Samhain

My eyes delight on the burnished tints and tones of this autumn day. My nose tingles with the scents of leaves interspersed with smoky accents. All in all, this moment in time gifts me a perfect, 'Wheel of the year.' The bells on my front stoop alert me to the arrival of my visitors. Through the antique glass, they appear distorted, bent, disfigured. Tabitha, Ferula and Arwen sweep through the open door, already dressed for our afternoon.

"Come along, Morena, bippity bop, let's go!" 

"Patience, sisters, I'll be ready in a blink of your eyes."

Throwing on my crimson Irish hooded cape, I channel "little red riding hood,' without the vulnerability and gullibility. Down the roadway, we traipse burdened with our apple load. Each of our pockets holds tiny scoops for the burying. Our travels develop a rhythm: step-step-step-pause-bend-dig-cover-repeat until all of our bags empty. 

Back at my home, flipping on the kettle, a hearty pot of tea to sip and savour while we hollow turnips before carving a pentacle, triple-moon, ankh, eye of Horus, and triquetra. As the sun takes her bed, as the moon wakes up, bluely in the sky, we each light a single taper to sit in the windows. 

My heart hammers with anticipation as I will be hosting my coven sisters for the first time. I set Tabitha, Ferula and Arwen to set the harvest table for our meal, its ten chairs awaiting possible spirits. I stand ladling the three-bean chilli into a lidded tureen before I remove the tomato and cucumber salad with yogurt dressing from the refrigerator. 

We sit around the wooden table, our goblets full of hot mulled red wine brewed with allspice, clove, orange peel, anise stars, cinnamon sticks, fresh orange, fresh apples and pomegranate juice. 

"Good Samhain, sisters."

Conversation ceases as the sounds of chewing and swallowing fill the room. While the coffee brews, I carry in my signature dessert, fig clafoutis. 

"Morena, you have set the scene for this night's sacred circle."

I feel my cheek glow with Tabitha's praise. 

I have prepared the table as an altar with items belonging to my great great great grandmother Opalina. Besides, there is a black candle, a slice of freshly baked bread, a glass of apple cider. In my mind, I replay the words of honour, nervous that I will stumble or forget the phrases. 

"Sisters," Arwen's dulcet voice intones, "the veil between worlds is the thinnest."

"Yes," Ferula whispers, "tonight is a special time, prime time for welcoming our ancestors to our world."

"Tonight, sisters," Tabitha breathes, "we honour, work with and learn from our forebearers."

"And I, with Tabitha's guidance, have collected the tools and supplies needed."

In silence, the only sounds heard arise from rustling clothes as we dress for the outdoors, made acoustic by the roaring fire pit. 

All eyes trace Tabitha's movements as she casts a circle with salt. With a nod, I light the black taper on the altar for my ancestor, Opalina. 

Seated around our circle, I invoke her name, "Opalina." 

The air sizzles with the combined energies of our meditative thoughts channelled wholly towards Opalina. 

I shiver, drawing closer to the folds of my cloak. My eyes startle at the sudden frostiness. The silence hurts my ears with its intensity. 

With a flash of brilliant light, my eyes fall dim, sightless. 

"Morena,"

This voice tugs at the rooted memories, uncovering the darkest desires in my psyche. 

"Morena."

I open my eyes they're greenness tracks this sound. A figure stands beyond the flaming fire, cloaked, the face obscured. Without apparent movement, I feel a hand upon my shoulder. 

"Arise, Morena, greet your Nana."

I float from my seated posture to stand, towering above this woman calling herself my Nana. A breeze blows off her hood, revealing her face. I shudder and turn my face away.

"Morwena, for shame. You are seeing with your eyes. Your eyes do not see the beauty. Your eyes are blind to the truth. Look again. Look now!"

I swivel on my toes, my eyes linking with hers. I blink, confused at this sight. Before me stands a young woman, auburn of hair, translucent of skin, and radiance of calm and love. 

"Opalina, I don't understand!"

Tabitha escorts Opalina to join us around our circle.

"Welcome Opalina. Let me introduce our coven: your granddaughter Morena, to her left Ferula and beside her Arwen."

With her hand in mine, Opalina starts her story. 

"Long, long ago, I was a healing woman. I birthed babies. My herbal remedies achieved renown. In sadness, in fear, in ignorance, one day, I became a pariah. When Mistress Soames babe died three days after joining our world, I was blamed. First, by her husband. Next by the cleric. Finally, by the community, coalescing in condemnation."

A tear escapes from her eye, sliding unbidden down her cheek. 

"I was detained and questioned. When I did not answer these unanswerable questions, I was tortured. First, they broke the joints of my fingers, one-by-one. I had no words to stop this. Next, they pulled out some of my teeth; however, again, I had nothing to say. Finally, they wracked me. I had not the energy to stop them. On the last morn of my life, I was dragged through the town, tied to a post, set aflame."

With a burst of fire, Opalina evaporates, leaving but a trace of ash. 

I pull my knees to my chest, shaking. 

"Morwena, come with us, let's go inside."

Arwen and Ferula support me by my shoulders into my living room, where I drop onto my sofa.

"I'm thinking we still have Soames living in our neighbourhood."

"Ferula, you are correct. Based on my past experience with this 'Mrs'. they are more like their ancestors than I had known."

"Ferula, Arwen, perhaps it's time for them to make amends."

The air buzzes, charged with these words and their potential consequences. 

My chest shakes with silent sorrow, with roaring rage, with a voiceless vengeance.