Read 09 - Return Of The Witch for Free Online Page A

colored candles representing the prime essentials, and placed them around the circle to designate compass points. A dozen smaller candles in glass jars served as my pyramid, symbolizing the hierarchy of the coven.
    All that remained was the consecration of the circle. For that, I needed only water and salt. I placed my athame across the top of the bowl containing the water.
     
    “Mothers of the Coven , cleanse thy waters, make it pure, allow my passage through thy door.”
     
    I did the same with the salt .
     
    “Mothers of the coven, take thy salt to make it pure, that I might know thy flames what soar.”
     
    I sprinkled the salt into the water and stirred it with the athame. Then, with the tip of the instrument, I began flicking water droplets all along the edge of the circle. Dipping and flicking. Dipping and flicking.
    As I reached the four candles demarcating the compass points, each exploded in turn, setting one-quarter of the perimeter ablaze at a time until an entire ring of fire encircled me.
    I placed the black mirror on the floor, leaning it against the stacked candles in the jars. I waved my athame over the mirror three times and whispered,
     
    “ Hear ye spirits through this glass, bridge the void and let me pass .”
     
    I pressed the athame to the mirror. The blade passed through it with no resistance. I pushed further and my entire arm disappeared into the blackness beyond. With a final breath, I leaned forward and plunged my body into the mirror completely.
    The sense of falling through emptiness reminded me of passing through the portals of the Eighth Sphere. The only difference was that there, a milky cloud of viscous matter surrounded me like a fog while I fell. Traveling through the black mirror, on the other hand, was a cold, dark experience akin to skydiving blindfolded.
    I remember breathing short, quick breaths and swallowing often to squelch the urge to hurl. My nose felt cold; my ears pained to the whistle of wind like a teakettle boiling. All over, I felt the prickly tingle of dull pins probing my skin, raking up one side of my body and down the other. I knew the mothers were checking me out.
    The last time I traveled through the mirror, I was naked, as one should be, naked, cleansed and oiled through ritual convention. Travel then was less an ordeal. Clothing is an encumbrance of the living and of no concern for the dead.
    Once the mothers had cleared me, the sensation of falling ceased. I found myself suspended in an empty black sky, my f eet dangling, my arms floating.
    From down below, a great column of spiraling white vapor ascended and consumed me. It swirled in cyclonic fashion as if one with the emptiness. Yet, within the wall of swift-moving currents, I saw hundreds, perhaps thousands of faces, all looking at me looking at them.
    Soon , the monadic force erupted and dispersed, settling in a fog-like layer all around me. As the fog lifted, the bodies and faces appeared. I stood among them, one in a sea of witches, men and women of all ages. They were all my ancestors, kin through blood and bound through magick.
    I felt so out of place , what with the entire coven standing naked before me, and I all clothed up. Yet, I also felt a sense of welcome, as if I could name every stranger there and her relations. These were my sisters and brothers. I knew that, and this was my home.
    Through the thick of the crowd, came forth one old woman, familiar yet not. She floated toward me, parting the spread of bodies through proximity approach. She smiled at me. I smiled back.
    “Lilith of New Castle .” Her voice was pleasant and soothing to the ear. “Merry meet and welcome ties.”
    “And to you, Milady,” I said. “Merry meet ye wise and winsome, merry meet ye all.”
    She bowed graciously. “Thou hast come alone?”
    “Aye, `tis a favor I ask, Milady.” I craned my neck to steal a glimpse beyond the first few rows of faces.”
    “A favor of the coven?”
    “Yes…I mean aye. You