Not everyone is capable of working the
dark forces. Mostly, that’s because they’re likely to get
pulled in so far that they never find a way out but rather, find themselves
wandering lost inside the labyrinth of the mind or become entangled
in a queer web to find they have become a channel for evil.
Cian and Viviane both understood evil,
though they hadn't told each other they did. Both could handle the dark
forces because they were not fooled by them. Suzie and Joe, on the other
hand, could be duped. Suzie would wander lost. Joe would become entangled.
The Faery knew that Macha's team was balanced. Perfect dualities. Every
aspect was covered. This is what made her team so volatile, just like
precious Spikenard.
Each step the mortals took was one
more in the test; for Macha did need to continually test each of them;
one weak link and the work would be ruined. Today was one step closer
to evil.
Viviane sat up and brushed grass from her skirt.
"Go ahead and begin the procession,"
she told Cian, not looking to see how he took the order. She heard him
retreat then stood. So much for her few snatched seconds of enlightenment,
she thought and climbed out of the mound.
"Next year, same time, same channel," she
offered, looking down at the impression in the grass her body had left.
"You be good now," she told it, wagging a finger at it as if it were
a naughty child. She closed her eyes and rolled her head around to loosen
her neck muscles, pretending that this act would help snap her back
to the job awaiting her, struggling to remember what she had planned
for today's visit inside the cairn.
As the pilgrimage guide, Viviane usually
had a tentative outline up her sleeve off which to work. Slowly, the
day's outline rolled into her mind and she was able to recall the mock
lesson for the calendar stone. Her plan was to take them through an
enactment of what might have happened thousands of years before as a
student in the Bardic College. She would escort her pupils into the
cairn and have them sit, and she would become the Chief Bard, the Ollamh,
and teach them the subject of cosmology.
With the memory recall in place, Viviane made
her way around the cairn. The procession had begun and was moving around
the north side of the cairn. This bothered her for some reason; it was
like a pestering itch in the middle of her back that she couldn't quite
reach. Reluctant to shift her perspective from scratching to the task
at hand, she fumbled inside her daypack to find the key she needed.
Finding it, she looked up to see Suzie, at the back of the procession,
disappear around the curve. From the other-side came the constant bum-da-bum
beat of the Bodhrán, the swooshing of a rattle, and the jingling
of tiny bells.
Normally, Vivian would have led the procession
while Cian unlocked the cairn and entered the space first to secure
the energy. As she slide the long skeleton key into the heavy cast iron
lock on the gate it occurred to her that she had unconsciously switched
roles with Cian, that he was leading the group in process. The dull
itch returned. This scene was highly unusual. She perused it one more
time as if she were looking at a menu deciding which dessert to order:
Cian was suppose to secure each site, go in first, make sure it was
oVivian to work, while she was suppose to lead the group in procession
in a sunwise direction. Sweet Jesus, that was it, Cian was turning
the wheel opposite of the natural flow.
In that one breathe everything fell into
place. Today it would be, had to be, different. Vivian had no control over
the circumstances, wasn't suppose to have any, and she was suppose
to allow each difference to take place,
and then accept the consequences each difference cost. In that one breath
she pulled open the gate and moved down the dim passage tunnel into
the dark inner chamber. The differences might cost them a lot. They
felt different, too. Entering first, and by herself, gave her a thrill.
God, she usually felt so protected, ushered in like a princess. Let’s
protect Vivian, let’s get her in safely and get her out safely was
how she always felt in her routine with Cian. Now she stood alone and
free and humbled.
Are you ready my dear? The earth
seemed to breath. Yes, she was more than ready.
Brown and tan sandstone stood around
her, enveloping her in its musty, wet grave scent. In the center of
the inner chamber she dropped the ritual bag gently to the ground immediately
moving to the white lime pillar stone. Her hand automatically caressed
its warm smooth surface as she gazed upon the calendar stone so lovely,
so magnificent, resting there before her just as it had from the beginning
of its creation.
"What does such a stone of mystery attempt
to communicate to us?" she asked as she always did.
To be back again was an undeniable feeling
that tickled her stomach. The smell of damp earth and ancestors, the
smell of hay and wool, the smell of peace and the whispering stones
filled her nostrils: it was good to be back. Stooping, she rummaged
through the bag, pulling free a box of tea-light candles. Out of the
corner of her eye she saw something move and bolted upright. Vivian froze.
The air filled with kinetic energy, snapping and shivering slices of
white and blue trailers jumping through the air. All sense of time and
space diminished for her as she slowly, mechanically turned her head
to peer into the portal alcove at the back.
At the time when the world of enchantment
moved farther into the mists, as the world of reason edged in closer
to reality, the Faery began to retreat. They first withdrew into the
cairns and caves of Ireland, moving deeper into the spiraling vortexes
of energy at these sacred sites. Bending the spoke, they slipped through,
moving into another spiral of existence; all but a few Faery who chose
to stay behind and guard the secret wisdom encoded in the stone and
earth of the sacred sites, these became known as the Watchers.
From time to time a mortal would draw
the Watchers out of the betwixt and between state, where they lay in
waiting. The Watcher would be pulled back by a suction of energy as
the mortal accidentally and, upon occasion, intentionally touched the
right stones, said the right words, and bent time, and on occasion,
the mere presence of a certain mortal would lure a Watcher to earth-side.
Curiosity could cause a Watcher to materialize.
A man stepped out from the left of
the chamber and stood framed by two standing stones. He was dressed
in non-distinct dark brown clothing, and had a face just as indescribable.
With each observation it seemed as if that part of his body took form,
became more solid. Like his head that formed just long enough for Vivian
to gasp as she saw his brown hair, stiff hair that stood on end, that
seemed to shoot around his head as if it was an areola of light.
Vivian's own hand shot up to feel her hair,
hair that had stood stiff and on end just that morning. But as if her
movement had caused a chain reaction just as suddenly as the man had
stepped into view he stepped back, disappearing from sight as if the
stone had opened and swallowed him.
Vivian shook her head, unsure she’d
seen what she thought she had. She moved like a robot, mechanically
placing three tea-lights on the altar stone before the calendar. She
spaced them just right before lighting them -- this suddenly so very
important, to space them just right. Why? She'd never know, or even
remember to worry why; she just did it with the utmost care to place
them evenly spaced in the concave basin as if her very life, her very
sanity depended upon them being spaced perfectly. She held her breath
as she lit each candle, waiting for the wick to take the flame; the
light so important, so necessary.
Just as mechanically, she pulled another
candle from the bag and placed it inside the portal alcove.
"For you," she whispered, her
voice gravelly, not daring to look into the space but keeping her eyes
locked on the earth floor, as she gently sat the candle down and lit
it. She moved away backwards, hesitant to take her eyes off that candle
flame. Then standing in the center of the inner chamber, she stiffly
turned, and like a zombie in its death walk, she left the cairn.
Outside the group waited. No one spoke
but watched as her white face emerged with eyes glazed and far-away
looking. With stiff legs, she limped down each step, and stopping, leaned
against the walk-way stone wall, as if she were a cowboy, sauntering
up to the bar to order two bits worth of cheap whisky.
A ridiculous grin broke her face, as
she continued to stare at the distant grove of trees on the next hill,
and the gathering of sheep marked with red or blue slashes across one
side or a back or on the rump. The bleating of sheep made total sense
to everything right then, to the way she felt, and the hilarity of the
scene, or how the others must perceive her. But for all the common sense
she possessed, Vivian could not shake the mannequin posture or the glaze
from her eyes, or bring herself to speak. For all the self-control she
exercised over and over again in every part of her life, she could not
lift an arm, or blink an eye or even turn her head. It took every ounce
of focus to final jerk her head toward the cairn after Cian bent down
and gently asked what was wrong. It took every ounce of her strength
for that one movement. Yet she knew it wouldn't make anything clear
to him or communicate all the intricacies of the experience she'd just
had. How could such an insignificant movement explain how she believed
she'd just been zapped by some supernatural power, which had penetrated
her very core, rearranged her Chakras, and all her internal organs?
She wanted to say, "If the color of my skin, hair or eyes have changed
colors, I'm not surprised." But she couldn't speak. All she could do
was stare mutely at Cian.
