Disclaimers: BtVS concept and characters are not mine; original characters mine. Don't make money off either, so there. ::pppphhhhhttttt!::
Spoilers: Hush (12/14).
Rating: Strong PG-14 for language.
Author's Notes: Since Joss et al don't seem interested in showing anything resembling my experiences of Wicca in "real life," I'm gonna see if I can't do a bit better. As always, this is a work of fiction: none of these folks are real, nor is the spell herein or its effects. The rules of magick that apply here are strictly those of the Buffy universe.
(or: "Why to Not Challenge the
Gentlemen to a Magickal Duel")
© 1999, Grace Macy
Ashe looked up from the symbol she was carefully inscribing on a candle as a throat cleared. She turned her head towards the sound and automatically asked: "What?!"
Or she tried to. No sound came out, which irritated her all the more, but the word was easy enough to lip-read. Jessica frowned at her from a few feet away and held up a notepad.
"Are we sure we know what we're doing?" it read.
Ashe sighed. "No," she answered silently. She took her own notepad and jotted down: "But what choice do we have?"
Jessica sighed and nodded. She started to speak, then scribble, then just sighed again and nodded with a shrug. Ashe tried to give her a comforting look. "It's going to be okay," she wrote quickly, and held up the paper.
Jessica smiled and resumed her own candle-scribing task. Around the room, eleven other people, male and female and ranging in age from 18 to 22, were doing the same. Ashe looked at them and gave each a reassuring smile, ignoring the fact that she herself was only 21. It was 3 a.m., the "witching hour," and this might be their only chance to stop the evil that had come to their town and campus. They had been researching the spell since the affliction of silence this morning, but a sense of growing evil had made their pace grow desperate. They found what they were looking for close to midnight, and had assembled downstairs for the casting.
She finished the power symbol, then looked at her friends and nodded. Each person returned the gesture as they finished their own symbols. They didn't know what exactly the creatures around Sunnydale were, but it was a safe bet they were the cause of the "laryngitis" -- and their intentions couldn't possibly be good. If they had taken people's voices, it was for a reason; the members of the Circle figured that meant a return of voices would do a lot towards nullifying the threat. Ashe sighed as she contemplated the Circle of Witches in her dorm's basement. She just hoped to hell this would work.
The others looked at her as she rapped her knuckles on the table; one by one they nodded their completion of the individual symbols. There were 39 inscribed candles in total: three for each Witch, a holy and powerful number. Set around the large circle drawn in the center of the room were 39 more, plain and white, enough to raise the temperature slightly and illuminate the room well. Jack, who was an engineering major, had temporarily disengaged the smoke and heat detectors.
Traditionally and logically speaking, the more Witches involved in a spell, the more powerful it would be. Ashe knew of at least six other Witches on campus, Wiccan, pagan and non-pagan, but the 13 gathered here had been working together the longest. Not only was their energy well-meshed, but their knowledge of and trust in one another would allow them to focus without need for their voices -- an addition of "outside" forces would shatter that and endanger the casting.
Now, the thirteen people gathered around the circle and each took their places around the seven-pointed star that had been drawn at its center. Another symbol of power and divine influence, the extra two points adding a little umph to what would have already been raised by a pentagram. They seated themselves and placed the candles around and within the Faerie's Star. Then they sat back and centered themselves. It was a good thing there were no security cameras in the basement: the image they made would have been eerie and easily misunderstood. The people with long hair had left it unbound, and all of them wore loose-fitting robes, ranging in color from blood-red to black to pure white. More symbols of the power they were calling upon.
Ashe called the corners silently and at an unheard and unneeded signal, the group opened their eyes and concentrated on the center of the circle.
"In the heart of the night we gather our circle," Ashe mouthed. "In the center of the circle we gather our light. In the witching hour we call you together, in the hour set firmly between midnight and dawn."
Around the circle, each of the twelve others repeated the phrase silently, their lips moving in amazing synchronicity. As each line was "spoken" by the thirteen, they felt Power growing, prickling along their skin to create a false breeze that fanned their hair.
"We call on Isis, the many-named mother.
We call on Vishnu, the holder of wisdom.
We call on Hecate, ruler of secrets.
We call on Selene, light of the moon.
We call on Ashtoreth, Maria and Kali.
We call on Ra, Osiris and Zeus.
We call on Pan, Tiamat, Hephestus."
The breeze grew, becoming real now. Strangely, the only things untouched by the wind were the candle-flames.
"We cast a spell of speech and silence, spreading our power through the night.
We cast a spell of light and laughter, casting our power through the night.
We wash away the dark of silence, moving our magic through the night."
The wind grew. In the center of the circle a mist was forming, glittering with golden light, spinning like a galaxy.
"An evil here has spread it stain,
We gather now to send it back.
Lend us your power,
Share with us your might.
Give us our voices
So that we may fight!"
The wind was whipping at them now, knocking over the candles outside of the circle but not touching the ones within. None of the thirteen noticed. Their eyes were closed now, their focus completely on the spell they were casting and the connection they could feel between them all. The light inside the circle grew brighter and started to coalesce into a single globe.
"Isis, Vishnu, Hecate, Selene,
Ashtoreth, Maria, Kali,
Ra, Osiris, Zeus,
Pan, Tiamat, Hephestus."
"Lend us your power,
Give us our voices.
We call to you here, we send out our light.
We summon your protection to aid us this night."
Their urgency grew, their lungs filling to support what should have been a shout now. As if it heard their silent voices, the light began to throb. As the chant continued, each Witch chose a single name and repeated it over and over. Had the spell been spoken aloud, the words would have been indecipherable as the syllables ran atop one another.
"Isis! Vishnu! Hecate! Selene!
Ashtoreth! Maria! Kali!
Ra! Osiris! Zeus!
Pan! Tiamat! Hephestus!"
From above thirteen heads, light spun out to join the globe in the center of the circle. The Witches continued their chant, focused entirely and solely on the purpose of returning voices to their appropriate owners. Slowly, the golden light began to change color, calling Power into itself.
***
Across town, in the steeple of an old abandoned church, a small box started to rock. A tall, black suit clad figure, standing some feet away, turned at the slight noise it made and frowned. Golden light was surrounding the box in a nimbus, creeping through the edges of it as if to pry the lid open.
It was working.
The Gentleman frowned fiercely, not an easy task with his permanent smile. This would simply not do, though he had to admit a certain grudging respect for whoever was casting the spell. It was powerful magick and if it had been a different time, filled with the power of believers instead of a comparable few -- or if whoever was doing this casting had known a way to tap into the force of the Hellmouth which had summoned the Gentlemen here -- it might have been a difficult task to defeat. Their plans would have been ruined and their very existence at stake. But as it was . . .
The Gentleman shook his head slowly, almost gracefully, and reached out a hand towards the box. A flick of his fingers and the shielding around it increased tenfold, slapping away the golden light and sending it reeling back to its senders like a rubber-band that has been snapped.
He chuckled silently. Children, he thought with amusement.
***
In the basement of Loyola Hall, the globe of light within the casting circle pulsed once, as if struggling against something. Then it exploded.
The sudden release of energy caught all thirteen unaware, slamming up against everything like a gale-force wind. Candles extinguished as they were tossed through the air. The Witches were hit with a tsunami-like rush of Power, a blast that threw them backwards and sent them sprawling. The psychic force of it on their minds was like hitting a brick wall. When they hit the ground, none of them were conscious.
Morning woke them with the call of birds outside the basement's window and faint rays of sunlight coming through the dirty glass. The backlash of the creatures breaking this spell had knocked them out for nearly three hours. Ashe moaned voicelessly and sat up slowly, holding her aching head in her hands. When she looked through the fall of her hair, she saw the other members of the Circle starting to rouse as well. They were all somewhat where they had been sitting, but sprawled like dolls that had been carelessly thrown aside by some giant hand. Ashe tried to ask if everyone was all right but -- as she had somewhat suspected -- nothing emerged from her throat.
Still, she forced herself to push past the throbbing headache, and echoing tingle in her arms and legs where they had fallen asleep, and went to check on each one of her Circle. They might share High Priestess/Priest roles, but she was the confirmed "Coven Mother" by her own choice and maternal instincts. And she had been the one to come up with this idea. Everyone nodded their heads when she mouthed the words "Are you okay?", so she finally let herself sit down again.
Emily held up the notepad she had picked up and scribbled something. When she held it up, they could practically hear her typical dry humorous drawl in the words. "Well, that was a brilliant success. What do we do for an encore?"
All of them laughed, albeit a bit painfully. Eric wrote out on his own notepad, "What the hell happened?"
Mirabelle sighed and shook her head, then borrowed her fiancé Larry's sketchpad. "We were strong. They were stronger."
Most of the group nodded. Their youngest member, Lizzie, wrote out, "Do we try again?"
That was met by a collective look of uncertainty. Ashe considered, then jotted down, "No. It's not safe. We can't get any stronger than we were last night. They might."
None of them looked happy about that. "So we sit and let them do whatever they please," Jessica wrote, scowling. "You know it can't be good."
Ashe sighed. "There's nothing more we can do. Just pray it ends. And quickly."
The thirteen Witches exchanged long, sad looks, but nodded. There was nothing else they could do; that didn't mean they slept any better. Especially when they heard, next morning, about the murders. Waves of guilt followed each of them, convictions that if they had just tried a little harder -- maybe a different spell -- or even different candles . . .
It was with considerable relief that they heard about Ashe's scrying efforts the next night and the battle she had witnessed, ending with the deaths of the creatures. Again, they had been unable to help -- but at least now they knew they were not alone.