Lammas night

by Katherine Kurtz

  He felt no self-consciousness to stand thus before them. Nor was there any real question of multiple gods, though that was a convenient metaphor to explain the many aspects of deity, masculine and feminine in its wholeness. Before such revelation, the shedding of his robe seemed symbolic of stripping away the last vestiges of pretense—a sacramental act. He partook of their divinity with every breath he drew, his longing to be with them a growing ache of heart and very soul.

  "You have two perfect passwords: perfect love and perfect trust," Michael murmured close by his ear.

  The words registered at some deep level, familiar and new at once, but his attention was centered on what he was experiencing. Robeless, his perception of the power emanating from the two was even more acute, like goose flesh, not unpleasant— merely tingling and strange. Neither of them had moved as he stared up awe-struck in the moonlight, but as he began slowly walking toward the steps that separated him from their realm, drawn by their magic, the drum began to throb again. This time, the rhythm was with his heartbeat from the start: insistent, all-encompassing, compelling his approach.

  The two stepped back a pace as he climbed the four wooden steps, and moonlight flashed a warning from the blade Gray raised and poised before his heart. William stopped.

  "O thou who wouldst cross the boundary between the worlds, hast thou the courage to face the tests which will be required oftheeT Gray demanded, his voice as steady as the hand that held the sword. "For I tell thee, it were better to throw thyself upon this sacred blade and perish now than to essay the trials with fearing in thy heart."

  Swallowing, William stared long into Gray's eyes, acutely aware that it was not only the length of steel that separated them in this instant. Instinctively, he shifted his gaze to the more merciful goddess.

  "I have two perfect passwords: perfect love and perfect trust," he said.

  "All with such words are doubly welcome," Alix replied as the sword fell away and Gray stepped back. "And now I give thee a third password," she continued, slipping an arm around his waist and drawing his head down to hers with her other arm.

  Her kiss was leisurely and gentle, but thorough; heady and sweet, but not a lover's kiss despite its intimacy. William was not aware that he had been drawn into the circle until she drew away and released him. As he glanced around, disoriented, he realized that Michael had come in right behind him and that Gray was closing the circle with his sword. Each time the blade was drawn across the threshold, the doorway seemed to become more obscured until by the third stroke William literally could not see what lay beyond save moonlight.

  Mystified, he turned back toward the center of the chamber just in time to catch a glimpse of the brigadier crouched on a low stool on the other side, eyes closed as he drummed lightly on what looked like a small tom-tom. Michael stood beside Ellis, arms crossed on his chest, and he smiled reassurance and nodded slightly as he caught William's eye.

  Then Alix placed a blindfold across the prince's eyes and tied it behind his head. At the same time, his arms were bound behind his back. Gray knotting the cords.

  With his wrists secured at the small of his back, they passed the tails of the cord up around his neck and tied them so that, to avoid pressure on his throat, he had to keep his arms raised slightly by a conscious effort. The ends were allowed to dangle on his chest in a cable tow, and another cord was tied loosely around his left ankle and left free, reminiscent of one of his early Masonic initiations.

  Water splashed on his bare chest and face without warning. He flinched a little even though he had been half expecting it, and as he ran his tongue furtively along his lower lip to catch a droplet trembling there, he tasted salt. A faint hissing sound became discernible just above the drumming, and then he was aware of incense smoke tickling his nose and of someone walking around him with a censer.

  The cold edge of a blade was laid against the right side of his throat as the incense smell receded, causing him to flinch again. His pulse leaped in answer, throbbing under the steel, and he knew the harsh reality of the threat; for even though it was surely Gray's hand that held it, it was also the hand of a god.

  "Men have died for daring to enter a circle such as this,"

  Alix's voice said, coming hollowly from slightly to his right. "But because you had two perfect passwords, you were admitted. Perfect love and perfect trust are part of the foundation of all the arts magical, both of them embodied in the sacred kiss which actually drew you into this circle. Without them, to pierce the veil is to perish. Do you understand?"

  He thought he did, but he was not sure he trusted himself to speak, so he gave only a slow nod, very careful of the blade pressed against his throat and the cords still binding him.

  "That is well. Yet even now your peril is not behind you. Having heard such passwords, I must now ask your intentions in daring to essay this circle. You may answer in your own words."

  He did not need to think about this answer. The words came tumbling out, all unbidden, with an eloquence that surprised him, his voice far steadier than he had dared to hope.

  "As a son of the old line, I come to claim my birthright and reception into the old ways at your hands."

  "And why do you ask this of us?" she persisted.

  "That I—that I might better serve," he replied, annoyed at the momentary hesitation.

  His inquisitor apparently did not think it amiss, for after a beat, William felt the blade turn flat against his throat—new cold that startled him momentarily until he realized its significance: his answer had been accepted.

  "You have answered well, son of the old line," Alix said softly. "Are you aware of the implications of what you ask in offering your life in service, and are you prepared to vow your fidelity to the ancient ones, in whose service you shall be consecrated?"

  "I am," he said evenly, though he tried not to think of all the implications.

  As the blade fell away from his throat, he felt the tug of the cable tow around hs neck. Blindly, he followed as he was led, pausing as Alix paused. Her hand lay on his right elbow, steadying him as they stopped, and he had the eerie feeling that she was addressing someone he could not have seen even if his eyes had not been bandaged.

  "O watchers of the east, I here present William Victor Charles Arthur, who comes to claim his birthright as a son of the living gods."

  She released his arm and took the cable tow again, leading him to the right a few steps, where the formula was repeated.

  "O watchers of the south, I here present William Victor Charles Arthur, who comes to claim his birthright as a son of the living gods." x Twice more she repeated the process, in the west and in the north, returning finally to the east, though she said nothing there. William thought she might have made some sign or salute, but he could not be certain behind his blindfold and was not sure he wanted to know. She drew him back into the center then, and abruptly he was alone.

  The drumming stopped. No hands supported him. He could feel the longer end of the cable tow brushing against his belly, the cords pulling against his throat and restraining his hands, and the texture of the carpet beneath his feet. Faintly, he could still smell incense, but he could hear nothing save the night sounds outside. The silence and the sense of isolation set his imagination to working. Suddenly, he was very much aware of his vulnerability as he stood there, bound and naked, helpless to defend himself if they should intend him harm. He could feel his pulse rate rising as his anxiety increased.

  What if Ellis had lied? Suppose they had set the sacrifice for tonight without telling him? Would they have taken the ultimate choice out of his hands? Was that why Gray had agreed to play the high priest at the last minute, because it was he who must strik& the fatal blow? Was William even now the sacrifice, ritually cleansed and bound and ready to be offered up?

  As his panic rose, he shivered and then suddenly froze, abruptly aware that the terrifying lightheadedness he felt came from the pressure of the cord across his throat—nothing else. When he li
fted his hands slightly behind his back, the pressure eased, and the dizziness passed, and so did his fear.

  Feeling a little embarrassed over scaring himself, and trusting them once more, he took a deep, steadying breath and made himself relax, suddenly glad for the blindfold. He fancied it gave some refuge, at least, from the staring eyes that watched from the silence—some of which eyes he sensed were not entirely human. He jumped as he felt something brush the top of his head and tickle down his back and legs.

  "Your measure is being taken," he heard Alix say softly from somewhere behind him, near his feet. "In the old days, the measure would have been kept by the master of the coven and used as a psychic link for punishing anyone who broke the oath which you shortly will be asked to take. It has other uses as well."

  He heard the snip of scissors at his heels, the indistinct whisper of her standing. Then an end of the cord was being passed around his forehead and withdrawn, the process repeated around his chest. He assumed it was Gray who took his left hand, still tied behind his back, and straightened out his ring finger.

  "I'm going to prick your finger in a few seconds," Gray's voice murmured in his ear as something cold and wet was scrubbed across his fingertip. "It's traditional that a few drops of the initiate's blood be put on the measure to seal the commitment being made. Of course, that also strengthens the psychic link. Nowadays the measure is generally given back—though we can keep yours for you if you like. You don't have to make a decision right now."

  William caught a whiff of alcohol as the cord slithered around his waist and was withdrawn and then a quick needle jab in his finger. The cord was passed quickly around his hips, and then, after a slight delay, he felt them fumbling at his back again, his finger being squeezed and something pressed to it briefly. As paper rustled somewhere to his left, his finger was swabbed off again. Then he was standing alone once more. He was no longer at all afraid.

  "Are you now prepared to swear the oath?" Alix asked.

  "I am."

  "Then kneel, knowing that you present yourself before the creative force in all its myriad names, gods and goddesses of many faiths and faces and guises. You are asked to abjure none of them, for all men should have the freedom to reverence deity in whatever form seems proper to them, but you are asked to pledge faith and discretion as a child of the gods."

  Slowly, he sank to his knees, awed and humbled, for he had not thought of what he was doing in precisely those terms. Alix's and Gray's hands supported him as he lowered himself, and in their touch he sensed again the mantles of godhood that they had assumed for this night on his behalf and in Their honor. He could feel tears stinging behind his eyelids, and again he was grateful for the blindfold—this time not for fear of seeing any unknown watchers. The giving of this oath was an intensely private thing.

  "Repeat after me," he heard Alix say. "I—and state your full name...."

  "I, William Victor Charles Arthur..."

  "In the presence of the ancient ones and you, my brothers and sisters..."

  "In the presence of the ancient ones and you, my brothers and sisters," he repeated.

  "Do of my own free will and accord solemnly swear..."

  He repeated the lines of the oath with increasing confidence and in good conscience. Not only the sense but the words themselves seemed familiar, and he wondered whether he had said them before in one of those other lives.

  "All this I swear by my hopes of a future life...

  "Mindful that my measure has been taken...

  "And may all my weapons mm against me...

  "If I break this, my sacred oath...

  "So be it."

  "So be it," he replied confidently.

  The hands that had guided him to his knees now helped him to rise, Alix pulling off the blindfold while Gray tugged loose the knot of the cable tow. William blinked in the candlelight and stared at Gray, uncertain whether the pale, fire-bronzed being bending to untie his hands was still god or only man once again, but he caught a faint smile of reassurance on his friend's face as his hands were finally released and Gray straightened to wind up the cord. It was then, also, that William got his first clear look at the homed crown—small branched hom tips set evenly around a circlet of silver.

  Alix undid the cord trailing from his ankle and coiled it quickly as she rose, taking both hers and Gray's to lay them on what William assumed must be an altar behind her—a low, rectangular table covered with a white cloth, a black candle set to the left side and a white one at the right.

  He had no time to study further details, for Alix had taken up a small vial as she tumed to face him again, moistening her right thumb from it and approaching him with purpose. Sensing the solemnity of the moment, he drew himself more erect and stood very still, closing his eyes, his skin twitching a little as she touched him: right breast, left breast, abdomen just below the navel, right breast again.

  "I consecrate thee priest and witch," he heard her say almost in a whisper, opening his eyes with a start as she brushed his lips with hers. "And in honour of this consecration, I give thee a new name before willing thee power. Please kneel."

  He obeyed, steadying himself on Gray's outstretched hand as he went down. Michael and the brigadier had come to stand behind him as she spoke. He could feel the hems of their robes brushing against the bottoms of his feet.

  "It is customary in most faiths for an initiate to be given a new name at the time of his reception," she said softly. "You received the names of various Christian saints and family members at your baptism and confirmation.

  "Because our magical tradition has some of its roots in the mystical Qabala, our forebears chose to use the sephiroth of the tree of life as magical names. Within the confmes of avoiding duplication, we try to select an aspect which is appropriate to the person. My name is Binah, which is the sphere of understanding, of slumbering potentiality, the Mother of the Universe. Gray is Din, sometimes also called Geburah, the sphere of power, severity, and discipline. Wesley is Hesed, the merciful, loving Father, guide and protector. Michael is Netsah, which is the sphere of human instincts and emotions, the force of nature."

  She moistened her thumb again and touched it to his forehead, splaying her fingers across the crown of his head. He closed his eyes immediately, sensing the power of a name, and felt the spot under her thumb as a warm, pulsing point of energy.

  "I name thee Kether, which is the crown—the first emanation of God, for so thou shalt be in times to come, as thou hast been in times past."

  He stiffened a little at that, for it was the first direct allusion to the ultimate reason for his presence here tonight.

  But then, with her right hand still on his crown, Alix knelt slightly to his right, her left hand touching the soles of his feet.

  "Relax and flow with what you feel," he heard Gray murmur as another hand touched his head and he sensed Gray crouching on his left.

  William did relax as Gray's other hand touched his feet; and all at once he was acutely aware of kneeling between two poles of incredible power, god and goddess, deity about to act through priest and priestess, dual sacring.

  "By this laying on of hands do we will thee power," Alix said, "that all which our hands encompass may be consecrated to the service of the gods: Kether, high priest and magus and son of the living gods."

  "So be it," Gray responded.

  With almost a shudder, William let his mind retreat to the centered comfort of trance, for suddenly their touch began to reach beyond the physical. The sensation intensified—bright, insistent pressure inside his brain and an almost electrical, crawling sensation all over his skin, at once threatening and exhilarating, though the threat was not one of danger, only change. He was aware of other hands being laid upon his shoulders, other minds joining in, and their touch plunged him deeper yet.

  No sound intruded save his own pulse hammering in his temples and the breathing of the four around him, which all at once had become one with his. He felt more alive than he had ev
er been, a vast something stirring in places deep within him where no one and nothing had ever touched, though there were flashes of other-whens that gave hint that this was not the first time he had felt this way. As the intensity finally began to slack off, William thought he knew where he could find the strength to do what eventually must be done.

  And Graham, sensing the ebb of power, knew without doubt that this initiation had "taken." Most did, but a very few did not—though such initiates generally experienced a spontaneous initiation at a later date. Sometimes, too, the ritual was merely a formal sealing of an inner initiation that had already taken place. William's had been neither of those.

  Graham watched the prince open his eyes as they all drew back, and he temporarily shed his mantle of godhood so William could see the very human pride and love in his eyes. He let Alix greet their new brother first, as was proper, but then he was vying with Ellis and Michael to embrace and welcome, all rank and divinity temporarily set aside. The five of them laughed and joked like rowdy children, momentarily forgetting the future.

  Reality intruded all too quickly, for the drone of aircraft overhead again wrenched them back—the remnants of the earlier raiders returning east, unladen now, though not so many as before. They froze and listened, none of them moving until the silence had returned save William, who stood in the doorway and stared up grimly at the shadows crossing the moon.

  All the weight of Graham's own responsibility came settling back on his shoulders as he hurriedly slipped back into his robe. Officiating with Alix helped, but his heart still twisted in his chest as he watched William thrust his arms blindly into the white robe Michael held for him. Alix finished donning her own robe and tried to put on a courageous smile as Michael knotted a scarlet cord around the prince's waist.

  "You may have wondered why your robe is different," Alix said, also putting on a scarlet cord. "White is the proper color for the candidate for initiation, but it is also the garment of the sacred king. The initiate wears the scarlet cord, however—not black or white, because red is the color of life. You're one of us now."