League of Lilith, The: A thriller with soul

by Sugrue, Rosalie

  It was Wilkin’s suggestion that Jen take a turn on the brass roster. Jen could not come up with a reasonable excuse so on the third week of the month she polishes the altar silverware and church brass from eagle lectern to handles, knobs, crosses, and plaques. She is rostered with Leah, an apple-cheeked, saintly soul who loves every nook and cranny of St Fiacre’s.

  When Jen arrives at the church on Friday afternoon Leah is tying wheat stalks to pew-ends. “It’s our job to prepare the church for Harvest Festival,” she beams. Jen groans inwardly. “I just love harvest festival,” Leah confides. “I see it as our unofficial Saint’s Day.” Jen doesn’t follow and her face shows it. “Well, you know St Fiacre is the patron saint of gardeners, so appropriate with this being the garden city,” she clucks, “but there is confusion over his actual feast day, from every week in August, to September the first, so we don’t have a celebration. Besides, August is not a good time for gardens in the southern hemisphere, but March and Harvest is so right!”

  “Shame about the rain,” says Jen, easing out of her wet jacket.

  “It’s going to clear Sunday morning. I checked the forecast.” Leah takes something from her bag and passes it to Jen. “I always put this little statue in the harvest display.”

  “Is it a garden gnome?”

  Leah laughs merrily. “That’s a monk’s hood not a gnome’s hat. The garden spade is the insignia of St Fiacre, along with a cross and rosary beads.”

  Jen takes a second look. “Yes, a cross and rosary beads don’t quite fit with garden gnomes.” She hands him back with a grin. “He’s cute, love the spade.”

  “I’ll leave him on the lectern for now.” She turns St Fiacre to face the altar. “He can bless our preparations. We have to set up two folding tables of different heights and find the long white cloths.”

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Pauline checks her drawer of round altar cloths, selects the brown one, checks to make sure it doesn’t need ironing, refolds it and puts it on an empty shelf. She adds a wicker basket, a packet of autumn-blend incense, and a bell. Taking a marker she prints Things to do on the whiteboard attached to the end cupboard. She underlines it and writes string nuts for talking stick. Find: a red apple, knife, berries, squash, corn etc. Gather: a sprig of ivy & autumn leaves. She glances to the garden through the new glass in the long window and wonders what has become of the young man. The morning after ‘that night’ she had burned sage in every room of the house, and lit white candles. Pauline felt the house fully cleansed by the ritual but her companion Wiccans may not feel at ease. Luckily Mabon calls for the water cauldron and it is the cauldron for burning away hate, prejudice, and negative self-images.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Harvest Festival at St Fiacre’s is a special 5 pm service followed by a Harvest Tea. Jen and Wilkin sit in their usual pew. Light thrown from the altar window sparkles the candlesticks. Jen digs Wilkin’s ribs. “My polishing,” she grins. His eyes give brief acknowledgement and his mouth forms, “Hush.”

  Why? Jen thinks to herself. A group of children armed with produce are chattering at the back waiting for the processional. She searches for Leah’s garden gnome saint. He is perched between two cauliflowers. Her eyes rise to the focal point of plump grapes and Leah-baked loaf then drop to grouped pumpkins, cabbages, tomatoes, and silverbeet, interspersed with tinned goods. There are more tins than fresh produce. Sign of the times, she thinks, even in the Garden City most of its citizens do not have their own vegetable gardens.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  The coven assembles late Sunday afternoon. It should have been yesterday but the rain that arrived Thursday wasn’t expected to clear until early on Sunday. Pauline is prudent in practical matters. The witches add their food contributions to the cornbread and corn-dollies set out on Pauline’s dining-room table. March is too cold for dancing sky-clad. Girlish in full skirts, bright tops and garlands the elderly witches swarm the garden admiring autumn trees, the blazing brazier, and decorated altar, as chirpy as a flock of fantails.

  As usual Sarai is present but not participating. Garlands from the $2 shop! Is Pauline slipping in her Wiccan dedication or merely becoming practical? They look quite merry, she appraises.

  Pauline gathers attention by ringing her hand bell. The circle is cast and the pentacle redefined with a wand. Priestess Pauline selects Shirley to sweep the sacred space clear of any lingering negative energies with a birch broom. Ginny places the Quarter Candles on their pentacle marks, saying, “Yellow for East and Air, Green for North and Earth, Red for South and Fire, Blue for West and Water.”

  Marion and Joy carry the cauldron to the centre of the pentacle and Bev lights the incense and white candle on the altar. The coven form a circle and watch Pauline pour her well-tended herb potion into the fireproof dish inside the cauldron. She takes the white candle and ignites the mixture. They are rewarded with a clear blue flame. She takes up her wand, points it to the cauldron then around the circle, saying three times, “Flame of blue burn away all hate and fear. Vapour blue wash negativity from our year.”

  Glenda moves the bow over her violin. The Wiccans join hands, moving in and out and around. When the music ends Pauline turns to the altar. With wand in her right hand she raises both arms skyward, saying, “I honour thee, Autumn Queen, and thy consort, the God of the Harvest.”

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  So many gods, thinks Sarai, why does she play these games? Life isn’t a game, life is deadly serious and the world is out of kilter. If the Deep Wisdoms aren’t kept in balance we could all perish. Why does she play with dangerous toys? Why can’t she see as I see?

  The coven respond,

  The Wheel has once more turned,

  And a change of season we’ll see.

  What will be is. What was will be.

  The priestess continues,

  The Equinox is upon us, a time to reflect with grace,

  Time uniting seasons past, with us, in our sacred space.

  Pauline picks up her freshly decorated talking-stick and says,

  The time of thanksgiving is here,

  Let’s share the blessings of our year.

  A string of nuts and new ribbons, Sarai observes, as Pauline twirls her prop, sending red, gold and brown streamers into flight. She puts in the effort, Sarai fleetingly commends, but a saner self adds, so do Jehovah’s Witnesses, to the same futile end.

  Holding the talking-stick in both hands Pauline says, “I give thanks for my beautiful garden,” and passes it to Dot who gives thanks for her wonderful friends and passes the stick to Joan. Joan gives thanks for her beautiful grandchildren, and hands the stick to Bev who gives thanks for her beloved pets. Thus the talking-stick is passed around the circle, each witch giving personal thanks.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  The pipe organ swells with sound and the vicar moves up the centre aisle, followed by a line of children. A steward shepherds the children, directing where to place their carrots, beans and tins. The vicar gives the Harvest ‘opening sentence’ from A New Zealand Prayer Book: “God said, ‘While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease’. Genesis chapter eight, verse 22. We will now sing from the hymnal ‘Praise the Lord the heavens adore him’.”

  Wilkin is rostered to read the Scripture. He uses the large lectern Bible as he likes the old language, and refuses to end with the new-age ‘hear what the Spirit is saying to the Church’. His father didn’t use those words, nor did his grandfather. Even if the Church Militant is failing he can maintain connection to the Church Triumphant.

  “Genesis chapter one, verses 26 to 31,” he announces with fitting solemnity. Wilkin has a lovely reading voice, thinks Jen with pride. It is a familiar reading but the opening words strike Jen with new impact. And God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness …’. US, OUR — the monotheist God of the Hebrew is referred to in the plural! Wilkin’s voice rolls on, every syllable bell-clear, rising to pious
command in be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it and have dominion over every living thing that moveth on the earth.

  It is suddenly obvious to Jen that Wilkin really does view procreation as human duty, along with believing that a God-given right is conferred on humans to use the earth for their own ends. It comes as a double shock.

  “And God saw everything that he had made and behold it was very good.” For an instant Wilkin’s eyes flick appreciatively to Jen. “Here endeth the lesson,” he concludes with measured piety. Quick smiles are exchanged as he sits beside her. He reaches for her hand and gives it a tender squeeze.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  The priestess puts the talking-stick down, takes up a small sharp knife and cuts the apple crosswise, revealing the natural pentagram at its core. She places one half on the paten and lifts the other half as an offering, saying,

  Ancient Mysteries help us to ne’er do harm,

  And strength found from within, bring peace and calm.

  Be our Guides O Wise Ones, and save us from regret,

  Beginnings follow endings, may this we ne’er forget.

  Pauline places her apple-half beside the other on the pattern, saying,

  The crops are reaped, and gathered, it is time to rest the earth.

  Sleep well Gods of the Harvest and dream of your rebirth

  The coven respond,

  The Wheel has once more turned,

  And changing of season we’ll see;

  What will be is. What was will be.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  The vicar intones a long prayer of penitence that ends with, We store up goods for ourselves alone, as if there were no God and no heaven. Father, in your mercy: forgive us and help us. He follows with an absolution that reminds God does not punish us forever. As far as the east is from the west, so far does He remove our sins from us.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Pauline picks up the small branch on the altar and shakes the branch to the north, saying,

  As days grow shorter and nights last longer,

  With sunlight fading and cold invading,

  May memories warm the soul.

  Each quadrant is thus honoured and the branch returned to the altar. The basket of leaves is passed around the circle, each Wiccan takes a handful while Pauline laces ivy over her forearms. She rings the bell four times for the seasons of the year and says,

  As the seasons pass and pass again

  The circle of Akasha does remain.

  Akasha! Perhaps Pauline hasn’t completely misunderstood, muses Sarai. Does she see beyond the Akasha/Aether’s all-encompassing spectrum of rainbow colours, to the living, all-invading, spirit-breath essential to connectedness and well being? Or is Akasha just another name in her collection of gods, goddesses and fairies?

  The coven respond,

  The Wheel has once more turned,

  And changing of season we’ll see;

  What will be is. What was will be.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  The collect reminds that God brought His people from Egypt to a land of promise and we are called to a new life of rejoicing in Christ. The choir sings a modern New Zealand hymn, ‘Come to our land’. Jen feels Wilkin tense as it is announced. She finds the words and tune hauntingly beautiful, especially the chorus … And all our people will sing together, Wairua Tapu. Holy your name, there’s one great spirit in all creation, one great Spirit of God. Prayers of praise and intercession follow. Wilkin finds conservative enthusiasm for the final hymn, We plough the fields and scatter the good seed on the ground.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  The priestess’s benediction is,

  In Life is Death, and in Death is Life.

  The Sacred Dance goes on and on

  From whence we came, we shall return,

  For nothing is ever completely gone.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  The vicar’s benediction is,

  May Christ who for our sake became poor

  Make you rich in everything,

  In faith, speech, knowledge and love.

  And the blessing of God Almighty,

  the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  The coven concludes with,

  The Wheel has once more turned,

  And changing of season we’ll see;

  What will be is. What was will be.

  Glenda tucks her violin under her chin and plays a few bars and the Wiccans twirl into a circle dance, tossing leaves outwards as they revolve.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  The St Fiacre congregation sing a three-fold amen and move to the church hall for mugs of soup and finger-foods, followed by tea and coffee.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  The Wiccans troop inside to feast on a variety of nut loaves and cornbread washed down with cider. Sarai warms herself by the fading brazier and is about to join the feasting when Dot and Avis appear carrying saucers of milk and butter cubes. Oh no, she sighs, Pauline has instructed them to feed the faeries.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Jen is alone in bed. Wilkin has so many late meetings this year she is tired of waiting up for him. She feels lonely and inadequate. At such times an unwanted scenario is liable to slip into mind. The event that scarred her adolescence was of her own manufacturing. For a couple of years, any trigger to the incident soared her body temperature to require cardigan-discarding and window-opening. The memory still has power to distress …

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Early in Jen’s sixth form year one of the plainest girls in her class got pregnant. Her name was Tania. At the time it struck Jen as tragic, she can even remember piously praying for the unfortunate girl with her youth group friends. Then by some strange twist of reality Tania became a cult hero. It turned out the father of the unwanted pregnancy was 19, the son of a Milton dairy farmer, and he drove an orange Chevrolet. No one could believe plain, boring Tania was screwing this symbol of masculine success. This strange turning of tables coincided with Jen realising she was the only girl in her social set who hadn’t had a publicly identifiable boyfriend. Suddenly Jennifer Leith was uncool and untouchable to boys. She felt newly exposed by this unsolicited chasteness. The plainest girl in school had bagged a prize catch and was now a hero. Something was out of kilter and needed to be radically adjusted.

  Mr Kearns, Fraser Kearns, was a student teacher, or perhaps a first-year teacher – some sort of not-really-a-teacher. He was working under Mr Randal in the PE department. Though acting as a teacher, everyone knew Fraser Kearns was a real athlete. He had been last year’s Under 21 track sensation. Record breaking had catapulted him to small-screen fame. Mr Kearns arrived at Queens High as a fully realised athletic star complete with Adonis body and Adidas sponsorship. He took every opportunity to remind lesser beings of his achievements. The body was never seen without some article of clothing bearing the Adidas logo. Naturally he wrote exclusively with Adidas pens on Adidas stationery.

  In the summer of ’86 Jen chose athletics as her sports option, focusing on field events, in particular the long jump and high jump. Mr Kearns worked with all the field students. One day Jen arrived back at the gymnasium to find a handwritten note in her named cubby-hole. The note was written on Adidas stationary. Jen, good effort today, you are making great progress in your high jump technique, Keep it up, F. Kearns. Jen couldn’t believe her eyes. Fraser star-athlete Kearns had written her a note and put it between the folds of her tartan skirt. She read the note in toilet cubicles, under her desk lid in class, and in bed at night. The note took up permanent residence in her school blouse pocket over her heart. Jen embarked on a training programme to rival the most intense athletic training ever done at Queen’s. Three days into her new campaign Jen left a note in Mr Kearns’s desk drawer. Thanks Mr K, I want to become a serious athlete like you, Jen.

  No reply arrived but at after school ballet Jen told the six girls in the advanced class that Mr Kearns had a crush on her. By lunchtime next day the senior school
buzzed with Jen’s claim. For two weeks the scandal whipped up a storm of spite, jealousy, scorn and mockery. Jen’s calm life was stirred into dangerous waves, classes became mires of quicksand, and breaks rip-tides. Why had scandal worked so well for Tania and so disastrously for her? How would she survive the school camp?

  The teasing in Jen’s dorm was brutal. No one believed that Fraser-the-body-Kearns was interested in Jen-the-bullshitter. The second day of camp Jen considered running away but fate intervened, offering temptation that would change her school life. Jen’s camp group was on kitchen duty after lunch and there in the hostel kitchen, amid the general clutter on the end of a bench, sat a pad of Adidas notepaper. It played peek-a-boo and called her name as stacks of dried dishes mounted and dispersed. When the last dish was put away Jen offered to wipe down the benches. Everybody left and the pad was hers.

  That evening, hidden in the drying room, Jen prepared her revenge on those jealous bitches who had made her life a misery. After lights out she challenged anyone who doubted her word to inspect the evidence. The trial was held by torchlight. Jen unfolded a small sheet of light blue Adidas notepaper. That it contained a handwritten note was indisputable. Jen began to read, “Note one: Jen, great effort today, you are making great progress in your high jump technique, keep it up, F. Kearns.”

  “So what?” said Victoria.

  “Note two,” continued Jen, unfazed, pulling another piece of blue paper from her pocket. She had their undivided attention. “Jen, you need special training, I want to work with you, FK.” Gasps were accompanied by hands reaching to scrutinise the evidence. Victoria and Sonja, the two meanest bitches of her year, shushed the group with dismissive comments.