Chapter 12: Initiation

Tuesday, 21 June 1955, Northern England

Do I have the courage?

“What must I do?” she whispered. Old Mrs. Weed patted her hand gently.

“There are no observers,” she said. “If you would watch, you must join. If you would join, you must come as the goddess entered through the gates of death.”

Rebecca caught her breath, torn between her own religious morality and the desire to know. To participate in a surviving witch cult, however, might be more than she wanted to know. She took a deep breath and tried to let it relax her.

“You mean naked?” she asked weakly.

“Naked, bound, and hobbled, led by a true member of the circle,” Mrs. Weed answered.

“Who?”

“Why, me, of course!”

Rebecca’s heart pounded. She knew in her heart that this was what she wanted, but it was terrifying.

“Only my ... husband has ever seen me like that. I don’t know.” Tears ran from Rebecca’s eyes. She licked her lips and chewed upon the lower one. She could see the shadows at the top of the hill dancing and could now hear a drum beating—a rhythm her heart soon matched.

Intellectually, she had no problem with nudity, but she was from Indiana! No one there would ever consider ... And it wouldn’t just be a bunch of little old ladies like Mrs. Weed who told fortunes in gypsy camps. They could be normal people one might pass on the street, or in the halls of academia.

“I could never cheat on my husband. I would never...”

“Shh. Something that you must learn is that nudity is not an invitation to violation,” Mrs. Weed said. “The goddess dwells within you. We of the circle honor the goddess. We would never violate her.” Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps she could... “That is not to say that others in the circle will all abstain from sharing with each other. It is Litha, the summer solstice,” the old woman continued. “Some might even ask if you are interested. You, however, are always the one in command of your body. No one will press you, even in the ecstasy of raising a cone of power.”

That should be enough, Rebecca thought. If she was safe, then there would be no harm in being seen naked when everyone else was naked. She simply wouldn’t look at anyone else. Her heart beat more rapidly as excitement quickly overcame reticence. What she had wanted throughout her studies was primary research in her field. If she could not observe, she could—would participate. The decision came through a conscious effort to shut off her nagging conscience.

“All right,” she said, laying down her purse and pulling off her earrings. “What do I do? Quickly, before I have a chance to change my mind.”

“First we bathe in the river. Yes, sure I will stay with you. I will share secrets with you as we cleanse ourselves.”

As Rebecca swam near the shore, Mrs. Weed described the ritual and what would occur. Many of the coveners who were gathered had been on the bus with her all day and had come to welcome her to the circle. There would be representatives of the four lesser circles present for the celestial holiday.

“Precautions were taken centuries ago to conceal the true identities of witches so no one could accuse another of a capital offense. Your name will never be used though many of us socialize outside our gathering. In the circle, I am called The Water Maiden,” the old woman said. “This is the name I was given when asked to carry the third of the four Faces of Carles, the cup. You have met another of the sergeants. Doc is called The Flame Keeper and bears the staff of the circle, the second face. It is rare to have all four faces gathered at once—perhaps once in a generation. Tonight, you will meet the keepers of the other two faces. Before we approach the circle, you need a name. I give you back your maiden name as a wild one who has come to the circle. You will be called The Hart.”

She handed Rebecca a small towel. When Rebecca was dry, she obediently held out her hands and Mrs. Weed bound them with a light cord. Rebecca was reasonably certain that she could snap the bonds with little effort and breathed more easily. As she looked down, though, she saw that her nipples were hard and erect in the night air.

Rebecca let the name wash over her and discovered that as Mrs. Weed led her up the hill toward the standing stones, she was humming to herself.

They were very close to the great northern gate of the stone circle. Rebecca could see the fire in the center, but the circle appeared to be empty now that she was close enough to see.

“There is only one password that you must now have, Hart,” Mrs. Weed said from behind her. “I give you perfect love and perfect trust. Enter with these.”

A man’s voice suddenly spoke from behind the stone on Rebecca’s left. She panicked, ready to run. She knew that voice. He had found her.

“Who comes before the gates,” the man demanded as he stepped from behind the stone and deftly placed the point of a long knife between her breasts. He was naked, his pale skin glowing in the darkness. On his head was an eyeless black hood. It can’t be him. It’s just another English voice, Rebecca admonished herself.

“It is I, The Hart, a child of earth and starry heaven,” Rebecca said. Her voice quaked. The noise of her heart in her ears almost drowned his next words.

“Who speaks for you?”

“I, The Water Maiden of Carles, vouch for her,” said Rebecca’s companion. The challenge, however, was not yet over and the sword’s point nearly forced Rebecca back a step.

“You are about to enter a vortex of power, a place beyond imagining, where birth and death, dark and light, joy and pain, meet and make one. You are about to step between the worlds, beyond time, outside the realm of your human life. You who stand on the threshold of the dread Mighty Ones, have you the courage to make the attempt? For know that it is better to fall on my blade and perish than to enter here with fear in thine heart!”

In spite of the story she had heard, the ritual phrasing of the challenge, and the careful coaching of Mrs. Weed, Rebecca felt the gatekeeper was in deadly earnest. Words struck her memory: The best guides in the world cannot always get you safely through the gates of hell. She summoned up her courage and the passwords that Mrs. Weed had given her.

“I enter the circle with perfect love and perfect trust.”

For a moment, the blade bit more deeply into her flesh and she wondered fleetingly if she would be found worthy to enter the circle. Was there more that was expected of her? The polished blade glinted in the firelight. A quick warding gesture came between Rebecca and the Guardian.

“Blade, your duty is finished,” Mrs. Weed said.

The pressure against her chest immediately released and the gatekeeper placed the point in the ground. He rose again before her and whipped the hood from his head. His face was smooth and young, shaved so closely you would almost think he had no facial hair beneath the closely cut blond hair on his head. Rebecca gasped. The Blade. He had said he was part of the family. Was this what he meant?

His eyes looked so much like Wesley’s that Rebecca caught her breath. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips, never glancing at her naked body.

“Thus are all first brought into the circle, Hart,” he said with a gentleness that belied the violence he had shown in Indiana. He seemed not to note her nakedness, but she had been unable to suppress a glance at his smooth physique. So like Wesley. “The High Priestess awaits at the altar.” He stepped aside to allow Mrs. Weed to lead Rebecca to the altar on the east side of the circle.

A dozen people stepped from behind the stones all around the circle and the High Priestess arose from behind the altar stone itself. She was a woman, ten or fifteen years older than Rebecca, she guessed, and beside her stood a small blonde child, not more than nine or ten. Both were naked save a golden circlet around the priestess’s head. The priestess took the string from Mrs. Weed and led Rebecca around the circle that had drawn close. All were naked. Most were women. At each of the points of the compass, they paused for an invocation. When they passed The Blade—Rebecca knew this was Ryan McGuire—the little girl rushed to him and he picked her up in his arms. Rebecca felt conspicuously on parade before the coveners and was thankful for the relative dark that at least hid her heightened blush, even if not her naked body.

When they returned to the altar, Rebecca stood facing the fire as the High Priestess knelt in front of her. To Rebecca’s surprise, the priestess kissed Rebecca’s feet and untied the cord that bound them.

“Blessed are your feet that bring you along the path of the goddess,” the priestess said. She pulled Rebecca’s hands to her and kissed the palms as she untied them. “Blessed are your hands that offer comfort and kindness in the name of the goddess.” Rebecca gasped as the priestess leaned forward and kissed her mound, directly on the pubic hair. “Blessed is your sex, the cauldron of rebirth and gateway of the goddess into this world.” The priestess stood and kissed Rebecca’s left breast. “Blessed are your breasts that can nourish new life with the love of your heart.” Finally, the priestess kissed Rebecca softly on the lips. Rebecca felt tears escape from her eyes as she welcomed the kiss. “Blessed are your lips that speak the sacred names and pass on the knowledge of the goddess.”

Mrs. Weed assisted the priestess in using the string to measure Rebecca’s height. With the remainder, they measured her head and knotted the length. Finally, they measured her bust and cut the string. The priestess rolled the string into a ball and pressed it into Rebecca’s palm. Ryan McGuire stepped up beside the priestess, still carrying the little girl. He handed the priestess a finely engraved knife with an ebony handle. The priestess pricked Rebecca’s finger with the tip of the blade and pressed the blood against the string before handing the knife back to McGuire. The little girl clapped.

“Your measure has been taken,” said the priestess, “head, height, and heart. We hold this against a day when your witness is needed. Never shall you reveal the name or identity of any person in this circle. So you must swear.”