Pairing: The Sorcerer/Beloved
Rating: PG-13
Category: Drama
Comments onlist or offlist are welcome. E-mail: jeanniemarie@sprintmail.com.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, Alliance does, more's the pity.
(c) October 10, 1999
This story is in response to the Halloween Challenge I issued in the Closet. Sit back and curl up on a cool, clear night with the sound of the trees bending in the wind, their leaves quietly spiralling down while the Jack O'Lanterns grin and Witches fly across the moon...
*The night was cold and crisp, as an October night should be. The stars shone in splendid clarity, the wind whispering in the trees. The moon was shining down upon Earth's face, and there was magic in the air.
Because tonight was the Night of Magic.
Samhain.
The Sorcerer glided through the woods, his long, black cloak billowing out behind him as the gentle winds blew. He moved like a panther, graceful and silent. He carried a large book and a leather drawstring bag as his approached the clearing atop the hill. The other hand held a a large staff that looked as if Merlin once owned it. Once he reached the spot, he looked up at the moon and a slight smile spread across his handsome face. Eyes the color of emeralds glittered in the moonlight.
He bent down and put the book and bag on the ground. There was a patch of rich earth here that suited him. He ground the stick into the earth and began to trace a pentagram. When he finished, he reached into the bag and took out five yellow candles, setting them carefully in their copper holders and at the five points of the pentagram. Then he took out four white candles and set them at the Four Quarters: North, East, South, and West. An iron cauldron was set in the middle of the pentagram. He lit the candles and sat cross-legged south of the pentagram, opening the book and reading the selected page. Ingredients were tossed into the cauldron, slight hisses mixing with the wind's whispers. Somewhere a wolf howled.
On this night for years past, he had joined his brethern to give thanks to the Goddess while his heart wept. He had gained succor from his new people, and had studied and searched high and wide. If the Dark Arts had yielded what he sought, he would have used them, though the Beloved would have wept. But the Dark Arts had not been able to give him what he sought, so he remained in the Light.
Now he chanted softly as he spread the special ingredients. Puffs of smoke drifted up from the cauldron. The wind blew against this skin, the salt blowing away from his fingertips. Voices drifted up from the valley as thanks were given to the Goddess on this Night of Nights. The Sorcerer's heart was lightened by the sound. His people were celebrating.
He spoke the words as the Book lay cradled in his lap. The Book was so ancient that the pages threatened to crumble at the merest touch, but they had not survived for many centuries by being delicate. The ink had faded but was still legible to the human eye. The Wise Ones of long ago had written down all their wisdom in these pages, and only those who studied with a longing heart could successfully perform these spells.
And the spell the Sorcerer had sought was here, not a myth or whispered down through the centuries but waiting for him to divine its energy. So he had taken the Book and had pored over it for a year and a day, and he had gathered the ingredients he would need to succeed.
Smoke began to rise up in earnest, swirling delicate patterns in the shifting winds. A golden ring winked in the firelight as the Sorcerer waved his hand as if scrying over a crystal ball. He wore a short gold chain with a gold star-shaped pendant around his throat. The black cloak was draped over his slender body, hugging every curve and angle. A jewelled ring glittered on his finger.
He was a statue bathed in gold. A slender arm was stretched out as he continued the chants. Warmth caressed his skin, his naked limbs welcoming the sensation. He reached into the bag and drew out a matching pendant, then gently threw a matching ring into the center of the pentagram.
Smoke turned to flames in one glorious burst, emerald eyes reflecting the golden light as the fire leapt high in the air. The column of scarlet/gold twisted and turned in the wind, the voices of the brethern chanting on the currents. The flames reached to the heavens as if in proud declaration to the Lady's moon.
He continued to chant softly, then closed his eyes, rocking back and forth.
The chants from the circle in the valley below spiralled up on the wind, echoing in the clear night sky as the Lady's face shone down in purest brilliance.
His body tensed with the summoning of energy. He breathed deeply, then opened his eyes to see the column gradually growing higher and higher, twisting in a frenzy of crackling energy.
The Sorcerer's body twisted, the flames spiralling ever upward. He clutched the pendant tighter. The clearing was ablaze, the heat encompassing him in his own little circle. The star around his throat glittered with silvery-gold light. His chanting was always soft, never rising to a high level. His lips moved as his eyes watched the dark shadow beginning to form in the center of the column of flame.
His voice rose slightly, laced with excitement and purpose. He pushed harder, canting his body toward the fire. Energy flowed outward in a pure golden stream.
The pillar of flame crackled and hissed, twisting and flowing within the circle of the pentagram, tongues of yellow and red curling around the top of the colunn with sensuous abandon.
The shadow grew darker and larger, the Sorcerer's heart pounding furiously as he pushed one last burst of energy, the star charm cutting into his palm. Blood seeped through his fingers.
The flames burst into a dazzling display of white-hot light, then peeled away as if they were petals from a dying rose.
The Sorcerer's heart fluttered like a hummingbird caught in a human hand, but he never lowered his arm. It trembled but it did not stop from its outstretched supplication. He slowly stood, the Book dropping to the ground. He still held the pendant.
The figure standing in the middle of the fiery circle was fresh, without blemish...newborn.
The scars from that last, terrible night were gone.
The Sorcerer's blood sang as the chants from the brethern grew louder as if in celebration of this joyous miracle. Green eyes drank in the sight of breathtaking beauty as his limbs trembled. The ring glittered on the beauty's finger. The Sorcerer felt as if the earth was opening beneath his feet. He waited, hardly breathing.
"Ray?"
The voice was soft, bewildered, but familiar.
Belovedly familiar.
The Sorcerer closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and stepped forward, free hand outstretched, the other holding the star pendant and waiting to slip it over the tousled head and claim his heart's possession once more.
"Benny."
A breeze blew, riffling the pages of the Book while the voices of the brethern whispered on the wind.
The Beloved was home again in the arms of his green-eyed Sorcerer.*