M Sellars - Harm none

Be it known to all that the circle is now to be drawn,” stated the slight, robed figure as she raised her arms upward to the sky. Her dainty hands held tight to the leather bound handle of a dirk, its brightly polished blade reflecting the light of the full moon high above. “Let no one be here but of their own free will. Blessed be.”

“So mote it be” came a solemn chant in unison from the coven members gathered around her.

The air was still in the large, semi-wooded Saint Louis backyard as the Priestess slowly and purposefully drew the ceremonial knife, her athame, through the air above her, scribing a five-pointed star, starting and ending with the top point. With the imaginary Pentacle drawn, she fluidly lowered the dirk and brought her arms to rest outstretched before her and pointing to the East.

“R.J.,” she said to the young man directly before her. “Would you please light the circle candles?”

The young man gave a perceptible nod and pulled back the hood of his robe to reveal his mane of long black hair. Turning, he struck the end of a wooden fireplace match, bringing it to life, and as the flame settled to evenness, merged it with the wick of a yellow votive candle resting in a homemade stand.

“At the East, I bring light and air to our circle,” spoke the strawberry-blonde priestess from the center of the group. “All hail the Watchtower of the East, element of air. May it watch over us in our circle. Blessed be.”

“Blessed be,” chanted the gathering around her.

The young man worked his way to the South, and touched the burning match to a red votive.

“At the South, I bring light and fire to our circle” came the priestess as she made a clockwise quarter turn. “All hail the Watchtower of the South, element of fire. May it watch over our circle. Blessed be.”

“Blessed be.” The chant in unison came stronger.

Evenly, the young woman turned to the West as the young man brought a blue candle alight.

“At the West, I bring light and water to our circle. All hail the Watchtower of the West, element of water. May it watch over our circle. Blessed be.”

“Blessed be!” Stronger still the chorus echoed.

“At the North, I bring light and earth to our circle,” the priestess melodically spoke as she turned. The young man applied the fire to a green candle fixed securely in its holder. “All hail the Watchtower of the North, element of earth. May it watch over our circle. Blessed be.”

“Blessed be!” The coven’s chant lifted skyward, harmonious and strong.

The Priestess kissed the blade of the athame and lifted it upward, scribing the Pentacle in the air once more.

“All hail the four towers, and all hail the God and Goddess. We welcome and invite Pan and Diana to join us in this rite we hold in their honor. Blessed be, so mote it be!”

“Blessed be, so mote it be!” chimed the coven.

At this point, the dark-haired man had returned to his original position in the circle, and the members had joined hands, interlocking their fingers, left palm up, right palm down.

“Ariel,” his gaze leveled on the priestess, “may I ask that you lead us in the weave.”

The young woman gave a nod and after once again kissing the blade of the athame, laid it reverently on the altar before her.

“Weave, weave,” she began the melodious chant, “weave us together. Weave us together, together with love.”

The remaining members of the coven joined in and they sang the verse twice more. When the last note had drifted away on the still air, no sound was left but for the midsummer song of the crickets.

“The circle is cast,” Ariel finally said. “You may release hands and we shall remain as one.”

The group released their grasps on one another and while remaining alert and attentive to their priestess, began to relax.

“Our circles are a happy time,” she continued, her strawberry-blonde hair drifting lazily about on a sudden breeze as she turned around the circle, bringing her eyes to bear on each member’s face. “A time for us to rejoice in our kinship with nature…with the Mother Goddess Diana…and with Pan the Hunter. Our circles are meant for exchanging knowledge. Tonight…” Ariel caught her breath and looked down at the ground. She paused for what seemed an eternity to all present as a single teardrop began its slow journey down her cheek. Sadness welled in her voice as she began once again to speak. “Tonight, we come together to make a decision; a decision that will affect the direction and future of this coven. We have all discussed this over and over, so I will spare you the details.”

The members of the coven lowered their gazes to the ground as she once again paused and angrily wiped away another tear that had escaped her eye. They knew how much she hated losing control of her emotions, and they felt a great empathy for her. They remained quiet and kept their gazes averted as she struggled for her composure. However, one member among the group refused to grant her the reprieve. He stared at the back of Ariel’s head, unblinking, with cold grey eyes. His face remained expressionless, and to the coven, that cold countenance was the most frightening thing of all.

“Let it be done,” stated the young dark-haired man known as R.J. in a compassionate attempt to assume her painful burden.

He stepped forward to the altar and lifted a pewter goblet from its weathered surface. One by one, R.J. stepped before each member of the coven and held the goblet out to them, and one by one, each member deposited a single stone. When he came before the expressionless, grey-eyed man, he waited. The man continued to stare, as if looking straight through him to remain fixed upon Ariel.

“Go on, Devon,” R.J. said, “you still have a vote.”

Momentarily, the expressionless man’s eyes unglazed, and he focused his glare on R.J.

“I don’t recognize this vote” was all he said, and once again he seemed to stare icily through to Ariel.

R.J. fought back his desire to tell Devon just where he could get off. This was going to be over soon enough, and he knew there was no need for an altercation now. He continued around the circle and came finally to rest in the center.

Standing at the altar opposite Ariel, R.J. held out the goblet and let a stone fall into it from his own palm, silently casting his vote. Slowly, Ariel lifted her hand to its rim and dropped in her stone. It rattled and clinked in the tense silence of the circle, then fell still. She brought her gaze up to meet R.J.’s, drew a deep breath, and then gave a slightly perceptible nod. R.J. tilted the goblet down to the altar and poured the stones out upon its surface. The pebbles glittered, as if winking back at them in the candlelight, each of their polished surfaces obsidian black.

Ariel turned and faced Devon, summoning every bit of strength in her being and borrowing from her fellow coven members as much as she could.

“You know the most basic law of The Craft is to harm none.” She stared at him coolly as anger seeped in to replace sadness. “You have violated that law, Devon.”

He continued to stare back at her, pupils large in his irises like puddles of ink in dirty grey ice. The circle candles flickered as a mild breeze began to blow.

“So I sacrificed a dog,” Devon answered her frostily. “You little wimps are just afraid to take the next step. You’ll never be anything but a bunch of wannabees.”

Ariel continued, ignoring his comment. “For your disregard for life and the most basic of Wiccan laws, you are hereby banished from this coven. Your punishment is that which you bring upon your own self, as anything you may do will return to you threefold. May the God and Goddess take mercy upon you.”