by Laura DeLuca
River went back to reading, this time silently so the counter girl didn’t take notice. He learned that Brigid was also the goddess of creativity and inspiration, which may be why he felt so drawn to her. He was certainly in need of a little heavenly motivation. Still, it was more than just that trait that made her the perfect fit for his story. Of all the goddesses he had studied, none seemed quite as personable as Brigid. She really cared for her people and walked among them in their time of need. It was believed that in the heart of the winter the Goddess Brigid would come with her undying flame to warm their hearths, bringing with her healing and the life saving energy of the sun. This tradition was celebrated each year of the sacred night of Imbolc. A day when despite the bleak cold, the people would give thanks for the new life that was beginning to stir beneath the earth. People made corn dolls, had candlelit vigils, and honored the seeds that were churning with life beneath the soil. The feast of Imbolc or Candlemas, River discovered, was still celebrated to this day in many cultures on the first of February.
River jerked back in surprise when he read that date. Then he had to double check his virtual calendar because it seemed like too much of a coincidence, but it was indeed February first. He realized that it had to be divine intervention. Obviously, River had found his fire goddess. He continued to page through dozens of different websites on Brigid and he studied images of her in all her aspects. He jotted down a ton of notes, but as enticing as her tale was, it wasn’t stimulating his own work. He stared down at the blank word document where his story should be coming to life, and he wondered if he would ever write again.
River grunted in frustration and looked up from his monitor just in time to see that the brunette at the register had put away her cell phone and was giving him dirty looks. He couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t looking forward to the trek home in what was quickly blossoming into a full-fledged blizzard. He was certain the idea was even less appealing to someone who was pouring coffee for minimum wage. River noticed that so far, she had only accumulated a few pennies and one quarter in her tip jar. Luckily for her, the royalties were still pouring in from his best seller and he could afford to be generous. After he packed up his computer and drained the last of his latte, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill that was crumbled almost beyond recognition. He tossed it in amongst the change, and headed toward the exit without another word. He would be well on his way before she unfolded it and realized how much it was, which saved them both from any embarrassing displays of gratitude. Like most authors, River was introverted. He had never been very good with people and avoided confrontations with them whenever possible. Brie was the only one he had ever really been able to talk to. Of course, even that seemed to be a thing of the past.
River pulled his jacket tightly around himself as he stepped out into the freezing cold night. He was sure the temperature had dropped at least another twenty degrees, and the walk home seemed to take a lot longer than usual. When he finally arrived, he peeled off his damp clothes, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and wondered if he would ever thaw out. A part of him had hoped to find Brie waiting for him, but the penthouse was empty. River found himself alone once again. He wondered where Brie was, what she was doing, and who she was doing it with. He couldn’t even blame her if she was cheating on him. Did he deserve any less after the way he had treated her?
It was close to midnight when River finished changing, and he realized that he was in for a long and lonely night. He considered turning in early, but the late-night coffee had given him an energy jolt he wasn’t quite sure what to do with. Since he still felt chilled straight through to his bones from his walk home in the snow, he started by turning on the gas-powered fireplace. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as building one the old-fashioned way, but at least it added some warmth to the bedroom. However, even with the blaze roaring River didn’t feel any warmer and he still found himself shivering. He tried both watching television and reading a book under his down comforter, but he couldn’t concentrate on either. Like a smitten school boy, his mind kept wandering back to Brigid, and he wondered what magic the fire goddess would use to drive the cold away.
River decided to put his fantasies to good use. He climbed out from under the blankets and pulled his handwritten notes from his briefcase. As he looked them over, it finally dawned on him. Brigid wasn’t just the answer to his hero’s fictional dilemmas. She could be the solution to his writer’s block as well. In ancient times, the bards had called on Brigid to inspire their work and even today there were chants and spells designed to conjure her aid. His eyes strayed across the room to the little altar that Brie, who was a long time Wiccan, had constructed in the corner. It was just a wooden table, painted in the center with a large silver pentacle, but to Brie it was a temple. At each corner there were colored triangles in yellow, red, blue and green. Each one faced a different direction to represent the elements of air, fire, water, and earth. Brie often retreated to that quiet corner to meditate and, he presumed, to work magic.
River had never been the most spiritual person, but he had always listened to Brie talk about her chosen path with interest. At first, it was simply the typical observance of an author looking for inspiration in everyday life. But the more he learned about things like pagan deities, spell work, and reincarnation, the more familiar it seemed. If he was called to any religion, it would be the pagan path and Brigid was a part of that tradition. Brie’s incantations always seemed to get the results she desired. Why couldn’t the same thing work for River? Why couldn’t he invoke Brigid, the goddess of creativity, on her most sacred night and ask for her help? He figured it couldn’t hurt. At best, the novel whose fleeting glimpses had been teasing him for weeks would finally come to fruition. At worst, he’d have an embarrassing tale to share with Brie when she got home.
Determined to give it a shot, River set to work planning a mini ceremony. He had been to enough public rituals with Brie to know the basics. He would begin by smudging beforehand with a bundle of sage to remove any negative energies, and then calling in the Guardian elements. After that, it was going to be a little more difficult, but he figured he could wing it. He searched through the little chest Brie kept beside their bed. It was filled to the brim with her various witchy supplies, but he wasn’t sure how to use the athames, cauldrons, and wands. He had the feeling they were more for symbolism than a necessity, so he hoped Brigid wouldn’t be offended if he left them where they were. There were also dozens of different sachets of herbs, but unless he was supposed to pull out his rolling paper and smoke lavender or mugwort, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with those either.
River shrugged, put the confusing tools away, and settled for a single candle tinged a yellow-orange color that was reminiscent of the flame Brigid carried in her palm. As an afterthought, he also pulled out a few sticks of sandalwood incense to help set the mood. He turned down the artificial lights so that the fireplace and his candle would provide the only illumination in the room. Then he pulled out an invocation to Brigid that he had come across during his internet search. He had only jotted it down because he had enjoyed the meter and rhyme. Little did he know there was a deeper purpose behind that random act.
River felt a little nervous as he called in the elements and lit his lone candle. He remembered Brie telling him that intention was the most important part of any conjuring, so he tried to concentrate on his purpose and to do so with the utmost respect for the deity he was summoning. The smell of the incense made his eyes water at first and he had to take off his glasses, but after a while the calming scent seemed to chase away the last of his nervous jitters. He breathed in deeply and evenly, allowing the smoke to encircle him. He repeated the process several times until he felt himself drifting away from the physical world. His eyes began to dilate as he stared into the bright red flame. The floor beneath him became less substantial. The sound of traffic and heavy winds outside his window faded into the background. The circle he cast a
nd the work he was doing became his only reality. He had to strain his eyes to read his own sloppy handwriting without his glasses on, but before long he had the words memorized and he started to whisper the short chant from memory.
“Brigid, I call you on this sacred night.
I summon your flame. I invoke your might.
The words will come. My mind will soar.
My strength and confidence will endure.
Goddess Brigid, fill me with creativity.
As I will it, so mote it be.”
He repeated the words once, twice, three times. Each time his voice rose in volume until his whispers morphed into a thunderous plea. Still, nothing happened except for the slight dizziness that came from the unaccustomed heavy breathing. River wasn’t sure what he expected, but he was strangely disappointed. Feeling disillusioned, he leaned over, prepared to snuff out the candle with his fingers, when something caught his eye. The flame seemed to twist and bend at an odd angle, almost as though it were dancing away from the wick and becoming its own entity. It only lasted for a millisecond before settling back down to its original location, but River felt his heart pound with exhilaration. He sensed a peculiar presence in the room with him, and he knew he was no longer alone. The thought didn’t frighten him. Instead, it made him tremble with excitement. He instantly started up the chant again, speaking louder and faster this time, so that his words kept pace with his accelerated heartbeat.
“Brigid, I call you on this sacred night.
I summon your flame. I invoke your might.
The words will come. My mind will soar.
My strength and confidence will endure.
Goddess Brigid, fill me with creativity.
As I will it, so mote it be.”
Again and again he repeated the verse. His voice quickened and rose in crescendo with each chorus, until it became an almost frenzied mantra. His whole body tingled with the building energy around him until it was an almost tangible thing. The verse flowed naturally now. He no longer needed to look at his cheat sheet because the words were engraved on his mind and his soul. He even found himself improving and adding his own words to the chant as long dormant knowledge from a time and place far from this life was awoken within him. As he chanted, his eyes never strayed from the flame. He felt as though that tiny light wrapped his whole body in its embrace, warming him inside and out. The last of the icy chill melted away from his skin, even though his arms were bare.
As he continued to chant, he swayed in time to the music of his own voice. His body tingled from head to toe. Eventually the energy reached its peak. River finally allowed himself to stop reciting and catch his breath. He almost collapsed against the altar in exhaustion from the intensity of the ritual, but the energy flow was already beginning to dwindle back down. He felt a little shaky and heady from the lingering scent of the incense, but there was no burst of creativity—no rush of ideas that sent him running for his notebook.
Again, River felt disappointed, even despondent. The magic had felt so intense. He was so certain he had sensed something—some higher power inching its way closer as the invocation had intensified. He still felt the energy crackling around him. Maybe the results weren’t meant to be instantaneous or maybe he had simply failed at spell casting the same way he failed at everything else these days. Either way, nothing had happened. River assumed it was his lack of experience, and feeling defeated, decided he had fooled around with magic enough for one evening.
Novice or not, he still knew better than to offend the spirits, so he thanked them and the elements before releasing them back to their mystical realms. He was about to extinguish the orange candle and go to bed, but when he leaned in to snuff the flames, he felt a strange sense of vertigo. Again, the flame began its bizarre, magical waltz. It lifted high above the candle, growing larger, glowing brighter, while River watched with wide, frightened eyes. This time the fire’s erotic dance didn’t end above the wick. The flame rose higher above the wax, and flew over his head toward the back of the room, leaving the remaining stub sitting in a pool of melted wax.
Strangely enough, his first thought was concern that the flying flame might have set the curtains on fire and he wondered how he would explain that to Brie. Then it hit him that something extraordinary had just happened. River had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He tried to tell himself it was only the wind that had blown out the flame because it couldn’t possibly have detached itself from the candle and flown away like a firefly. Except that there was no wind inside the penthouse. His heart started beating faster, and he prayed this was real and that he was about to witness his own personal miracle. His body was tingling again, this time with a power that was almost sexual, and he wasn’t ready for that feeling to end. He wanted to believe and embrace the magic. Feeling a little shaky, unsure of what power he might have unleashed, River turned his head to see where the flame had ventured off to.
It was then that he first saw her. She stood in his bedroom doorway, in all her naked perfection, her lips pulled back in a seductive smile. River’s jaw dropped and his mouth stayed open so long, he wondered if it was possible for it to get stuck that way. He had to grip the dresser with both hands to keep his legs from buckling beneath him. Though he was certain that he had sensed her presence even before that first breathtaking glance, it was still a shock to see her standing there—a gorgeous auburn-haired woman. Even without his glasses on, he could clearly see that she held the inextinguishable flame that had flown from his candle neatly in the palm of her outstretched hand.
“Wh—what? Wh—who...?”
River stuttered and couldn’t even finish the sentence. The woman found his inability to articulate humorous and she laughed lightly as she took a step further into the bedroom. Of course, she didn’t need to answer his question. He already knew who she was, and she was certainly not of this world. Even without the flame in her hands that would have been obvious. She was too perfect, too spectacular, to be anything less than divine. Though the dim lights provided by the fireplace cast her features in shadows and the whole room was a little blurry without his glasses, he still recognized her from the portraits he had admired online just hours earlier. This was Brigid. The Goddess of poetry, creativity, and inspiration had answered his prayers in a way that even an author of fantasy novels had never imagined.
Brigid was beautiful. Ravishing. Even without the velvet gown and other finery she had worn in the drawings, it was still clear that she was something far grander than royalty. She was the most glorious creature he had ever seen. As stunned as he was to see her there, in all her divine perfection, he still felt the instant stirring of desire as he studied her bare anatomy. Her auburn tresses hung to her waist, just shielding her breasts from his view. He dared not look any lower, despite the desperate urge to do just that, afraid she would think him brazen and disrespectful. Overshadowing the primal need that every man felt when he saw a beautiful woman was the instinct to show her the esteem and honor she deserved. Yet, at the same time, he wanted to take her into his arms and offer her the pleasure her thick lips and naked body seemed to beckon.
She gave him a teasing smile, as though she understood his inner struggle. She inched a little closer to him, opening her arms in invitation. “Come to me, River,” she whispered, her voice as calming as the roaring fire. “Let us see if my flame can’t kindle the passion within you.”
The goddess gestured him closer with her free hand. River instantly felt his body’s response to the sweet chime of her voice which was somehow a soft, seductive whisper and a booming demand all in the same breath. He longed to rush into her arms, but though the area between his legs instantly rose to attention and throbbed with a yearning that was almost painful, his feet felt glued to the floor.
Brigid giggled and looked him over like he was nothing more than a virginal school boy, which was an adequate description of how he felt at that moment. When she realized he was unable to comply with her request to c
ome to her, she moved toward him, still holding the living flame in her palm. With her free hand, she gently coaxed him out of his corner and out of the sweat pants and t-shirt which were the only clothing he wore. He raised his arms as she lifted the shirt over his head, stopping to kiss his bare chest and stroke the fine layer of hair. He had to shut his eyes and try to still his pounding heart as, with her help, his pants slid to the floor. Stepping out of them, River found himself as naked as she was. He wasn’t sure if the flush that came to his cheeks was from modesty or the heat that radiated from her skin—skin which glowed with a supernatural hue.
The goddess licked her lips seductively as she looked him over from head to toe and nodded her head in obvious approval. Her scrutiny wasn’t as intimidating as he expected. In fact, it put them on even turf and he finally felt free to study her perfect body as well. The beauty before him was almost incomprehensible. It made his heart stop for just a moment, and he took in a sharp breath. When he finally exhaled again, his heart hammered.
Her face still seemed cloaked in shadows from the incense smoke that clouded around her, but every crevice and curve of her body was crystal clear despite his bad vision. Centered between her shapely hips he saw a tuft of fire red pubic hair perfectly trimmed and calling him like a moth to the tempting flame. Her firm pink breasts were taut, their nipples erect. Not from cold, since heat radiated from her, but from pure and intense arousal. His own naked body wasn’t standing up to the cold quite as well. His skin was peppered with gooseflesh, which the fire woman noticed instantly. Again, she beckoned River forward. He took a step closer, but he had no idea how he dared to touch her. River was afraid the apparition would vanish or that he might be smitten on the spot for daring to think he was the equal to her majesty. Yet, when she lifted her finger in a come-hither gesture, River could no longer deny his goddess’s call.
