By Dark

by T Thorn Coyle

  Her teacher waited, completely patient and still, though she was certain he had one hundred other things he should be attending to.

  “You reminded me that kundalini flows every place there is an opening… And we talked about the importance of seva, and social justice. But we never finished that conversation.”

  “Yes?”

  She swallowed, and felt the outstretched palm of Shiva, lending her courage.

  “I want to make more openings. To bring our meditation to the streets. Or can we ask the Center to direct their prayers toward an end to police violence? Or something—anything—more direct than what we’ve been doing? That’s what I’m asking. And I really need an answer.” She knew it was risky, pushing her teacher like this, but even scared and feeling slightly sick, she also knew that it was right.

  She just hoped he saw that, too, and heard the desperation she knew was in her voice.

  Her teacher steepled his fingers and pressed his fingertips to his lips. It was her turn to wait this time.

  She stood, he sat, and Shekinah felt the moment when their breathing synchronized, his exhalation becoming her inhalation, his inhale drawing from her exhale. The energy in the room shimmered slightly around her. Her eyes flicked to Shiva’s portrait. His halo seemed much brighter than before.

  “Your idea has merit. If you find an action where we can go pray, or to feed more people, we shall do so. As for asking people to make directed prayers? I will think about how to best do this thing.”

  He sighed. She had never heard him sigh before, though, human as he was, certainly things must weigh on him just like they did on her.

  “You are good for me, Shekinah. You remind me what it means to be a warrior in more than simply spirit. You remind me of my duty.”

  He pushed back from his desk and stood.

  “And you are right, the teachings say that we must practice both spiritual and physical powers. Especially in these times.”

  Coming around his desk, he startled her by holding out his hand. Shekinah paused for a moment, then took a breath, slid her palm inside of his, and shook.

  “Thank you for your forthrightness,” he said. “I hope to be training you to teach others soon, as you have just taught me.”

  Blinking back tears, all she could do was bow over his hand.

  Then, amazingly to herself, she simply turned and walked out the door. Everything felt as if it was simultaneously brand new and yet, still ordinary. As if nothing was different at all.

  Except for two things. There was the new certainty that she was one with the cosmos, and therefore her part of the cosmos could change. And she’d had enough courage to speak up about that, and her teacher had listened.

  39

  Alejandro

  The coven was all present and accounted for in Raquel’s attic ritual space, sitting on bright cushions that gave splashes of color to the otherwise white space. It was Halloween, the feast of Samhain, and instead of their usual journey to commune with the ancestors, tonight the coven would charge up the sigils in preparation for the working to come. They would call for more magical backup two days hence, on the Dia de los Muertos.

  It was only pressure from the ancestors that had Arrow and Crescent Coven changing their longstanding plans. In the season when the ancestors were strongest, whoever ignored their messages did so at their own peril, or at the very least, at their strong discomfort. The ancestors had a way of making a witch’s life miserable if they wanted to.

  The sigils he, Thomas, Frater Louis, and Shekinah had worked on sat in a stack in the middle of the attic floor, surrounded by unlit beeswax tapers.

  Cassiel stood, red hair flowing down her back, athame in hand, and began to mark out the quarters, using the coven’s cantrip for casting.

  “By earth.” Pointing the double-sided blade toward the north, she drew a pentagram in the air. Then she swept the blade in an arc and pointed south. “By flame.” Then on to east and west, inscribing pentagrams in each direction. “By wind. By sea.”

  Alejandro felt the energy build as Cassie spoke the spell. Like all magical poetry, the words’ simplicity only increased the potency. Spells and prayers helped to focus the witch’s will, and called all the planes of existence closer together.

  She pointed her blade above and below, and then at the cross quarters. “By moon, by sun, by dusk, by dark, by witches’ mark.”

  Alejandro felt his energy expand, deepen, and settle as Cassiel traced the edge of the circle around the space, sealing the magic. “We consecrate this holy ground, with sight, and sound, and breath twined ’round. With will and love, from below to above, let the magic portals open.” Then she bowed and took her place in the circle of the coven once again.

  “So mote it be,” Alejandro responded with the rest of the coven.

  He took in a shuddering breath, and closed his eyes for a moment.

  “Ancestors, be with us,” he said out loud. “We call upon you, be here now, give us aid in this time of power.” Inside he added, And don’t let us fuck this up. He leaned forward, rising slightly off his cushion, struck a match, and lit the first taper. Waving the match out, he inhaled the scent of sulfur and warming beeswax. He slid the first taper from its holder and lit the five remaining candles, waiting until each wick caught and flared before moving to the next.

  “Tonight, the veils between the worlds are thin,” Raquel said. “We call upon ourselves, our ancestors, and all the powers of magic to be here now.”

  She clapped her hands three times, the sound a sharp retort that filled the space. The claps were something the coven had adopted from Moss’s work with kami, or spirits of place. Along with words and thoughts, engaging a sound made by the body was another way to call attention to the subtler realms of being.

  “These sigils are designed to protect those who need it, and offer a warning to those we want to put on alert,” Alejandro said.

  “We want the police to know we’re watching them,” Moss chimed in. “And to let the community know that someone has eyes on the police, and cares about protecting the people.”

  Raquel nodded at Brenda, who slid a small frame drum from one of the shelves that lined the attic knee walls. Brenda shook an errant curl from her face, and slapped out a simple rhythm, silver bracelets shaking in counterpoint to the drum.

  “Breathe deeply. Draw up energy from the earth, and down from the sky,” Raquel said over the drumbeat. “Draw on the power of the wheel of the year, turning around us, inside us, opening and closing doorways, defining what is possible. Think of the community. Think of the threat to the community. Focus on the sigils in the center of the circle, and let the power of the increasing night build within you, as the power of the coven builds.”

  Alejandro felt his consciousness sink and glide, following the cadence of Raquel’s words and the slap of Brenda’s hands upon the drum. His breathing slowed down so far, it felt almost as if the air in the attic was a solid, or a liquid so thick he could almost taste it.

  “Draw down power, let it flow. Charge this magic, above and below. Ancestors moving, feel their power. Charge this magic, in this potent hour.”

  The words flowed from Brenda as if she were a channel for some other voice, drawing from some other time, or perhaps simply from the moment. Magic was tricksy that way. In the midst of the most effective rituals, a person felt outside of space and time. Alejandro felt that now, along with the current of energy humming through the room, fed by the drumming and the words.

  Brenda repeated the phrase and, haltingly, the coven joined her, voices growing in certainty with each pass of the chant. It didn’t take long for the chant to build in strength.

  “Draw down power, let it flow. Charge this magic, above and below. Ancestors moving, feel their power. Charge this magic, in this potent hour!”

  Brenda increased the pace of the drum. Alejandro swayed and moved on his cushion, rocking with the rhythm of the words.

  “Draw down power, let it flow. Charge t
his magic, above and below. Ancestors moving, feel their power. Charge this magic, in this potent hour!”

  He practically shouted the words, vocal cords straining, until, with a huge tap at the base of his skull, his spirit was free from its physical constraints. His throat relaxed, and, voice growing louder still, he chanted. As his body rocked and swayed beneath him, Alejandro floated near the attic ceiling, gazing down upon the coven, at the threads of energy twining their way toward the sigils on the floor.

  Raquel raised her arms and threw back her head. The rest of the coven followed, including Alejandro’s body. The magic was working. Around the room, he saw the shadows of the ancestors, more and more gathering each minute. It seemed that they were pleased. He floated back into his body, snapping into place just as Brenda changed the rhythm again. Raquel started clapping. His palms tingled with each smack.

  “Draw down power, let it flow. Charge this magic, above and below. Ancestors moving, feel their power. Charge this magic, in this potent hour!”

  The magic built and built inside the attic room. The coven’s voices were loud, ringing in his ears, and ringing past the veils of the year, calling the ancestors, calling the magic, calling the powers.

  The chant went on and on. The pressure built inside him once again. And new words came, calling for him to weave them above and within the magic chant.

  “Ancestors, be with us now! Ancient ones, come down! Ancestors, be with us now! Ancient ones, come down!” Moss and Selene’s voice joined his, rising and falling in counterpoint to the other chant.

  The drum kicked up another notch and Alejandro began to vibrate. It was almost too much. He felt as if he’d shake out of his skin.

  Raquel and Brenda started chanting wordless tones, weaving, weaving, weaving the spell. The ancestors moved in a ring around the room. The power built, higher and higher, deeper and deeper. Alejandro felt as if his spirit and body might snap, and then, with a mighty roar, Raquel cocked her fingers as if about to throw a dart into the center of the room.

  A dart of magical power. A dart aimed at the heart of the sigils. Every person in the coven did the same. He felt the fingers of his right hand cock back.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Their voices rose in a mighty crescendo, Raquel’s hand snapped forward, seconds later so did his.

  The dart of energy smacked into the sigils, fluttering the stack of papers.

  The voices stopped. The drum stopped. The only sound was the panting of exertion, and a soft moan.

  The moan came from his mouth. Alejandro’s eyes rolled back in his head and, pitching toward the candles in the center, he collapsed.

  40

  Shekinah

  “You passed out, knocked over a bunch of candles, and…and now you’re going out on the streets at night to engage in illegal activity? I can’t believe you! Can’t someone else put up fliers? You need to rest for the big working coming up. Don’t you?”

  She was ready to fling her phone into the street, and was aware of Tish beside her, acting as if she wasn’t at all interested in the heated conversation.

  Alejandro’s voice was placating, trying to reassure her. But, much as the words made sense, that this needed to be done right now—tonight—she couldn’t see why he had to be the one to do it.

  “No. We’ll talk about it later. Just…stay safe out there, okay? If you get hurt and mess up the big ritual you have to do in two more nights, I’ll be even more pissed, and you won’t forgive yourself.”

  She hung up the phone, scowl on her face. She couldn't believe him. Oh, he tried to convince her that it was just putting up flyers, no big deal, but she knew better. And after five years of relationship, she also knew better than to do more than register a complaint and pass along her concern.

  “You can't control your partner,” she reminded herself.

  “What's up?” Tish asked. They were standing on the street in front of the Shiva Center. After spending an hour or so in the park with the families, they had grabbed some food. Over dinner, it came to Shekinah in a flash: she knew what her next step was. She needed to try. To see if they could use chanting to help these people.

  Maybe tonight, Halloween, could be a trial run. She needed to see if people—Yogi Basu in particular, but others at the Center—would be willing to do the work at all, and then do it again to back up the witches on Dia de los Muertos.

  Tish was along to provide moral support, and because, as she’d told Shekinah, she wasn’t ready to go home and try to get to sleep. She was too afraid the dreams and visions would come back when she was alone.

  Shekinah didn’t know what to do about that. If it weren’t for the news that her partner had collapsed that evening, she would have immediately offered to spend the night at Tish’s and keep watch. But now it seemed she might have two people who needed tending. Shekinah sighed, then realized Tish was waiting for an answer.

  “Oh, just my lover being stupid.” She shrugged. “What can you do?”

  Tish smiled. “In my experience? Absolutely nothing.”

  Both women laughed, then Tish said grew serious again.

  “Well, if you're going to do this, you better get in there. Class starts in fifteen minutes.”

  Shekinah nodded, shook out her hands, straightened her spine, and headed up the walkway towards the door. The windows on either side glowed with light, and she could practically feel the waves of energy rolling out of the building. Or maybe that was just her, responding to the fact that she was about to enter her spiritual home, and see her teacher, and the kundalini serpents were activated.

  Her heart pounded and her mouth was dry, but despite the fear, she was also filled with certainty. Maybe that was another way the two serpents worked, bringing opposites together in one place. Certainty and fear could coexist within her. Both carried their own energy, and neither one had to suppress the other. Now if she could only figure out how to harness them both.

  She pulled open the heavy Craftsman door and allowed Tish to head in first, before following her friend into a bustle of activity. People taking off coats and shoes and talking. A quiet burst of laughter came from the dressing room down the hall. Yogi Basu walked towards them, beaming with a huge smile.

  “Shekinah! And Tish! You didn't say anything about coming by tonight!” His dark eyes sought out Shekinah’s, holding layer upon layer of questions that seemed to pierce her soul.

  Shekinah glanced away, down at the smooth oak wood floor, then flexed her toes inside of her shoes and rocked forward and back slightly. Testing her equilibrium. Trying to stand tall, to call upon the twin serpents, praying for the activation of their power.

  She cleared her throat and returned her eyes to Yogi Basu’s steady gaze. “Do you still want me to take teacher training?”

  He nodded. “Yes?” The question hung in the air. Waiting. Waiting for her to say something. To claim something.

  No time like the present.

  “I’ve studied with you for ten years. I’ve watched you teach. I’ve practiced and I’ve prayed. And I’m ready. I am willing to take the training, but…” She cleared her throat and spread both feet flat on the floor. “I’m also willing and ready to teach. And I wonder if you’ll give me a chance tonight. I want to try something new.”

  Yogi Basu stroked his beard, paying no attention to the people moving around them. Paying no attention to the fact that the clock ticked and the practice space was filling up.

  “You want to take a risk?” he finally said. “And you want Shiva Center to take a risk?”

  Shekinah knew he understood. He was her teacher after all. Her surrogate parent. The one who tried his best for her. The one who gave his life force to all of his students, connecting them to a lineage as old as time itself. Of course, he understood. And she didn’t know if she found that frightening, or exhilarating.

  “Yes.” She put every bit of kundalini energy that she could into that one word. Then she swallowed and said it again. “Yes. I want us to take that risk.”r />
  Yogi Basu said nothing. Time stretched, and the air around them grew thick with power and possibility. Shekinah noticed that the hallway was empty. Quiet. All of the yogis were ready, waiting for class to begin.

  With a sideways bow, Yogi Basu swept out an arm, gesturing toward the open pocket doors leading to the practice and meditation hall.

  “Thank you.” She bowed back at her teacher, then she and Tish slipped off their coats and shoes. Rising once more, Tish gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. Then they walked past their teacher, into the practice hall.

  Shekinah just hoped this worked.

  41

  Alejandro

  Standing on the street, unable to even pace, Alejandro really didn’t know what to say to Shekinah. There was no rational explanation for his actions, just this fire and buzz at the base of his skull, the ancestors pushing him on, despite his headache and dodgy stomach. Earbuds in, he tried hard to not sigh. She would hear that, and it would only make matters worse.

  The night air was cool and tall elms filtered the street lights, making the Northeast Portland residential street seem almost suburban, despite the fact that he could still hear traffic from MLK, just four blocks away. The neighborhood was a mix of houses and light industrial, peppered with brand new condos like the one he lived in, not so far away.

  He felt Moss and his comrades waiting. Oh, Moss was patient enough, but he could tell the others were wondering what the fuck was going on.

  “Yes. Talk later. I love you.” But she’d already hung up by the time he said those last three words. Yeah. She was pissed.

  Alejandro, hands trembling, popped his earbuds out and stored them in their little hard case, shoving them and his phone into his jeans. He still felt woozy from collapsing after charging up the sigils, which meant Shekinah’s worry and annoyance were well founded. Not that he was going to admit that to anyone. Not now, at least. Not until this whole working was done.