Page 8 of The Witch's Rite
Our skirts swish through the long green grasses as we climb the winding path to Heritage Hill, atop which waits a towering unlit bonfire. Alden helped the other men in the village collect and chop wood for the fire, and for three nights he came home covered in dirt and smelling of pine. I smile now thinking of it.
The song of the drums grows louder with each stride we take, as if inviting us to step into the magic of the night.
We crest the top of the hill to find the village gathered around the bonfire, anxiously awaiting the dance. Excitement fills the warm air.
Niamh stands there, a large quartz crystal held in one hand. As I approach, she offers me a smile. I hold my torch aloft,and Niamh strikes the quartz with a rod of steel once, twice, thrice. Sparks catch the cloth torch head, sending light and heat dancing across my face.
Putting the crystal away, Niamh takes up a bottle of oil from the pouch about her waist. She wets her fingers, then uses the oil to anoint my forehead, my hands, and my bare feet. It smells softly of rose, and it catches the light from the flames dancing beside me.
With an arm held out, Niamh steps aside, allowing me passage to the great bonfire.
The women continue to sing as I step up to the towering pile of wood. As I glance at the faces in the crowd, I spot Lydia, James, and Alden.
Which means he’s not my Horned God.
A swell of disappointment rises in me, but I quickly push it down. We can still take to the woods after the rite and ring in summer with our own ritual. Just the thought of it makes heat dance beneath my skin.
Rising voices drift around me as I lift the torch and its flame high, and then I light the Beltane bonfire.
A great cheer goes up, and the drums begin an even more lively pace. Other musicians join in, sending the sounds of summer twirling all around us. I place the torch in a holder beside the bonfire, and with a breath, I start to dance.
With the women trailing behind me, I begin the first circle around the bonfire. The grass is soft beneath my bare feet, and deep underground, the earth’s heart beats. My soul calls to her soul, and I close my eyes, letting the rhythm of nature move me. With my white dress swishing around my calves and my long hair swaying around my face, I dance, and I dance, and I dance. The onlookers clap along with the music, and more voices rise into the inky sky as sparks from the raging bonfire drift like fireflies against the blackness of the night.
The beat of the drums changes, slowing, and around me, the female dancers start to disperse and drift into the assembled crowd. At the same time, at the far side of the bonfire, the crowd parts to let someone through.
To lethimthrough.
The Horned God.
My heart thrums faster as I wait anxiously to see him.
Upon his arrival, a lone horn moans through the sound of the drums, sending goose bumps fluttering over my bare arms.
He is unclothed but for a pair of trousers, and antlers woven with leaves rise high above his head, casting shadows against the firelight. His skin has been painted with hues of the earth—brown and green and yellow, rich pigments that turn him the very color of summer. Yellow flowers ring his head, and beneath the flower crown is a shock of red.
As the horned one approaches the fire amidst the beating of drums and collective drawn breaths from the onlookers, he raises his eyes to meet mine, and his verdant gaze sends a burst of flame shooting through my veins.
The Horned God is . . .
Rowan.
Chapter 7
Rowan
THE NIGHT SMELLS OF FLOWERS and woodsmoke, and the firelight dancing across the hilltop is almost hypnotizing. But nothing could put me in a trance like the May Queen. Like Aurora Silvermoon.
She stands at the other end of the bonfire, long green hair strewn with flowers, a pure white dress hugging her small frame. Her maidens have drifted into the crowd, and now it’s just the two of us.
The maiden and her hunter.
The queen and her god.
And when I meet her eyes, I can feel the power of her gaze crashing over me like waves over a sandy shore. When first I laid eyes on her in the mercantile those many weeks ago, I felt a draw that I’ve had little strength to resist. Each time we cross paths in the village, each time she glances my way, my desire for her grows.
And looking at her now, I can almost convince myself that she wants me too.
Her eyes reflect the fire, and as she starts to move, one foot crossing the other, her stare goes unbroken. With the drums beating a slow rhythm that reaches right into my soul, I match Aurora step for step.
