“Ceremonies? Sure,” Emma said, baffled. She stared at our joined hands, but made no move to pull away.
It was just holding hands. Friends held hands, right? “Come on. Follow me.”
There was a large crowd of people on the path that led outside of town and into the forest. The setting sun cast an orange glow and long shadows upon the woodland.
We came to a very large, open area. The seats were wooden stools that were more or less stumps of old trees that had been cut down. They made a circle around a circular space lit with wooden torches.
A large black cauldron sat in the middle. Many people sitting nearby had brought at least one piece of firewood with them, or baskets of vegetables fresh from the harvest.
Emma and I shared one of the largest stumps. Odette and Theo resurfaced, along with Delmare and Stefan. Odette waved from across the way, sitting on Theo’s lap. Delmare and Stefan sat cross-legged on the ground in front of them. Stefan seemed to be telling a story. Miracle upon miracles, Delmare actually looked slightly interested.
I wondered where Kiara was, along with Alexei. I’d seen them together over the past week, but they hadn’t appeared all day at the festival. Where could they be?
“What’s the ceremony for? And what’s with all the firewood and vegetables?” Emma asked. The area had grown quiet. People knew something was about to happen.
I leaned over and dropped my voice to a whisper. “DuringHeimskanun, the veil between the death world and our world is thin. Winter has arrived, literally taking the life of the land with it. It is believed that the spirits of our loved ones cross over from the Great Hunting Grounds to be near us until tomorrow ends. So our priestesses help the spirits cross over by portraying the journey from life to death and wearing grotesque costumes to scare off evil spirits sent by the dark god, Droga. As for the wood and food, you’ll see.”
Just then, the torches dimmed. The area was barely lit by the light of the flames. Voices quieted as the sound of drums gathered. The nature of the festival immediately turned somber. Laughter and smiles died to be replaced with solemn faces.
From within the trees, figures emerged. Seven sorceresses wearing deerskin dresses, their braided hair adorned with feathers, came into the area. They walked with bare feet and had crowns of deer antlers, to portray the Seven Gods. Their faces were smudged with ashes and black makeup. Long robes made of fur hung from their shoulders and trailed along the ground. Smoke rose from incense bowls they carried, which they placed around the cauldron. All of the women were middle-aged, or older. The eldest, the High Priestess, was certainly at least seventy— but she walked with a grace that women a quarter of her age couldn’t accomplish. She carried a staff that was wrapped with dying flowers, set with the skull of a stag.
Their Companions protectively surrounded the sorceresses in a circle. They were in their shifter forms. Their fur, scales, or feathers were also painted black— dirt from the graves of those gone on, mixed with ashes.
Younger sorceresses, in their twenties or so, stood at the edge of the circle, beating leather drums, clicking bones and antlers together for the ceremony’s music.
As the incense was placed around the cauldron, the sorceresses held out open arms to the crowd. The onlookers deposited fruits and vegetables into their hands as gifts, and the sorceresses threw it all into the cauldron.
The High Priestess reached into a leather bag at her hip and pulled out a bouquet of fresh flowers— the last of the season. She used a match to ignite them, and tossed them into the cauldron. The whole thing went up in a blaze, creating a huge fire that illuminated the faces of everyone in the area.
The High Priestess threw her hands into the air. “I call upon the Seven Gods to accept this offering— to guide us as we reflect upon the past year and all its blessings that the harvest has brung. Let our old harmful beliefs die, and painful pasts be released as we move forward into a new beginning. Allow us to look back on the previous season, discover where our weaknesses lie, and change us from the inside out as we renew to become better followers of the Old Way.”
The young sorceresses playing music began to yip and howl. The priestesses pulled from their leather bags wooden masks, grotesque and monstrous. They danced around the flames as the High Priestess lifted her hands higher.
“We ask Tomir for his protection against evil monsters, and that this ritual shall scare away all that is dark and harmful. We ask he protect us against his dark brother, Droga. We pray this winter shall pass quickly, bringing life to our land when spring comes again.”
The dancers picked up the pace. Their Companions joined them now, spinning around their Marked in ghostly shadows. I knew this dance well. The sorceresses were to be the warrior Arcanea, fighting against shadow, and the shifters were the monsters… ever on the hunt, looking to destroy the Arcanea for good in an endless battle that waged throughout time.
The High Priestess raised her voice. “We ask Milonna, Tomir’s wife, for love and fair death. We ask the thief God, Luka, for justice, and his sister Vesna for wisdom. We ask Radek for truth and honesty, and beg the phantom Neva for more time— time that is never enough, and that is always cut short.”
The cauldron’s fire blazed higher and higher. The High Priestess turned to the crowd. “Anyone who wishes to call upon the favor of a loved one beyond the veil is now allowed to come forward, and place an object of theirs into the Eternal Flame.”
Many people rose from their seats. Young and old formed a line to the cauldron, all holding a different item. Two young parents threw a tiny wooden rattle into the cauldron before an old man kissed a photograph and tossed it within the flame. A little girl sitting on her father’s shoulders dropped a woman’s flute, and then a little boy’s toy car, into the fire. A group of teenage girls were crying as they slowly fed a prom dress into the burning flames. An Arcanean warrior did a salute as he placed a Malovian army uniform on top of the crumbling logs.
When the line had died down, I got up and reached into my pocket. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I withdrew my father’s dagger. I tossed it into the fire, and the metal hissed as it began to overheat and dissolve onto the ashen wood. Normally, you wouldn’t be able to melt metal with an average flame, but this was no ordinary fire. The Eternal Flame was blessed by the gods, the wood enchanted to burn brighter and hotter than any average flame.
I returned to my seat. Emma’s gaze flashed to me before she put a hand on my knee. I gave her a soft smile.
After the offerings were placed, the High Priestess called out, “May we remember those who have passed on to the Great Hunting Grounds before us, and know that one day, we too shall join them, for the greatest blessing of the gods is a good death.”
The High Priestess threw back her head and let out a primal cry. She began to chant and sing as she left the area. The other priestesses followed her, and the younger sorceresses stepped forward to keep watch over the Eternal Flame.
People got up and began to follow. I prodded Emma and said, “Come on. Now it’s time to be part of the processional.”
The High Priestess led the way through the woods as hundreds of people followed. The priestesses passed out candles, and we shared our wicks to light them as we proceeded through the forest. Emma and I stayed at the back and watched the dozens of flickering flames dance. By this time, darkness had fallen, and the forest was completely pitch black under the thin light of the nearly-vanished moon. It was a very powerful time for magic.
I noticed Emma faltered on the winding walk up the mountain path. I put my arm around her hips to steady her.
“You okay?” I asked.
