Ritual Reality
8 A Little Wind
Thursday, 20 March 1969, Indianapolis City College
Half a world away, Wayne Hamel was watching the sunset from the school park in Indianapolis. It had rained most of the day as it usually did in March in Indiana, but the evening sky had cleared and he determined to go through with his experiment in spite of the wet ground.
He’d been to see Lissa last night… well, this morning would be more accurate. Somehow, he never showed up at Donut World before three a.m. She always had advice for him, even though he never actually remembered talking about the things that he remembered later.
He sat chatting with her—the friendly banter they’d had every night this week. He’d decided to stay on campus instead of going north to visit his family during the break. Last week, Carl had brought over the concept sketches for Antigone to show Jim and Wayne had impulsively volunteered to make the Greek masks. That kept him busy in the shop each day and let him watch daily for intruders. He’d been leaving the shop about two in the morning all week and heading to see Lissa. He kept telling himself he’d get up earlier, but always slept past noon. It seemed he stayed at Donut World for hours.
Lissa set a cup of coffee in front of him with a couple of doughnuts. Then casually reached across the counter and touched the pentacles at his throat. Wayne entered a different world. He could suddenly remember everything he’d been taught—every word he’d read.
“Why is it that I always have this feeling that I should be remembering something but can’t figure out what it is?” Wayne asked. “Like my pentacles. Until you touch it, I forget it’s there. Then all of a sudden, I remember everything.”
“You have it all down inside. Don’t worry. You practiced setting wards, right?” Lissa asked.
“Yeah. I’m sure I got the words right and everything, but I can’t feel anything. I could just walk right through them.”
“Don’t. You need to believe in them. If you believe you can’t walk through them, then no one else can either. Even if you don’t have confidence in them yet, you still respect them and practice them. The Zen masters say it takes a thousand repetitions to make something a part of you.”
“I’ve got a few dozen to go,” Wayne laughed. “What is next?”
“I think it’s time you tried it out,” Lissa said. “You need to perform a ritual. And Oester, the spring equinox is a perfect time to do it. I’ve written you a simple wind ritual.”
“Sure,” he said. “I just go out under the next full moon and dance naked around a fire and see if I blow up a storm. If it’s a tornado, I know it worked.”
“Mind if I watch?” she said with a wink.
“I never dance naked in front of strangers,” he smiled.
“Might have to sometime. The secret is to focus on the ritual. It isn’t about the nudity, it’s about being The Unbound,” Lissa said. “And you shouldn’t wait for a full moon. Tonight is the Vernal Equinox. It’s the perfect time to engage in some playful ritual. Do you have a place to do it?”
“I suppose I could go out in the school park. The gate is locked at sunset if they remembered to unlock it that day at all. I happen to have a key. I go out there sometimes when I really want to be alone in the city.”
“Okay,” Lissa instructed him. “You are going to have a day of intense clarity. Memorize this ritual, take your tools out into the park at sunset, and try it out. Don’t try for something too big, just make it your own.”
“Won’t you come with me?” Wayne asked.
“You are a solitary, not part of a circle. You need to work alone before you begin working with others. I’m just a teacher. Now it is time for you to practice what you’ve learned.”
“If you think so.”
“Go get some sleep,” she said, touching the necklace again. “Tomorrow it will be clear.”
He was getting the slightly muzzy-headed feeling of having been sleeping at the counter again. “Well, I better get some sleep,” he said turning to leave.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Lissa said. How did she know he’d be back tonight?
Now Wayne sat overlooking the small outdoor amphitheater that in years past had been used for theatrical performances. That was why he had a key to the gate on the theatre key ring. It had been an incredible day—well, afternoon. He still didn’t wake up until almost noon, but when he did, he knew exactly what he had to do. He cast a circle in his dorm room, donned his black robe, and retrieved his uncle’s Book of Shadows. The first time he read through the simple ritual in his hand, he remembered a similar ritual in the book. He found the reference and instead of memorizing from the slip of paper, he memorized from the book. He liked this one better. It appealed to his sense of theatre. He memorized the lines and blocked the scene in his room as if he were going on-stage.
He had added some of his own touches and wrote them in the little journal that he now considered his own Book of Shadows. It included stripping down to his skivvies and then pulling the black robe over his head. The ground was wet beneath his bare feet and squished with each step, but he didn’t find it unpleasant. Almost as an afterthought, he slipped out of his underwear as well and added it to the pile of clothing in his knapsack. Now he was truly ‘unbound’. He would feel like a fool if anyone saw him like this and was glad he had locked the gate of the park behind him when he came in.
Dressed in the black robe, he experienced the feeling that Bert had described as having his body disappear in the lengthening shadows of dusk, especially when he pulled the cowl up over his head. Finally, he pulled a small dish with incense in it from his bag and the burlap and silk wrapped shape of the knife his uncle had given him. He lit the incense and held the knife hesitantly in his hand. He was ready to begin. In his mind, he imagined a curtain going up and himself lit on stage. It was just like a private rehearsal. He had done it a hundred times. He shook off his stage fright and proceeded.
First, draw a circle to stand in, he thought. All these rituals were done in a circle, it seemed. As an afterthought, he remembered his uncle’s secret cavern with its white star on the floor. He drew a five-pointed star in the center of his circle. He set his wards in the way he’d practiced dozens of times in his room. Even though he couldn’t feel them, he’d never been interrupted. The curtain was rising. It was time to begin. He cleared his throat, but the first words of his chant almost choked him anyway. He coughed again, scowled at his own shakiness and started over.
Winds of the east, winds of the west, winds of the north and south:
I summon you to meet me here and dance around about.
Ring my circle. Ring my fire.
Dance a dance as I desire.
An unnatural stillness settled over the clearing. Wayne breathed deeply of the heavy air and then decided to keep going.
Hern, the god of woodland fair;
Ariel, goddess of the air.
Move the currents, make them dance.
Fill the air with sprite romance.
The invocation was almost sung. It was a damned good thing Wayne was trained in theatre. He could never have voiced these words if he weren’t used to rehearsing and performing.
At the edge of Wayne’s vision, there was movement in the shadows. A shape seemed to emerge to his right that seemed human but had unmistakable horns on its head. Or maybe it was a bush and a tree-limb. Wayne looked the other way and a diaphanous mist crowned by the crescent moon low in the sky shifted and gave Wayne the feeling of a person taking shape. He almost ran, but then centered himself. After all, he called them. They should appear if any of this worked. He just wasn’t expecting it to be so literal.
He began circling his little pot of incense and chanting the words over again. Now he could feel palpable movement in the air. He found a rhythm to the words he had memorized and practiced during the day. They moved his feet as he chanted them now and he began to spin as he circled the incense. His right hand, still holding the knife, raised in the air of its own volition as he spun, pointing his left hand down toward the damp grass beneath him. He was as much caught up in the chant and dancing as he was directing it.
The shapes he had summoned were caught up in the dance as well, and though they stayed outside the circle he had drawn, he could see them clearly—two robed figures, red and green. The one dressed in green wore a headdress decked with the horns of a stag. The other, obviously female beneath her crimson robe was crowned with a crescent moon on her head. The two were not, however, focused on Wayne. He could feel a tension building between the two and lances of light seemed to shoot from one to the other, deflected and piercing the night sky. Even when Wayne collapsed on the ground exhausted from his dancing, the two continued to circle him, locked in their own combat.
His head kept spinning as well. The point of the knife that he held in his right hand continued to circle in front of his eyes, and to Wayne’s affected sight, it looked like it was glowing. In fact, if it weren’t for the witness of his hand holding it, he would swear it was glowing hot. His hand jerked involuntarily as the sense of touch caught up with the sense of sight and he realized he was holding a red-hot brand. It flew from his hand straight up in the air, turned twice at the peak of its flight and came hurtling straight down. Wayne stepped aside just in time. The missile stabbed point first into the ground at his feet.
Thursday, 20 March 1969, The Lake District, England
Four thousand miles away and six hours ahead, Rebecca picked herself up again. Her companion rose slowly. A shake of her head showed Rebecca blonde hair, but she quickly adjusted the hooded mask she wore. It was not the High Priestess. This naked woman was young—possibly younger than Rebecca. But she was giving great power to the ritual. Rebecca had stripped her own robe off after the sudden downpour had drenched her. When she finished the chant summoning Cottus to fill his cup and summon his brothers to the feast, the clouds burst without warning. Both women were knocked to the ground with the suddenness of the drenching rain. The cup had filled and the rain was gone.
The women had extended their wands toward the fire—Rebecca’s red walking stick, and the other’s short black wand. They moved together around the fire as Rebecca chanted the names of fire-gods and angels, summoning Iäpetus to bring fire and invite his brothers to the feast. The flames began to climb higher and the two moved back from them, keeping their focus until Rebecca shouted, “Iäpetus, come to me!” Lightning struck so suddenly and so near that the women were thrown twenty feet back from the fire that flared high into the night sky connecting heaven and earth. Witch’s fire.
Enceladus shook the earth, throwing the women to the ground a third time when Rebecca summoned the powers of the north, the earth, the Fourth Face of Carles, the pentacles.
Both women were panting as they stood for the final summoning. This needed more. This needed all they could give. Rebecca moved to her right around the fire wordlessly chanting. There was only one way to get this degree of power. The other sensed her intent and backed away. After a moment, her red robe dropped to the ground revealing the small blonde woman, The Swordmaster who had challenged The Hart at Litha last year. This was the woman who had stood before the coven and required that The Hart show her power before she inherited the mantle of high priestess. And now she was here.
No. It had not been she who had shaped the challenge into summoning the Four Faces together. That had been the conniving high priest, known as The Barber. But it was this woman’s fault. Now she was here in the circle lending The Hart her power. Could she be trusted?
Fully The Huntress, Rebecca closed the distance between them as they completed a full circuit around the fire, eyes locked on each other. The Huntress held out her left hand and pricked it with her Athamé, daring The Swordmaster to join it with her own. The Swordmaster grimaced as she pricked her own palm and reached to grasp The Hungress’s. Steel flashed in the firelight. The Huntress’s knife was met in the air by that of The Swordmaster.
“I am Sadb, the transformation,” Rebecca whispered. “Your blood runs in my veins. My blood in yours.”
“I am Badb, the cry of battle,” her partner whispered. “We are bound to each other. We are one in the fight.”
It was a dangerous game—a play for dominance—and Rebecca refused to submit. They moved faster and faster contretemps around the fire, pushing each other away and drawing each other back, their knives sparking against each other as their left hands gripped each other painfully, the blood mixing in their palms. Thrust, parry, counter. Their dance flowed as a mystery, steps advanced and reflected as they moved. An observer, had there been one, would not be able to tell if they were dancing, fighting, or making love. In fact, it was all three. Rebecca’s left hand found her partner’s sex and dipped within her. She could feel the response in her own womb as The Swordmaster plundered her with her fingers.
“Creüs!” Rebecca screamed. The other echoed her call an instant behind. “Windmaster. Spirit. Air. Archangel Michael. Dhritarashtra. Gandharvas. Awaken Titan! Awaken and let your presence be known. Your power. Your majesty. Master of the spring, of love, of fertility. Come to me, Creüs, the First Face of Carles!” The women were intent on each other, drawing closer and closer as they danced—their hands and knives touching, their breasts pressed together, their mounds with hands trapped between dripping with sexual passion, and finally their lips. Their knife hands stretched skyward together as they fell to the ground.
Soon after her initiation Rebecca had let the passion of ritual sex control her and light the sky on fire. Now she let the passion rule the wind. And both women climaxed.
Thursday, 20 March 1969, Indianapolis City University
The wet grass hissed when the blade struck it a foot in front of Wayne. Steam rose in swirls around the knife widening out from its point in the ground. The swirls connected themselves together around the vortex of the circle in the school park and continued spinning their way upward as Wayne watched in awed wonder at the spectacle. The two figures stopped their combative dance to watch the swirling currents in their midst. They fell back, then turned and ran.
Wayne was laughing. He couldn’t help himself. It was working. A wind was rising in circles around him. It worked!
He raised his head to follow the path of the little wind upward and gasped at what he saw. As lightning played across the sky, he saw billowing clouds of two weather fronts colliding above him. He saw a distant reflection on a much grander scale of what was happening on the ground. As the fronts boiled together, the swirl of clouds took on shape and sound. A roar of wind shook the park as an unmistakable funnel dropped out of the sky.
Wayne stood in shock as he watched the tornado rip out of the sky turning everything black around him. A tree cracked not a hundred yards away, drawing Wayne’s attention. Bearing down on him out of the insane blackness was another black form, striking him, bearing him backward and down as the wind howled overhead and Wayne lost consciousness.
When he awoke, he was soaking wet. There was still a wind, but it was not nearly so dark. Sirens in the distance still wailed the tornado warning, but they were mixed with another sound, a chant picking up the wailing notes and turning them into words. He opened his eyes and saw the dark figure standing above him. Its hands were raised to the sky and as the chant continued, the wind died down, or moved on. The stillness that Wayne had felt a bit ago was returning, broken only by large drops of rain falling in his face. At last the figure turned and faced Wayne.
“Where is your mistress?” the figure asked. Wayne stared.
“My what?”
“Your girlfriend. The one you told me about on the mountain.”
“Uncle…?”
“Names!”
“Bound One?”
“Where is your mistress?”
“In England.” What was Uncle Bert doing out here? This was too bizarre.
“Workings of the circle, I suppose,” the old man said and pushed back the cowl of his robe. “What in the name of all the powers were you trying to do here? This is hardly an equinox ritual.”
“I just wanted to see if it worked. The things in your book, I mean,” Wayne answered.
“And?”
“It works.”
“More violently in your hands than I’ve ever seen it work before, in fact,” his uncle affirmed. “Couldn’t you have started with something simple?”
“I thought this was. Just a little wind.”
“Read in the newspapers tomorrow how little the wind was.”
“It had to have been a coincidence. I couldn’t have done that.”
“In other words, you’re still not convinced and will come out here and risk your life and many others lives as well by trying it out again. And if there is another coincidence?”
“I guess it works.”
“It may not be my place, boy, but let me give you some advice.” His uncle reached beneath the robe and pulled out a wallet. From this he extracted three dollars. “Here. Go see a movie.”
“What movie?” Wayne asked.
“Fantasia,” his uncle answered emphatically.
“I’ve seen that.” Wayne answered.
“This time pay attention,” his uncle said. He turned and walked away.
“But, wait. Why are you here? Where are you going?” Wayne was following his uncle into the wooded park, but he had lost sight of him completely. “I don’t understand,” he said weakly and then returned to his circle, collected his clothes and knife, and left. The incense burner he couldn’t find. It must have been blown away.
Slowly he made his way back to the dormitory shaking his head. He couldn’t understand why his uncle would suddenly appear and then disappear as quickly. And who else had joined him tonight then run away?
A dark figure stood quietly amidst the wreckage of the scene shop at ICU. It was to have been a simple and quiet feeding, but sudden chaos had broken out and he barely escaped without injury. This was the strongest crossing of ley lines in the area, but the power outside had drawn his passenger. It was more power than even he could bear.
He had learned how to slip past the campus security guards after his first narrow escape. He could now walk in darkness until he was securely inside the shop. This spot lay directly below the rooftop sanctuary that The Huntress had created for herself. He had fed from her rituals at both Yule and Imbolc drawing the power out of them and into himself. He’d been sure he could draw the Oester power directly from the bedrock that lay four floors below her circle.
The experience had been less than satisfactory. Someone interfered and nearly killed him. He had carefully sketched out his circle on the concrete floor, set his wards, and begun the feeding ritual. It would solidify his power if it were he, and not The Huntress, who brought the tools back to Carles. He knew he would need to re-forge the knife, but he could use her for that as well.
His feeding ritual had been going well until the wind began.
He ignored it at first, but it gradually dawned on him that there should be no wind in the basement where he had set up his ritual. His mind was drawn by a different summoning and soon he found himself outside the circle of a solitary witch summoning wind. He raised his hand to quell the intrusive spell, but was suddenly confronted by another being defending the boy-witch. And she was powerful. They were locked in a contest of wills until the wind rose so strong that it blew them away from each other.
Back in the scene shop, tools, wood scraps, and props blew around him in a vortex, taxing all his strength to avoid injury. Then it all went silent. Spinning scenery dropped suddenly to the floor, leaving wreckage all over the scene shop.
Well, too bad for the ones who would have to clean it up. He couldn’t spare thought for the mess. He dismissed his circle and rubbed out the chalk markings on the floor where he could reach them. Who were the other powers he encountered? Could it be The Huntress who came to the defense of a new protégé? The Swordmaster? This complicated matters. The High Priest of Coven Carles would not tolerate complications to his plans. He had paid too dear a price already for the power that rode within him.
Friday, 21 March 1969
“Jim, you are not going to believe this. And I guarantee you won’t like it.”
“Get to the point, Wayne.”
“We were hit again. And it was no innocent poke a head into the shop. We were ransacked.”
It was two o’clock Friday afternoon. After his adventure last night, he’d gone back to his room. He was so tired that he passed out on his bed, still wearing his black robe. He hadn’t woken up until noon.
By then, the entire adventure had become dreamlike. He couldn’t believe he’d tried to go to the park in the middle of a tornado. He’d passed out somewhere along the way. When he came to, he was drenched to the skin. He dragged himself back to the dorm and went to his room. When he woke up, he looked at himself in the mirror to see if he had a visible knot on his head. He must have been hit by something, but there was no mark or sore spot. Then when he’d showered and left the dorm to get food, he found his bike tipped over. There was a gouge in the paint and gas all over the pavement. A tree limb lay across the two cars on either side of the bike. He guessed he was lucky, but it took a while to get the bike cleaned up, drained, and refueled. Then he’d driven to the Dutch Oven for breakfast. He couldn’t help himself. He was hungry and there was a waitress at the restaurant whose peasant blouse was fuller than her breasts. When she bent over to serve him, which she always did slowly and deliberately, he had a view of uncharted hills and valleys. She had an innie. He’d had a couple extra cups of coffee and finally made it back to the shop at two.
What a mess. Where there were downed tree limbs and power lines outside, inside the shop looked just as bad. He’d taken one look and went for a pay phone to call his professor.
Jim wasn’t happy.
President Crowell wasn’t happy.
Wayne wasn’t happy.
After the police and an insurance adjuster left, Jim sat Wayne down.
“I thought you worked at night. You didn’t see anything?”
“I’ve been working on these fucking masks all week. I decided I needed a night off. I went out to dinner and then got caught in the storm. Now they’re all ruined.” That was pretty near to what happened. He thought there was something else he should remember about the storm, but sitting there with Jim, that was really all he could recall. He was still holding one of the damaged masks in his hands. Maybe he could fix it.
“Let’s go have dinner. My treat. It’s almost seven and I’m famished.”
“Sure.”
Jim drove Wayne over to the Ponderosa Steak House and encouraged him to order a big New York Strip. Wayne piled his plate high at the salad bar. He hadn’t seen a fresh vegetable all week. It was nice of Jim to take him to dinner, even though so much of his work had been destroyed by the vandal.
“Dean Krannert wants you to have a psychological evaluation,” Jim said. Wayne looked at him trying to figure out what he was talking about. “Fuck, Wayne. You’re the most talented props master I’ve ever seen. If the stress is too much, you’ve got to tell me.”
“What? Are you saying I’m a suspect?” Wayne couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Not until today. Frankly, I don’t see any sign that you could be, but Krannert has been trying to close down the theatre program ever since I got here. He says you are the only one with access twenty-four hours a day. He wants to pin the whole thing on the instability of theatre students.”
“Shit,” Wayne laughed. “That is really rich. You know those people on campus who have drugs get them from the Psychology Department? It’s kind of scary to think the mental health of our country is dependent on Psych majors.” Jim joined the laughter.
“I’m glad you’ve still got a sense of humor.”
“Don’t let it hide the fact that I’m pissed,” Wayne said. “But I’ll take whatever tests Kranny wants me to. I just wish they’d put some security on that actually guards the building. That dude out in the box keeps his binoculars trained on the women’s dorm most of the time.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“All you have to do is look. Anybody could get into the building if they have a key.”
“Which reminds me…”
“All my keys are for the interior of the building. I have to go get the guard to let me in if it’s locked.”
“I had to ask.”
“Yeah. Do you mind if I wait till tomorrow to start cleaning up down there? I don’t think I could handle it right now.”
“Wait till Monday when you can draft some help. But let me see that mask you’re still carrying.” Wayne handed the mask over to Jim. “Don’t throw any of these away or try to mend them. Which is this?”
“Tiresias.”
“I want to show this to Carl. It’s given me an idea. If you don’t start clean-up until Monday, what are you going to do?”
“I think I’ll take a run home tomorrow. I’d thought of doing that anyway. You know, it isn’t good to keep the parents wondering what you’re doing on spring break.”
“Lissa, what happened to this place? Why is the front window boarded up?”
“Well, sugah, that was the best we could do on the day after the storm.” She looked at him strangely. “Are you okay? I’ve never seen anything quite like that.”
“Yeah. I’m fine. I don’t know why, but I feel like I should be apologizing to you.”
“Come heah and have a cup o’ coffee. I don’t expect anyone else in tonight. In fact, Gus doesn’t even know I opened up.” Wayne looked at the shelves of doughnuts. There was only one kind—his favorite chocolate frosted old fashioneds. There was only a dozen of them.
Lissa walked around the counter and locked the door, closing the blinds on the door.
“What’s going on?”
“I only opened so I could talk to you.” She walked straight up to Wayne and hugged him. “I’m so glad you are all right.”
“But…” She touched his pentacles. “Oh.” There was a moment of disorientation as memories flooded back in on him. Then he hugged Lissa back. “That was me?”
“Yes,” she said. “Now let’s see if we can figure out what happened in the woods. I was only there in spirit.”
“Well, the spirits that were there sure seemed to be real. Who was the other guy?”
“I’d like to know. He was only there in spirit as well—as if you’d summoned him.”
“And then my…”
“Who else showed up?”
“I can’t say, but it wasn’t me that stopped the storm, or released the spell. Then he just disappeared, too, and I was alone picking things up in the park and walking back to the dorm. Why could I see and interact with all these ‘spirits’ when I was real?”
“Well, we were ‘real’, too. But we were all interacting on the spirit plane. It seems that you were in both. That is… strange.”
“You’re telling me. Then to find out today that the shop was totally wrecked last night by the damned intruder…”
“Wrecked how?”
“Looked like a torna-… Shit!”
“Oh dear.”
“Do you think I did that?”
“Mmm. Probably your power, but it wasn’t you in the shop. That settles one thing, though. Your intruder is a powerful practitioner.”
“Dean Krannert wants me to take some kind of psychological test to see if I’m cracked up and some kind of psycho.”
“I think we need to give you some protection so that you don’t reveal anything that might make them suspicious.”
“You can do that?”
“It’s not easy, but if you want to try, I’ll work with you.”
“I think I need all the help I can get.”
Comments
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