmatched cacophony of riot sticks on shields. He saw visors, padded gloves.

  He felt the fear. The boredom. The disgust. The anger at being out, again, in pouring rain, guarding a bunch of goddamned anarchists and hippies.

  He felt the scratch of warm wool around his shoulders. Had one of the men placed a blanket there? Or was it Her mantle, once again? Or both?

  Her mantle.

  The four corners of the square.

  A piece of land…

  Secured forever for the people.

  “Holy Brigid!” he cried to the night. “Holy Brigid! Unfurl your mantle! Protect the people! Guard the land!”

  35

  Tobias

  Fury rolled off the cops. They stood, feet apart, shoulders squared behind their shields, and beat those shields with big black sticks. Tobias couldn’t see their eyes behind the visors and the rain. But he knew they were looking. He just wasn’t sure what was looking out from behind those eyes. It felt malevolent, not quite human. Or was it?

  Human nature could be twisted into anything, he knew. Look at the bravery around him. The people stood, or sat in wheelchairs, arms linked, not letting go.

  Not giving up or giving in, even as the cops beat their shields and the pounding grew louder than the big drum in the center of the spiral. Louder than the rain.

  Not giving up or giving in, even as the line of cops took one step forward, then another.

  It was hard to not lean back, or take a step. But Tobias stood firm, and so did those around him.

&
nbsp; The sound of sticks on shields stopped so suddenly, Tobias almost collapsed forward, as if the sound had been holding him upright. The person on his left caught him, patting his back, then linked their arm again. Tobias nodded his thanks.

  A tinny, recorded, quasi-feminine voice blared out into the night. “This is an unlawful assembly. Anyone remaining in the area in five minutes will be subject to arrest.”

  “Down!” Tobias shouted. He felt the line around him struggling to sit and still remain connected. It was a vulnerable moment, but remaining standing was more vulnerable, still. At least this way, it was going to look worse for the cops. Sitting protestors could not easily be painted as inciting a riot.

  He saw a flash go off. What was that? He hoped it was just a camera. They hadn’t contacted the news, because a lot of the folks in the gathering didn’t trust them. Plus, the less they telegraphed to the police, the better.

  But scanners were a tool of every reporter. More flashes went off, the light refracted through the rain. Yep. The press had arrived.

  The police lowered gas masks and face plates.

  “We! Are! A Law-ful Assembly! We! Are! The Open Heart!”

  Tobias couldn’t tell where the chant had come from, but it was a good one. He joined in, raising his voice with the people next to him, drowning out the tinny, pre-recorded voice.

  “This is an unlawful assembly…”

  “We! Are! A Law-ful Assembly! We! Are! The Open Heart!”

  There was a hiss and something flew past Tobias’s head. The acrid, choking scent of teargas. He closed his eyes and held his breath, and wished he had a bandana over his face. He put his hands up to his eyes, arms still linked, and hoped the people next to him were doing the same.

  There was no chanting now. So Tobias started to pray.

  Holy Brigid, be with the people. Work with us. Guide us. Through the taste of the chemical gas, the ghost of the herbal tincture emerged. Right. The herbs were still swirling in his bloodstream. The plants were doing their work. Love. Strength. Justice. The words became a mantra in his head.

  “This is an unlawful assembly. Anyone remaining in the area in five minutes will be subject to arrest.”

  Love. Strength. Justice.

  The rain washed the gasses away, sent the poison streaming toward the ground.

  :You are a healer. What is needed here?:

  Tobias coughed, the acrid gas still burning his lungs. What did it mean to be a healer? He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the pulse of everything around him. The people. The trees. The railroad tracks. The drumming. The rain.

  Healing started with the simplest ingredients. A plant. A breath. An intention. Some love.

  What was needed here? The people surrounding the encampment needed to feel this all was worth it. The people needed prayer. And he needed, after years of alternately avoiding and defying his father’s wrath, to simply become himself.

  A witch. A healer. And a dedicant of Brigid. Goddess of healing. Goddess of the forge.

  A hammer blow of thunder rumbled a warning. Five seconds later, lightning cracked the sky.

  She was here. Tobias raised his head to the storm and cried out:

  “Holy Brigid! Grant us the powers of love, justice, and strength! Holy Brigid, be here now!”

  He saw a cop step up behind the line of police in riot gear that faced the sitting and kneeling community. The man raised a canister, sending out a streaming jet of red liquid.

  “Duck!” Tobias got out, jerking his head down as the pepper spray hit his abused eyes, skin, nose, and throat. It felt as though his whole face was on fire.

  :Be the match:, her voice said in his head. It was clear as a bell ringing in a summer’s sky. :Be the match.:

  Tobias lifted his face again, swollen eyes closed, and let the rain wash the capsaicin concentration from his skin. It was going to take more than water to diffuse the burning oils, but the rain helped.

  :Open your eyes.:

  He didn’t want to. His eyelids didn’t want to. By sheer force of will, he opened his eyes, just slits at first, prying them open as wide as they would go, staring straight up into the deluge coming down from the sky.

  He could hear people around him muttering and groaning. He needed to help them. He couldn’t let these bastards win. He couldn’t let the city council, and the mayor, and the cops, and whatever other greedy fucks were in charge of this mess take the people down.

  :Be a healer. Be the match.:

  He swallowed. It felt like shards of glass scraped at his throat. He knew that everyone next to him felt the same way. And he had taken on a leadership role, so…

  “This little light of mine…” His voice was barely audible. A whisper in the rain. He cleared his throat. Gods, that hurt. Damn it.

  He kept his face up, letting the rain pour down, but closed his swollen eyes. He couldn’t stand the pain anymore.

  Tobias tried again.

  “I’m gonna let it shine!” Better. Louder. He felt the man on his right squeeze his arm.

  “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine! Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!” More voices joined in, synching with the drum that still pounded out the heartbeat from the center of the spiraling doors.

  Tobias knew there were verses, but it was all he could do to hang on to the refrain, so he just sang it over and over again, forcing air through his abused throat.

  “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine…”

  He could hear the chant, delayed by space and time, making its way around the circle. He could hear people behind him joining in. People from the camp who hadn’t joined the front line were coming closer, singing loudly.

  Two officers pushed through the line of riot cops and barreled toward the seated, linked armed comrades. The people sang on.

  Two sets of gloved hands grabbed Tobias, ripping at his arms. A face plate smashed into his skull.

  36

  Aiden

  “Brigid! Tobias!” Aiden screamed.

  “Hush man, you’re okay.” That was a voice from the jail. At least Aiden thought so. He waved it away.

  Dropped deeper into prayer.

  Something bad was happening. The people were strong, but the flickering, muddy bands around them were stronger. Things were very, very bad.

  Aiden held the torch up higher, tried to See.

  I am here. That waft of cool and green again. The safe comfort of green wool.

  Anchor it to the corners.

  He saw what She meant then. She was saying yes, she would do it. She would spread her mantle over the land.

  “Grab a corner!” he yelled out.

  “What?”

  “Grab a corner!”

  He opened his eyes and saw a skinny black man crouching down, a concerned look on his face. “You okay, holy man? We’ve been trying to give you space, but…”

  “The blanket! Grab a corner.”

  Aiden felt around, and sure enough, one of the men had draped his shoulders in a rough gray blanket. He took one corner, and held another corner out to the man. “Take a corner.”

  The man looked confused.

  “Please?”

  The man nodded and held on.

  “Two more!”

  “C’mon, help the holy man out.”

  Two other men stepped forward, one white and towering, another Black and barrel-shaped. Once all four corners were gripped tightly, Aiden spoke. “Stretch it out. All four corners.”

  The men stepped away from each other in the thirteen by thirteen cell. It was barely large enough for the number of men being held. The other men shuffled out of the way, crowding together. Then, one by one, each of them grabbed a section of the ratty blanket, until the whole piece of gray fabric was held around the edges by the hands of men.

  North. South. East. West. The men stretched the thin gray blanket, shot through with threads of salmon and pale blue, until it couldn’t stretch anymore.

  “Hold it. Please
. Just like that. I’m trying to help some people.”

  “Whatever you need, holy man. We’ll stand right here.”

  “And we got no place else to go,” someone else murmured.

  Aiden closed his eyes, and, gripping the blanket with his left hand, held the torch up with his right.

  He couldn’t tell if the cops still had Tobias. He felt the roiling, angry threads tightening around the sacred land. He heard the heartbeat, drumming in the center.

  He heard the song of light. He felt it then.

  Brigid unfurled her mantle. It floating out and out and out. It stretched up and down. It stretched toward the river. It stretched toward the Naito Parkway and the rail yards. It reached out to the Steel Bridge and the Broadway Bridge.

  He felt the people lift their hands up to the sky, and tug it down.

  It was anchored to the people. It was anchored to the land. It was anchored by the water and every pin in every bridge.

  Brigid had claimed the land.

  And the land was for the people.

  37

  Tobias

  The people holding Tobias’s arms starting yelling, screaming, “Let him go! Let him go!” The police pulled. Tobias’s comrades pulled back. The whole line leaned away from the police, as if Tobias was the center of the rope in a game of tug-o-war.

  “This. Little. Light of mine! I’m gonna! Let it shine!” Tobias half yelled, half panted the words. His head ached from where the cop’s helmet had smacked him, and despite the rain, his skin felt as if it were on fire.

  “Let him go! Let him go!”

  “Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!”

  The rain pounded, the drumbeat was strong. The people sang. The police pulled. Tobias felt like his arms were on fire. It was hard not to grit his teeth or yell.