by Dovie Ruth
Insects chirped and fluttered in the blooming shrubs and provided a delightful sort of music. Soon the meandering trails through the trees and bushes helped Delaney forget her concerns. She had so much on her mind. There was her current dilemma, the impending birth of her son, and how she was going to balance her accounting job with motherhood. She didn’t want to think about her stinking pile of unpublished manuscripts. Perhaps, Delaney admitted, the time was not right to worry about being an author. If anything, she should just enjoy her child and not concern herself with so many goals.
For the moment, she decided to just enjoy her walk.
Delaney passed by the area where Mavis had been gathering and stacking wood that morning. For the most part, the wiry woman had collected pieces that had already fallen from trees. The dry ragged branches would yield plenty of fuel for the imminent bonfire. The branches were piled near a large fire pit, which was surrounded by a ring of large rocks. Its center was a huge black mouth – at least three feet in diameter – filled with the charred remains of previous fires.
Delaney stepped closer and allowed her mind wander. Without any conscious planning, she stabbed at the soft black mouth with the end of her walking stick. Again and again. The branch broke through the outer crust, then sank into the layer of dark powder below. The holes exposed smaller rocks and chunks of unburned wood. Delaney mixed the contents like a bowl of cookie dough, unearthing the underlying contents so that they lay bare in the sun.
A gold metallic glimmer caught Delaney's eye.
With care, she nudged the gleaming chip with the end of her walking stick. The metal was embedded in a smaller white object.
Delaney glanced back toward the cabin to see if Mavis was watching. There was a good chance neither one of them could see each other over the substantial distance. Still, she felt the need to be cognizant. Her hands trembled as she knelt on a flat-topped rock and peered more closely into the pit.
In light of Mavis’s apology, Delaney did suffer some pangs of guilt. As she picked through the contents of the ashen bowl, she wanted to stop herself, but she couldn’t. The explorer couldn't come up with any valid reasons to bridle her curiosity.
With extended fingers, Delaney plucked the shiny trifle from the ashes. Her hands blackened as she brushed away the soot and debris. Her efforts revealed a human tooth, complete with a gold filling.
“I knew I couldn’t trust Conin and Mavis!” Delaney whispered into the wilderness. The only ones to hear her cries of dismay were the squirrels, marmots, and jackrabbits.
In Delaney’s mind, she was no better off than she had been early that morning. She might have made it through the barbed wire fence in her attempt to escape Mavis, but her victory lasted just a couple hours or so. If only ... if only she had said something to the clerk at the Black Bear Market. Delaney sobbed. “Now I am the intended pagan sacrifice.”
Still sobbing, Delaney plunged her walking stick into the ashes again and again, stirring between jabs. The discovery of an additional tooth brought an even deeper sense of panic to her sinking heart. Within the span of five or ten minutes, she had a half dozen ashen teeth to show for her efforts.
It was then that Delaney truly realized what her adventure had cost. She grieved for the sweet, simple life she had enjoyed only days before. She wept as she dusted off her hands and hurled her walking stick into some bushes.
“Hell’s bells!” Delaney cursed. “That Conin is a smooth talker! And I am the dumbest person who ever walked the face of the earth. Stupid me. I fell right into his trap.”
Brooding, Delaney secured the six teeth in a tiny pocket that had been thoughtfully sewn inside the left cuff of her hoodie. The hidden pouch had originally been designed to hold a key. Now its purpose was much more important.
As she stood over the cold firepit, Delaney recalled her years of outdoor training in the Girl Scouts. One of their tenets was to leave venues as they had been found. With heavy thoughts, she smoothed the contents of the fire pit over with a handful of briar branches. Delaney wasn’t sure how that would help anything. If she was the one who was going to be burned in the pit, there wasn't much she could do to fight off Mavis and her kind. At least she had made her best attempt to appease Mother Nature.
Feeling defeated and out of options, she began the short trek back to her room. There, she would await her demise.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Delaney’s attempt to take a nap was useless. Even the business of eating a snack had been met with some unpleasant pangs of nausea. Instead, she sat propped up on her rented bed and tried to come up with a feasible plan. Delaney was certain she and her baby were going to die. As the shadows outside the cabin windows lengthened, so did the dark circles under her eyes.
When the dreary vintage clock on the wall registered nine o’clock, and there had still been no call for dinner, Delaney began to doubt herself once more. Then again, she was certain Conin had said he was grilling hamburgers outside. What had become of all his friends and their delectable potluck dishes?
Delaney wanted to slap herself. All of Conin’s stories about food had probably been lies as well. He knew her baby kept her hungry and on the prowl for their next meal. She would do anything to ensure Samuel was properly fed.
Exhausted, emotionally paralyzed, and hopeless, she leaned her head back against her wedge of pillows and fell into a dark sleep.
A scraping sound on the back deck pulled Delaney from her deep slumber. She could hear Conin chattering with some unfamiliar voices. He pulled a portable barbecue grill along the wooden deck, then stationed it within eyeshot of Delaney’s back window.
Delaney stood and tried to make sense of the clock. Both of its luminescent hands were quite near the top of its porcelain face. It was almost midnight. Who in their right mind, Delaney wondered, would be starting dinner at midnight? Then again, perhaps she was the one who was confused. Maybe Conin was getting the grill ready for the following day.
She stood just to the side of the curtainless window. Hoping she wouldn’t be seen, Delaney studied Conin and his three companions.
In due time, Conin lifted a sack of charcoal briquettes and dumped them into the charcoal tray. A sharp flicker of light illuminated the pan. The redwood deck railing behind the grill became eerily visible as Conin set flame to the black coals.
Delaney shuddered. Mavis is going to be lucky, she thought, if Conin doesn’t burn her house to the ground.
In the distance, the black firepit flickered with the beginnings of a bonfire. It danced like a pulsating topaz against a background of inky textures and shadows. The flames seemed to beckon dark spirits in from the wild.
When a soft knock sounded at Delaney’s door, she did not respond. Within a moment or two, there was a creaking of hinges, which was followed by soft footsteps approaching in the darkness. The submissive captive did not turn to face her visitor. She didn’t resist or even quiver when a pair of feminine hands rested briefly on her shoulders. Nor did she flinch when they slid forward to embrace her from behind.
“Delaney, I want you to meet my friend, Ada,” Mavis whispered in her student’s ear. “She’s come to help me get you dressed for the festivities.”
Ada stepped into view. Her white low cut gown shimmered in the glow from the deck lights outside. Ada took one of Delaney’s hands and pressed a goblet into it, then wrapped her own hand over the top of Delaney’s. “Here, drink this. You’ve been sleeping for hours without liquids or food.”
Delaney inhaled deeply. She strained to identify the essence emanating from the chalice. “Juice?”
“Yes, grapefruit.”
Delaney took a sip. Despite the bitter taste of the juice, there seemed to be something more to the flavor. She knew she shouldn’t drink it, but she had lost her strength to resist. The captive could only pray for the mercy God sometimes gives a mouse. Perhaps the concoction would spare her the pain of a violent death – just as a poor mouse is sometimes saved from the conscious agony of a cat’s teeth
and claws. It simply dies from the anticipation. The softest of taps from its predator’s curious paw results in the mouse’s instant death.
Mavis washed Delaney’s face, neck, and arms with a cool washcloth. “Doesn’t that feel better?” she asked. “Ada is even going to loan you a robe for the ceremony – the one she wore when she was pregnant with her daughter.”
Delaney tried to follow Mavis’ words and sentences, but her senses were dimming. “What ceremony?”
“Remember, Delaney?” Mavis chided. “The spring festival. It’s the end of winter, so we are celebrating.”
“How many people will be there?”
“Twelve.” Mavis rested her alabaster hand on her student’s shoulder. “And with you, thirteen.”
“Thirteen?” Delaney was never one to bend to superstitions, but she was about to change her mind.
Ada brushed Delaney’s crumpled lavender hair with a natural bristle brush.
“Why don’t you wear the twig crown tonight?” Mavis suggested.
“The twig crown?” Delaney questioned.
“Yes, the one on my fireplace mantle. You looked so lovely when you tried it on yesterday.”
“I’ll go get it,” Ada offered.
Mavis moved closer and spoke into her student’s ear. “If you’re going to be a writer who’s up to snuff, Delaney, you’re going to have to experience things outside of your own sheltered life. Tonight, you will participate in a rebirthing ritual. Ostara is the perfect time for you.”
“Ostara?”
“The spring equinox, my dear.”
Ada returned with the twig crown and placed it Delaney’s head.
Delaney melted into Ada’s arms – but not out of love. Whatever had been used to lace her drink had erased every inkling of resistance in her fertile body. “Are you going to kill me?” she asked, more with woozy wonder than fear.
“Of course not.” With gentle hands, Ada pulled Delaney’s clothing from her limp body.
Oddly enough, Delaney didn’t mind as her sweats were peeled away. She did, however, have the cognizance to nudge her hoodie beneath her bed with her foot.
Mavis held up Ada’s white diaphanous ritual robe to the deck lights, which shone through the curtainless window. The chiffon sleeves hung soft and transparent. “Do you think it will fit you, Delaney? If not, you can always go skyclad.”
“Skyclad?” Delaney echoed. “What does that mean?”
“Naked.” Ada answered with little emotion as she lifted the twig crown off of Delaney’s head and set it aside. Then she plucked the ritual gown from Mavis’ hands and fitted it over Delaney’s head and shoulders. With a series of tugs, she pulled the hem toward Delaney's ankles. “Looks like your modesty will spared, young lady. It fits.”
“Is anyone going skyclad?” Delaney winced at the thought of seeing Mavis au natural.
“We won’t know until everyone sheds their cloaks,” Ada chuckled.
Mavis handed Delaney a black sheet. “And here is your cloak. You will cover yourself from head to toe. After the High Priest performs your ritual blessing, you will emerge from the cloth. Try to imagine that you are a crocus blossom pushing through the dark soil of early spring.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
By the time the trio reached the bonfire, it was a robust and cackling orb of flames in its rocky bowl. A much larger circle of flat stones surrounded the fire. Ada explained its four cardinal points to Delaney. Each was distinguished by a slender softly flickering candle of a certain color. Green marked the north and represented the earth. Yellow was placed toward the east to indicate air. Orange warmed the south with fire, and blue designated the west and water.
“I hope the weather holds until the ceremony is over,” Mavis whispered. “We have a wind storm blowing in from the west.”
The High Priest stood at his makeshift but elegant altar of hewn tree burls draped with a silk scarf. His crimson robe was embroidered. Celtic knots were stitched along the front placket and around the hem of his sleeves.
Delaney squinted in the darkness to see the priest’s face. His hood and the midnight shadows from the surrounding trees hid the leader’s identity.
Instead of stopping at the circle as Delaney expected, Ada led her behind a copse of trees where the other celebrants were gathered. “We must wait here,” Ada told her charge. “Conin will call us up, one by one, when it is our turn.”
So it was Conin in the red robe, Delaney acknowledged. Conin, the wholesome-looking outdoorsman. What would the citizens of Three Rivers think if they knew that the handyman who walked about town in flannel shirts and jeans was really a warlock?
Delaney’s mind wandered. Her thoughts seemed to wrinkle and stick to themselves like cellophane tape. She missed Chad more intensely than ever and wondered what he was doing. Would she ever see him again? Or would she be reduced to ashes and bone fragments in the flaming granite pit? If only she could focus her mind. If she could will her muscles to run as far as her car, she'd be barreling down Mineral King Road in no time. Surely, the front gate had been left open for the guests.
A gust of wind hit Conin, fanning his robe like the petals of a red opium poppy.
Delaney pulled against Ada’s grip on her upper arm. She wanted to scream, but if she did so, no one would hear. No one except the twelve hooded figures who chose to perform magic in this isolated nook of the wilderness.
“Steady, there!” A pair of masculine hands halted Delaney’s departure. His grasp was strangely tough but gentle.
Delaney’s innards lurched with fear, but her legs were too wobbly to resist the man.
Conin held his athame high, pointing its double-edged blade toward the inky sky. “Grantham, come forth!”
A tall slender pimple-faced youth broke away from the milling group behind the copse of trees. His pale skin reflected the glow of the fire much like the moon casts back the light of the sun. In sandaled feet, he picked his way along a makeshift path through brambles and briars toward the sacred circle. As he neared its perimeter, Grantham pulled his black sheet over his closely shorn head so that only the tip of his nose and the whites of his eyes were visible.
Conin greeted him with a bellowing voice. “How do you enter this circle?”
“By the light of the skies and the wisdom of the earth.”
With his gleaming athame, Conin cut across the invisible boundary of the circle ... first to the right, then to the left ... then he motioned for Grantham to enter. Once inside, Conin closed the circle behind Grantham, using his athame as before.
Without words, Grantham approached the altar, which was laden with a white candle, burning incense, a bowl of salt, and a bowl of water. With the brazenness typical of a youth in his early twenties, Grantham knelt before the altar. His black sheet was twisted about his lanky body like a dark chrysalis.
Conin addressed his apprentice with a poetic oration:
The earth has turned its face toward the light.
The soil has begun to warm.
And tender shoots will soon sprout
From beneath its fertile loam.
Does your heart yearn to leave
The darkness of winter behind?
Does your tongue thirst to speak
With the power of a storm?
Does that empty place inside
Your soul hunger for the light?
Do your dying hopes and prayers
Long to escape the night?
Grantham affirmed his intentions.
Conin turned toward the altar and lifted the bowl of salt high in both of his hands toward the midnight sky. Then the High Priest sprinkled salt over his kneeling postulant as he chanted:
The gods of the earth
Bless your comings and goings.
Open your heart to their wisdom.
Rejoice in your rebirth.
Returning to the altar, Conin replaced the bowl of salt, then lifted a cache of burning incense. He passed it over his kneeling subject, inhaling it essence dee
ply before he resumed his ritual.
The winds of the east
Will bring you newfound wisdom.
Listen to their calling.
Submit to their silent words.
As if in response to the High Priest’s salutation, a breeze whisked through the trees and through the sacred circle. The leaves of the oaks chattered. The garments of the High Priest and his submissive follower lifted in the wind. Conin returned the incense to the altar, then lifted a large white candle from its station. The flame fluttered briefly, then burned true. Conin continued his recitation:
May the fire of spring
Bring strength and joy to your heart …
Conin passed the flame over Grantham. The youth’s black cocoon of fabric fluttered in response to the incoming storm.
May the sun …
A gust of wind swept over the circle like the powerful swing of a witch’s broom. Stinging dust blinded the chanting priest. The tail end of the blast whipped the High Priest’s robe upward toward the burning candle. The flames licked the red robe and set it on fire. Startled by the smell of his charred robe, Conin dropped his candle. It tumbled downward and landed among the folds of Grantham’s cloak.
Grantham wailed as the dark fabric that enveloped his body caught afire. “You careless fool!” he shrieked at his superior. With one swift movement of his long arms, he freed his naked essence from the burning sheet. Then he flung the black cloak into a stand of shrubs. Seething with pain and indignation, he ran toward Mavis’s cabin.
