by J. D. Glass
“Listen, mate,” he said, his hand heavy on my shoulder after a few rounds, “if Cort’s come ’round to Aunt Lyddie’s, then it means one of two things. Either the Circle is being called—well, actually, the Circle is being called—but this close to Samhain? Who’s being initiated? Or is someone being brought into the inner Circle, the Light Bearers?”
I put my pint down so sharply it splashed a bit over the sides, and goggled at him in pure shock. “What do you…I mean, how do you know any of that?” I spluttered.
Graham’s gaze was kind. “Sam, my aunt’s part of the inner Circle—’course I know.”
I’d been much slower to understand than I normally was, but when I got it, I smiled at him. It definitely explained some of the recognition we had between us.
I felt his smile disappear when a cold breeze floated against the back of my neck and Graham stiffened.
“Let’s get out of here—I’ve got your back.”
“And me yours,” I told him as we stood.
I didn’t need to ask why we were leaving. In that clammy chill I’d read the signature of Old Jones, and I wasn’t ready to face him yet, to ask the questions and get the answers he might have. He didn’t even see us when we walked right by him.
The air was as cold outside as the freeze Jonesy brought with him.
“If Cort’s brought you around, then you must be the one for the inner Circle,” Graham mused aloud as we walked to the scooter, “but then, who’ll be…oh…”
“Who’ll be what?” I asked him as we readied to take off.
“Nothing, just some thinking aloud,” he answered before he was drowned out by the engine.
“Come in for a cuppa ’fore you go,” Graham offered as we pulled in front of his building, “and feel free to stay if you’re tired—my aunt won’t mind. Bring your scooter in—it’ll be fine here just inside the door.”
“I’ll join you for the tea, but I’ll leave after,” I told him as we went up the stairs. “I don’t want Fran to think I’ve stayed away because—” I caught myself and felt my face burn as I’d realized what I’d been about to say.
Graham opened the door and we entered the kitchen. “Don’t want her to think what because why?” Graham’s glance was puzzled over his shoulder as he set the pot for tea.
“Tell me more about the Rite, about your Tradition,” I said, changing the subject when I could speak calmly. I was proud of the even tone I heard in my voice. “Tell me about the green ray—start with the Goddess.”
Graham told me more about the Rite and the tradition the outer Circle worked with than anyone yet. While the inner Circle worked with the undiluted energies of the Universe, the outer one worked with energies just as pure, but eased down into the Material.
“Think of it as the difference between what comes out of a generator plant and what comes through the wall,” Graham suggested. “Powerful, useful, even the same in many ways, since one is sourced from the other.”
It had rained a bit while I’d been talking with Graham, and I considered as I rode, the streets shining back up at me as I made my way back over to Compton and Dean. I, who had been given so many more answers, proofs, of things unknowable and unknown, had so many more questions. There was the heady esoteric, the onion-layering of the Astral and power, but there was also the starkly Material: searching for the avatar, and for my father’s murderer and perhaps my mother’s as well, the connection between the seemingly disparate elements of old news and new enemies. And then the Rites, mine and Fran’s, and what they would mean, to us, through the Astral, for all time.
I covered the scooter up with the tarpaulin and decided to enter the building through the shop. I was less than surprised to find my uncle seated at his workbench, the sword I’d held so many times during our lessons before him. He wore the leather work gloves I’d seen him wear before when he worked, and the blade rested on two supports as he examined it under the bright light with the magnifying glass that was bolted to the table.
“Are you all right?” he asked, peeking up at me from under his brow for a second before he squinted down the edge of the blade. “Did you have fun with Graham?”
“Well, I managed to play a game or two of darts and not seriously maim anyone,” I answered, “and we’ve discovered I’m much better at pool than billiards. I find it a little confusing, but Graham promises to teach me yet.”
He grinned up at me briefly. “Sounds like you’ve made a solid start.”
“We ran into Old Jones.”
There was silence as he stared up at me. “Did you seek him?”
“No. Of course not,” I answered. “He didn’t even see us and we walked right by him.”
“Well, that’s a relief at least. Then what’s on your mind? I can feel the question burning right through you.”
“Not now, not tonight, because I want to go upstairs—I don’t want Fran to think I’ve disappeared because, well, you know,” I told him, and he gave me a faint smile. “But tomorrow? I want to learn more about two things. No one has ever really told me what exactly it is Fran’s learning, and I need to know what she can and can’t do, and why this specific Rite for her. And…” I took a breath and let my eyes be drawn down to the sword on the table, the play of light on its edge winking at me with a brightness that seemed to come from it as opposed to merely reflect off it. I faced my guardian again. “I want to know everything you can tell me about the legend and the cult of Judas. My father thought it was important. So do I.”
He nodded at me. “There’s quite a bit to cover.”
“I’m okay with that. And…thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said gravely.
We wished each other a good night and as I reached for the door that would take me through the shop, he spoke again.
“I’m proud of you,” he said quietly. “I know what you and Fran plan on doing, she told Elizabeth, who is, by the way, very upset with the two of you about it, but I’m proud of you, proud of you both.”
My back stiffened as the tears I’d so successfully kept at bay the entire evening threatened again, and I couldn’t look at him for fear they might finally fall. It took me a second or two before I could speak the one mangled word I could manage past the lump that grew in my throat. “Why?”
“You do it because you care about her safety, she does it because she cares about you, what you would suffer in your concern.” The words were soft, and behind them was his genuine regard for me. “We do things because they are right, not because they are easy, and I’m proud of you because you know—you both know—something that has nothing to do with your body, and everything to do with who you are.”
The tears had gone, receded and I turned to face him, my uncle, my guardian, my teacher. We rarely spoke like this, and when we did, it was special because he was sharing with me not just what he thought, but also how he felt. He deserved my full attention, and I gave it to him.
“On this level, in this world, this Material world with its coded rules and physical strictures, you’ve managed to do something few people ever do, male or female. You know how to stand up and be a man.”
I knew what he meant, something beyond chromosomes and biology and gender, so much more than who and how I loved or didn’t. It was about honor, nobility, sacrifice. It was about the grace of strength, not only in body, but in mind, to face fear and forge forward anyway, to offer compassion when one could overwhelm with force, to nurture with one hand and protect with the other.
“Thank you,” I said simply. I understood.
“You’re welcome.” We watched each other a second or two longer, and when he smiled at me, it was his warm smile, and I thought maybe, just maybe, a touch sad too. I wondered what he saw, what he felt, what he remembered as he looked at me, but those were things I would never ask. “Go to bed,” he said, his voice low and gentle, “Fran’s probably still awake and you’ll be busy tomorrow.”
“I look forward to it,” I told him with a grin of my ow
n. “Looking forward.”
“Good. Good night.”
“You too.”
I curled up around Fran minutes later and nuzzled my lips into her head as she snuggled back into me. The perfect peace of it, the trust, the warmth and fit, the kiss she laid on my hand when I laced my fingers through hers, all of it flooded through me, filled me, made my body feel like it expanded past its own barriers with an emotion I couldn’t contain. What would it be like to live without that? I had no idea, but I as I fell asleep, I was glad I had it.
Pagan Poetry
And before my face, beloved of gods and of men,
let thine innermost divine self be enfolded,
in the rapture of the infinite.
—The Charge of the Goddess
Cort was in no way exaggerating when he’d told me there was a lot to cover—in fact, I was beginning to suspect that understatement was part of his sense of humor.
“Do I really need to know this?” I asked, and stared aghast at the three-page list of titles he’d compiled for me.
“Okay, I understand the books on symbols, the Brit history books, and even these compilations of legends, but do I really have to read this?” I pointed to the listing.
My uncle peered over my shoulder where I sat in the library, then chuckled. “What?” he asked lightly, “not a horoscope fan?”
I glanced up at him and met the light that danced in his eyes. “You’re kidding about the astrology, right?”
He laughed in answer. “Leave it for last if you’d like, but it’s not what you think. Come on, grab the first thing”— he pointed to the exact shelf—“and let’s get started.”
We went through history: Paleolithic cave drawings and the Venus of Willendorf, the Romanization of the tribes that had inhabited this part of Europe, and the martial history hidden in mythology—most especially the mythos that surrounded the dux bellorum, the War Duke, the leader of troops.
“Don’t take that part too seriously,” Cort said offhandedly when we moved from history to period literature.
“Which part?” I asked with a grin, “The fairies, the witches, or the quest for the—”
“Any of it,” he interrupted. “You just need to know how it relates to the history, forms the mindset that has since become part of the green ray. All of that other…” His forehead creased as he measured his words. “What’s real is so hidden under metaphor, I’d rather you ignored it for now—it’ll confuse things otherwise.”
I chewed on my lip as I thought about that. There were things he’d teach me outright, but others, he liked for me to reach my own conclusions, and I suspected this might be one of them.
But I did learn, and what I came to understand was exactly what Graham had meant by the difference between a generator and an electrical outlet.
That, and there were fascinating things on the Material, including the first level of Aethyr, the nonphysical dimension of our very physical world. The interactions were intricate, and astrology, the science I had much maligned, played a real role. Not in the “you’ll find some money today” or “beware of a black dog rounding your corner” sort of way, but in a measurable physical one.
As I struggled to understand the effects of one form of energy on another, I surfaced from the charts I was immersed in, just so I could watch Fran across the room, her head bent over the texts she studied. Every now and again, she’d toss her head and her hair would shift, then settle on her shoulder. She wore an expression of such intense concentration. I found myself staring at the way her brow would furrow or her lips purse as she pounced on the right answer and wrote it down.
“What?” she asked, her lips quirked with the smile she couldn’t quite repress as she raised an eyebrow at me.
I put down my book and swallowed. There was a very good reason we sat so far away from each other—we weren’t forbidden to touch, it was simply that once we did, there seemed to be almost no boundary, no marking point between loving touch and making love; the last few nights we’d held each other so tightly, bodies rigid with the effort to not cross that line, to relax, soften, entwine…
“What?” she asked again, and this time, she did smile.
“The moon,” I said finally when I found my voice and the subject I was supposed to be focused on. “How can an orbiting lump of rock be so important to anything?”
“Sam. It pulls the oceans from one side of the planet to the other. How can it not be important, not affect you?” She shook her head and returned her attention to the equations spread before her. “Two days,” she said softly.
“What?” I knew it was an echo of her earlier question, but Fran didn’t mind.
“Today, and tomorrow, and then…” She let that hang there as her glance told me everything she thought, she wanted. We wanted the same things.
“And then?”
“If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t find out.”
I was warm, I was restless; I couldn’t take it anymore. I closed the book, shoved away the charts, and got out of my chair. “Look like what?” I asked when I stood next to her. Even six inches away, it was almost too much to bear, the shimmer of energy that radiated from her that reached toward me, not in a hungry, seeking sense, but as part of its natural flow, part of our connection.
I rested my hand on the table next to her notes. “Look like what?” I repeated softly as I leaned over to catch the scent of her hair.
She placed her hand over mine. “Stop, please.” She looked up at me. “I can barely breathe, never mind read, with you this close. You know this is hard on me too.”
“Yeah?” I couldn’t help myself anymore; I so wanted to kiss her, a simple, little kiss on the cheek. “Is it very hard?” I hadn’t meant to speak in double entendres, but once it was said, it was the question she answered.
“Very,” she whispered across my lips. “It’s very, very hard.” And then her mouth was next to mine as I kneeled next to her chair, her hand held tight in mine and our fingers almost crushing as we told each other as directly as we could how we felt.
“Would the two of you prefer lunch here or in the dining room?” Elizabeth’s voice broke through to my consciousness and it was with great regret that I ended our kiss.
Fran’s nostrils flared, her hair was slightly mussed, and the glimpse of golden primal wild that flashed in her eyes as they held mine told me I probably looked no different. The sweet of her tongue lingered on my lower lip as I tasted it.
“Whatever’s easiest,” I answered, unable to tear my eyes away from Fran’s. I could barely hear myself through the rhythm that beat in my head, and completely lost whatever it was Fran said as I stood with her hand still in mine.
“I’m sorry,” I said to her and finally, to Elizabeth. “I wasn’t, I mean, we weren’t—”
“I know, I wasn’t worried about that,” she smiled and answered. “I’ve an idea, though. Lunch up here since you’re both studying, but Ann, would you mind spending a moment with me? I’d like for us to talk.”
“Sure,” I agreed and Fran gave my fingers a quick squeeze before she let me go. “I’ll go down with you, then.”
“Thank you.”
I bent to give Fran the original kiss I’d planned. “Hurry up,” she said and grinned. “It’s hard and I’m hungry.”
That made me laugh, and I kept the smile until I walked into the kitchen to help Elizabeth with the food and the trays. Everything was already laid out, soup, sandwich fillers, it merely had to be arranged and served.
I knew what she wanted to discuss and I preempted her as we worked together on the counter. “Elizabeth…Fran and I, it’s what we have to do. Surely you understand that.”
“I do,” she agreed. “I understand why you would think and feel that way, as well as why she does. But, Ann, she’s not weak, she’s not less than you. If anything, she’s your match in so many ways.”
“But the threats, and that hound, the one that almost—”
This time Elizabeth i
nterrupted me. “It wasn’t because she was unable to defend herself. You, you’re under her barrier, all the time, within it, as much as she’s within yours. What that…” And her lips tightened even as I could feel the wave of anger and disgust that came from her. “What that thing attempted to do was to breach it, to force the rapport, mental rape, if that explains it for you, gives you a better idea, and that can happen to anyone, for any reason.” Her voice gentled as she continued. “It’s what happened to you, when you were so very small.”
I felt the blood drain out of my face as I tried not to spill tomato soup anywhere but into the bowls, and a flare of quickly muted fury that anyone would try to do such a thing, to anyone, and especially to Fran. “I didn’t know that.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Elizabeth agreed. She paused as she sliced perfect forty-five degree angles into the bread before her. “I’m afraid that…” She sighed, then began again. “You’re hurting yourself, hurting each other unnecessarily. I think you’re making a tremendous mistake based on gaps in your knowledge, and until they’re filled and corrected, you’ll make others.”
“I expect that I will make some mistakes,” I said, “as this is not something I was born knowing. But,” I added quietly, “Cort thinks I’m doing the right thing.”
For the first time since I’d known her, I felt as much as heard something as close to a snap as I’d ever seen from Elizabeth.
“Of course he does—he trains Wielders, the Light Bearers, and nothing comes before that.”
Wielders. Plural. My father counted as one and I as another. But the way she’d said it… Was there another he’d trained besides the ones I knew about? “Wielders…as in more than two?” I asked.