Whistling Past the Graveyard (Nicki Styx)
Page 11
DRUID MOON
It was almost time for the sacred circle.
Torches glittered on the hillsides like stars, while shouts and laughter filled the forest. The festivities of Samhain night would last well into the early morning hours, burning brands from the bonfire used to start the first hearth fires of the new year.
Entering her hut, Fiona ignored the murmuring of the women clearing the remains of the feast. Their eyes had weighed heavily on her throughout the evening, missing nothing, including the empty place beside her where her beloved Degan had once sat.
She’d held her head high, laughed, and feasted along with the rest. She wept as freely as any when others spoke of their lost loved ones, and in her turn, she’d praised her parents, Una and Rhuan, killed in an early spring raid by woad-covered Picts, too savage and brutal to heed the words of peace her parents had offered. Others at the feast shared stories of the old Druid couple’s many kindnesses, and Fiona was comforted the pair were honored and remembered.
The shouts and laughter grew fainter as people drifted away into the forest to gather at the grove, and Fiona knew that she must hurry.
Stripping off her everyday tunic, she bathed her hands and face in scented water, mixed with herbs, a recipe handed down through the generations. Her ceremonial gown was of white linen, gossamer fine, belted round her waist with a beautifully worked girdle once belonging to her mother. The girdle was finely linked bronze, whorled and joined in curliqued patterns, rich with hidden meanings that only Fiona herself knew. Around her neck she placed her father’s heavy bronze torc, its sturdiness giving her much-needed comfort. Delicate bracelets of wood and bronze, carved with the fantastic patterns her people favored, she placed on her wrists.
“Grant, oh Goddess, thy protection.” The words of preparing came easily to her lips, though before it had always been her parents who’d recited them. “In your protection, oh Goddess, may I find strength. In strength, may I find understanding. In understanding, may I find knowledge.”
From one pierced ear she hung a highly polished teardrop of stone, marbled in blue and green. Around her forehead she fastened an elaborately embroidered blue ribbon, leaving the ends to trail in her loosened hair. Swinging a cloak about her shoulders, Fiona left the hut, walking alone through the forest to the sacred grove.
The Samhain bonfire was huge; it roared and crackled with a life of its own, filling the air with the scent of wood smoke. Knots of people, well-fed and happy, laughed and talked around the fire, but quiet spread as Fiona’s presence was noticed.
The way before her cleared, and Fiona moved to the western side of the fire and stood, letting the warmth of the flames fan her face. Looking up, she regarded the fullness of the moon in the sky above their heads.
Just gazing at the pregnant beauty of Nimue, Sky Mother, filled her with awe and sense of insignificance. Nimue shone with an unearthly brilliance tonight, hanging enormous and white in a cloudless sky, as though blessing them.
It was time.
Silent now, the crowd behind Fiona formed a circle around her and the bonfire. Hands were joined, and the circle became several rings of people, one behind another, stretching into the grove of oaks surrounding the clearing. A babe was quickly shushed, its cry turning to a contented gurgle when offered the mother’s breast.
Fiona smiled at the sound of new life, present in order to honor the old.
Raising her hands to the moon, Fiona spoke the ritual words.
“We honor thee, Nimue, keeper of the night sky. We have come forth to mark the turning of the year, and to remember those who have gone ahead to light our way to the Otherworld. Hail and well met.”
Behind and around her, the crowd answered in one voice, “Hail and well met.”
Opening her arms to encompass the forest around her, Fiona felt, swelling within her, the quiet power and majesty of the old trees surrounding the clearing.
“We honor thee, spirits of these ancient oaks. Bless us on this night, and stand with us as guardians between the living and the dead, between the new year and the old. Hail and well met.”
And the people responded, “Hail and well met.”
Tonight was the night when the veil between two worlds was very thin. The souls of the dead were guided home one final time by the light of the bonfires and the gaiety of feasting; only a proper blessing of the circle would keep them safe from those evil spirits who hovered near, as well.
Fiona began the ancient words of opening. Turning so she faced east, she spoke to the elements.
“Let the winds of the air open our path to the east, and teach us to look far.”
She waited until the crowd repeated her words, then turned to face north.
“Let the stones of the earth open our path to the north, and teach us of their steady strength.”
Again, the people responded, their shadowed faces serious, their eyes intent on the Druidess.
“Let the flow of water open our path to the west, and teach us to find our own passage.”
The murmur of response in the otherwise silent evening was comforting, full of shared beliefs and profound emotions.
“Let the flames of fire open our path to the south, and teach us insight into ourselves.”
The final blessing was repeated in tones of awe and respect, in keeping with the occasion.
All was silent but for the crackle of the bonfire, leaping high into the night sky. Fiona closed her eyes and listened, while the people around her remained quiet.
Far away, an owl hooted. Once, twice, three times. The sound carried clearly in the stillness of the dark wood.
A good omen.
Fiona opened her eyes and smiled, and the circle of people around her visibly relaxed. Their smiles and nods confirmed the clear indication of the Mother’s favor.
“Let those who wish their loved ones to draw near come forward, and say their names aloud inside the circle.”
Men and women alike stepped forward. Children lost too young, husbands and sons fallen in battle, elderly parents lost to age—many names were spoken into the night air, one at a time. Fiona named Una and Rhuan in her turn. Taking from her girdle two small scraps of cloth, Fiona flung them on the fire; an old, faded ribbon Una had worn to tie back her hair, and a leather thong from one of Rhuan’s old tunics. Others about the fire joined in, tossing on a lock of hair, a small wooden toy, a scrap of cloth.
Then once again, the circle cleared, leaving Fiona closest to the bonfire.
Fiona faced the flames, allowing the blaze to heat her veins. Her body felt as ephemeral as the eddies of warmth that shimmered before her eyes, ascending into the dark sky. Tonight she was the fire, and the fire was she.
Concentrating hard on the dancing shapes within the flames, Fiona stretched her hands toward the heat, palms up.
“Beloved ones who have gone before us, we would honor you one last time. Seek ye here the ones you loved in life, and bid them farewell. Come, and be welcome.”
There was silence within the clearing save the crackle of the fire. Then, a small gasp here and there within the crowd, as those who scanned the flames found the faces of the ones they sought.
Within the flickering orange-red blaze of the bonfire, grieving hearts were comforted by mere spectral glimpses of the faces they loved, clear to the viewer for but an instant, before the shimmers of heat melted away.
There she saw Una, her mother’s slight figure nearly dwarfed, as usual, by her father’s tall form. Rhuan stood beside his wife, arm about her shoulders, the lambent flames curling and dancing around them both. They smiled at her, pride shining from their faces, contentment radiating from them both.
A sigh of relief escaped her, for they were clearly safe, and happy, and ready to make their starlit journey into the Otherworld.
A blink, then two, and they were gone.
Then Fiona heard a voice.
“I am here, my beloved.”
The man’s voice was familiar, rich with affection and
understanding. It was a voice from inside the flames, and from inside her head, and Fiona knew that no one heard it but her.
Raising her eyes to the shining fullness of Nimue, Fiona felt the power of the night move into her very bones. Energy coursed through her body, the air in her lungs more crisp than ever before.
Never had she felt more woman, more alive.
“We are reborn into life with every death,” she said to the villagers. “As our circle repeats the never-ending cycle of life, so does the constant turning of the year from spring to winter. Though the living and the dead take separate paths, we are all one together, connected through the bonds of our love. Do not forget these gentle spirits who have come to bid us farewell, but send them on their way with rejoicing, for they go on to new lives. Hail and farewell, beloved ones. Safe journey.”
The spell of silence within the clearing was suddenly broken, filled with sound and voices as Fiona’s people celebrated, talking and laughing of what they had seen in the flames. Slowly, in ones and twos, everyone left, leaving Fiona alone, bathed in the light of the moon, warmed by the heat of the bonfire.
It was then that he came for her. Her Degan, her lost love, killed in the same raid that stole her parents.
He stood within the flames, whole and unburnt, gazing at her with the eyes of love and longing.
“You did not speak my name, or bid me farewell,” he said simply.
Fiona shook her head. “Never, my love. Never.”
“I cannot stay much longer, with or without your farewell. The ties that bind me here grow thinner with every turning of the moon.”
“No matter,” Fiona said softly, “for wherever you go, I shall go, too.”
Unafraid, filled with the power of the night, she stepped forward, into the flames.
FROM THE AUTHOR
I hope you enjoyed your little trip through the graveyard, and if so, please take a moment and leave a review for Whistling Past the Graveyard on Amazon.com and/or Goodreads.com. I promise not to turn you into a toad or send any evil spirits after you if it’s less than five stars!
You can keep up with news of upcoming releases and be eligible for some fun contests by joining my “Come To the Dark Side, We’ve Got Cookies!” newsletter, which comes out no more than four times a year. Thanks for reading!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A Southern girl with an overactive imagination, Terri Garey’s novels have been described as "smoldering" by Publishers Weekly, and "sultry and upbeat" by Library Journal. Even though she's a big scaredy-cat who can't watch horror movies or visit haunted houses, she loves moonlit graveyards, moss-covered headstones and the idea that life goes on even after it's over. You can visit her on the web at http://www.TGarey.com, or friend her on Facebook.
OTHER BOOKS BY TERRI GAREY
The Nicki Styx Series
DEAD GIRLS ARE EASY
GHOULS NIGHT OUT
A MATCH MADE IN HELL
YOU’RE THE ONE THAT I HAUNT
SILENT NIGHT, HAUNTED NIGHT
The Devil’s Bargain Series
DEVIL WITHOUT A CAUSE
A DEVIL NAMED DESIRE
Anthologies
WEDDINGS FROM HELL
(w/Jeaniene Frost, Maggie Shayne, Kathryn Smith)
BLOOD BY MOONLIGHT
(w/Jocelyn Drake and Caris Roane)