She came, carrying something in her hand. I stepped forward. “Shall I break a limb for you?”
No! This only I must do.” Approaching, she laid hand to the bark, spoke softly. “Good tree, hear my plea.”
Slowly, with difficulty because of the underbrush, she walked around the ash, turning always to her left. Thrice sin circled so, chanting softly:
Ash tree, strong tree, I beg of you a bough to aid me in protecting one I love. Well shall I use your gift, in the service of the Light. My thanks shall stay with you always, O great tree!”
Pausing, she knelt, scraping at the earth above its roots. “May my offering nourish your soil, may you grow ever stronger and taller.” Leaning over. I saw what she buried—a piece of journeybread. “It is forbidden to take without nixing freely in return,” she whispered before I could question.
Standing tall now, Joisan raised her hands to one of the short, lower branches of the ash. With a quick snap, she broke the limb. The break was clean, no dangling bark remaining—almost as if the tree had willingly relinquished part of itself in response to her plea.
As we returned to the fire, her fingers stripped loose all bark. I watched as she carefully rubbed pinches of herbs from her bag against a sharp stone, before using it to scrape free any remaining shreds.
Then gathering the discarded bark, Joisan crumbled it into a mound on a flat stone, adding more herbs to the small heap. “Angelica, valerian, trefoil, and vervain,” she identified each sprig she selected. “All protection herbs.” Mixing the handful together, she cupped it, before throwing it into what remained of our fire.
Taking up the ash limb, she knelt and passed it seven times through the resulting smoke, chanting softly in a language I did not recognize.
Drawing herself up to her full height, she touched the tip of the peeled branch to the ground, then, taking her water flask, poured several drops along its length. Holding the branch full into the moonlight, she chanted, “O wand of ash, I consecrate thee to my use. By the virtues of earth, air, fire, and water, be truly filled with Power, and let that Power be of the Light.” Looking up, she held both hands above her head, the wand between them. “Gunnora, Lady of the Moon, aid and succor me in what I do now. So may it be always by Thy will.”
A moment only she remained so, then, turning back, instructed me matter-of-factly, “We must wash before beginning.”
I followed her to the stream by torchlight, nearly stepping in it in the darkness. Joisan knelt, laving her hands and face. At her gesture, I did likewise.
The water, mountain-fed, was cold enough to make me sputter, and my lady’s voice sounded amused. “By rights we should both bathe, Kerovan. Be thankful I do not order you all the way in, and then make you stand bare for the ritual!”
When I had finished, she held a small vial unstoppered and, after anointing herself with its contents, touched my forehead and wrists with a scented oil. “Rosemary, for protection.”
We returned to our packs, and Joisan surveyed me critically by the light of the torch. “Lay aside sword and knife, Kerovan.” With quick movements she unbound her hair. shaking it loose to lie across her shoulders.
I unbuckled my swordbelt, pulled my knife from its sheath, feeling nearly as naked as if she had made me strip. “Have you aught else of iron or steel about you?”
My hands went to the buckle of the belt to my leather breeches. “That, too,” she ordered.
Let us hope,” I said ruefully, doing as she commanded, “that in this we are not set upon by outlaws or wild beasts, my lady. I shall look a fine sight trying to find my sword with one hand while holding up my breeches with the other!”
Joisan was already laying out her wand and paid me no attention.
“Come you over here, my lord, where the ground is clearer.” stood where she bade me, watching her gather more herbs, her spool of thread, and several candles from the bag;. Placing them in the center of the tiny clearing, she proceeded to draw a circle around both of us with the wand. “Do not step outside the circle until this rite is complete, Kerovan. To do so may cause great harm.”
By the faint light of the fire I saw that the candles were reel, and that there were three of them. My lady placed them at equal points within the bounds of the circle, pushing each into the soft earth until it was firmly wedged. Then she unreeled the red thread, until it followed the path of the circle, scattering more herbs as she did so. Lastly, she lit each candle with a twig from the fire. Her movements were quick and deft, naysaying the doubt she had expressed earlier in her own abilities.
At last she approached me, holding out her hand. “I will need your strength in this, my lord, and what you hold of Power.”
The old protest was instantly on my lips. She shook her head. “We both know that within you Power resides, though you keep it buried. We have need of it now.”
Taking a deep breath, I grasped her hand. Joisan closed her eyes, then stooped to touch wand to the ground before her. Almost immediately the ash length began to move, drawing lines in the soft dirt—but not as though my lady’s hand guided it, rather as if that branch followed its own path. In a few quick lines, a globe took shape, then, spreading out from it on either side, what I recognized as wings.
Joisan opened her eyes, taking a soft, urgent breath as she gazed upon the symbol on the ground.
“That is not what you meant to draw?” I asked.
“No. I had in mind a pentagram… that being the most common sign for invoking Power. But this…” She studied the marked symbol. In the firelight I could see her frown.
“Do you know aught of this symbol?” I fought to keep the fear I felt out of my voice. Was this something out of the Dark taking over, as I had feared from the beginning?
“I have seen it. It is of the Light, that I know. But the symbol I saw before had outstretched wings, while these are half-furled.”
“Why did this take shape?”
“I do not know… unless it is because, without your knowing, the Power within you took a hand, Kerovan.”
I began to protest, but she shook her head. “Such an act is not something you would be conscious of, my lord.” She glanced again at the symbol, then nodded. “Each element in a spell shapes as it will. This is of the Light, and will serve, perhaps better.”
Holding the wand before her, she began to chant again, her syllables rising with the lilting intonation of a song. I listened intently but could make out no distinct words.
I felt a tingle in my palm against hers, a prickling that ran up my hand, along my arm, then continued to my shoulder. Where it went, my flesh numbed, as might a limb that has lain too long in one position. The prickling tingle continued. Looking down at my arm, I could almost see the strength draining out of my body to my lady’s. Her singing grew louder, now, more commanding.
With an effort I raised my eyes to gaze about us. The candle flames no longer flickered in the faint breeze. They burned brighter, stood straight. While around us—
I blinked, and only Joisan’s warning squeeze upon my tinkers kept me motionless. Around us the air had taken on a faint glow. Blue-green, it curled upward from the circle my lady had sketched, climbing higher with each breath I drew. I could see through that wall of light, as it climbed to eye level—then it was well above my head, walling us in with a faint haze of radiance.
Joisan’s voice rang out, startling me out of my bemusement. “May this which I have fashioned tonight serve to guard and protect my lord, day or night, for as long as is needed.”
Gradually the light faded. She watched it go, then turned to me. “How is it with you now, my lord?”
I had become so engrossed with the rite that I had forgotten the reason for it. Now I turned, faced toward where I knew those beckoning heights lay, waiting.