Samhain
The light of the fire cast a vibrant orange glow in all directions, scattered sparks flying forth in a brilliant splendor of light before fading into the cold embrace of darkness. There was the sound of music lingering faintly in the air and the sound of chanting, and of laughing. It was festive, but hushed. The festival of great rejoicing, but great reverence.
Arthur gripped the old, gnarled piece of oak in his hand, approaching the towering inferno with confidence. He was nervous, even though he did this every year. He had been leader of his coven for centuries now, and the duties of his rank were burned into him by now. But it didn't stop him from being anxious as he felt the swirling vortex of energy wrapping around his lithe little frame. The sound of ceremonial drums reached his consciousness, and he nodded slowly to himself.
He chanted softly to himself, his voice gently escalating until it dwarfed the singing and chatter of the crowd. All eyes fell upon him at once, the collective force of their staring running into him and charging him with great symbolic duty. He beneath his fluttering cloak, slipping his hand into a bag of sacred salt and drawing a handful of it. He tossed it onto the fire, causing the flames to rise higher, shooting a bounty of dazzling white sparks into the air. He never broke his utterance once though as he gripped his staff for all his life.
He spoke louder, more authoritative, loosing one hand from his staff and tugging at the lace that held the cloak around his shoulders. The decorative cloak fell to the ground, a symbolic gesture of leaving behind petty conceptions about humanity. Tonight was not the night to be human, tonight was the night to be nature itself.
He inhaled deeply, his naked flesh both freezing from the night air and warmed by the fire. He trembled slightly at the waves of energy swirling around him, coming to a powerful and volatile crescendo of strength as the full moon passed overhead. Members of his coven began to chant with him, the names of the spirits of earth, of wind, of water, and of fire. And each time the 'spirit of fire' was uttered a gush of sparks flew into the wind.
Suddenly, Arthur was silent, and only a beat later the rest of his coven fell silent. He knelt down on the ground before the grand bonfire before him, setting his staff horizontal to the flames. He began to recite a simple prayer to the Goddess. Several coven members stepped forward, producing gifts of the earth: salt, herbs, precious stones, and beautiful woods, and cast them into the roaring flames, with a prayer following each.
Then the spirit of England himself spoke, his first words not charged and calculated towards a higher power but rather towards his fellow men. He smiled calmly and assuringly, with the smooth charisma and knowing that came with being the patriarch of his coven. "My children," he spoke. "Tonight is a very special night, as you all know. Tonight is the night when our realm is the closest to our Mother's realm. Tonight is our New Year!" there was a muted cry of jubilation among the gathered souls. England gently hushed them with a wave of his hand though and raised his staff. "Tonight is the night we all forth the forces of the before, and the after. The past, and the future. The material and immaterial, the living and the dead!" No one breathed a word, though the spike of energy saturating the air spoke for itself. England smiled as he felt the strength of his children running through his veins.
It wasn't just the strength of the human congregation, but the strength of the earth herself. The strength and energy of every living thing ran through his being, pulsing and contorting within, reemerging as new life. He closed his eyes slowly, allowing himself to regain his 'energy equilibrium' before opening them slowly once more. He spotted long the fringes of the gathering beasts of lore and myth, dwelling just beyond the senses of normal humans.
England dropped his hands to his side, inhaling slowly as he stepped away from the blazing fire. He had done his duty, and the spark of chatter and celebration once more erupted among his people. He walked away from the center of attention, towards that special fringe between this world and the next. He reached out his hand to a brilliant white mare, her lion-like tail flicking back and forth warily as she watched him. "Shhh, easy there beautiful," Arthur cooed, petting her muzzle. She nuzzled into his hand, then pressed her head against his chest. "Easy there! You might prick me!" he said, wary of the alicorn on her head. He reached to pet her again when, to his surprise, she knelt down before him. He pointed to himself rather stupidly, as if asking she was serious. She nickered approvingly of his stupefied expression and shook her head approvingly.
Arthur smiled, carefully mounting the graceful horse of lore. He looped his arm around her neck, holding on for dear life as she pranced several steps. Familiar little lights floated overhead, circling around the pair, bobbing back and forth gracelessly. Soft, childlike giggling emanated from the little light orbs as they tailed the pair. Apparently the unicorn saw great fun in their teasing and began to gallop away, prompting the fairies into a grand chase across the open, grassy plains. Arthur clung to the beast for dear life as it leapt and bound playfully in the moonlight. Just when he feared he might be thrown it came to an abrupt halt, rearing onto her mighty hind legs and neighing in at the silver body above.
Arthur smiled, patting her mane as the fairy-folk buzzed around him playfully. In the distant sky he would swear he saw the shadowy outline of the elusive European Dragon, and the spine chilling howl of the Barghest shook his very core. He felt a detailed awareness of every creature great and small, from the bugs in the grass, to the grass itself, to the mighty unicorn before him, to the eternal presence of the Mother-Goddess herself. This strange, bizarre, beautiful, exotic sense of knowing empowered him, seeping through him, bringing him to a sort of strange epiphany as he stared out at the distant moon. He smiled softly, feeling an odd sort of warmth come over him. The warmth of love and peace throughout his entire being.
For a moment there was no war, there was no famine. There was no pestilence, no suffering, no niggling little problems that exhausted his heart. For this moment in time it was just him and his Goddess, bonding as one under her magic sky. And for one magick moment, nothing else mattered.
Happy Samhain, from your psycho pagan Prussian,
-Derruhm