Dies the Fire (90 page)

No smoke came from its chimneys, but you could imagine it, and a bustle of life among the barns and cottages and outbuildings, under the musty damp-leaf smell of the dying year.

Havel and his Signe walked past them, leading their horses. Hooves and feet crunched on the gravel of the drive. The Bear Lord stopped, handed her his helmet with its snarling namesake crest. His people gathered around him, mostly afoot; from the saddle Juniper could still see him over their heads.

“I've run far enough, come far enough. This earth is
mine.
”

Signe whispered in his ear, and he nodded before he went on, a little louder: “None of its folk will want for bread or justice or a strong arm.”

His eyes met Juniper's for an instant, wholly serious. He went to one knee, cut a section of turf loose, and plunged his hand into the moist dark dirt below. For a moment he looked at it, brought it to his lips for an instant.

Then he stood, his voice powerful, harder somehow than usual:

“And I shall be father to this land and all its people. So witness all of you here.”

“So witness Earth—” He held out the handful of soil. His fist rose heavenward, clenching on the dirt:

“So witness Sky.”

Juniper felt a sudden chill as the Bearkillers broke into cheers and waved their blades aloft; not fear or anger or alarm, but a whistling like great winds blowing through her soul. With an effort, she shrugged it aside and rode her own horse forward, Eilir at her side.

“Lord Bear,” she said.

He turned, and something seemed to pass from his face; the crooked smile came back.

“You're still welcome to stay the night,” he said. “We owe you Mackenzies, and it's a long ride back to your land.”

Juniper laughed. “I'll take you up on that, and many of mine, often. But right now you'll have plenty to do settling in.”

“God knows we do,” he said, reaching up and shaking her hand. Then: “Sorry.”

Juniper looked down and saw that the soil had rubbed off on her fingers as well.

“Not a problem,” she said. “It's our Mother's earth, after all. Good luck—and Blessed be. Merry met, and merry parting, and merry meet again!”

She nodded to Signe and turned her mount. They rode beside the graveled road, then cut across a pasture to let the great caravan pass, waving to faces they knew. Eilir turned in her saddle to exchange an exuberant two-armed wave to Astrid Larsson, before the youngster lifted her horse over a fence and rode whooping up the valley to her home.

Astrid is
very
cool,
Eilir signed.
I am most definitely going to visit my anamchara a
lot
.

Juniper nodded absently. Her daughter cocked an eye.
What's with, excessively spooky High Priestess Mom? You've got that the-Otherworld-is-talking-to-me look again.

The Chief of the Mackenzies made herself shrug and laugh. “Nothing, my heart,” she said.

“It's just . . . the King is Bridegroom to the land, and the Goddess . . .”

Eilir looked at her.
What is
that
supposed to mean?

“I don't know,” Juniper said.

Suddenly she wanted to be home, very badly. She legged her horse up to a trot, and the clansfolk settled their longbows over their shoulders and followed, their plaids fluttering in the wind of their passage.

I don't know,
she thought to herself, and made the Invoking sign.
But perhaps You will be telling me, eh?

A
Wiccanning was a merry sort of ritual, introducing the newborn or new-come children to the Lady and the Lord; it was usually done during the day. Today was cold, but there had been a break in the clouds, and the great snowpeaks towered over them like citadels, the firs deep green and secret. Her people sang as they trod the path up to the sacred wood, carrying the bundled little ones and leading those a little older by the hand, and there was to be a party day afterwards, with roast spiced apples and games.

The oaks were leafless, and the spring burbled over rocks flecked with ice, but the last of the snow had melted; the grass within the trees was a soft muted frost-kissed green. The air smelled of earth and cold, a smell like deep sleep, and the chill freshness of the conifers. Eilir carried her brother—with the High Priestess and the High Priest both having children of their own to be welcomed, there would be a bit of juggling back and forth.

Outside the Circle they all stood silent for a moment, listening to the world. A crow cried somewhere,
gruk-gruk-gruk,
loud beneath the creaking of wood and the fall of water. Dennis sighed as he opened his eyes and looked down on the face of his daughter; Tommy stood beside his mother and watched his newborn sister with something of the same wonder.

Sometimes casting the Circle was a thing that made the hair bristle along Juniper's spine with awe. Today it was as if a hand was laid gently on her head, bringing spring's promise, dancing in a meadow starred with flowers. Sword and censer, water and salt went about the ring.

Chuck's face was smiling behind the elk mask as he spoke:

Her own voice was soft: “
I call You as Mother-of-All. Triple Moon, Ever-changing One, I invoke and call upon Thee.
”

The words and gestures flowed, as each child was presented to the Quarters. For Chuck and Judy, things were a little different as they brought Mary and Sanjay and Daniel to the altar in turn, lighting a candle for each; the ritual changed a bit for an adoption:

“
We chose this child above all others. We freely bring Mary to the altar to thank the Lady and the Lord for joining her with us . . .
”

But for the solemnity of the moment she would have laughed with joy as the girl sipped gravely from the consecrated chalice and tasted the biscuit, face brimming with the moment, as the voices rose in the cry of
Blessed be.

Then it was her own turn. Little Rudi had been quiet all through the rite, and he was now, as she took him from his sister's arms—still and wide-eyed even when she raised him to the Quarters, a small bundle of infinite possibilities.

She dipped her fingers into the chalice, and gently touched her son's forehead:

Her tongue stumbled. Chuck looked at her curiously; that wasn't expected.

“—in the Craft, I name you
Artos,” she said very softly.

The High Priest's eyes widened, and so did the Maiden's—Judy was close enough to hear as well. Chuck passed the candle over her son.

“We bless you with fire.”
He waved incense smoke towards the baby.
“We bless you with Earth, Air, Fire and Water; Four do we give. The fifth is Spirit, and that lies in the gift of the Lady and the Lord.
”

The rite flowed on; she touched the infant's lips with a drop of the wine, a crumb from the plate; then she reached into the cauldron for the piece of jewelry. Normally she'd hand that to the parents; here she would pin it on his blanket herself.

Her foot turned on the damp earth as she reached across the wide top of the hewn boulder that made the altar. With a gasp she righted herself, but for an instant Rudi-Artos slid as she struggled for balance. Then she had him in both hands . . .

... but not before his own had reached out in instinctive reflex. The perfectly formed pink fingers waved, then clamped down with the surprising grip-strength of newborns.

On the hilt of the ritual sword that rested across the altar in its rack; the long steel blade quivered and turned as the baby groped at the rawhide-wound grip.

Time stretched. There was a long-drawn
aaaaah
from those within the Circle, awe and a little fear and wonder, too.

Then she knew what she must do; or better, knew that she must step aside and let Another do through her. Of themselves, her hands rose, lifting Artos upward—presenting him not to the Quarters, but to the altar itself, and the Ones who presided over it. With that, she turned, her son still raised over her head, feet and arms making the double-V of power:

The voice that sounded out in tones as perfect as cut crystal was hers, but the words . . .