The Hadra

by Diana Rivers

  I spent the rest of the day alone with my fears, for I was reluctant to share them with anyone. Occupying myself away from the others, I did little jobs of sorting and clearing down in the caves. Pell, however, stopped me in passing. With a look of concern she stared into my face. “What ails you, Tazzi? You are sending out waves of fear.” I could not shut down my thoughts quickly enough. Suddenly she was grinning and nodding. “Ah, so the Witches have some plan for you. Let us hope it works better than all my poor attempts.” With a growl of annoyance, I shook off her hand and hurried away.

  That night I slept fitfully until Olna came to rouse me. She was trying to look very solemn, but by the light of her candle, I glimpsed a little edge of amusement, a secret smile she could not quite conceal. Though I tried hard, I could read nothing from her mind. When I sought to question her in words, she raised her hand for silence, as Alyeeta had done. Then, holding out that hand to me, she led me to one of the hot springs. There, with embarrassing attention to details, she helped me bathe. Afterward, she rubbed me down with sweet-oil, set out some sandals for me to put on, and helped me into a long, loose robe made of dark cloth. It looked like a piece of Witchwork, all heavily embroidered with an intricate design of symbols in brightly colored threads. When Olna was finished with this work, all done in silence, she beckoned me to follow. Full of apprehension, I went with her.

  As the half-moon gave off enough light to see by, we took no torch or lamp. The silence of the night pressed in around us. With no word spoken between us, Olna’s dark, robed figure moved always just a step ahead of me. My fear increased as we went. At each turn of the path I told myself that I could stop right there, that I did not need to take another step, that the Witches could not really compel me against my will. Yet, each time, I took the next step. My curiosity seemed to outweigh my fears and draw me on. There was a little voice in my head that said, Think what you may miss if you turn back now. Somehow I trusted Alyeeta and her love for me to keep me safe. The last time, she had warned me over and over of the harm that would come if I did not change my ways. This time there had been no warnings, so I told myself there could be no harm. That did nothing to lessen my fear, but it did keep me walking forward, following after Olna’s always retreating back. From the direction of our path, I suspected that the altar was our destination.

  I was familiar with the altar place, but had never ventured there at night. Even on those nights when I had the upper watch, I had avoided it. It felt as if there was too much power present there. But in daylight, before the winter cold had forced us into the caves, I had often gone to sit alone in that place. From there I could look out at the ocean and think on the mysterious Ashara, the first people, the ones who most likely had used the caves before us and made that altar. The altar stone was set in a shallow bowl of earth near the top of the slope above the cave entrance. Only the sentry rock itself was higher. Both rocks must have been brought there by human hand—or at least by human intent. There were few other rocks above the cliff face, and none was of that size.

  The altar rock itself was flat on top, its dark surface so smoothly polished by use that one could see a slight reflection there. It was more than four hands in thickness and wide enough so that a person could lie on it in any direction. The sides of it were carved with various signs and symbols. Some of them were familiar. Many were strange to my eyes but resembled symbols the Witches used. Though the windswept headlands were mostly treeless, there was a grove of trees around the altar, clearly planted there in some far past time. They were not tall, but looked ancient, all bent and twisted, leaning inland as if shaped by the force of the ocean wind. Two of them grew together at the top, forming an archway, an entrance to the grove and to the altar.

  Now, as we approached the place, even Olna slowed her steps. I had to force myself to put one foot in front of the other. Even from a distance, I could see the fire blazing in a pit in front of the altar and a ring of standing torches among the trees. As we came closer, I noticed a gate between the arched trees that had not been there before. It flickered in the torchlight, seeming to appear and disappear before my eyes. On the altar itself there were a number of lit candles that formed a triangle within a circle, but I could neither see nor sense any other sign of human presence. Olna and I seemed to be utterly alone there.

  Suddenly, out of the silence, a strange sound started. It began almost as a whisper, then quickly rose to a chant or some sort of singing. It sounded like the wind blowing, like the rush of water, like the wail of wild animals at night, like the keening cry of Kourmairi women mourning a death—and yet like none of these. In truth, it sounded like nothing I had ever heard before. Terror shook me. It was as if those strange, twisted trees themselves had voices, as if the night itself had decided to sing. Ready to run, I grabbed for Olna’s hand to hold me steady. At that moment, several figures stepped suddenly from behind the trees. They were darkly robed and hooded, and all wore masks. It might have been the spirit of each tree that suddenly stepped forth. I gave a cry of fright, ready to bolt and run. Olna gripped my hand tightly. “Wait, you know them all. Let them work their magic. There is no harm here—only power.”

  The figure closest to me took another step and tipped up her mask. It was Alyeeta, and yet not Alyeeta. It was Alyeeta charged with some other presence. When she spoke, however, it was with her ordinary voice. “Listen before you run, Tazzi. This is the Koyani ritual we are about to perform for your sake, but we do this only if you are willing, only with your consent. It is the ritual we do for Witches who have overused their powers and whose spirits are floating, not anchored in their bodies. Such a state may be desirable for the casting of spells, but only for a short while. You have been wandering all winter far from yourself, mind and spirit and body separated. For that long it is dangerous, very dangerous. I was so afraid you would never come back to yourself that I persuaded the others to do this. Think on it, Tazzia. We have never done this before for any who is not a Witch. There is much power in it. You must decide if you will trust yourself into our hands. None should come to this circle against her will, or the ritual will fail and the power will be wrongly bent.” Behind her careful, formal words, I sensed Alyeeta pleading with me. She was afraid for me and had set her will against the other Witches to make this happen.

  So it was mine to decide. I felt a lifting of my fears and almost laughed aloud. I was to have a choice in this after all and would not be forced or compelled, as I had first feared. It was more as if the other Witches were being compelled by Alyeeta for my sake. If so, perhaps they were not so terrible or so frightening after all. Suddenly I felt more alive, more present in my body than I had in months. Why not? I thought. Let them do what they please with me. What does it matter anyhow?

  Alyeeta held up her hand. “No,” she said quickly, before I had spoken those words aloud. “You cannot do this as you have been doing with your life, thinking it does not matter and throwing yourself away as if you were throwing garbage to the seabirds. You must mean it. You must bring your whole self to this thing. And you must trust the Witches as you never have before.”

  “But will they hurt me?” I asked quickly. My voice came out sounding small, humble, and frightened.

  “No one will hurt you here, you have Alyeeta’s pledge on that. There is no harm in this place, though at moments you may be frightened. There will be times when the Mother’s power will move through us and through you as well.” Alyeeta still spoke in her ordinary voice, but I heard a pledge there to match the most solemn oath.

  Suddenly I wanted very much to come back from that dead place where my spirit had been wandering. I wanted it as much as I had ever wanted anything in my whole life. “I am here,” I whispered. “I am ready. What must I do?”

  “Before you can step through the gateway into that other realm, you must say three times, ‘I do this thing of my own free will. No one compels me here.’ If you cannot say those words from your heart, then this should not be done. And say it loudly, s
o that all may hear, even the Goddess.”

  I was trembling again, and my voice would not come. When it broke through, it cracked and wavered. “I do this thing of my own free will. No one compels me here.” The second time I spoke louder and the words came with more ease. “I do this thing of my own free will. No one compels me here.” The third time my voice boomed out, startling me with its strength. “I do this thing of my own free will! No one compels me here!”

  The gate between the trees vanished like smoke. Some sort of force seemed to shift and realign itself. “Welcome to the sacred circle,” Alyeeta said, holding out her hand. Olna came on the other side and took my arm. Between them, I stepped through the archway of guardian trees. We stopped before the altar. The other Witches all took a step forward and the strange singing began again, only this time it was more like chanting and had less wildness in it. Alyeeta said some words, then bent to blow out the candles. With care, she gathered them all in a little basket that had been sitting next to the altar. Then she took several handfuls of herbs out of that basket and scattered them in the fire. Sparks flared and thick smoke roiled up, almost purple in color. She said more words I could not understand. The odor was so pungent it dizzied my senses, making me sway on my feet. “Stand here,” Alyeeta said with some impatience, taking my arm and moving me right next to the altar.

  As Alyeeta stepped back, each of the other figures stepped forward in turn, tossed a handful of those strong-smelling herbs on the fire, and said some ritual words. The fire flared up brightly. In that leaping light, their frightening and mysterious masks seemed to come to life, grotesque and beautiful by turn. Then, standing on either side of me, Alyeeta and Olna reached out, slipped off the robe I was wearing, and laid it over the stone.

  Now I was naked among all those robed figures. A tremor went through me as the warmth of the fire and the cool night air touched me at the same moment: fingers of hot and cold running up and down my body. Soon I was trembling in earnest. I thought again of fleeing, but Olna whispered in my ear, “Have courage. There is more pleasure here than you have ever experienced. There is not much in this world that I, Olna the Witch, find to envy about anyone, but I have to admit that I envy you this night, Tazzi. Lie down now on the altar so we may all find a place for our hands.”

  With these words, I understood that it was through sex they meant to call me back into my body. Now my trembling had a very different source, but it was too late to leave. I had already given my word. Besides, I was in a fever of curiosity. I lay back as I had been told, expecting cold to seep through the robe. To my surprise, the rock was warm. Whether this had been done with coals or magic or hot water from the springs, I had no time to ask. While the other dark, robed figures gathered around the altar, Alyeeta and Olna put a small pillow under my head, fanned my hair out around it, stretched my arms out to the sides, and gently opened and spread my hands. Then, very slowly, they both ran their hands down either side of my body and spread my legs wide, leaving my sex open and unprotected. Quickly, I tried to close my legs again but found I could not move.

  Alyeeta bent down on one side of me and whispered, “You have willed yourself here and pledged yourself to this. Now let yourself go.” Olna leaned over from the other side and kissed me gently on the mouth. “Much pleasure on your journey, Tazzi. Alyeeta and I will keep you safe.” I looked up at Olna and gave a slight nod. Then Alyeeta said, “As it must be,” and pulled down her mask. With that, the other Witches closed their circle around the altar, and Olna disappeared among them.

  The chant had fallen to a murmur. Now it rose in volume again. Soon I could feel the sound of it resonating deep in my body. The shapes around me started moving in time to the chant, slowly at first and then faster and faster, until they were weaving and bobbing in a constant motion. Next they began moving their hands toward me and then away again, never quite touching, though I could feel energy pulsing from their fingertips and sometimes even see lines of light. They were all dark silhouettes against the blaze of the torches. Only at moments now could I distinguish the masks that loomed over me out of the darkness. They were larger than life, animal and human combined, frightening and ancient and divine and oddly comforting; beautiful or horrifying depending on how the light caught them.

  This went on for so long that I wondered if it was all they planned to do, if, in fact, they did not mean to touch me at all. After a while my body began yearning toward their hands, though I could no more move toward them than I had been able to move away before. The yearning grew into a pleasurable pain. Then it became a hunger that I felt in my hardening nipples and the swelling between my legs and finally all over my body. Touch me, please touch me! my body cried silently. I was wide open to their hands, to the sound of the chant, to the night, to the universe itself. I wanted to beg, to plead, to shout—but I could not find my voice. I could only nod my head.

  Though it was as light as a feather, that first touch was a shock that ran along my nerve ends and set off a shower of sparks. Soon there were more featherlight touches. After a while I could feel hands on me everywhere, moving soft and insistent, while my whole body quivered in response. Suddenly it seemed as if my ears had been unplugged, for I could understand the words of their chant. “Through the body we come to the spirit. Through the spirit we come to the body.” They sang this over and over while their touch became stronger and deeper. Their hands seemed to move in circles, following the rhythm of their chant. “Through the body we come to the spirit. Through the spirit we come to the body.”

  Then the chant shifted. Some of the voices took up new words, weaving them in with the old ones. “The Mother gives us both to be one, one to be both. All mystery and power lies in that union.” This too was sung over and over, till a third set of voices began chanting, “Sex is Her gift to bind us to the magic of creation. Sex is Her gift to remember the spirit dwelling in the body.” Then all the voices joined, chanting together, “Honor the body, honor the spirit, honor the mind.”

  Body and spirit seemed to be doing very well, but mind was almost forgotten as their touch deepened and grew more forceful. Indeed, for a long while, mind seemed to have left me altogether. When their chanting turned to sound again, a drone that rose and fell like wind in the trees, I finally found my own voice. I could hear it weaving in with their chant, singing, humming, laughing, moaning, crying out. My body felt as if it were rising, opening, growing to meet their hands. There were hands everywhere on me, hands touching, stroking, pinching, caressing; fingers entering my most private places, plunging deeply and bringing shudders of pleasure.

  Then, suddenly, though I never saw them remove their masks, I felt mouths on me as well as hands: mouths and tongues and teeth on my cheeks, my neck, the palms of my hands, my breasts, my nipples, and between my legs. At the same time, fingers were thrusting fiercely into me and my own body was thrusting back just as fiercely against them. The sensations came from every part of my body. Now I was truly moving through body into spirit and back again. Colors were bursting in the darkness. At moments the hands had faces. Sometimes I seemed to see Pell and sometimes Rishka. Sometimes it was Kara, Kara as we had been as children, and for that moment I was back on the banks of the river with her, shuddering with pleasure in the hot sun. A myriad of scenes flashed before me from places I knew, as well as glimpses of places I had never seen that must have come from the minds of the Witches.

  All this while, my body was responding to every touch. Suddenly, I could feel power rising up from between my legs, rising into my belly, where my will had lain dormant for so long; rising into my chest, where my heart had been frozen; rising into my throat, where silence had lived all winter. Finally, pain, pleasure, rage, anguish, and joy all burst out in a great wailing scream that shook me to the core. This was followed with a silence so profound it seemed as if every living thing had been swallowed by that explosion of sound.

  After a while I heard my own sobbing, and the world came spinning back into place. The fire and th
e torches had burned down. The grove was full of gentle moonlight. The Witches had taken up their chant again, “Through the body we come to the spirit. Through the spirit we come to the body.” Their strange masks were gone and I could see each of their faces quite clearly. Some of them were playing drums or little pipes to accompany the singing. The sound of the chant was like a lullaby now. I felt soothed and rocked by it, as I had when I was little and my mother sang to me. Just as I was about to drift away on that river of sound, Telakeet said something, the chanting stopped, and they all set down their instruments. Then each of them stepped forward in turn to touch me gently with a hand and kiss me on the forehead, even Telakeet. Shalamith was last. Her face was glowing golden in the moonlight. After she kissed me, she put her hands on either side of my face and intoned softly, “Remember always that you are Her daughter, that you are both human and divine, that you are a child of this time and a child of all time.” I could make little sense of these words. The tone of this speech was so unlike Shalamith that I took it to be a part of the ritual that she had been chosen to say. As she straightened, she said in her own familiar voice, “Welcome back among us, Tazzia. May the Goddess bless you and hold you always in Her hands. Do not cast aside Her gifts so lightly in the future.” I nodded wordlessly.

  Afterward, they covered me and I slept, or rather dozed, right there on the altar, my head filled with music and bright colors and a sense of other places. It was Olna who came for me again, gently shaking me awake in the gray light of dawn. She wrapped me in the altar robe and led me, again in silence, to the cave entrance where I had sat the morning before. At a nod from Olna, Josleen, who was sitting watch that morning, rose and moved farther up the slope. With great care, Olna helped me to sit on the rock, making sure I was well covered by the robe, treating me almost as if I were an invalid. Then she sat down beside me, took my hand between hers, and held it in her lap. I sensed her taking slow deep breaths and followed her example.