Cassandra, unsettled by her reaction to their first meeting, avoided being alone with Jenkins as much as possible those first few days after his arrival. The weather turned bitterly cold and the season's first real snow began to fall as the final days of November passed quietly into those of December. Flynn and Eve put forth the idea of introducing Jenkins to the village as Doctor Jenkins, the new physician. The story they made up for him was that he was Samuel Cillian's cousin, making Cassandra his kinswoman, albeit a rather distant one. They put it about that Jenkins was also a personal friend of Flynn Carsen's, newly-arrived from Boston thanks to a personal request by Flynn while on his trip to the capital just after Samuel Cillian's burial. They made up a first name for him as well—Galeas—to flesh out the ruse, and Jenkins and Cassandra readily agreed with the plan. To the Carsens' minds it had the advantage of allowing witch and Companion to spend time together alone in the Physician's House since Jenkins, as the new doctor, would naturally need some help to set up his practice there. Cassandra, as the new doctor's kinswoman and assistant, could naturally spend extended amounts of time with him without setting gossipy tongues wagging too readily.
The village accepted the new doctor with relief and gratitude. Endor was an isolated village and winter was here in earnest, bringing with it all its accompanying illnesses and injuries. Without a doctor many would certainly lose their lives, but now with a physician on hand death would not be a forgone conclusion.
Even so, not all in the village were pleased by the new arrival. Magistrate DuLaque was enraged that Flynn had gone behind his back in acquiring this new doctor, and he was instantly suspicious of the tall, distinguished-looking gentleman. He was more outraged, however, by the idea that Carsen would do something so stupid as to try and arrange a marriage match for Cassandra Cillian. Surely he knew by now that DuLaque had read Samuel's will and that letter—that blessed, fortunate letter— that gave the former witch-finder complete control over both the Carsens and Cassandra in one fell swoop? But the magistrate's animosity was somewhat mollified when he learned that Jenkins was a kinsman of Samuel Cillian; still, DuLaque was wary. Flynn Carsen was a fool, but sometimes even a fool could have flashes of cunning.
And there was just something about this Galeas Jenkins that did not sit right with Magistrate DuLaque, and it wasn't just the intensely predatory stare the newcomer gave DuLaque every time they met. He had been a very successful witch-finder for many years before retiring and he still had the finder's instinct for it. Galeas Jenkins set off that instinct almost at once. If Samuel Cillian had been a witch, then doubtless other members of that clan were also witches. Indeed, so suspicious was DuLaque that Jenkins wasn't even a real doctor that he insisted upon interviewing this new man before the village council in hopes of exposing him as a fraud. But Jenkins had readily obliged the village's Head Magistrate and the Council, answering all of their questions plainly and expertly, much to DuLaque's chagrin and only stoking his resentment towards Jenkins and Reverend Carsen even more. Yet DuLaque said nothing further against the new doctor or the reverend, choosing instead to bide his time to see what opportunities the future might present to him.
And so Jenkins moved into Samuel Cillian's house and set up shop as Endor's sole doctor. For propriety's sake, Cassandra spent her nights at the Parsonage under the protective watch of the minister and his wife. But during the day the young woman spend most of her time with the new "doctor". Ostensibly she was there to cook and clean for him, help him to prepare the various concoctions and medicines he needed, and to tend the gardens and orchards on the property just as she had done for her father. In reality, however, witch and Companion were getting to know one another better in preparation for their potential Ritual of Binding.
Cassandra spent the first few days showing him around the place, unpacking some of her father's things for Jenkins's use and helping him to set the laboratory up to his liking. She then went over a list of the village's residents in order to familiarize him with their various ailments and complaints. To her surprise and delight, Jenkins was already quite knowledgeable about the practice of medicine. They spent hours discussing herbal lore—Jenkins telling her about their magical properties, while Cassandra informed him of their medicinal ones. Eventually they moved on to stones and trees, the positions of the stars in the nighttime sky and how they aided in the practice of magic, of the animals and birds of the area and all manner of other things unrelated to medicine or magic. Jenkins began to tell her stories about faraway lands and peoples that she had never even heard of before, and the sheltered young woman hung on every word. She, in turn, told him about what it was like to live in a Puritan village, and though he was careful not to say anything disparaging about her life in the Massachusetts Province—he was shockingly ignorant of commonly-known customs and practices—she was troubled to see on his face that he thought it greatly lacking.
Early one chill morning in the middle of December, Cassandra and Jenkins were walking slowly through village's marketplace, pausing occasionally to inspect the various wares for sale. As they wandered between the stalls and shops, Jenkins leaned over slightly and murmured quietly to her.
"I cannot help but notice, Mistress, that even though Alban Arthan is fast approaching, no one seems to be making preparations to observe it," he said, a look of concern visible on his face. Cassandra frowned up at him, confused.
"What is that?" she asked. Jenkins halted and blinked, his mouth falling open in surprise.
"You do not know about Alban Arthan?" he asked. Cassandra turned to face him and shook her head.
"No," she answered hesitantly. Jenkins, shocked by her ignorance, could only stare at her for several moments as he organized his thoughts. He then started walking again, slowly, his heavy feet crunching the icy crust of snow that coated the ground. His hand lightly pressed into her back as he unobtrusively guided her to edge of the market's crowd so as not to be overheard.
"Alban Arthan marks the triumph of Light over Darkness in their eternal conflict," he explained quietly as they continued to walk, "Darkness, represented by the Winter King, is defeated by the Light, represented by the Summer King, thus restoring light and warmth and new life to the world once again." Cassandra turned her head to stare at him, a troubled expression coming to her features.
"A pagan observance, then!" she whispered anxiously. Jenkins, however, kept a pleasant expression on his face; as far as others in the market were concerned, Mistress Cillian and the new doctor were simply having a conversation.
"Pagan?" he repeated, puzzled, "Is that a bad thing?"
"It means that it is not of God and therefore evil!" she quickly informed him, her face serious. Jenkins hesitated a moment.
"Ah, yes—the Christian god you have spoken of before," he replied, turning his somber eyes to meet hers as they continued their stroll among the stalls. "May I point out, Mistress, that the Carsens are not really of this god? Neither am I, for that matter. Do you think believe that we are evil?" A sharp stab of remorse for her hasty words pierced her heart.
"Oh, no! Of course not!" she exclaimed in a harsh whisper, true sorrow in her voice, "The Carsens have been nothing but good to me, ever since I've known them! And you—" She anxiously bit her lower lip, miserable now at the hurt she saw in the Companion's eyes. "I do not believe you are evil, either, Mr. Jenkins!" Ashamed, she dropped her gaze to focus on her hands clasped together in front of her.
"I am so sorry, Mr. Jenkins," she hurried on, "I…I find myself so very confused these days."
"About what, Mistress?"
"Everything!" she answered more loudly than she meant to. She quickly looked around to see if anyone had overheard her, but the distracted shoppers gave them a second glance. She turned her troubled eyes back to Jenkins. "All of my life I have believed things to be one way, and now suddenly I learn that everything is not that way at all!" Her blue eyes suddenly filled with pain as she looked up at him.
"To your eyes I must appear to be a very ignorant and superstitious fool!" Jenkins stopped walking and gently turned Cassandra to face him.
"You are neither ignorant nor superstitious, Mistress, only uninformed about things pertaining to magic," he said sternly, "And you are most certainly no fool!" Cassandra smiled up at him weakly.
"You are so very patient with me, Mr. Jenkins," she replied, "I really do not—" Cassandra's eyes suddenly went wide and she gasped. Jenkins was on alert at once.
"Mistress! What is it?" he demanded in a low, urgent voice. He was careful to keep his body still. Cassandra glanced up at him. When she saw the look on his face she burst into giggles.
"I am so sorry, Mr. Jenkins, I did not mean to frighten you, but…" she said, then nodded her head at something behind him. "I see chestnuts!" Jenkins turned and spied a man with a brazier, roasting nuts over a bed of glowing coals. He turned to look back at his mistress inquiringly.
"Chestnuts?" he echoed. Cassandra nodded eagerly.
"They are delicious!" she assured him, then her voice cracked just a bit as she continued speaking. "Father…he used to buy some for us every winter." She reached out to grasp the sleeve of his greatcoat. "May we have some?" Jenkins cocked his head, perplexed by the question.
"Of course, Mistress, if that is your wish; why do you even ask?"
"I-it is a frivolous expense," she answered meekly, uncertainty marring her smooth face. "It would be especially so this year, considering my financial state now that Father is gone…" Jenkins at once raised his head proudly.
"Nonsense, Mistress!" he dismissed loftily, then he leaned forward so only she could hear him. "We are magical folk; magical folk do not know material want!"
He slipped his hand beneath his coat and produced a small knife. With the flick of his wrist he deftly sliced off one of the small brass buttons on his waistcoat as Cassandra gasped in surprise. He replaced the knife back into his pocket as he held out the other hand to display the button nestled in his palm. He said nothing, but gave her a pointed look. When he was satisfied that she was paying attention, he slowly curled his long fingers over the button, hiding it completely from view. He closed his eyes and whispered so softly that the young woman couldn't hear what he said. The entire thing took only a few seconds, and then he opened his eyes. There was a knowing smile on his lips as he deliberately looked down at his closed hand. Cassandra's gaze followed his and she held her breath, not sure what she was expecting to happen. Jenkins opened his hand; where the brass button had once been, there was now a Spanish piece of eight, the silver coin bright and shiny as if it had been minted only an hour ago.
Cassandra gawped at the coin, then turned her shocked blue eyes up at her Companion. Jenkins gave her a warning look, then again looked down at the coin in his hand. Her eyes followed suit as he closed his hand and eyes a second time. More whispered words, and when he opened his hand again he revealed a small pile of shilling and pence coins of English and Massachusetts origin. Without even thinking, she quickly tallied up their worth in her head and found that they all added up to one piece of eight. Cassandra looked up at Jenkins in astonishment and not a little awe.
"Mr. Jenkins—!" she breathed. The tall man laughed quietly and slipped the coins into his pocket.
"Sympathetic magic," he whispered, "Do you remember my lesson of a few weeks ago on the subject? The button already resembles a coin and is made of metal; from there it is quite simple to change it into a real coin."
"But then you turned it into several coins!" Cassandra whispered back, still in wonder at what she'd just seen. He smiled, enjoying himself.
"One coin or several—there is little difference once one has conjured the initial coin," he answered carelessly with self-deprecating wave of his hand. "That is merely a matter of copying and adjustment in order to bring into being the final product of a spell. It is very easy, actually."
"Easy for you to do!" she murmured. Jenkins took one of her small hands in his and patted it reassuringly.
"It will be easy for you, too, one day, Mistress; all you need is time and practice!"" he said, radiating confidence in his mistress's abilities. "Now, shall we go and try some of those chestnuts?" Jenkins beamed with pride as he offered her his elbow and then walked her over to the chestnut seller, pleased to be able to give his mistress something she wanted. He pulled a large handkerchief from his coat and instructed the delighted seller to fill it with as many of the hot treats as it would hold.
"Mistress Cillian! How very pleasant to see you today!"
Cassandra turned around to see who was speaking to her and very nearly dropped Jenkins's handkerchief full of roasted chestnuts.
"Magistrate DuLaque!" she squeaked and she clutched the bundle of chestnuts to her chest, her blue eyes staring up at the vulture-like face. Jenkins turned from the chestnut seller and cast a studiously bored glance at the new arrival. Behind DuLaque was a thin young man with black hair and dark eyes that were fixed onto the ground at his feet. His arms were full of bundles from the day's shopping and he was standing stock still, putting the Companion in mind of a laden beast of burden.
"This is the man who plagues you so to marry him?" Jenkins stated coldly, drawing the alarmed Cassandra's attention back to him. She looked up at him with wide eyes, silently pleading with him not to antagonize the official.
"I-I would not call it 'plaguing'…" she began nervously.
"I would," Jenkins declared stubbornly and raised his head imperiously as he continued to glare at the magistrate. "And it needs to stop, at once!"
"I hardly think this is matter that concerns you, Doctor Jenkins?" DuLaque replied, his voice brittle and icy as he unflinchingly returned the Companion's stare, but Jenkins did not back down.
"Mistress Cillian is my kinswoman; as her closest male relative, anything having to do with her is of the utmost concern to me," he answered, just as coldly. He pulled himself to his full height in silent challenge as he continued to confront the magistrate. Cassandra instantly placed herself between the two men and faced Jenkins.
"Do not challenge him!" Cassandra whispered, panic-stricken, "He is the Head Magistrate, he has a great deal of power here! He can—"
"Do you wish to speak with him, then, Mistress Cillian?" Jenkins asked, carefully keeping his expression blank. He glanced down and saw a look of horror on Cassandra's face.
"N-no!" she whispered, "No, I do not, but—!"
"Then I shall deal with him!"
"Indeed?" DuLaque snorted in amusement with raised eyebrows, "Mistress Cillian and I have unfinished business with each other. Perhaps it would be wisest for you to refrain from meddling in the affairs of others, Doctor?" There an unmistakable warning in the magistrate's affable-sounding words.
"Did you not just hear me?" Jenkins demanded tartly, "I am her kinsman, I am therefore her guardian. It is my place—indeed, my responsibility—to interfere, especially when she is assaulted by cads and scoundrels!" Though his face flsyuhed with anger at the insults, DuLaque realized that even he was still bound by the law in some matters, and he knew that he was now on dangerous legal ground. He backed off, but just barely. He gave Jenkins a small mocking bow of acknowledgement.
"You are, indeed, well within your rights, Doctor," he sourly acquiesced, "I meant no disrespect. But I am very determined to make Mistress Cillian my wife, as she well knows—with your permission, of course, and once we have settled upon a suitable dowry."
As the magistrate droned on about his claim, Jenkins noted that the black-haired youth standing quietly behind the magistrate was listening closely to every word, though he gave every appearance of staring disinterestedly at the ground. Jenkins concluded that he must be a servant in DuLaque's household, and for a moment he felt great pity for the unfortunate young man.
"I have heard a rumor in the village that you have your heart set on marrying Mistress Cillian," the Companion said, pulling his attention back to the man in front of him.
"I have, indeed," DuLaque confirmed obsequiously. Jenkins clucked his tongue and shook his head.
"I am sorry to have to inform you, Magistrate, but I shall never permit that to happen," he said solemnly, an intentionally exaggerated look of sympathy on his face. DuLaque cocked his head, an amused, yet suspicious, look settling over his gaunt features.
"Oh?" he questioned. The shaking head began to nod.
"Indeed not," Jenkins confirmed, his voice dripping with false sorrow. DuLaque eyes narrowed.
"And why not?" he demanded. Jenkins gave him a sorrowful look and raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"Alas, Magistrate, but as a physician it would be grievously unethical of me to publically discuss the medical conditions of my patients..."
"She has a condition?!" DuLaque cut in brusquely. Jenkins raised his white head and peered down his nose at the other man, nearly as tall as himself. It was almost as if DuLaque was angry with his Mistress for keeping something from him.
"Oh, no, not Mistress Cillian," he answered smoothly, "She is in excellent health." Jenkins leaned forward and continued in a stage-whisper. "I am speaking about yourself, sir!" For the first time since the meeting had begun, the young servant standing behind the magistrate looked up, his dark eyes intense as he now openly watched the two men closely.
"Mr. Jenkins…please!" Cassandra whispered as she looked up at the Companion, terrified of a confrontation with the Head Magistrate. Both men ignored her.
"What do you mean by that, Doctor?" DuLaque demanded sharply, "I have never been a patient of yours!"
"Not formally, no," Jenkins conceded with a heavy sigh and a dramatically sad shake of his head. "But as I am the only physician in this area for some distance, it is logical to assume that I am responsible for the health and well-being of all who live in Endor, your good self included. And I must say—strictly as a physician, mind you—that I do not believe you would be a good match for Mistress Cillian."
"Do you, now?" DuLaque answered tartly and crossed his arms over his chest. Not only was the magistrate's servant following the discussion, but there were others nearby who were now discreetly eavesdropping as well. Jenkins took it all in, satisfied. It was a dangerous game he was playing, but this arrogant DuLaque creature needed to be taught a lesson about respecting his Mistress.
"I do, indeed!" Jenkins assured him, and clasped his hands comfortably in front of himself. "Is it not true that in your Bible—" A sharp, urgent kick to his ankle from Cassandra pointed out his misstep, and Jenkins quickly corrected himself. "Er, THE Bible, it states that a man and his wife are to be fruitful and to multiply? Is that not, indeed, the sole purpose of a marriage—to produce offspring?"
"It is," DuLaque answered warily, sensing a trap but unable to see it clearly enough to avoid it.
"Well, then, again—speaking strictly as a physician—I must object to you contracting any marriage with any woman."
"Why?" DuLaque snapped, his eyes narrowing. A beatific smile lit up Jenkins's face as he prepared to drive the blade home.
"I should think it well-nigh impossible for a man of your advanced age to be…UP…to the physical effort required for the siring of children…?"
The eyes of the young servant standing behind his master widened and his jaw dropped in delighted astonishment at the insult. He then dropped his head to hide his face before anyone else could see it, but his shoulders shook just enough to let Jenkins know that the lad was laughing. Around them, there were audible gasps at the audacity of the doctor from some of the eavesdropping bystanders, quickly followed by stifled giggles and exchanges of knowing, delighted looks. The faces of others, however, turned somber with fear and horror. It had been long time since anyone had openly challenged—let alone insulted—Magistrate DuLaque; the very idea was now unthinkable to them. Everyone waited with bated breath to see what DuLaque's reaction would be.
Laurence DuLaque stood still as a statue as he glared daggers at the smiling doctor, the hatred and fury that filled his cold blue eyes communicating clearly that he would gladly strangle Jenkins with his own two hands if he could. But not even DuLaque would dare murder in broad daylight in the middle of the marketplace and expect to get away with it. Instead, he forced a rictus of a smile onto his face and chuckled as though in appreciation of the joke at his expense.
"I think you might be surprised, Doctor Jenkins," he said calmly, but inside he was seething. It was a weak comeback, he knew, but the best way to save face now was to play along. He would take his revenge later, in a more private setting. He touched the brim of his hat and bowed slightly to Cassandra before shooting a withering look at her Companion. "Good day to you, Mistress Cillian; Doctor Jenkins."
Forgetting all about his servant, DuLaque turned and ran directly into him, causing several of the bundles to fall from the surprised youth's arms and nearly knocking him over to boot. As the servant quickly bent over to pick up the packages, DuLaque cuffed the boy's head so hard that he dropped to his knees.
"Clumsy fool!" DuLaque snarled as he took his anger with Jenkins out on the hapless servant, "Pick those things up at once! And if anything is damaged in the slightest, I shall take it out of your hide!" He then kicked the servant over and stomped past him, nearly stepping on the boy's fingers in his haste to get out of the market. Cassandra instantly dropped to her own knees and began to help the servant gather up the packages. Jenkins quickly followed her.
"Forgive me, young man!" Jenkins sincerely apologized while reaching for a bundle and handing it to the servant. "I did not mean to cause you any trouble!" The servant looked up and flashed the older man a wide grin as he took the proffered package from Jenkins.
"Do not worry about me, Doctor Jenkins," he answered brightly, his words marked by an accent that Cassandra had never heard before. "A beating will be a small price to pay for what I have witnessed today!"
"He will not truly beat you, will he?" Cassandra asked, aghast. The young man simply shrugged his shoulders.
"Perhaps he will; perhaps he will not," he replied, his tone was careless, but then his dark eyes became somber as he met Jenkins's gaze. "You have grievously wounded his pride, Doctor; beware!" He began to stand up, but Cassandra reached out and caught his arm.
"What is your name?" she asked, her face still anxious for his well-being. He smiled again to try and reassure her.
"Ezekiel," he answered. Before she could say anything more, he scrambled to his feet with his armload of carefully-balanced packages. "My master calls me Ezekiel."
As Jenkins stood and then helped Cassandra to her feet, Ezekiel turned and darted into the crowds before either could say anything more to him.
That evening, as Cassandra told Eve and Flynn over supper about what had happened in the market, the blonde Companion couldn't help but hear the pride in Cassandra's voice, see the flush in the younger woman's cheeks as she spoke of Jenkins.
Eve sat back in her chair and smiled as she listened to Cassandra sing Jenkins's praises. She was pleased with how the relationship between Cassandra and her new Companion was coming along, but she became concerned when she heard about how Jenkins turned a button into a coin.
He should not have been able to do that.
On the night of the winter solstice, Eve went into the kitchen and found Cassandra cutting up an onion in preparation to cook supper. She went over to the young witch and gently took the knife from her hand.
"Eve! What are you doing?" Cassandra exclaimed, gave the older woman a sour look of irritation. "I have to start supper—!"
"Not tonight," Eve said breezily, "Your Mr. Jenkins has asked us to his house for supper tonight." Cassandra's expression quickly turned from irritation to surprise.
"Tonight?" she echoed, confused, "But…he said nothing earlier today about having supper with him…?" Eve pulled Cassandra's apron loose and then off of her, tossed it over the stool next to the fireplace. She took a firm hold of Cassandra's hand and began pulling her toward the door.
"Nevertheless, that is where we are going!"
Flynn was waiting for them at the front door, their cloaks in his arms, a huge grin on his face.
"I wonder what Jenkins has planned for us this evening?" he said eagerly as he handed each woman her cloak and then helped her into it. "It has been my experience that Companions are excellent cooks!" Eve gave her witch a warm smile.
"I am the only Companion who has ever cooked for you!" she said in self-deprecation as she tied her cloak.
"And you are an excellent cook!" Flynn declared happily before giving her a quick kiss on her lips. "Shall we go?"
The trio made their way through the dark village streets, the dry snow squeaking beneath the soles of their sturdy shoes while the frigid winter air nipped at their noses and cheeks. When they finally reached the Physician's House, they found a large basket awaiting them on the small porch and blocking their way to the door. Flynn peered inside, then reached into the basket. He pulled out a thick bundle of evergreen branches about twelve inches long, the bundle of pine, fir and cedar tightly bound with white ribbon. He turned and held up the bundle.
"Look!" he cried, delighted, "There is one for each of us!" He picked up the basket and held it out to the women; Eve took one without reservation, but Cassandra looked askance at her friends.
"What are they for?" she asked. Eve, grinning, took the remaining bundle and held it out to her. Cassandra's nose caught the scent of pine and cedar sap.
"These represent the past year," she explained, "As you hold it, think of all the things from the past twelvemonth that you wish to be rid of in the coming one." As Cassandra hesitantly reached out to take the bundle, Flynn set the basket aside and stepped up to knock the door. From within came Jenkins's voice.
"Come in!"
Flynn pushed the door open, and a stronger draft of pine and cedar scent poured out of the house. As they entered the house, Cassandra's jaw dropped.
The large room was dark save for dozens of thick beeswax tapers, lighted and scattered around the room, tucked into copious boughs of evergreens tied with white and red ribbons decorating nearly every surface—holly, pine, fir, cedar, mistletoe and ivy. The aromatic mix of honey, pine and cedar was heady and intoxicating. There was a large branch of mistletoe hanging from a white ribbon from the ceiling in the middle of the room, the fat white berries glowing like a cluster of tiny moons in the candlelight, just high enough to clear Jenkins's head. The glowing candles and fragrant greenery were beautiful to behold. Cassandra gaped in wonder; she had never seen anything like it before in her life.
"It is…beautiful!" she breathed. She didn't even feel Flynn take her cloak from her shoulders to put away along with Eve's and his. Jenkins, standing with his back to the unlit fireplace, beamed, pleased that his mistress was pleased. He said nothing until Flynn and Eve were settled, standing with Cassandra in warmly-lit room, one on either side of the redhead. The Companion then pulled his body up to its full height and he began to speak, his voice sonorous and grave.
"In this, the sacred season of long nights and frozen earth, as the relentless cold seeps into our very bones and leaches our spirits, we celebrate this time of Alban Arthan—the Light of Winter—when the dawning rays of the reborn sun-child appears on the eternal Wheel of Time for a new year, bringing with it fortune, health, and life itself!"
Cassandra had forgotten all about Jenkins's mention of Alban Arthan that day in the market. Now she stood still as a statue, utterly enthralled by the words Jenkins spoke. He paused and raised his hands into a prayerful posture and closed his eyes.
"We now open our hearts to goodwill and to hope—as well as to the brightest of lights on this darkest night of the year, love— allowing them to thaw our souls by their sustaining warmth and found only in those we love! We share our gifts and our laughter, in the knowledge that this seemingly endless season of darkness does truly have an end and that that end is now in sight.
"Ancient, Eternal One, who is the Silence found in the depths of the star-strewn sky, the One who is the only truly unfathomable Mystery, through your gift of Time you gift us with ever-growing wisdom. With the turn of your silver wheel you gift us with new wisdom and lead us ever deeper into the spiral of the Void. Take our hands in the darkness of this plane of life and guide us through the never-ending maze of dark nights and new dawns!"
"So be it, O One!" Flynn and Eve responded softly. Jenkins lowered his hands and opened his eyes. Cassandra watched his every move closely, so caught up in the ceremony now that she barely remembered to breathe.
"I call now upon the Holy Lord Holly, the Father of Winter!" Jenkins intoned on, "Whose robes are the hoary silver of frost and snow and ice that covers the land! Your cloak of darkest green and your crown of holly signify the wisdom of the evergreens. You are the guardian of all life! In your hand is a rod of mistletoe, its pure white berries signifying the seed that brings new life when planted in the fertile ground and in the fertile womb! Gift us with your wisdom, courage and restfulness in this time of quiet before you depart this world, and bless us with your presence on this the longest night, in this dark and troubled place."
Jenkins leaned over and took something from a small table nearby that Cassandra hadn't noticed before amidst the enchanting beauty of the solstice decorations. As he straightened again, Jenkins held up a wreath of holly and mistletoe about a foot in diameter and bound in white and red ribbons.
"Wise King Holly, Father of this sacred night, we give thanks and praise for your death this night and for your rebirth into the Bright King Oak, Lord of Summer!"
"Farewell, King Holly!" Eve and Flynn answered, and they bowed low.
Jenkins then turned and laid the wreath on something inside the fireplace that Cassandra couldn't quite see. The tall man turned and took something else from the small table next to him and held it high. It was another wreath, this one made of dried oak limbs that were still thick with dry leaves and heavy with acorns, bound together with green and yellow ribbons.
"We welcome you, Bright Lord of Oak, King of Summer! We humbly ask that you fill our hearts, minds and spirits with your joyous strength and vigor as we now welcome your gifts of renewal, light and fecundity. We rejoice in the warmth and brilliance of your return. At this height of Winter's chill, the seed of Summer is planted, just as at the height of Summer, Winter's own seed is planted."
"Hail, King Oak!" chanted the Carsens and bowed again.
Jenkins turned and placed this wreath also into the fireplace. He then turned back to the table a third time. He took a small pitcher and held it aloft for his guests to see. He turned to the fireplace and Cassandra heard him pour something from the pitcher over whatever was in the fireplace with the wreaths. He set the pitcher aside and picked up one of the beeswax candles, then turned back to face Cassandra, Flynn and Eve again. He raised the flickering candle high.
"Resplendent Child of the Sun, Lord of Winter and Summer, who is both the Wise Holly and the Bright Oak!" his voice rang out in a triumphant tone, "We bid you farewell and we greet you! We thank you for your blessings and praise you for your sacrifice! May we continue to grow in knowledge and strength and we ask that you abide well in our hearts throughout the coming year!"
"So be it!" replied the Carsens.
He turned and tossed the candle into the fireplace. At once a fire ignited, almost blindingly brilliant in the dimly-lit room. Cassandra could see clearly now that there was a huge log in the fireplace, decorated with evergreens and ribbons that were quickly devoured by the flames along with the two wreaths. Amidst the scent of burning pine, cedar and oak, Cassandra's nose caught the sharp tang of something she couldn't identify. Jenkins turned back to the trio and smiled broadly as he held a hand out to them in invitation.
"Come, friends! Bring your offerings to the dying and the reborn King!"
Eve and Flynn stepped forward at once and Cassandra trailed uncertainly behind them. Eve went to the fireplace and threw her bundle of evergreens into the blazing fire.
"Hail, dying and reborn King! I ask for the gifts of alertness, strength and cunning in service to my witch!" Eve stepped aside and then Flynn threw his bundle into the fire.
"Hail, dying and reborn King! I ask for the gifts of the happiness, long life and peace with my Companion!" Flynn went to stand by Eve, leaving a confused Cassandra to stand before the fire now. She glanced at the Carsens and then at Jenkins, her bundle of greenery clutched tightly in her hands. Seeing her discomfort, Jenkins leaned toward her.
"Make a wish, Mistress; ask the King for a gift and throw the bundle into the fire," he instructed. Cassandra gave him a look of uneasiness.
"I… I am not sure I can," she answered in a faint voice, her expression one of apology. "It…it does not seem right…" Behind her, Eve and Flynn exchanged glances. Jenkins saw them. He reached out and laid his hand on Cassandra's shoulder.
"Then you do not have to do it," he said kindly, "Give me your offering and I will make a wish for you." He started to reach for the bundle of greenery. Cassandra suddenly pulled the offering out of his reach and looked up at him with an almost defiant stare.
"No!" she said firmly, her face set with determination. "You said that we are magical folk—that incudes me; I think it is time for me to be a part of the magical folk!" She turned to fire and took a deep breath and she quickly composed her thoughts.
"Hail, dying and reborn King!" she declared in a bold voice, "I… I ask for the gifts of patience with myself as I learn how to be a sorceress, and the freedom for me and the Carsens and Mr. Jenkins and all other witches and Companions to be who we are without fear of punishment and death!" She threw her offering into the crackling fire. The moment it touched the surface of the log, there was a loud snap, and a shower of sparking embers rained out of the fireplace and onto the hearth at her feet. There were cries from Jenkins, Eve and Flynn, and Cassandra looked around, alarmed.
"Did I… Did I do it wrong?" she squeaked, fearful of having offended whatever pagan gods were present in the room that dark night. But Jenkins only laughed, his eyes glowing and warm as he looked down at her.
"No, Mistress!" he assured her heartily, "The spark is good omen!"
"It is said that when the Solstice log sparks in such a fashion it means that the Oak King has heard your wish and will grant it!" added Flynn excitedly, "You will receive your wish within the upcoming year!"
An inexplicable happiness filled Cassandra and she beamed up at her Companion. He returned her gaze, their eyes locked. Flynn saw the older man's expression soften into one of adoration as he stared down at his young mistress.
"I…presume there is food in the kitchen for the Solstice feast?" Flynn asked. It took a moment for the minister's words to register with the Companion; he blinked as he reluctantly dragged his gaze from Cassandra.
"Y-yes, in the kitchen," he answered in a distracted voice, "A roasted turkey and vegetables. A dried plum cobbler for afters…"
"Excellent! Come, my dear!" Carsen declared. He looped his arm around a confused Eve's and began pulling her toward the kitchen. His voice took on a decidedly mischievous note as he went on. "Perhaps, Jenkins, while we bring the food out, you should explain to Cassandra the meaning of the branch of mistletoe that you have hanging from the ceiling there?" And then he all but shoved Eve into the kitchen, following closely behind.
Reminded of the curious ornament hanging from the ceiling of the room, Cassandra looked up and found the mistletoe.
"What does it mean, Mr. Jenkins?" she asked, curiosity causing her to momentarily forget her unease of a few minutes ago. Jenkins's eyes followed her gaze and fixed on the mistletoe dangling mere inches from his face.
"As you heard in the brief ritual, mistletoe represents the Winter King," he began to explain. He lowered his head to look at her. "It is green in wintertime, symbolizing the eternal life and virility of the King. The white berries represent his—" He stopped abruptly and Cassandra gave him a questioning look.
"His…what?" she prodded. Jenkins, hesitated a moment, then gave her a pointed look.
"His…seed," he answered deliberately, "Such as all men possess." Cassandra's widened as it dawned on her what he was talking about.
"Oh!" she said, "I-I see…"
"It is considered desirable to kiss one's beloved while standing beneath a branch of mistletoe during the Winter Solstice," he went on quickly, "A means of asking a final blessing of the Winter King on a romantic match before he dies, if you will."
Cassandra lowered her eyes demurely and nervously bit her lower lip. For some reason he couldn't understand, that simple reaction to his words caused a surge of desire to leap up from deep within his belly. Jenkins raised his hand as though he was about to touch her cheek, but he stopped just short of actually making contact with her. Cassandra caught the movement and looked up at him, her eyes now dark and bold in her pale face.
"Would you like to receive the blessing of the Winter King, Mistress?" he asked in a quiet, husky voice. Cassandra could barely breathe as she gave him a tiny, barely perceptible nod of her head.
Suddenly her face was between his two large hands, gently cradled, his thumbs resting on the apples of her cheeks. He lowered his silver head, and she found herself instinctively tilting her own head to meet him. His lips touched hers, softly at first, briefly, then hovered over her. Her hands went to his sides as she closed her eyes, and then slid around his body of their own accord, while his hands continued to cup her face tenderly.
He pressed his lips to hers a second time, and now she responded. He felt her insistently pull his body into her and he gladly obeyed. His lips parted and sandwiched themselves between hers. He felt her body sag against his as her knees weakened and slid one arm around her lest she fall. He opened his mouth just enough to allow his tongue to dart between her lips, then ran the its tip over the smooth surface of her teeth before gently begging entry. Cassandra obliged, an tingling wave of warmth and dizziness overwhelming her as his tongue met hers, and ran languorously over it before withdrawing again, drawing a quavering whimper of disappointment from deep within her throat. Jenkins nipped her full lower lip between his teeth, once, twice, then ran the tip of his warm soft tongue over the spot immediately afterward. One final urgent sandwiching of their lips and then he pulled his head out of her reach.
Cassandra panted soundlessly, her eyes still closed as she clung to him, afraid to trust her knees not to buckle beneath her if she let go of him now. She buried her face in his clothes, breathed his scent in as deeply as she could while she was still so close to him. She became vaguely aware of his hand stroking the back of her head and turned her face up to his, opened her eyes.
"This…is my very first kiss," she whispered, almost in astonishment as her heart pounded against her breastbone. The unwavering dark eyes glittered above her.
"Did you find it pleasant?" he asked, his voice rough. She nodded.
"Oh, yes!" He smiled, pleased.
"Perhaps we should kiss again, just to make certain?" he murmured, a gleam of mischief now sparking in his eyes. Cassandra giggled drunkenly, but she held his gaze.
"Oh, yes!"
