I practiced the skills involved with herbal medicine, mixing potions, communicating with creatures and casting spells. I learned how the outside world looked askance at these skills. “Witchcraft” has an evil connotation, but this was “white magic.” Cats and birds were known to us as “familiars” and imparted their secrets to those they trusted. They were our partners with the Earth, not some poor sacrificial beings. And spells were cast to heal, and to bring good fortune, we did not stick pins in dolls.
By the summer after my eighteenth birthday, I was to be ready. The time had come for my “Rite of Accession.” We celebrated birthdays and weddings like anyone else, but we observed unmarked or casual rites of passage also. At age ten, I was presented with an odd ring, that I wear to this day. And on my transformative birthday, I was outfitted with a unique, ceremonial robe; much nicer than the cheap, paper one I wore for high school graduation.
When the middle of June arrived; the house filled with relatives and guests to usher-in the longest day of the year, and announce my “arrival” to the family. I was congratulated and bowed to; vials and cruets with smoky or chameleon-like colors were presented, and vows of trust and obedience were pronounced. That evening is when I was first admitted into the “sanctuary.”
Our old Victorian house had a large, thick stone foundation. Most of the old coal-cellar was cordoned-off and locked behind a heavy, studded, Oaken door. For years, members of my extended family would retire to this enclave in the late hours of night on special occasions. The house would grow quiet and still, except for low, eerie chantings and the aroma of incense. I would sometimes catch a glimpse of my folks or other participants leaving the basement in the early morning, looking sweaty and disheveled.
Tonight I was escorted into the sanctuary by my grandmother, known reverentially as Queen Brea. She used to scare me when I was younger. She could seem to appear out of thin air or to read your thoughts, she was always silent and unsmiling, though protective of us. And I never saw her legs, I swear she floated on air. She never made a noise when she moved. I circled carefully around her and watched to never disturb her. On this night, when the solid oak door was slid open; the first thing I noticed was a circle of thick, cylindrical, white candles on six-foot tall, iron stakes. Gathered infront of these, was about twenty ghostly figures, all in satiny, white robes. Their faces hidden by deep hoods, with twisted ropes or colorful beads, tied at the waist. I could only guess at their gender by the difference in heights. Behind a high altar at the far end, and totally in shadow, was a lone figure draped in blood-red.
I had been requested to bathe in perfumed oils beforehand and fed some strange fruits and a mulled wine. I dressed in my new, pitch-black robe. It was studded with colorful gems, had a gold-tassled sash and an ornate five-pointed star ablaze on the chest. I was led to an antique-looking, high-backed throne in the middle of the circle. Queen Brea was seated on a velvet stool to my lower left.