Ritual Awakening – Prologue

Years Before…

Fervent chanting wafted up from the earthen temple in offering to the moonless night sky, floating higher and faster than the sage smoke burning all around.  Months of ritual and careful preparation were about to pay off.  In this one perfect night, new moon and winter solstice became one.  The power of their union cascaded from the depths of creation, bathing the hooded figures in the very same energy present at the moment the universe came into being.

Tonight, against all the odds, his child would come into the world, soaking it all in at birth.  In that single instant, his status would skyrocket from that of the general membership to that of the leaders.  Most spent the whole of their lives attempting to reach the coveted respect of Elder.  Yet, after only being granted full membership a few years before, he would soar to that rank with a single breath of the child.

Unless the damned Doula continued taking her time with the delivery, that is.  Precious little time remained until the window would again close.  There was no time to fear for the health of the mother.

She was doomed to die from the moment of conception…

A sliver of light cut across the dew-damp grass, widening at a slow pace.  None of the group turned to greet the newcomer emerging from within the cottage.  There was only one inside able to walk.

The Doula hesitated a few feet from their circle, perhaps wary of interrupting what she must have believed to be a Pagan ritual of protection and blessing.  As much as he wanted to inquire on the health of the child, he dared not move.  Only the High Priest could dismiss a Circle once it began.

Minutes passed.  Silence ensued even after the chanting faded in completion.  Energy coursed through his life’s blood, coursed from both the great beyond and the crystalline core of the Earth, imbuing him with ancient wisdom and strength.

She cleared her throat, drawing the attention of all.  None spoke.  None acknowledged her presence.  Women had no place at Circle.  She would do well to learn her place.

The High Priest slid his gaze to the Doula, dismissive.  “The child?”

“A healthy baby girl.”  A flash of white could be seen in the darkness as she bit her lip.  “The mother…”

“We were prepared for her passing in childbirth.”

Something unfamiliar – sentimental – plucked at his vocal chords.  The words of the High Priest served to illustrate the trade he’d made.  In losing his wife he could gain life eternal.

Was it worth it?

“No…the mother pulled through.  Truly, it is a miracle from the Divine Most High.”  She paused to lift her arms towards the heavens in thanks.  “She asks for her husband.”

A hush descended upon them for an endless instant.  “Leave us for a moment.”

The group tightened their formation as the Doula retreated several feet to provide privacy.  The High Priest met the eyes of each member in turn, letting them come to rest on his own.  “Your wife lives.”

“Yes.”  There was little else to say in response.

“Without the sacrifice…”  He let his words trail off.  They all understood the unspoken implication.

“Is there no other sacrifice that will do?”

“The tablets are clear.  There can be no substitute.”  He raised his face to the stars.  “Time fades.”

Wife or life?  Now or never.  “Then the sacrifice must occur now.”

A mirthless grin took hold of the High Priest.  “It shall.”  He unfastened the ceremonial knife from his sash and placed it into his hands.  “You shall reap untold rewards for this.”

He accepted the knife with care.  Though the thick, winding, bent blade was harmless in appearance, he knew the raw power contained within.  Lack of respect for the ceremonial knife had cost more than one finger be lost.

He broke formation and beckoned the Doula come forward as all resumed the chant.  Circle must continue if the ritual was to work.  “Thank you for all your diligence in caring for my wife and child.”

“Helping souls find their way into the world is not a chore for me.”

“Even still…”  He gestured to the group.  “Won’t you take my place in offering thanks while I go inside?”

She nodded once and moved to join the group, oblivious to her fate, as she should be.  How could she know that in preparation for the birth they had all refrained from the drinking of another?  The group would be thirsty.  Her death would be quick, if not painless.

The golden candlelight within the cottage was a stark contrast to the silvery starlight.  His wife, weak from exertion, cradled the baby in her arms.  Love lit her face when she looked in his direction.  “She hasn’t cried even once.  She just smiles and looks at everything as though it were all magic.”

Fastening the belt to his sash at the back of his waist, he drew closer.  “She’s beautiful…like her mother.”

But she wasn’t paying attention.  “Our daughter is special.  It’s as though she’s made of light…of love.”  Tears streamed over her cheeks.  “The world is going to be a better place once she shares it.”  Kissing her daughter’s forehead, she added, “I can’t wait to see it.”

“You won’t have to, my dear.”

“Really?  You don’t think…”  Her voice trailed off when she looked at him.  Understanding crumpled her face.  “No.”

“I am sorry.”

“You aren’t.  She must be allowed to shine.  She was born for the world.”

“Why should the world get more than me?”

“Because…because it is her purpose…her destiny.  She belongs to the world, not us.”

He reached behind his back.  “No.  Her destiny belongs to me.”  He kissed his wife’s forehead for the last time.  “It’s going to hurt…In this life and the beyond.”

While the shock of his words were still registering, he drew the knife and sank the blade into her neck to the hilt.  Sadness filled her eyes as he twisted the knife counter to the natural curve during the withdrawal.  The fragile human part of himself died with each fading beat of his wife’s heart.

Blood pooled near the child and he picked up the baby girl before she could become coated in it.  Now was not the time for that.  The blood baptism would come later.

“All that light and power must be suppressed until I can use it,” he murmured, using a blood-soaked finger to draw a quick image of a scythe on the baby girl’s forehead.  “Go dtí fómhar.”