Chapter 20: The Gift

21 September 1974, The Metéora

REBECCA FLOATED floated in the fog, suspended above the charred stump of the old tree. She’d shed her clothes as they became heavy with rain. As she emptied her mind, she could feel power flowing into her. She chanted in concert with her brothers and sisters of Coven Carles, “And come again. And come again.” She felt the added strength of the solo witch Prometheus on his mountain in West Virginia. A thread of power was added from a home in Greenwich, Connecticut where Doc and Margaret held hands as they sat beside the fireplace. And she could feel the gate opening as the Fifth Circle surrounded her daughter. There was even a kind of power that flowed into her from enrapt people who thought their focus was simply on a magic show in Minneapolis.

But most of all, she felt the power of her husband as he struggled with his own inner demons. J. Wesley Allen was true north on her life’s compass. She was drawn to him. As she raised her black star stone pentacles before her, she could see it cutting through the fog.

Through the hole in the fog, Rebecca—the witch Sadb—could see the scene unfold. The Fifth Circle held the gate open from their end—the cauldron of rebirth. Within the circle, her daughter and a man she almost recognized, pled with Wesley. And Wesley, her husband, the desire of her heart, was locked in battle with the goddess that was both a part of him and apart from him.

“I am the possessor of this man, for I am the goddess that dwells within. I am what was left behind to pay for your passage,” the goddess next to Wesley cried.

“You cannot claim that which you do not own,” Rebecca declared.

“Mother!” Serepte gasped.

“Wesley! It is time to come home,” Rebecca said more loudly.

“Rebecca, love of my life,” Wesley said as he stirred. It seemed his feet would not obey him as he stretched again toward the goddess. “I cannot leave her!”

“He is mine!” the woman next to Wesley raved.

“No! You have not accepted him. He strains toward you, loving and inviting, but you hold yourself away.”

“He is corrupt.”

“He is human. It is you who must embrace your corruption.”

“I am immortal!”

“You call yourself the price of passage,” Rebecca said calmly. “You were left behind when Serepte was released. You are angry and alone and would hold my husband as your hostage. But you are owed to me.”

“The price of passage is to leave a part of yourself behind.”

“And I am the vessel. The price is owed to me.”

Serepte sought the image of her mother to attend the voice, but only the voice filled the tiny temple. She had always known she was born to a woman of great power, but to have her reach across the worlds to claim a goddess as her price was more than she expected.

Yet, she should have expected this. Had not her mother and father challenged the very gods to release her from millennia of imprisonment? And now Serepte understood her own power, not only to heal the body, but to bring the body and soul together.

She reached out her hand and found a double flute—an aulos—materializing in her hand. She smiled at this gift from her muse. The first tones were hesitant as she struggled to find the correct notes, rhythms, and flavor of the music. She stood and began to circle her father and his spirit. Pol rose as she reached the opposite side and joined his voice to hers, weaving a spell around the struggling figures.

“I cannot!” cried the female.

“You must,” Rebecca’s voice replied.

“Return, return, O Shulamite, O my soul,” Wesley whispered as he turned to the goddess beside him.

“Return, return,” Rebecca echoed.

“Return, return,” voices seemed to respond from within the music Serepte played and Pol sang.

“Return, return,” the goddess next to Wesley whispered, and as she turned to look into his eyes, she slowly melted into his body. “You cannot conquer me for I shall surrender to you. I take you to myself and claim you as the part of me that you are,” he whispered to her.

“I accept you; you cannot reject me,” she responded. “I call you into the very depth of my existence, for there is no light that can live without shadow.”

“I will be one—healed and at peace, at last. I call you into me to fill me, and filling me to leave me empty at last,” Wesley said.

“Let us go to meet our beloved,” her disembodied voice breathed. She was no longer separate from him. “Let us give the captain of our vessel the price of passage.”

Wesley floated to his feet, his daughter and Pol on either side of him, continuing their music.

“Enter the cauldron of rebirth and return to me,” Rebecca’s voice filled the temple.

All time comes together, here and now in this sacred space.
Dream of your rebirth.
I shall be here to greet thee on thy return.

The fifth circle took up the chant as they focused their power to open the gateway.

Between the worlds we stand in this sacred space.
All time is now.
All places are here.
From whence we came, we shall return,
And come again.
And come again.

Fog swirled up from the center of the rostrum. Flanked by Serepte and Pol, Wesley stepped into the fog.

Time ceased to exist as they walked forward. With each step, though, Wesley straightened and became more confident. The goddess within became more and more a part of him. She was, he realized, part of his DNA. Is that not what it means for all people to have an X chromosome, while only men had a Y chromosome? The soul is universally feminine!

So focused was he on the unification of his body and soul that he stumbled as the fog began to clear and jerked his head up to note his surroundings. Ahead, the grass spread in a gently sloping meadow bordered by a creek. An ancient tree stood at the upper end of the greensward. But something was strange about it. It glowed and within its form a figure took shape.

“Rebecca!” he cried. His feet propelled him faster. The nearer he approached, the more distinct his wife became as she stood on the stump of the burned-out tree. She held the black starstone in her hand, cutting a path through the fog for them as she had done so many years ago.

Rebecca held a hand out to him, but Wesley balked. He had lost the hands of Serepte and Pol. Turning suddenly, he saw them on the slope, fog closing in around them.

“They are not on this path, husband. We will see them again soon.”

“Mother!” Serepte called out, though already her voice was muffled by the fog.

“Return The Blade to the coven,” Rebecca called out to her.