A Choice of Witches

Kalaya held her head high and shoulders square. It would be over soon. The hour was fast approaching for the casting to begin. She watched as preparations were made for the ceremony.

Several apprentices were in the four corners of the great room, each one concentrating on their binding spells. The coven was taking no chance Kalaya would break free again.

The last time Kalaya had been captured, the new High Priestess had made the mistake of not offering a blood sacrifice to the Celestial Mother and her spells, though backed by the coven, were weak and insignificant.

She now felt the spiritual bindings as if they were cold steel fingers digging into her flesh and Kalaya fought the urge to shudder. She stood naked on the raised dirt mound, but her nakedness did not shame her as intended. Her body was long used to toiling in the earthy herb gardens in honor of the Goddess.

Her bare feet burned as her toes came into contact with the salt, in the design of a pentagram, on the ground. An involuntary hiss escaped from her lips and several pairs of eyes turned her way, though none made direct eye contact. During her time as High Priestess, Kalaya had honored the Mother with a simple circle of seven crystals, but Losyle had forgone the Mother with her distateful use of the pentagram.

Kalaya sensed the full moon's rise and her spirits briefly lifted. She allowed her concentration to soften for a moment as she communed with the Celestial Mother. Her thoughts centered, preparing for the ordeal to come.

Her entire life had been devoted to the lunar cycle. With each equinox had come her own rebirth through the years. She had always served faithfully, as had her mother, and her mother's mother before her. Kalaya found her strength returning as the moon shown full and bright against the summer sky. As she retreated back into her body, a whisper thin thread of consciousness reached out to her.

Kalaya, wits sharpened, prepared to defend herself against this new unknown onslaught in her head. The whisper became a low tone, internally urging her to resist no more and Kalaya lowered her defenses.

"On silver beams your answers will come, patience you must exude, and upon the Hour deemed most dark, your position and faith renewed."

Kalaya's whispered fervent "So mote it be!" brought no glares her way and she knew none had heard.

The sound of muffled footsteps moving in unison brought her attention back to the harsh present. The coven, formerly hers, approached slowly, two by two and covered in black cowls, carrying lit tapers in their left hands and when the High Priestess stood before Kalaya, one loud gong sounded throughout the room.

Gone were the beautiful white robes and their declarations of the supplicants' purity . Gone were the delicate green cowls with their ancient scrollwork in red stitching for the matrons to wear. Gone were the dark red robes of the warlocks. The dark blackness seemed to permeate the alter room in one swift breeze.

"Losyle, you look tired. Mantle too heavy to bear?" Kalaya's taunt was flung out in anger and the apprentices renewed their binding spells with vigor and fear. "It will do that to you, you know. The power of the Mother bears great responsibility and you were not sanctioned nor prepared properly to don that honor. No new supplicants did you bring in offering. No willow-bark nor herbal sacrifices made. Celestial Mother is not a forgiving hostess when she is not well pleased."

High Priestess Losyle looked upon Kalaya dispassionately. With long dark hair, pale skin and bright green eyes Kalaya was the opposite of Losyle's curly blond locks, blue eyes and sun-darkened flesh. At one time, Losyle greatly admired Kalaya, but that was before she sought to wear the robes Kalaya once possessed.

With a flourish of her arms and hips, Losyle trounced around the raised dirt mound nearly putting out the flame on her taper. She flung herself to the ground, wrything as if with a male consort then laughed as the hot wax burned little spots of her skin. She glared at Kalaya's dirty feet, then raised herself up from the ground and continued on.

At the completion of one full turn, Losyle allowed three more drops of wax from her taper to fall onto the salt pentagram, then moved in a counter clockwise direction around Kalaya. She began chanting as her followers did the same, then when the thirteenth witch approached the pentagram, a small rabbit was produced and made to bleed upon the wax drippings. Once again the gong echoed through the cavernous room.

"You blaspheme the ritual!" cried Kalaya. "None but your own blood should be offered to the Mother!" Kalaya addressed the coven, "You would follow a Dark Witch? You would allow her to dirty what was once blessed by the Celestial Mother most holy? You shame yourselves!" Kalaya spat.

"This is my sacrifice! This is my coven! You would be well to be silent, Kalaya!" screamed Losyle. With a flick of her wrist, Losyle regained her composure.

The animal was handed to Losyle and she placed the dead beast into the copper kettle which stood directly in front of the subdued Kalaya, then lit the fagot of willow bark and oak twigs beneath it. In a proper ceremony there would have been Rowan leaves as well, but Losyle had never paid attention to the old ways.

The one and only full warlock, Kilgarren, moved forward and placed several pouches into the fire. One full of sage, one of purple heather, and one of deadly nightshade. He spoke low over the flame, then placed one pouch containing baby's breath into the copper kettle on top of the still form of the rabbit. As the gong sounded its third peal, the chanting resumed.

Kalaya knew this ritual well. She had performed it herself many times to cast out demons, devils and many others who worshiped the dark arts. But she had observed the proprieties. Always she had cast off her cowl upon the offering of her own blood in sacrifice, seven small drops from her own fingers, then offering her body as well to the Mother Goddess above.

In many ceremonies she had been required to mate with Kilgarren upon the completion of the burning satchels and at the time of achieving the Celestial Crest of the act, a fresh sacrificial offering would have been made by both the High Priestess and the warlock, binding their palms together with a braid of moss, goat hair and meadow grasses.

Not once had she thought this ritual would be used on herself. She did not worship the dark gods, she did not cause harm to come to those in her care, she did not even consume the flesh of living creatures. This was not a proper ritual for what Losyle aspired to achieve. She was not even willing to bed Kilgarren to please the Mother, nor did she offer the removal of her dark, black cowl.

Kalaya held her tongue, after all, what better way to prove her innocence to the coven than to let the ritual come to its conclusion with her still standing before them all? As Kilgarren moved away from the kettle, he glanced and made eye contact with Kalaya briefly, winked, then lowered his gaze.

Brazen! He would place his life in jeopardy to look upon her in such a fashion? Losyle, confident in her place, had not noticed though Kilgarren's discretion caused Kalaya to blink and pay closer attention to others in the coven.

Tava and Reisa stood just behind Losyle, their gazes also locked with hers momentarily before being lowered again. Brunhilde, Gerran, Corrah, Ashte, all met her gaze openly. Seven of the ranked coven stood to her side!

Kalaya looked to the apprentices, half had their heads ceremoniously bowed, while the others gave distinctive nods of affirmation at her silent query. Losyle approached again, dipped her hand into the kettle, then began smearing the herbs and blood over Kalaya's form. The gong sounded again and the chanting ceased.

"Kalaya, daughter of Innis, daughter of Miriam, daughter of Thora, daughter of Arin, daughter of Morgause, daughter of Morgana. You are a seventh daughter of the Celestial Mother. You stand accused of devilry, betrayal of your coven and a traitor to the arts. How say you?"

Kalaya remained silent. The child-woman before her had machinated all counts against her and they bore no response. Losyle resumed her chanting, pausing to wash the blood from her hands in the ceremonial cleansing dish. Idiot girl, did she not know that she had just violated her own ritual?

When the twelfth gong rang out, all heads looked to Losyle. Her chanting came to a halt, then she called for the Cloisonne Dagger which had killed the rabbit.

Kilgarren placed the dagger in her hand, then stepped back as Losyle approached Kalaya. The High Priestess raised her hand for silence, and Kalaya's mind swam with relief at the cessation of the binding spells.

"Kalaya, the Hour has come, have you anything to say on your behalf?" Losyle stood poised to strike with the dagger at any movement but Kalaya stood fast.

"I say only this. At the last tone of the last gong, when I stand before you still, that will be proof enough of my innocence. Those who believe me innocent will also be spared!"

"Insolence!" Losyle ran the dagger across Kalaya's thumb with glee then caught the blood in a small glass bowl. Losyle retreated back to the kettle, placed the glass bowl into it, then resumed her chanting.

"It is time now, Priestess, to return to your position." The thready voice in her head caused Kalaya no concern, but triumph. She looked upward, found the full moon above, then shouted out, "So mote it be!"

The gong chimed its last and a ghostly silver fog descended into the large room. The followers of Losyle, sloppy in their devotion and blind to the proper rituals, fell to the floors in muted horror. As many took their last breaths, Losyle, gasping, asked, "Why?"

The voice in her head, loud and booming, simply said, "You were not chosen by me."

The full moon, her last vision before death claimed her, slipped past her line of sight.

ID: 828472   (Rated: 13+) Kilgarren's Tale  A Warlock of some power; the only full Warlock of his coven, searching for answers. by catty WDC since 2003 Whew!