When the average person discovers you are a witch this question often comes up: "Do you practice 'skyclad'?" Ravenstar coven's answer to that is,--- no, we don't work naked, not ever. In fact, nudity in the Craft does not have ancient roots. It was added in the 1950s. But, you would be surprised at the disappointed looks on faces when we say this, but maybe you wouldn't. Most folks love a scandalous topic. Yes, our coven unanimously agreed that we would wear clothes. There was no vote. There never is. It was simply agreed. Besides, New England has far too cold a climate for skyclad!
Gran was bustling about hours before the celebration, from dawn actually, as she usually does for any celebration. Aurielle and I had helped her put together the nine grains with which to bake the Lammmas bread, because Lammas is, traditionally, the first witch's harvest. For the grains we used wheat, rye, barley, millet, flax, rice, corn meal, oats and even ground acorns, ground to flour. Acorns were, of course, the fruit the oak, a very masculine tree, in honor of the consort of the our goddess, stag god, also known as Cernunnos. The goddess was naturally depicted as the huntress, Diana. Our Lammas bread was made with plenty of eggs to bind all those coarse grains together and it was heavy on the wheat. It also contained sunflower seeds, grown and roasted on our place, and black and white raisins. Many of the long and thick loaves were placed on the altar, which was piled high with apples, of course, and had green and purple grapes and many nuts in their shells, walnuts and hazelnuts. There were bottles of juices, rose wine and imported ale because it's traditional and part of the ritual to have "cakes and ale" afterwards.
Things went well. Tall bamboo torches lit the area where the tables had been set. Bouquets of sunflowers were everywhere. White, black, gold, orange, brown and red candles were shoved into empty wine bottles filled with multi-colored sands. They too provided illumination. Many of us were dressed in the flowing robes of our choice. Aurielle wore cream-colored muslin trimmed with chartreuse fabric leaves, with a long macame belt. I was gaudy in crimson, brown and purple silk. Gran wore black satin with her braided silver cord coin belt, silver necklaces and strings of garnets. Bertram was in rust brown, looking like a hunter, but with much gold jewelry, Yolanda in forest green and with her big, gleaming pale green dematoid garnet studded brooch. Maeve was in flaming orange, matching her bright orange hair, and with many jangling charm bracelets on her arms. But, aside from her typical flamboyance and strident voice, which was loud as a air horn and as harsh as if steel wool could talk, she was pretty normal, for her, that is. The other members of the coven were not as spectacularly dressed. Abigail Cummings wore her usual hippie-style vintage bell bottoms, leather fringes and love beads. Dave Svenson wore jeans, but also fur and strips of leather as his Nordic tradition warranted.
We made crowns of twisted grape vines and thin branches of green maple leaves, stalks of wheat and bright zinnias for anyone who wanted them to wave about. We dipped silky brushes in silver, gold, light blue and lavender-colored paint and on our faces and bodies painted magical spirals and stars. The women painted their legs. The men painted their chests and backs. I asked James, who showed up after a while, if wanted his chest painted, but he refused with a charming smile on his handsome face. Still, when he came near our huge balfire where it was almost as bright as day and hot as a beach he took off his shirt.
The sight of James' magnificent and shining chest, lightly furred with golden hair, was a tremendous charge for me and I went to get him a big, cold mug of ale. I was rewarded with a gentle, casual kiss on the lips which literally took my breath away. James' warm arm went around my waist, briefly. Then, he grinned, took a swig of ale, licked his top lip, laughed, and left to get a plate of food from the banquet tables. I just stood there, stupidly, with my mouth open. Finally, I shook my head, smiling, and went to get a few appetizers to nibble.
Yes, although our celebrations are basically only for coven members sometimes very good friends who are sympathetic toward our beliefs, like James, and the coven's close family members are invited. Older children of coven members are always welcome if they are well-behaved, but no crying babies. James said he was very curious about the Craft. He stood apart, mostly, leaning against a tree with a sardonic expression on his face. I knew from the cross around his neck and the saint's medals on the same silver chain that he was a practicing Catholic.
But, when we started drumming to raise energy James came forward to beat enthusiastically on my bongos. Aurielle drummed on her Egyptian dombek. I danced very sensually with my vintage castanets and with the zills, or finger cymbals. Gran was at her Nigerian slit drum which could be heard over all other percussion instruments. I danced with Aurielle, around and around the enormous balfire.
It was early in the morning, about three o'clock, when Gran, Aurielle and me were cleaning up after it all, carrying the holiday things from the woods to the house, with the help of a smiling, joking and very pleasant James, when we saw a dark figure dart out of the shadows near the front steps. The person was carrying a big canvas sack over his or her shoulder. The moon then appeared from under dark gray clouds revealing the shocked face of Jus Glaser, his dark eyes wide. James dropped the folding chairs he was toting and ran toward him, chasing him into the shadows of the tall trees near road. Then, James let out a sharp cry, his body folded up and dropped instantly to the ground.
Aurielle got to him first. She was rolling him to his back when I ran up. I covered my mouth and gasped as I looked down at him. I felt faint, an angry buzzing in my ears. The hilt of a dagger stuck out of James' side, a stain of dark blood seeping rapidly into the ground. James' beautiful face was set in a grimace, but he made no sound.
Gran pointed a long finger back toward the house,- "Run, Aurielle! Call 911! Hurry! HURRY! OH, DO HURRY!"
Aurielle is a cross country champion at her school. She raced to the house. ~ Copyright 2024, by Antoinette Beard.
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