Brida

The Magus went out to see if the previous day's rain had damaged the bromeliads in his garden. They were fine, and he smiled to himself; it seemed that the forces of nature did sometimes collaborate.

He thought about Wicca. She wouldn't be able to see the points of light, because they were visible only to the respective Soul Mates, but she was sure to notice the energy from the rays of light moving between him and her student. Witches were, above all else, women.

The Tradition of the Moon described this as the "Vision of Love," and although it was something that could happen between people who were not each other's Soul Mate, but merely in love, he imagined that it would, nevertheless, fill her with anger, female anger, the kind felt by Snow White's stepmother, who could not allow another woman to be more beautiful than she.

Wicca, however, was a Teacher and would immediately realize how absurd such feelings of anger were, but, by then, her aura would already have changed color.

He would go over to her then, kiss her on the cheek, and say that he could see she was jealous. She would deny this, and he would ask why she was angry.

She would say that she was a woman and didn't need to explain her feelings. He would give her another kiss on the cheek, because what she said was true. And he would tell her how much he'd missed her during the time they'd been apart, and that he still admired her more than any other woman in the world, with the exception of Brida, because Brida was his Soul Mate.

Wicca, being a wise woman, would feel happy then.

"I must be getting old," he thought. "I'm starting to imagine conversations." Then it occurred to him that it wasn't just a matter of age; that was how men in love had always behaved.

Wicca was pleased because the rain had stopped and the clouds would clear before nightfall. Nature needed to be in accord with the works of human beings.

She had taken all the necessary steps; everyone had played their part; everything was in place.

She went over to the altar and invoked her Teacher. She asked him to be present that night. Three new witches were to be initiated into the Great Mysteries, and she had sole responsibility for their initiation.

Then she went into the kitchen to make some coffee. She squeezed some orange juice and ate some toast and a few crisp-breads. She still took care of her appearance, because she knew how pretty she was. She didn't need to neglect her beauty in order to prove that she was also intelligent and capable.

While she distractedly stirred her coffee, she remembered a day just like this many years before, when her Teacher had sealed her destiny with the Great Mysteries. For a moment, she tried to imagine the person she had been then, what her dreams had been, what she'd wanted from life.

"I must be getting old," she said out loud, "sitting here, thinking about the past." She drank her coffee and began her preparations. There were still things to do. She knew, though, that she wasn't getting old. In her world, Time did not exist.

Brida was surprised by the number of cars parked by the roadside. That morning's heavy clouds had been replaced by a clear sky from which the last rays of the setting sun were now fading. Despite the distinct chill in the air, it was still the first day of spring.

She invoked the protection of the spirits of the forest, and then looked at Lorens. He rather awkwardly repeated the same words, and yet he seemed qu

ite happy to be there. If they were to remain together, they would each, from time to time, have to enter the other's reality. Between them, too, there existed a bridge between the visible and the invisible. Magic was present in their every act.

They walked quickly through the wood and soon reached the clearing. Brida was prepared now for what she saw: men and women of all ages, and doubtless from a wide range of professions, were gathered in groups, talking and trying to make the whole event seem like the most natural thing in the world. In reality, though, they were feeling as perplexed as she and Lorens.

"Are all these people part of the ceremony?" Lorens asked, for he hadn't been expecting such a crowd.

Brida explained that some, like him, were guests. She didn't know exactly who would be taking part, but all would be revealed at the chosen moment.

They selected a corner to put their things down, including the bag Lorens was carrying. Inside were Brida's dress and three bottles of wine. Wicca had recommended that each person, both participants and guests, should bring a large bottle of wine. Before they left the house, Lorens had asked who the other guest was. Brida told him that it was the Magus whom she went to visit in the mountains, and Lorens gave the matter no further thought.

"Imagine," he heard a woman next to him comment, "imagine what my friends would say if they knew I was at a real witches' Sabbath."

A witches' Sabbath. The celebration that had survived the spilled blood, the fires, the Age of Reason and oblivion. Lorens tried to reassure himself; after all, there were many other people like him there. However, a shudder ran through him when he saw a pile of logs in the middle of the clearing.

Wicca was talking to some other people, but as soon as she saw Brida, she came over to say hello and to ask if she was all right. Brida thanked her for her kindness and introduced Lorens.

"And I've invited someone else as well," she said.

Wicca looked at her, surprised, then smiled broadly. Brida was sure she knew who she meant.

"I'm glad," Wicca said. "After all, it's his celebration, too. And it's ages since I saw that old wizard. Maybe he's learned a thing or two."

More people arrived, and Brida couldn't tell who were the guests and who were the participants. Half an hour later, when almost a hundred people were gathered in the clearing, talking quietly, Wicca called for silence.

"This is a ceremony," she said, "but it is also a celebration. And no celebration can begin without everyone filling their glass."

She opened her bottle of wine and filled the glass of the person next to her. The wine was soon flowing freely, and the voices grew louder. Brida didn't want to drink. Still fresh in her memory was a field of wheat in which a man had shown her the secret temples of the Tradition of the Moon. Besides, the guest she was expecting had still not arrived.