Hallowed Circle (17 page)

A circle formed then, as each turned to take the hands of those around them. I stood and moved forward to take my part in it.

Hunter faced me. “What say you?” she repeated.

I knew a challenge when I heard one, even disguised as a call for friendship. She was very good, very smooth. Probably thinking she had this wrapped up, she wanted to win over the toughest critics first—those she competed against. Acting like she was the leader already, she put those words to me as if acknowledging I was the direct competition. So was she offering me a chance to put my foot in my mouth? A chance to show I could outshine the pizzazz she’d already shown? I didn’t want to do either. My efforts here were meant to bring about the best outcome for the coven. I wanted nothing more than to knock her from the running and go home and sleep.

“May we all be friends,” I repeated her words.

“May the Goddess be pleased,” Maria in the broomstick skirt said, “and this community best served by what transpires here.”

Hunter smiled convincingly at her, seeing her for the first time, but clearly realizing that here was another competent woman. She’d found the strength in the room.

Hoping I’d fallen off her radar at that point to be replaced by Maria, I watched the two of them measure each other up behind the polite expressions they wore.

More than money was on the line here. More than prestige and a respected office. This should be about
someone attaining the position in order to pass on knowledge and instill ethical standards in those coming up.

But it wasn’t. As Holly had pointed out, even if I naively didn’t want to think so, power was on the line.

The door opened again. Lydia stood in the opening; her usual bun-bound hair lay loose and flowing over her white robes. She said, “It is time.”

The Covenstead’s giant domed interior was dark, save for a line of eight wrought-iron candelabra, each holding a trio of slender but tall white pillar candles. The iron stands flanked a rectangular dais where five thrones sat, each with a rustic broom resting to its right.

That same candlelight backlit a dragon statue placed at the eastern end of the dais. Like an ominous and fierce relic from an ancient time, the dragon seemed like a roughly chiseled block of stone. Tarnished iron and copper bands accented the base of each of two ivory horns, lending a draconic majesty. Obsidian eyes and ivory fangs and claws gleamed, making it seem almost alive. A large cast iron cauldron sat before the beast.

Lydia guided us contestants to form a line, steadfast and serious, running east to west like the dais. Then she took a position for herself at the west end of the dais. My eyes scrutinized the details of the elaborately carved, dark wood thrones. Two had the triple-crescent Moon Goddess symbol engraved on them; two had pentacles. All were padded with black leather and round silver studs fastened the dark skins to the wood. The centermost seat had a wider back, was significantly taller, and the Goddess-symbol of the full
moon with the waxing and waning crescents on either side crowned it. Studying the design, I realized that the triple moons were large pieces of moonstone, and the center full moon disc was engraved with a pentacle.

We waited silently in that regal ambience. I’m sure we were given this time to be in awe of the moment, to consider those seats and reflect on our purpose, our competition, and the weight of what we were about to engage in.

Lydia said, “Welcome witches, to the Venefica Covenstead Eximium.” She spread her arms wide. “The women who will sit upon these thrones are your Elders. The one who will sit in the center will have the highest rank among them. She will demand the most respect as she carries the greatest power. While each Elder will be involved in selecting a test you will be given, the center-seated Elder, given the title Eldrenne, will choose the terms of the Eximium’s final test.”

She paused.

“Once the Elders enter the Covenstead, no contestant may leave until the Eximium is over. Neither may anyone enter, save for select guests who are arriving to aid or observe the tests.” Fingers folding together in front of her, her saccharine-granny smile perfect, she continued, “I give you this one warning: these tests will reveal much, not only to the Elders, but to yourselves and to each other. If you are wary, if you doubt, speak now, for you will be bound and required to participate in every aspect of the tests, whatever they may be, until such time as you fail to advance to the next round. You
must
compete until you are bested; refusal to participate for any reason will bring severe consequences. You will be permanently disqualified
from future Tournaments. You will be expelled from your current coven membership and henceforth denied membership in any formally recognized coven. Depending on the circumstances, you could be Bindspoken.”

Lydia let that sink in. Nana’s warning rushed back to me.

“Should you choose to compete and become disqualified or lose a round, you will remain in a separate area until the Eximium is completed.” Again she paused, then made eye contact with each of us in turn. “Questions?”

No one moved or spoke.

“I will ask this only once, so if you harbor any sliver of doubt in your mind, if you fear you may not be willing to comply with these rules, then answer now. Is there any among you who wishes to withdraw from the test and leave these grounds?” She waited.

Silence.

“Very well.” From within pockets in the folds of her gown, Lydia produced a small vial. “The details of how this Eximium functions and its tests are secret. No one may divulge these secrets after it is complete. You must each donate three drops of blood, to be added to the binding spell of silence.” Assuming a position next to the dragon, Lydia nodded to the woman in the broomstick skirt. “Maria. Come forward.”

She approached Lydia, who indicated the cauldron. Maria reached in and came up with a dagger. Lydia uncorked the vial. “If you please.”

Maria unsheathed the blade and made a quick, shallow slice on her thumb. Holding it over the vial, she allowed three drops to fall in, then returned to her place in line, dagger still in hand.

“Next,” Lydia said.

On my turn, I did as everyone else had. The cauldron held many daggers and I selected one—they were all identical. Releasing it from the tooled leather sheath, noting the similarly tooled design on the blade and the razor-sharp edges, I cut my thumb and added three drops to the vial.

When everyone had made their donation, Lydia put the stopper in the vial and returned it to her pocket. Then she strode to the western end of the dais and gestured to the east. “Let the Elders enter the Covenstead!”

The eastern doors creaked open. Glowing rays of dawn fingered through, bringing crisp autumn air and birdsong with them. One by one, with infinitesimal slowness, four old women filed in.

It was a kind of parade, a cavalcade of witches, a procession of disguised power. They were not a pretty sight. Eyes sunken, skin sallow and waxen, wrinkled and scowling, they shuffled along as Nana did, their gnarled hands gripping their ceremonial staves tightly, aiding their slow progress.

Each wore ceremonial robes, flowing layers of gray and maroon and black. The lapels and cuffs of the robes were hemmed in silver designs: crescent moons for the first two, ankhs for the third, and pentagrams for the fourth. These variations meant something, gave clues to their status, but the symbolism was lost on me. I wondered if Hunter understood it.

White hair, either thick and slightly frizzy or softly curling ringlets, cascaded over their shoulders from under the wide brims of crooked, pointed hats, each with a
band and silver buckle. The bands for the first two were maroon, the third was gray, and the last was deep, deep purple. Upon the bands were tarnished charms—badges they had earned. Among the charms, I saw spiders, crow’s feet, centipedes, snakes, fireflies, dragonflies—there were more I could not see.

The very air they stirred reached me and it carried a promise: here, was unequivocal power.

The Elders were not to be trifled with.

Why had I ever thought I could hide what I was from these women?

The Elders took their places upon the outermost thrones, leaving the center empty.

“Enter the Eldrenne!” Lydia cried.

The doors to the east had shut, but now they creaked open again and a mist flowed through, curling across the floor. I could smell anise and nutmeg.

Another woman stepped into the doorway, head down, and paused like a shadow against the swirling mist. A raven sat upon her hunched shoulder. The staff she held was topped with a small crystal ball held in place by a weaving of wood as if the staff had sprouted branches that twisted together to form a beautiful, loose net.

Edging the staff forward, she eased from the doorway and began crossing the distance toward the dais very, very slowly. The bird launched itself to the air with a cry that echoed throughout the dome. The Eldrenne seemed never to take a step but to flow like the mist at her feet. Her other hand was held slightly out, palm to the floor, fingers spread. She wore large rings with big stones set in tarnished metals. They seemed very fitting on her twisted fingers.

The robes of the Eldrenne were gauzy black-on-black
layers that fit her frail frame as if there were nothing but a ghost below her bony shoulders. The edges bore elaborate embroidery in metallic black thread. Her hat was a scrawnier style, the narrow brim rippled slightly. The cone bent behind her and slightly under. A copper pentacle charm dangled from the tip. The band around her hat was shiny black, the buckle copper. Charms were spaced along the band, as well as up the cone of the hat. Some even dangled from the brim edges.

Her hair was a white waterfall, sleek and fine, falling into the mist where the ends were hidden. She approached the dais steps, floating up them smoothly, as if hovering. When she arrived before the center throne, she turned to the assembled group and the mist retreated, flowing up and under her robes.

The brim of her hat finally levered up as she lifted her chin. A silver veil with a large black appliquéd spider hid her face.

Free hand rising in a smooth, slow gesture, she revealed her face. Her sunken cheeks were pink; stark against otherwise pallid skin. When she opened her eyes, I gasped; her eyes were covered by a fine, bluish film.

The Eldrenne was blind.

She sat on her throne, the Elders to either side deftly parting her long hair so she did not sit upon it. The raven landed upon the high back of her seat and settled its feathers.

“Welcome, dear Elders and Eldrenne, to Venefica Coven. Merry meet,” Lydia said, arms raised high. Placing her hands on her heart, she bowed her head. “We are honored to have you here, presiding over our Eximium.”

“We thank you,” the Eldrenne said. Her voice was tremulous, thin and breathy. “Merry meet to you all.” She gestured to her left. “Morgellen.”

One of the Elders with the crescent moons on her lapels, Morgellen, spoke. “Twenty-one of you have asked to compete.” Her voice was firm and her words came quick. She was probably the youngest of the Elders before us; she sat straighter and had moved slightly faster. “The first test is mine to designate. Over the next few hours, you will all take a lengthy written test. It will assess your knowledge of basic craft as well as the advanced specifics needed to serve as high priestess. We will choose ten and a single runner-up to proceed to the next round.” She thumped her staff on the dais.

A written test. How modern and unmystical.

Lydia ushered us all below, then spoke to us in the hallway. “Here is the testing room.” She gestured to an open doorway as we passed. “Breakfast will be served immediately, in the dining room, here.” Again she gestured and, this time, stopped outside the door. “After eating, you may remain there or return to the holding room, which is down the hall. You will be summoned to the test room promptly, so don’t dawdle.”

After being in the darkened dome, the kitchen’s fluorescent brightness hurt my eyes. The breakfast coffee wasn’t made yet, so I took that task upon myself and promptly set about making some. While filling the pot and transferring the water, I considered my personal goal: beat Hunter early and get us both out of the running.

That was the only way to avoid contact with the
Elders. But it was highly unlikely that Hunter would be in the bottom-scoring half of any witchy written test.

Crap.

I made coffee strong enough to degrease an engine. I was going to need it.

Part one of the written test consisted of ritual format, sabbats, pantheons, and moon phases. Part two covered spirit guides, astrology, divination, herbs, and gemstones. Part three was spell-casting, charms, potions, talismans, and amulets. And the fourth was for Rites of Passage, the Fivefold Kiss, Handfasting, Crossing, ethics. Each section had a hundred questions. Mostly, it was multiple choice.

The Moon is waxing full in Libra, and the planetary hour is in Mars. You are burning incense made of High John the Conqueror and basil, and you have a violet candle, a circle of turquoise stones, and a jade elephant on the altar beside your statue of the Goddess. What kind of spell are you casting? A spell to:

A.) defeat enemies in battle
B.) achieve fair, swift justice
C.) banish an illness
D.) communicate with the dead
E.) find favor of the powerful