I can do this … I can do this … I can do this.…
“They’re ready for you!”
Isabel’s bright voice broke through Sora’s mantra. She drew a deep, fortifying breath and then stepped out of the birthing burrow’s pantry.
“Oh, Sora! You look beautiful!” Isabel gushed.
Sora self-consciously patted her hair one more time. “You really think so?”
“Of course!”
“But I want to look more than beautiful. I want to look confident and strong and regal. I want to look like a proper Moon Woman. I tried my best to look proper, but I wasn’t expecting to have to Wash what’s left of our Clan—without Mari—and without practically any warning that’d I’d be drawing down the moon. For the first time for the Clan. Did I mention all by myself?”
“Hey, you’re going to be great. You’ve already been great. Look at what you’ve done—by yourself. You treated the Clan’s injuries, as well as the refugee Companions.” Isabel waggled her brow. “Like that wasn’t unexpected? But you handled it anyway.”
“Their injuries are more painful than they are serious. I just had to manage their discomfort, splint Sarah’s ankle, and apply a lot of aloe salve to Rose and Lydia. O’Bryan’s dressing was simple to change. It’s already well on its way to being completely healed, and that was Mari’s doing.” She paused; a bemused expression had her tilting her head and thinking aloud. “You know, O’Bryan’s really very pleasant for a Companion. Even though he is too blond and too tall to be handsome.”
“I like his puppies.”
“Isabel, they’re not O’Bryan’s puppies. They belong to Rose’s canine, Fala. O’Bryan carried them out of the fire, though, and saved them. That was really brave of him.”
“I know this sounds weird, but I’m glad he saved them. They are just babies. And I think they’re cute.”
“Well, they’re less unattractive than I would have guessed a canine baby to be,” Sora admitted. “They’re definitely cuter than Rigel. That creature is all fur and feet and appetite, and when I think of how big he’s going to get—” Sora closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. “No. I’m not going to think about that at all right now. Right now I’m only going to think about drawing down the moon.” Her eyes popped open. “Oh, Goddess! What if I can’t do it? What if it doesn’t work for me tonight?”
“You can do it. I know you can. You’ve done everything else a Moon Woman does. You’ve tended wounds and organized a Beltane Gathering at the last minute.” Isabel gave her a cheeky look and added, “You even remembered where the spring mead was buried.”
“Well, that wasn’t hard. I was there when it was buried.”
“And you have stew cooking that will feed everyone.”
“That wasn’t hard, either. The winter root vegetables were ready. All I did was supervise the making of the stew. I didn’t actually cook it.”
“You supervised because you were busy tending wounds and setting the positions of the campfires and the spreading of the lavender oil, the digging up of the mead, the collection of freshwater, and even getting sleeping pallets put together from what was, well”—Isabel looked around the tidied birthing burrow—“a disaster. Sora, you don’t have to worry about whether you look like a proper Moon Woman, or even whether you are going to draw down the moon. You are a proper Moon Woman. Remember that and you’ll be fine.”
“What about Jaxom? I’m worried that—” Sora began, but her sentence ended in a wet, nasty cough.
Isabel’s expression darkened. “Are you okay? That’s not the first time I’ve heard you cough this evening, and you’re looking flushed.”
“I’m fine. It’s just a cold.”
“Well, take care of yourself. We need you healthy. And Jaxom? All you can do is Wash him. The rest is up to Jaxom.”
“If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone?”
“Moon Woman, I give you my oath to keep your secrets.”
“I feel terrible about it, but I don’t want any of the Clansmen to find the Gathering tonight. Jaxom is bad enough. I—I don’t know what I’ll do if a group of Clansmen filled with Night Fever, worse than we’ve ever seen before, burst into the Gathering. Isabel, I’m afraid of them.”
Isabel took her hand. “Of course you are! I’ve seen what they did to you and to Danita. But, Sora, don’t worry. If Clansmen do find the Gathering you’ll do what any Moon Woman would do. You will command them to their knees and then Wash them.”
“I will.” Sora hoped saying it would make it so.
“I think you should Wash Jaxom first. Then if any males do find us he can help you keep order. I know you’ve put O’Bryan and Sheena to watching our perimeter, but…” She trailed off, chewing her lip.
“But they’ll kill our Clansmen.”
Isabel nodded slowly, eyes wide with worry. “I don’t want that to happen.”
“It won’t. I won’t let it. If they come I’ll Wash them. I’m their Moon Woman, and that’s what a Moon Woman does. Thank you for reminding me. And now I am ready.”
“Then allow me the honor of leading you to your Clan, Moon Woman.”
“Absolutely,” Sora said firmly.
Chasing all doubts from her mind, Sora followed Isabel out of the birthing burrow and around the stone pathway that led to the little clearing through which a clear, lazy stream flowed. Even before she rounded the bend and reached the point where she could look down at the unconventional Gathering spot, Sora could hear the melodic sounds of drumming mixed with the high, perfect voice of a flute. She could smell the campfires and, as the wind brushed lightly past her face, she caught the familiar scent of lavender and salt, which was always spread around a Gathering to ward off hunting packs of wolf spiders.
Isabel reached the lookout spot before she did. The young woman turned and met Sora’s gaze. Sora nodded. “I’m ready.”
Isabel turned back to the Clan and in a strong, young voice that cut through the playful music spoke the traditional announcement of a Moon Woman’s presence: “Our Moon Woman is here! Light the torches! Ready the Clan!” Then she hurried down the stone stairs to join the Gathering.
Sora took her place, looking down at her Clan. O’Bryan and Sheena were lighting the torches and taking positions at opposite sides of the circle that had been drawn by lavender oil and salt and framed by several campfires, with the main bonfire blazing in the center of the circle, close to the image of the Earth Goddess. Sora was particularly fond of this Goddess image. She was sitting cross-legged, her hands resting on her belly, fecund and swollen with child. Her skin was moss, and her hair was delicate ivy, flowing down to her thick waist. Her face was exquisite. It had been carved from a single opal, the color of the inside of oyster shells. Guide me, Earth Mother. Help me to be a proper Moon Woman.
The injured Companions rested together near one of the campfires to the right of the Goddess image. Sora could see they were watching the proceedings closely, but they looked more sleepy than worried or even nervous. Well, no wonder—after the poppy tea and spring mead they’ve been drinking.
The rest of the Clan were spread around the inside of the circle, and they were all looking expectantly up at her. Something about their like expressions suddenly reminded Sora of a nest of baby birds, and she had to stifle an inappropriate giggle.
Her gaze shifted to the one Clansman present, and her desire to giggle evaporated. Jaxom sat with his back to the thick log O’Bryan had tied him to. He’d regained consciousness, but only barely. His face was turned up in her direction, but she didn’t see anything but the red glint of Night Fever in his eyes. She had, of course, drugged him as soon as she’d been able to pour the poppy-laced tea down his throat. Sora remembered the hopeless look in Jaxom’s eyes as she’d examined him—silently and quickly—noting the strange boils that had formed at the creases of his elbows, wrists, and knees, as well as the way he kept trying to claw at his skin, even though his hands had been securely tied. I’ve never seen Night Fever manifest on the skin like it has on Jaxom. I’ll need to talk to Mari about it, check Leda’s Healer’s journals, and then—
“Moon Woman! Our Moon Woman is here!”
The Clan’s call to her swept the jumble of thoughts from Sora’s mind. She gathered herself and started down the stairs, feeling the coolness of the stone steps under her bare feet and the soft night breeze against the skin of her naked legs. She’d wanted a proper Moon Woman’s dress—something as beautiful as Leda’s cloak. But there hadn’t been time, so Sora had decided to leave her legs bare and wear only a simple tunic she’d found in the rubble of the birthing burrow, decorated with embroidered flowers and ivy. She’d also braided baby’s breath, lavender, and ivy into her hair, in addition to the shells and feathers with which she always adorned herself.
Sora made her way to the Earth Goddess idol, bowing deeply before her.
“I greet you, Great Mother, as the Clan greets me—your Moon Woman, your servant—with love and gratitude and respect.” Then she straightened and faced the watching Clan. Now was the time to call the Clansmen to come forward, as they were always Washed first to alleviate their pain and their threat to the Clan.
Taking control of her fear, Sora walked to Jaxom. His eyes blazed red at her, and sweat dripped from his face. He was filthy and he smelled rank—his breath came in fetid pants and she could see that he was straining against the ropes that bound him. For a moment she had a flash of panic. What if he breaks free? Every inch of her body that had been bitten and battered and bruised when Jaxom and the two other Clansmen attacked her the day before ached. Her stomach heaved as she thought about what else they would have done to her had Nik not stopped them. They were going to rape me. Jaxom was going to rape me. And he would attack her again. Sora saw that clearly in his hate-filled expression and the gray tinge that already covered his broken skin.
Then from the edge of her vision a torch came into view, and O’Bryan was there—standing tall and strong, knife held out and ready, face set in grim lines as he positioned himself closer to Jaxom.
The women of the Clan moved closer to her as well. Some held torches. All wore expressions of grim determination. Jaxom would not get to her again—not while her Clan was near.
Sora straightened her spine and lifted her arms, concentrating on finding the moon that was there, even though the sun had too recently set for it to be visible. But Sora was a Moon Woman, and she could always find—could always call—the moon, as long as the sun had left the sky.
A sweet, soothing coolness spread from Sora’s fingertips down her arms, chasing away the hot gray flush that the sun’s setting had caused to mottle her skin and thus chasing away the depression that had begun to cloud her thoughts.
“Man of Clan Weaver, present yourself to me!” Sora commanded.
As if her words had an elemental power over his body, Jaxom shifted so that he was crouched on his knees, arms bound behind him to the log. He bowed his head.
Sora’s breathing deepened, became rhythmic—in for four counts, pause, out for four counts. She repeated the breathing three times and sent her silent, simple prayer to the Great Goddess, Let me be worthy of you, Earth Mother.
Then Sora began to speak the words she’d practiced over and over again the past several weeks. Ironically, she had chosen to use the moon-drawing invocation Leda had always used. She hadn’t thought to. She’d expected Mari to want to speak the same words her beloved mama had spoken to the Clan, but Mari had said no, that she had to find her own invocation because she was her own kind of Moon Woman, one who was a mixture of Clan and Tribe, but she knew Leda would be pleased Sora wanted to use her words.
And Sora had very much wanted to use Leda’s words.
“Moon Woman I proclaim myself to be!
Greatly gifted, I bare myself to thee.
Earth Mother, aid me with your magick sight.
Lend me strength on this Beltane night.
Come, silver light—fill me to overflow
So those in my care your healing will know.”
As Sora spoke the invocation, she concentrated on the Great Goddess, finding the connection she’d felt with the Earth Mother since she’d been a small child. Through that sacred connection Sora sought the moon, still invisible in the twilight sky. And it was there! She felt it! It was a silver illumination that was nothing like the sickly gray that spread over an Earth Walker’s skin, bringing Night Fever to the Clan. This silver light was sublime and pure—the cool, soothing power that healed by Washing depression and darkness from the Clan.
Filled with the strength of moon magick, Sora completed the invocation:
“By right of blood and birth channel through me
the Goddess gift that is my destiny!”
As she spoke the final words, Jaxom’s bowed head lifted—and he glared at her with a malicious red gaze. Without hesitation Sora swept her arms downward, cupping his fever-hot face in her hands. “I Wash you free of all pain and madness and Night Fever, and gift you with the love of our Great Earth Mother.”
Jaxom’s body jerked while his Moon Woman channeled moonlight through herself and into him. She watched his body begin to glow bright, brilliant silver. It seemed to take a long time. Sora had to grit her teeth against the desire to let loose his face as her hands began to grow numb with cold. And then Jaxom blinked several times. His gaze met hers, and his eyes were brown and kind again.
Jaxom smiled wearily up at her. In his voice—the voice that had always laughed at her jokes and told her how special and beautiful she was—he said, “Goddess bless you, my Moon Woman!” Then he sighed in relief and relaxed back against the log, grateful tears flowing down his cheeks.
Emboldened by that victory, Sora began to move through the Clanswomen in a clockwise fashion. The women took to their knees as she approached, lifting their faces to her. Sora rested her hand on one forehead, then another, murmuring the traditional blessing of “I Wash you free of all pain and madness and Night Fever, and gift you with the love of our Great Earth Mother.”
Sora felt an incredible rush of love for them as she moved among her Clan. Though she had only known eighteen winters, Sora was consumed by maternal emotions, and as those feelings grew, her skin took on the brilliant silver sheen that had transformed Leda each Third Night.
As more and more of the Clanswomen were Washed, they returned to the drums and flutes, only this time the music they began weaving together was joined by sweetly harmonizing voices, singing wordless melodies of celebration. Some women even began dancing—twirling around with their arms flung wide, faces turned up to the darkening sky as if waiting with joyous expectation for the first glimpse of the moon.
After she Washed Isabel, Sora pulled the young woman aside briefly. “Please move Jaxom inside the birthing burrow. Tell him to wash. And then give him a mug of the poppy tea and a bowl of stew, and have him take the pallet nearest the hearth fire. Now that he’s himself again I need to recheck his wounds and he needs rest and quiet. A lot of it.”
“It will be as you say, Moon Woman.” Isabel bowed to her and then hurried to untie Jaxom and guide him to the burrow.
Sora continued to wield moon magick, joyfully Washing the rest of the Clan. She forgot about the nagging sickness that had been causing her to feel feverish and irritable and to cough annoyingly. She forgot about her fear of whether Clansmen would find the Gathering, attack it, disrupt it, ruin it. Filled with love for her Clan and appreciation for her Goddess, Sora moved among her people, secure in the knowledge that they needed her, they revered her, and they would never, ever leave her.