Friday, November 4, 2011

Chapter 14: The circle twines. (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

You watch as one of the wiccans strides round the circle with an acolyte following her every move. She stops close to you and you see her bring out a sheet and  fumble with it briefly ,, subvocalizing LIGHT ..NOW... the acolyte mutters fiddling with a torch button and  a white light clicks on straight in the acolytes eyes.. You watch as the acolyte ( you are quite sure he is blind as you noticed it was a mag lite torch) waver and try and train the torch on the piece of paper the priestess is holding.  I call the spirits of the north.. she intones. and then continues on with a long list of elements and deities. She waves a sword in the air desultorily and you hear a muffled snort.  This breaks your attention and you look over to the source of the sound.

Your eyes slide to a grim hatchet faced man dressed in mail and girt with a sword belt who doesnt seem to smile easily . You sense that unlike the priestess who is definitely using the sword with some unfamiliarity, this dour faced man definitely knows how to use his. He seems to gather a cloak of knowingness and almost arrogance and proudness about him, and a sense of power and not being quite safe to be around.   You look around him and notice a group of some rather warrior like people dressed in chain and  having helmets sitting at their feet with a collection of swords and daggers and shields.  They all seem to exude the same quality.  One busty woman is gently fondling a  claymore with a small smile on her face.  Rather curiously you notice a dagger stuck into one of her legs, and you watch as she pulls it out.. inspects the point, twirls it about looks at a cute man over the other side of the circle and you watch her smouldering gaze catch him and his head nearly wrenches around to look at her.  She breathes in  making herself   nearly bust out of the already precarious bodice she had stuffed herself into.  His attention is riveted.. and she langourously twirls the dagger once more and thrusts it in her leg again with a satisfied smile.... A large beefy guy next to her with a flowing red beard and locks  is muttering and throwing some bones on the ground.  Next to him is a slender extremely handsome and attractive young man with wild eyes who is fidgeting with a ornate curved dagger with a dragon pommel, which he bounces off a rather glaring drum in blue ( like one of those toy drums with the rubber heads).  He is a wisp of a lad yet has a beauty about him that grabs.  A young man in a blue tatty robe staring intently at a  frame drum sits next to him. An extremely muscular black haired man is flexing his biceps and checking how they look as they bulge out of his chain mail.  There are a couple of spears thrust in the ground and you can make out a banner, limply furled which seems to be of a knotwork horn.  In the middle sits a regal looking character who seems to exude a feeling as if you would like to bow towards him.  He is smiling gently and fingering the end of an ornate staff.  You see for a moment a vision of a tree rooted in the earth with its roots digging deeply into mystery and strength and wonder.  The knotted expanse of the trunk moves upwards to the heavens and the branches frame outward drinking of the sky.  You notice a man hung from the tree with a bunch of carved stones lying at the foot of the tree.  You see bones with inscriptions falling on the ground in a pattern.  The flash of an axe and a sword blind you for a moment.  you sense an oldeness

Next to this group is another , your attention is drawn to a largish man who is regally dressed in a kilt and looks like a roughish celtic bear , both rough and gentle.  Easy at swinging a sword or plucking a harp, both of which you sense he does with equal dexterity.  Clustered around him are two more just as brawnish, hairy and very much the male, the ones you expect to be yelling and dashing on a battle field or in the masculine muscle rippling commercials on tv. The second is bouncing his fibble stick gently on a bodhran.  The third is making guitar strumming gestures with one hand while mouthing notes with a cheeky grin.  Somehow you sense they are linked together. Their energy seems olde and rough and stirs a fiery passion within you for a moment.   Sitting near them is a woman with a mass of hair who is surreptitiously looking at each of them in turn and smiling and sighing at the same time, you can feel her voice like a stream burbling .. trying to come out and know that it is a voice that is transfixing in its melody. Somehow the words “unholy trinity” spring to mind.  You shrug.. and see a slim couple sitting next to the big hair woman, they seem normal enough but as you look away you see their faces almost gothic white and a majesty about them that nearly takes your breathe away.

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