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And just like that, I closed my eyes, and was swept back to the first time I remembered celebrating… and how much the rite had clung to my memory.
I was around three years old. Or the equivalent to it. And it was a dark night like this one, only we were standing on the shores of Lake Y’Leveshan. I was holding on to Delilah’s hand, and we were dressed in warm cloaks over long white dresses. Father was there, but he wasn’t paying much attention—he was standing by the shore, staring at the falls as they tumbled over the bluff.
Camille was at the bottom of the Erulizi Falls, on a rock that overlooked the pond at the bottom. The water thundered down, spraying her with mist, as she stared into the depths. Her eyes were wet, but with the water, not tears. During the day I never saw a tear on her face, even when Father yelled at her because she’d forgotten to tell the housekeeper what to fix for dinner or because the gardens weren’t in order. But at night, I heard her. She was the oldest so she had her own room, but I could still hear her crying over Mother.
Father was kind to Kitten, and to me. But Camille? He was hard on her, and his complaints rained like bitter drops. Every day it was one thing or another.
He hadn’t wanted to come tonight. He’d told Camille to ask Aunt Rythwar to bring us, but she’d talked him into it, begging him to join us. Finally he gave up and agreed. Now he stared into the water, as if he were alone in the world, as if we didn’t exist.
After a bit, Camille returned to the altar she had set up. She was studying with the Coterie of the Moon Mother, and they’d assigned her the task of leading a simple rite for the holiday. So she’d laid out an altar with white star-flowers—an autumn-blooming plant, and candles, and a glass of wine. Ginger cookies, made by Leethe, our housekeeper and cook, rested on a tray next to the altar.
“We should start.” She watched Father expectantly. He studiously ignored her. “Fah—we should start the rite. Menny’s tired.”
But he did not turn, did not speak. So she gathered Delilah and me around the altar and, in halting fashion, cast the magic Circle to keep spirits out and energy within. Her knife let out a few halting sputters of energy, but she bit her lip and kept going. And Delilah, with a glance back at our father, resolutely stood at attention. I turned to watch Sephreh. He was alone; he missed Mother. But so did we, and for the first time, I felt like this was the way it would be from now on. The three of us on the inside of the Circle, with him on the outside.
And inside, a swell of anger bubbled up. If that was the way he wanted it, then that was the way it would be. I turned my back on him and focused on Camille, and for the rest of that short, tense ritual, there was no one else in the world except my sisters and me, and the moon shining down overhead, and the memory of a woman with golden hair and a smile that could blind the morning sky.
The Circle cast, Camille took her place at the altar and Morio joined her. They were a matched pair—magic to magic, heart to heart, soul to soul. Smoky and Trillian were also her matches, but the magic—it bound Morio and her in a way she could never have with anyone else in the world. But Camille could never be with just one man. There were too many sides of her. It would be a disaster if she expected one person in the world to understand her inside-out. It would be too much to ask of anyone.
Like me. I glanced over at Nerissa, who wore a cloak as gold as the sun, over a black dress. She matched me well, but I also needed Roman for when my predator wanted out to play. I would never expect just one person to meet my needs. And Delilah? Well, she was more like our mother, but still she had both Shade and the Autumn Lord.
Perhaps that had been the problem. Perhaps Father had turned against his nature, needed Mother too much, and in doing so, denied anyone else the chance to make him happy and whole.
Whatever the case, the past was long over, and now we stood on the side of Birchwater Pond. Instead of our mother, we were here to bid farewell to Sephreh. The formal rites would come later—but for now, we passed the chalice and intoned the prayer of the dead, and focused our energy on Camille as she cut the cords of energy connecting him to our lives. Grieving would take time, mourning would move as it would, but letting go? We had to let him go. We had to let him journey on to find his joy and his future.
We ate our communion cakes—ate the body of the Great Mother. And we sipped the blood of the Harvest God, found in sweet wine, although my chalice contained actual blood. We lit the fires and wandered the shore after wishing Father’s spirit—and Chrysandra and Queen Asteria and all those we’d lost over the past few years—well on their journeys.
After we were done, Nerissa and I strolled arm in arm to the water’s edge, and once again, I flashed back to childhood, watching the lake churn as the falling water thundered into it.
“What are you thinking about? You look so far away.” Nerissa slid her arm around me and kissed the top of my head.
“Memories. Just… the past. The first Samhain we bade farewell to our mother. And how Father was such an ass.” I told her about it.
“He was mourning your mother.”
“He had three daughters who needed him to man up, to be both father and mother to them. We needed him then, and I swear, he never fully returned after checking out. I just hope Mother was waiting for him. I don’t like to think of him wandering alone. For one thing, I don’t want him haunting our home.”
She laughed, but I was serious. The last thing we needed was the ghost of our father wandering around the house, bemoaning his fate.
“I think you’re safe. Wouldn’t your mother be there for him? Isn’t that how it works in your afterlife?” The way she said it made it sound almost like a disease, but I knew she didn’t mean anything by it.
“I hope so. I seriously hope so.” We paused by a little bower where Smoky and Morio had built a covered bench. Taking shelter from the rain, we held hands, snuggling together.
“I love the look, by the way. I love your hair down.” The way she said it sounded wistful. “You seem more vulnerable… less… less like nothing matters. Sometimes I think everything just bounces off you, and I worry that anything I say will do the same.”
Oh, no. We didn’t need angst tonight and this had become a common argument. There was enough pain with remembering our dead, remembering our friends and family who had passed. Especially those who died because of us.
“Don’t. Not tonight. You know I love you. You know I listen to you—even if I don’t say anything. I never ignore you.” Apparently I wasn’t tuned in enough, or so Nerissa thought. I wasn’t entirely sure where her complaints were coming from because I didn’t think I did that at all.
“Yes, you do.” She let out a long sigh. “But we’ll talk about that later. You’re right. Tonight is not for arguing. Tonight’s for remembering the dead, and letting the past move into the past.”
I hated seeing the clouded look on her face and leaned in to give her a kiss. “I promise—we’ll work on this. I may not understand why you’re upset, but I see that you are. And I don’t want you unhappy. I love you too much for that.”
She squeezed my hand. “I know. I love you, too.”
And with that, we headed back to the others. Trillian and Morio grilled the meat while Hanna and Vanzir spread out the rest of the food on the tables. Iris was playing with Maggie, who looked delighted to have her first nanny around again. Iris hadn’t been able to care for Maggie since mid-pregnancy, because Maggie accidentally tripped her up, and she could be a real handful. But now, she sat, contented, on Iris’s lap, leaning against her softly with that wide-eyed innocence beaming up at her.
Trillian picked up a guitar and started to play an Otherworld melody. He’d proved quite adept with the instrument, and Camille had bought him one last Yule. The song was one of loss, and acceptance, and I recognized it right off. I’d learned it when I was a teenager.
