Lammas Night (61 page)

Alix undid the cord trailing from his ankle and coiled it quickly as she rose, taking both hers and Gray's to lay them on what William assumed must be an altar behind her—a low, rectangular table covered with a white cloth, a black candle set to the left side and a white one at the right.

He had no time to study further details, for Alix had taken up a small vial as she turned to face him again, moistening her right thumb from it and approaching him with purpose. Sensing the solemnity of the moment, he drew himself more erect and stood very still, closing his eyes, his skin twitching a little as she touched him: right breast, left breast, abdomen just below the navel, right breast again.

“I consecrate thee priest and witch,” he heard her say almost in a whisper, opening his eyes with a start as she brushed his lips with hers. “And in honour of this consecration, I give thee a new name before willing thee power. Please kneel.”

He obeyed, steadying himself on Gray's outstretched hand as he went down. Michael and the brigadier had come to stand behind him as she spoke. He could feel the hems of their robes brushing against the bottoms of his feet.

“It is customary in most faiths for an initiate to be given a new name at the time of his reception,” she said softly. “You received the names of various Christian saints and family members at your baptism and confirmation.

“Because our magical tradition has some of its roots in the mystical Qabala, our forebears chose to use the
sephiroth
of the tree of life as magical names. Within the confines of avoiding duplication, we try to select an aspect which is appropriate to the person. My name is
Binah
, which is the sphere of understanding, of slumbering potentiality, the Mother of the Universe. Gray is
Din
, sometimes also called
Geburah
, the sphere of power, severity, and discipline. Wesley is
Hesed
, the merciful, loving Father, guide and protector. Michael is
Netsah
, which is the sphere of human instincts and emotions, the force of nature.”

She moistened her thumb again and touched it to his forehead, splaying her fingers across the crown of his head. He closed his eyes immediately, sensing the power of a name, and felt the spot under her thumb as a warm, pulsing point of energy.

“I name thee
Kether
, which is the crown—the first emanation of God, for so thou shalt be in times to come, as thou hast been in times past.”

He stiffened a little at that, for it was the first direct allusion to the ultimate reason for his presence here tonight.

But then, with her right hand still on his crown, Alix knelt slightly to his right, her left hand touching the soles of his feet.

“Relax and flow with what you feel,” he heard Gray murmur as another hand touched his head and he sensed Gray crouching on his left.

William did relax as Gray's other hand touched his feet; and all at once he was acutely aware of kneeling between two poles of incredible power, god and goddess, deity about to act through priest and priestess, dual sacring.

“By this laying on of hands do we will thee power,” Alix said, “that all which our hands encompass may be consecrated to the service of the gods:
Kether
, high priest and magus and son of the living gods.”

“So be it,” Gray responded.

With almost a shudder, William let his mind retreat to the centered comfort of trance, for suddenly their touch began to reach beyond the physical. The sensation intensified—bright, insistent pressure inside his brain and an almost electrical, crawling sensation all over his skin, at once threatening and exhilarating, though the threat was not one of danger, only change. He was aware of other hands being laid upon his shoulders, other minds joining in, and their touch plunged him deeper yet.

No sound intruded save his own pulse hammering in his temples and the breathing of the four around him, which all at once had become one with his. He felt more alive than he had ever been, a vast
something
stirring in places deep within him where no one and nothing had ever touched, though there were flashes of
other-whens
that gave hint that this was not the first time he had felt this way. As the intensity finally began to slack off, William thought he knew where he could find the strength to do what eventually must be done.

And Graham, sensing the ebb of power, knew without doubt that this initiation had “taken.” Most did, but a very few did not—though such initiates generally experienced a spontaneous initiation at a later date. Sometimes, too, the ritual was merely a formal sealing of an inner initiation that had already taken place. William's had been neither of those.

Graham watched the prince open his eyes as they all drew back, and he temporarily shed his mantle of godhood so William could see the very human pride and love in his eyes. He let Alix greet their new brother first, as was proper, but then he was vying with Ellis and Michael to embrace and welcome, all rank and divinity temporarily set aside. The five of them laughed and joked like rowdy children, momentarily forgetting the future.

Reality intruded all too quickly, for the drone of aircraft overhead again wrenched them back—the remnants of the earlier raiders returning east, unladen now, though not so many as before. They froze and listened, none of them moving until the silence had returned save William, who stood in the doorway and stared up grimly at the shadows crossing the moon.

All the weight of Graham's own responsibility came settling back on his shoulders as he hurriedly slipped back into his robe. Officiating with Alix helped, but his heart still twisted in his chest as he watched William thrust his arms blindly into the white robe Michael held for him. Alix finished donning her own robe and tried to put on a courageous smile as Michael knotted a scarlet cord around the prince's waist.

“You may have wondered why your robe is different,” Alix said, also putting on a scarlet cord. “White is the proper color for the candidate for initiation, but it is also the garment of the sacred king. The initiate wears the scarlet cord, however—not black or white, because red is the color of life. You're one of us now.”

William made no reply to that, though he nodded understanding, but when he bent to buckle on his Garter for the next part of the ritual, Graham had to look away. Though he knew Ellis had been right to insist he take the high priest's role tonight, that knowledge was not making it any easier to deal with what came next. He almost wished someone else could take over the rest, though another part of him knew he would have killed to keep the privilege.

He crouched beside Alix by the altar, glad for the extra hands as Ellis joined them and helped clear it of everything but the cloth and the two lit tapers, black and white like the pillars of the tree of life. He was very much aware of William watching him from the edge of the circle, Michael standing at his elbow.

After Alix arranged all to her satisfaction, she picked up the vial of oil again and glanced at him. Ellis, with a sympathetic squeeze of Graham's shoulder, withdrew to stand on William's other side.

“I realize this part will be especially difficult for both of you,” Alix said in a very low voice. “Do you think he realizes you've reconciled your objections?”

Graham turned his head away slightly, to stare into the flame of the white taper.

“
Have
I reconciled them?”

“I think you know you have, insofar as anyone can.”

“Then perhaps I have. I've resigned myself to bowing to his will at least. I'm glad you and Wesley made me see how it would have hurt him not to have done what I'm doing tonight.”

“No one could ask more, Gray. I don't envy you your choice.”

As she touched his hand in comfort, he took hers and pressed it to his lips, giving her a fleeting smile. Sighing, she stood and turned to face the prince, the altar at her back and Graham moving into place at her left hand. At Alix's nod, Ellis and Michael brought the prince forward the few steps where, at Alix's second nod, he knelt. In his white robe, surrounded by their black, his fair hair bright gold in the candlelight, he already looked the young god incarnate.

“William, I am oath bound to ask you once more before we proceed,” she said gravely. “Are you certain this is what you wish? It isn't too late to turn back. None of us will think the worse of you for it. No one is forcing you to do this besides yourself.”

William's voice did not falter, though the formality of his words might have covered an understandable apprehension.

“My lady, it is not what I would have sought out for my end, but I have come to believe in the past weeks that circumstances leave me no other option. For my brother's sake as well as the sake of the land, I feel it necessary at this time that I at least offer up my
willingness
to stand in the King's stead. If circumstances should change—and I pray they will—then I shall be the first to welcome the removal of this cup. But if that is not to be, then it is meet that I—and he”—he nodded toward Graham—“enter this obligation properly prepared. I beseech all of you to support me in my decision.”

The prince's answer did not surprise Graham, though the royal glance touched his soul with ice. To spare both their nerves—since it was obvious there was to be no reprieve from this part—he inclined his head in reluctant submission and backed off a few paces to await his next cue, the crown of the horned god weighty on his head.

“So be it,” Alix murmured. “Brethren, let us prepare the sacred king for his anointing.”

In numbed fascination, Graham watched Ellis and Michael open the neck of William's robe and ease it back from his shoulders, baring his chest and upper arms. To words hallowed by usage down the centuries, Alix anointed the sacred king.

“Be thy hands anointed with holy oil,” she murmured, signing each palm with a circled cross.

“Be thy breast anointed with holy oil.”

Her thumb traced the sign bold above his heart.

“Be thy shoulders anointed with holy oil.”

She traced the sacred symbol between his shouder blades as he bowed his head.

“Be thy head anointed with holy oil, as kings, priests, and prophets were anointed: and as Solomon was anointed king by Zadok the priest and Nathan the prophet, so be you anointed, blessed, and consecrated King over the Peoples, whom the Lord your God hath given you to rule and govern.
Selah
. Amen. So be it.”

“So be it,” Ellis and Michael responded.

They helped the prince to rise then, drawing his robe back into place before they led him between Alix and Graham to stand before the altar. There, with the oil still glistening on his upturned palms, he was enthroned between the pillars of severity and mercy, the sacrifice set upon the altar in symbol. A little timidly, his eyes sought Graham once more.

But it was
Din
, the high priest of the ancient ones, who sustained Graham now as he stepped before the prince and paused to bow. All the power and majesty of the godhead he assumed with his office blended with the resigned sorrow of the man as Graham reached slowly to his head and removed the horned god's diadem.

“You are the Sacred King, the God Incarnate,” Alix said softly, kneeling expectantly at William's right hand as Graham moved closer to the prince, turning the horned crown in his hands. “You are the fitting substitute for another anointed king who sits a different throne not far away.”

Outwardly dispassionate, Graham raised the crown above the royal head in salute and held it there for several heartbeats, hands steady as he gazed into William's eyes, then lowered it gently. William shuddered a little and closed his eyes briefly as the weight settled on his head. He did not seem to notice as Graham bowed again and began slowly backing off, arms crossed on his breast, until his back encountered the trellised wall.

“We acknowledge you as Lord, here in this sacred circle,” Alix continued. “Here, before the ancient ones and all the gods and goddesses—who are all but facets of the whole—we pledge you our homage and our service, as our forebears pledged to yours when the land was young.” She took off her crown of flowers and laid it at his feet in tribute. “We acknowledge that the sacrifice may be required and that the decision is yours alone. Whatever assistance you may require, we are yours to command.”

As though through a fog, Graham watched Alix wipe her long hair over the prince's palms to cleanse them of the sacring oil, then lay the sword across them. William kissed the hilt before resting it across his knees. Graham averted his eyes as Alix placed her hands between William's, but he could not shut out her words.

“In heart as well as hands, I am your servant,” Alix said, affirming her own acknowledgment of the oaths first sworn at Laurelgrove. “Faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and to die, against all manner of folk. And may my powers desert me and my weapons turn against me if I break this, my solemn oath. As you command, so mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” Ellis and Michael echoed.

Graham forced himself to pay attention as Ellis and then Michael went forward to repeat the homage, drawing unexpected comfort from their example, but when all three of them had retreated to the doorway and knelt once more, trying not to look too pointedly at him, Graham knew he could delay no longer. Awkwardly, he went before the silent prince and eased down on both knees, almost holding his breath. As he held out his right hand alone, William's eyes flicked to it in faint surprise.

“Take my hand, Will,” Graham whispered, flinching a little as he caught the prince's gaze again. “Take it as you took it that night you asked to come with me to Buckland and all of this began.”

A little puzzled but obviously remembering, William joined his right hand to Graham's as if in handshake, covering its back with his left. Graham relaxed a little and allowed a tiny, wry smile to pass his lips.