This is a work of pure fiction. Any relation between the events and characters herein and reality is coincidence and may the gods help anyone who has done anything like this. This first story is “slow-burn” because I am first and foremost a storyteller. Later stories will assume an understanding of the Way, and will be a little more fast-burn. Also be aware, the “Way” in my stories is NOT Wicca, witchcraft, Satanism, or any other religious path anyone knows. It is an amalgamate of my own creation, a venue for certain events that are only possible in my mind or on some secret island I own *kidding*
The light of the first lunar sliver cast a pale and eerie glow as the white robe acolyte climbed the small tor to the circle of stones. No words spoke, whether from fear of the High Priestess’ harsh discipline or simply being out of breath. She contemplated the potential Tasks and Trials before her, but since this was the first time she had climbed Goshawk Tor, all of her energy was being forced to maintaining footing in the slightly loose soil that comprised the winding trail.
If the acolyte was focused on the climb itself, the High Priestess leading her was focused on the acolyte. Ashwhip could walk the tor in her sleep, but this student was slow and the noise of her breathing aggravated more deeply than her usual bitching and complaining. When most students came to study at the Isla Morgana School for Girls, they were properly fearful and showed respect for the priests and priestesses. But this one, this Megan, she was the daughter of a former High Priest, and she prowled the grounds with a sense of entitlement. Yes, she had skills. She could do candle magick better than some of the initiates, and her amulets positively glowed with power. But that did not change the fact that she was a Closed Vessel, the only one as a matter of fact. For some ungodly reason, her father had seen fit to teach her how to do workings and cast spells, but had not seen it as his duty to bring her to the full sense of what a woman’s role was in the Way.
The Way. Ashwhip’s feet faltered as she thought of how much she herself had needed to learn simply to exist in this world. When she had arrived, she had been afraid that death awaited her, and several times it could have. On three distinct occasions, she had required intervention from ranking members of the Priesthood to prevent expulsion or worse. But Megan thought she knew it all. That would change after tonight. Ashwhip knew what awaited them at the summit. Within the circle stood an altar. Even now, less than half way up, Ashwhip could see the glow of torches, steady and low. There would be no wind tonight, she thought, looking skyward to see emptiness save the barest sliver of crescent moon.
The preparation for this night’s events had begun three weeks earlier, when the High Priest had asked the Council of Clergy to either break Megan’s will or force her to leave. Apparently, Megan’s attitude and behavior had reached even the Alabaster Hall, where the High Priest stayed. The Council had decided that the best solution was to take from Megan that thing that made her most unique: her status as Closed Vessel. But she was a Hereditary, and that complicated things because the only person of sufficient status to take her Closed Vessel status from her was a High Priest, but the High Priest was not going to leave the Alabaster Hall. The decision to carry out the plan meant contacting another High Priest. This had of course been done, and he had agreed to assist. His arrival had been kept secret, as had nearly all aspects of the night’s planned events. Only that part that would bring Megan along had been “accidentally” told.
Megan listened carefully for any sign of reproach from Ashwhip. “The bitch always seemed to have it in for me,” she thought. “Every time I say or do anything, there she is with that damned whip of hers.” Megan looked down and saw the still-fresh welts on her breasts from that morning when Megan had nodded off during Morning Devotions. Could she help it that the acolyte dormitory was too hot to sleep in, so she had wandered the grounds most of the night? “I swear,” she thought, “if my father saw how they treated me, he would commit the Act of Cleansing on all of them.” But still, Ashwhip was also her staunchest defender, often intervening when a Priest would demand discipline for infractions of the Code, explaining just who Megan was. Megan thought back to last week, when Rev. Desmond had tried to whip her for not being in the House of Cleanliness. Ashwhip had told Rev. Desmond something, and he relented immediately. What had been said, Megan did not know, and really, did not care either. “Damn priests do not seem to realize who I am,” she muttered.
“Did you say something,” Ashwhip hissed.
“No, lady, nothing,” was the quick reply.
“We are past the halfway mark, Megan. When you see the Twin Pillars, you know what to do, right?”
“Yes, lady, I pull my hood up, put my hands in front of my face and you lead me the rest of the way,” Megan whispered, mostly due to being winded.
“Right, and I will use the Bonding Cord you have around your waist right now. I will make sure you do not stumble, because tonight, your mind must be clear of all fear. Fear will make everything far worse than it should be,” Ashwhip told her gently. The feeling of pity that was rising was swallowed hard and fast. Megan had brought this on herself, and there was no reason to feel sorry for her. Of course, if she had not come to the Isla as she had, if her status had been like all the other girls here, things would never have happened as they did. But that water has come to the ocean now, and Megan must both atone for her past actions, and be cleansed for her future. So, all that remained was the Now.
The remainder of the climb was quiet, both because Ashwhip made sure to not say anything else herself, and because Megan was trying to quash the rising ball of acid in her belly. One of the other acolytes told her than strange things happened on Goshawk Tor, things like nowhere else on Isla Morgana. Stephanie told her that she had heard the Elders practiced blood sacrifices on Goshawk. Andrea said her mom had told her that girls who climb the Goshawk sometimes never return.
The Twin Pillars had stood atop Goshawk Tor for six hundred years, since Alfred Godrick, the founder of Isla Morgana School for Girls had placed them to hold the gate blocking entrance to the circle of stones. The circle of stones had been there when Alfred built the school, and the Old Ones told him that the stones had been there for at least eight thousand years. The left pillar was alabaster and the right obsidian, creating the light/dark contrast that was so central to all the teachings of the school. On each pillar was carved runes and sigils of power, some in languages not spoken in this world. The white pillar was called Tempus, the black pillar called Terra. The gate had long ago fallen away, but the idea of the gate remained and none of the acolytes, nor even many of the initiates, ever crossed the threshold of the Twin Pillars.
When Megan saw the pillars before her, her knees buckled. She did not cry out in pain when she fell though, because it was not pain that had caused her fall. As she had been walking, her fear had been steadily rising. She had consciously slowed her gait to avoid reaching this point. But Ashwhip showed no concern. She bent over and undid Megan’s cord, helped her rise again to her feet, raise the hood and then bound her hands before her face with the cord. She also stuffed cotton padding into the hood around Megan’s ears so she could neither see nor hear. After assuring herself that Megan was effectively deaf and blind, she shrugged off her green robes, under which she was naked except her priestess medallion and sandals. She gave the cord a slight tug and Megan’s feet went into a slow forward motion.
The distance from the Twin Pillars to the circle was 243 feet, signifying nine yards for the Sacred Space multiplied by nine yard for the Sacred Time. It was enough distance to twist and turn the person coming in, but small enough that the High Priest standing at the altar saw them approaching. Ashwhip made great efforts to make Megan walk in a circuitous path, enough to ensure that Megan had no idea where she was by the time they stood in the ring of stones.
“Who comes forth on the First Night of the Sickle,” asked the High Priest solemnly.
“A Priestess and another.”
“What draws another to the Circle of Stones?”
“Correction and atonement.”
“Why does the Priestess come?”
“To bring the atoning acolyte and to assist His Greatness.”
“Does the Priestess wish name the acolyte?”
“The priestess wishes the High Priest to name her after the atonement is completed.”
“What name does the priestess wish to give?”
“Ashbeam.”
“Remove the cord and destroy the robes, then secure the penitent to the altar.”
Ashwhip removed the cord and cotton, and then physically ripped the robes from Megan’s body, exposing her to the chill air. The High Priest had faded into the shadows of the torchlight, and Megan knew at least part of the reason. She pulled Megan forward toward the altar, but her fear was too much, and she held herself back.
“It will be worse if you defy the High Priest. I cannot speak in your defense tonight. If you defy Him, you will no longer be allowed in the school.”
Megan still shook in fear. The altar, hundreds of years old, looked stained and cold. Stephanie’s words about blood sacrifices were ringing in her ears. “Defying the High Priest,” she thought. “If I don’t, He is going to kill me.”
“Megan, I am telling you, this is for your betterment. The more relaxed and well-behaved you are, the easier this will be and the faster it will be over.”
Megan could not force herself to move, but she nodded her head that she understood Ashwhip’s words. The fact that her limbs would not respond was not going to change though. “Lady, I cannot move for fear. I want to obey, but my body is resisting.”
“Do you want me to move you myself?”
“Lady, if you can, push me. Whip me, beat me, flail me, lady, but please move me.”
