Chapter 22: Come to Litha!

Saturday, 21 June 1969

“By what authority did you call the assembly of the separate circles?” demanded the elderly woman who stood in front of the High Priest. The great circle celebrants were robed in full ceremonial robes for the summer solstice celebration, but having arrived at the ancient stone circle a dispute immediately broke out over The Barber’s authority to call the circles together. They had come expecting that either the High Priestess or The Huntress had called the circle. Now the test had come. The woman, whom Rebecca recognized as Counselor, the Priestess of the lesser circle of Braithwaite, brought the formal challenge forward.

“I called the circles by authority of the High Priest as it is written that he may do in the absence of a High Priestess.”

“Is it true then? Is Magda no longer with us?”

“She was in an accident this morning in the market. She was hit by a runaway lorry,” he declared. The circles broke into murmurs as celebrants turned to comfort each other.

“Hit but not killed,” said Judith, stepping up to take her place as Priestess of Threlkeld. “I saw this so-called accident and saw the man who saved her life. She was in intensive care at the hospital when I left her this afternoon, but expected to make a full recovery.”

“Then by law of the circles, we are not without a High Priestess. Braithwaite does not recognize your right to convene the great circle.”

“Nor does Threlkeld,” said Judith. The Priestess of High Lodore was silent. The High Priest belonged to her circle and it was hard for her to oppose her own coven brother in the full gathering. Skiddaw had its own confusion, for without Magda, they were also without a Priestess. It appeared that there might be a stalemate. Rebecca almost wished the circle would dissolve and celebrate Litha independently in their local gatherings.

“You saw the flame from the mountain,” the High Priest declared. “And to that flame you gathered. Be it known therefore that I called the great circle because I can call the great circle. He or she who would challenge my right to convene this circle must do so by equal power.”

So that was his game, Rebecca thought. Trial by power and no one would stand up to that test. Even Magda had refused to defend her office when challenged to this type of duel years before. She moved in the shadow and took hold of Judith’s hand, pulling her aside.

“I told you that I would not call the circle without you,” she whispered. “And in fact, I cannot call it without you. But together we have authority over all four circles and we can elect a priestess. Much better that than to let The Barber choose one to his liking.”

“You found him then?”

“He found me. By accident,” Rebecca responded.

“Is he safe?” The question held more anxiety in it than Judith’s hardened façade was likely to let out. She really did care about him, Rebecca thought.

“I hope so,” she said looking down. “He’s out there, somewhere.”

“Then you can call the circle by mother’s proxy.”

“I wish so. But not under the challenge that The Barber issued. And not with the symbol that Magda left. It’s not what you thought. She must have assumed I had recovered the Athamé. You will have to call Threlkeld.”

“So that’s it,” Judith said. She silently considered Rebecca’s statement. “You’re good with fire, if I recall.”

“You did help.”

“Let’s do it.”

“We challenge the power of The Barber to convene the coven Carles, not by equal power, but by greater,” Rebecca called out. The two women stepped forward next to the other two priestesses.

“What? It takes two of you?” he laughed. “I need not match myself against two or against an entire coven if such were your wish. The power divided is already halved. I turn aside your challenge unanswered.”

“The arrogant son of a bitch,” Judith muttered under her breath.

“What now?” Rebecca asked. Judith looked at her very hard.

“I hope you’re up to this,” she whispered to Rebecca, then turned to face her own wicca gathered on the east side of the circle. “Hear me, Threlkeld!” she called in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the gathering. “You have given me sacred trust in selecting me as your priestess. I would not betray that trust. But we are subjects if we are without a champion. Therefore, I adopt The Hart, The Huntress of Carles, as daughter of Threlkeld Wicca.” Rebecca was stunned. She took hold of Judith’s arm and spun her toward her with a question on her lips. Judith erased it with a kiss. There was an immediate affirmation by the Threlkeld cildru.

“So mote it be!”

Judith continued looking at Rebecca after their kiss. “Necessity outweighs our differences, Hart. I release you from the promise not to call the circle alone.”

“Swordmaster, I don’t know what to say.”

“Better think of something quick.” Turning to her circle she continued. “As Priestess of Threlkeld, I take The Hart, Huntress of Carles, my daughter, as champion and lay in her hand my sword as symbol. Where she leads and where she calls, I and mine shall gather.”

“So mote it be!” responded the cildru of Threlkeld. Judith knelt on one knee and lifted the sword that Wayne had created for her at Christmas. Rebecca took it from her, still overcome by the vote of confidence from the other woman.

“Now go to it. We’re behind you.”

Rebecca swallowed her doubts and raised her voice. There was no longer a choice in her course of action.

“Therefore, I, The Hart, the Huntress of Carles, challenge the right of The High Priest to call the great circle of Carles as he would have it—by equal power, unassisted but for the perfect love and perfect trust of my brothers and sisters.” Rebecca stepped to the center of the circle where the fire had been laid but not yet kindled. In the center of the stacked wood sat the cold black cauldron Ops, as old as any of the tools of the coven. The High Priest moved opposite her and as Rebecca moved around the circle, he moved across from her, reflecting and countering each gesture and word. If at the end of her ritual the fire had started, she upheld her challenge. If it still lay cold, The Barber’s blue flame would hold as his right to convene the circle. Rebecca began in the East with The Barber facing her in the West. Her own tools she lay on the ground at this point, taking up the implements of her quest.

“As champion of Threlkeld and bearer of the Gatekeeper’s Sword, I summon from the East the cildru to this fire. Here at the Eastern Gate I place the Gatekeeper’s Sword, the trust of Threlkeld.”

She lay the sword on the ground near the wood, pointing directly at the cauldron in the center. Her breathing eased somewhat as she relaxed into her impromptu ritual. She moved on to the south side of the circle, once again facing The Barber in the North.

“As bearer of Iäpetus, the Second Face of Carles and the sacred trust of High Lodore, I summon the the cildru of High Lodore. Here at the southern gate, I place Iäpetus, fire rod, ruler of the dragon, the Second Face of Carles.” She lay Doc’s old walking stick, the staff of the Vagabond Poet, on the ground with its head toward the cauldron and moved on to the West where the High Priest had first stood. There was an uncomfortable feeling here. It was as if the ground was uneasy.

“As bearer of Cottus, the Third Face of Carles and the sacred trust of my own circle of Braithwaite, placed in my hand by The Cupbearer on the night of my challenge, I summon the cildru of Braithwaite. Here at the Western Gate I place Cottus, purifier of salted water, ruler of the serpent, the Third Face of Carles.” She attempted to set the cup on the ground, but could find no place level. It seemed that the cup would fall, no matter where she set it. It was like trying to balance it on a wave.

She smiled across at the High Priest, realizing the spell that he had placed there. Then she calmly spoke again. “May there be floods of blessing poured out upon the fires of Carles,” she said and laid the cup on its side with the opening toward the cauldron. It stayed and did not shift. She moved on to the North. As she stood there facing The High Priest with her hands uplifted, a coldness crept into her bare feet. They were numb on the ground before she could speak. Her teeth chattered.

“As bearer of Enceladus, the Fourth Face of Carles and the sacred trust of Skiddaw and our High Priestess, I summon the cildru of Skiddaw. Here at the Northern Gate, I place the sacred pentacles, earth mother, cycle of life and death, Enceladus, the Fourth Face of Carles.” The cold was so intense that Rebecca fell to her knees and did not even register the gasp of awe that emanated from the assembled coven as she revealed the shining black disk that bore the pentacles of Carles Castlerigg. As she held it in her hands she felt it begin to warm, to glow and generate heat that filled her body and sent the numbness receding from her feet.

Rebecca stood and continued to the East again. Her circle was complete, but still there was no fire. The cauldron remained black and cold on the unkindled wood. The Barber stood opposite her, arms folded across his arrogant chest, waiting, his eyes aglow with savored victory. Without flame her summons was still invalid. Just a spark. That was all that was necessary.