The Rapturous Moon: Minorie Raine: Trials & Tribulations, #2

For David

A Note from The Author

"You came out of the night,

Wearing a mask in white colour.

My eyes were shining

On the wine, and your aura."

~ Kate Bush

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Ok, so we all get swept off on waves of excitement and passion from time to time.....don’t we??

Well yes, maybe some more than others. I had friends who seemed to unconsciously abstain from boyfriends and girlfriends until they finally met the one they would someday marry. I used to wince at the news of their marriages. It always reminded me of two stately and exotic cargo ships of old meeting almost fatefully on a deserted sea and merging their desirous cargos of spices and fine wines to make one long and beautiful night of merriment.

I, on the other hand, was more like one of those pound-shop dinghies you buy on holidays for the kids; that is, if a hurricane hit your holiday resort and blew your dinghy all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. I’ve been deflated and displaced, I’ve been commented on by sneery passing sailors, and I’ve seen things with a bird’s eye view that not everyone is afforded.

I’ve learned that one cannot truly appreciate the light until one has become well acquainted with the dark, and that one cannot truly appreciate the beauty of the night-time without the shine of the rapturous moon.

Between Seasons...

The winter had been a cold one. The other murders had found it difficult to pull worms from beneath the frozen ground. They’d had to descend further down the mountain across the village boundary to fight noisily over crumbs and inexperienced dormice each morning and evening.

Mister Crow, of course, had no such worries as he let his head rest atop his tired body upon on his perch in Christy’s firelit kitchen. He had occasionally gotten lonely over the years, what with being denied the company of the other crows due to his shameless fraternising with humans. But he had never once feared the cold or the hunger – a luxury afforded few of his peers.

And pickings this year had been excellent; he had a new admirer over at the sea hag’s nest. Na-nan, as the people called her, had adopted the red haired one who made it rain into her household after the big, noisy Festival of the Dead last year, and the red haired one had had a lot of messages to send.

She’d sent a virtual flurry of them over the winter to her mother on the far side of Findair, and even one which warranted a return message, which Christy basically never did for anyone...But the red haired one’s messages brought rich reward, for both Christy and Mister Crow. She would keep several morsels of the finest fruits of Carlinn Lough to present to Mister Crow each time she had a message to send, then she’d sing her weird little summoning into the rising tide, so that the echo would reach him wherever he was in the village. Not everyone in the village knew about that trick; the red-haired one was nearly as smart as a crow that way.

For Christy, she would cough up a sizable pork loin or a roast chicken, baked goods, bottles of liquor or even new shoes. Mister Crow had seen her working hard at the nests of different humans around the village in order to obtain these treasures, shovelling shit, digging half-frozen vegetable gardens out and of course, praying.

She’d taken to chatting with the Lough and the moon each evening recently. They were listening to her and answering, though Mister Crow knew there was still a wealth of doubt beneath that fiery hair. She was like a first-time mother cawing nervously for her wandering young, hoping beyond hope that a return call would eventually come.

Of course, the redhead’s night-times were full of shadows; shadows she couldn’t even see, shadows with yellow hair and long beards. Dark forces on the mountain were conspiring, like a black cloud ready to bring thunder and lightening crashing down to the earth, but she was too young to be able to sense such changes in the air just yet.

At his age, Mister Crow could not only sense these things, but he’d also learned that just like warning the ground that it was about to be struck by lightning, warning the redhead of what may befall her would have proved equally useless. The Lough and the moon had their own plans for her and they were, even for a wise and all-knowing fellow like himself, superior forces of nature which relied heavily on fear and mystery for their power. He avoided them where possible, unlike her of the fire, her with the red hair, whom they called Minorie Raine. She was determined to penetrate their depths. She was determined to catch the proverbial worm. And catch it she would, although it would probably be sizzled dry by lightening before the morning...

Omelia

Omelia pulled her thick woollen jacket tight around herself as she stepped out into the freezing night and pulled Nicholas Crowther’s front door closed behind her. The two and a half mile walk home would be difficult with the cramps, although the elixir Crowther had given her should be kicking in any minute now and besides, she knew the road like the back of her hand. The scattered bunch of glimmering lights that signified Carlinn village was not yet in her line of vision, but there was enough moonlight at least to make out the clumps of heather and occasional boulder which marked the edges of the dirt road back to Merryweathers. Her lessons from this evening swirled around in her head, trying to find the relevant memory banks to assimilate themselves into. She was thankful to have finished early; she had been in no fit state to extend the session and anyway, Nicholas had been eager to get to his ‘experiments’.

She hadn’t been sure at first why he had requested she bring the candles, particularly so many of them. Things became a bit clearer when he then requested she bring the cushion and the hairbrush.....He had assured her that he was merely attempting to understand what it was about the blood which had so upset the demons. Omelia wasn’t sure she believed him, and she had no desire to be an active part in anything which brought further harm or weirdness to Minorie. She still admired her bravery and in truth she missed her company. She had been so much more fun than Grace, a real kindred spirit. But in any case, Omelia preferred not to know the truth. The revelations uncovered by her stay with them had upset the apple cart, to say the least.

It had been revealed to Omelia that the weather magick in Merryweather’s had been not worked, as she had previously believed, by Mary’s hands, but that in fact it had been Crowther’s skills which had powered the sunbeam all these years. This had put a real dampener on her quest to find her power and to follow in her mother’s footsteps in training to be a High Priestess of the Serpentine Sisters of Heart Hill. It proved to be one of the darkest times in her life thus far, full of uncertainty and misery. For a few days the sunbeam had ceased to function as Crowther had negotiated as hard as he dare with the demons, without whom its reinstatement couldn’t have taken place. All hope had seemed lost during those days and Omelia had been faced with the very real prospect of having to go home to her stepfather’s house.

It would have been impossible for her to stay beneath Mary’s roof with the state Mary had been in. It took three full days before it was safe to even let her out of her bedroom. She’d destroyed it when she’d come to on the very first morning – shouting for her bottle of gin and smashing everything she possibly could. Grace had barred the shutters on her bedroom from the outside to prevent her escaping through the window. When they’d finally let her out on the third night all she could do was lie in Grace’s arms in front of the fire and cry pathetically. She hadn’t spoken a word to Omelia the whole time, other than to rant incoherently through the bedroom door. When Crowther’s offer had come on the fourth day it was like a gift from Mamon.

Maldaron, Jezelu and Branalok had finally decided upon terms that pleased them. They would reinstate the sunbeam only on the promise that Crowther would immediately begin trying to make a baby with a new woman. They had settled upon Omelia as their choice. For her part in things, Omelia received the offer of an education in the dark arts, as Crowther was fond of calling it. It wasn’t exactly the innocent-sounding weather magick her mother had envisioned for her, but it was much, much more powerful. Omelia had taken almost no time to think it over.

One definite pro to the new situation was that the demons no longer required the moon blood as evidence, deciding that its taste had so displeased them last time that they dare not take the risk again. Instead, Omelia was required to attempt to conceive at the end of each of her lessons with Crowther, barring days like today when she was menstruating.

She hadn’t minded this clause so much at the start, particularly since Mary had given her some great tips on how to prevent conception. She hadn’t felt she was ready for a baby just yet, and the longer she could string things out with Crowther, the more knowledge and power she could acquire. And besides, the regular supply of sex had really helped her to knuckle down and stop thinking so much about boys.

She couldn’t keep it going forever though; the demons had placed a time limit on the new contract. If she hadn’t conceived within the turn of twelve moons they would be released from their bond to Crowther and the sunbeam would be no more.

Additionally, things had gotten a bit strange when, just a month into their lovemaking, she had caught Crowther putting a glamour on her. Having red hair for an hour or two had been a kinky thrill on those nights during the first week or two since her discovery, but after that it did feel a little weird, especially when he’d say things like Ooh, you fiery little cunt.... Omelia guessed he had some major mother issues. She wasn’t really in any position to judge him on that front though. And besides, every little detail of information she gathered about him was just one more piece of assurance that he wouldn’t try to pull anything funny with her. She’d learned a thing or two since having her moon blood misappropriated by a desperate woman and her dark wizard lover....

She felt lonely all of a sudden on the road. The glow of Carlinn was still a few bends away. She glanced around her to ensure no-one was about. And why would they be? People in Carlinn generally avoided this part of the mountain and in the months she’d been walking the road now, she hadn’t passed a single soul on the way. Well, actually she’d passed many souls, just none which were still attached to human bodies.

The ghosts around here were legendary amongst the villagers and further afield. Outside visitors who came from the Findair side and who missed the turn for the mountain pass would often find themselves camping within earshot of Crowther’s Crag and the noises they would hear were reputed to have driven most of them right back to Findair in the middle of the night. Some others were apparently driven clean out of their minds.  Crowther had taken certain special precautions to ensure Omelia would not be too bothered during her journeys – she had told him that ghosts still terrified her, and had immediately regretted giving him this window to her weaknesses. His only response had been to remind her that dealing with ghosts and even darker things besides was ‘obviously an inevitable necessity of learning the dark arts.’ He had in any case held back some of the more desperate and angry spirits for her, although she felt that his efforts in this department may soon begin to wane, along with his interest in her. It wasn’t her he wanted, nor was it even Mary. It was Minorie. Minorie with her red hair and the fire in her blood and the rain in her name.....Omelia knew that Minorie would never touch Crowther with a ten foot barge pole, at least not of her own free will. That was where her pondering on the subject would always cease.

The elixir was doing its job now, rapidly working tentacles of numbness through every part of her, soothing the pain until she felt as though she were floating – a perfect time to brush up on her skills. She cleared her throat. The noise startled her somewhat in the stillness of the night.

"Hesti? Your commander is calling you.

Hesti? Your services are required here.

Hesti, my love? I need you...."

With that, the ethereal vision of her little fire friend appeared as clearly in her mind’s eye as if she were observing a real thing with her two everyday eyes. It was like a lizard made of flames, with a very distinguishable expression on its docile little face. It lifted its tail and heaved in a great breath before coughing out a decent-sized fireball which would serve as Omelia’s lantern for the walk. She smiled and thanked it and sent it away with her mind.

Hesti had sort of been Crowther’s first gift to her. Of course, she needed to summon it up herself under his supervision, but it was the thought that counted. To light the long road home for you, my love, he had said to her almost tenderly, once the salamander had finally answered her call. It was the first useful thing Omelia had ever invoked.

Her previous attempts at summoning servants of her own had been embarrassingly amateurish. She had rescued some of her mother’s books before her stepfather had sold them on for a fortune. With them, she had made several attempts to conjure up this helpful spirit and that servile demon but she always seemed to leave out some crucial element like reading the fine print first or cross-checking things she didn’t fully understand. The result was that most of her attempts were complete failures, and some of those had gone horribly awry. One had even brought a reckless and angry entity into her stepfather’s house which, for a good week and a half, had resisted both Omelia’s and her mother’s attempts to remove it. That had been the final straw.

Her mother said the whole thing had shown her that Omelia needed guidance and that she wasn’t going to be able to give it to her under her stepfather’s roof. She had contacted her friend, Lady Anna Marmaduke, to enquire about available positions for prospective students in Carlinn. Lady Anna had had a full house at the time but had arranged for Omelia to stay at Merryweather’s. She had stressed that Omelia may wish to wait until a position in her own house became available but Omelia, her mother and her stepfather alike were all keen for her to depart as soon as possible. Of course, her stepfather still actually believed she was in boarding school on the other side of the country. Fool.

Omelia sighed as Carlinn’s lights finally came into view and wondered at what could have been had she only waited for a place in Lady Anna’s house. She wouldn’t have had to hide every joint she’d smoked for the past three years, and she’d have been able to have all the boys she could manage over to stay. Plus there’d have been less work, more parties, no Grace to put up with.....She sighed again and wondered if she was mad to turn down the chance to stay at Lady Anna’s now that it had finally come up. The invitation, when it eventually arrived however, was not as shiny and appealing as Omelia had once imagined it would be.

Some part of her had shut down on that fateful festival night last October. She could no longer live for the intoxicating mix of pleasure and submission which had been provided at Merryweather’s and indeed, which would have been magnified had she moved to Lady Anna’s. She wanted to show her mother and her stepfather and anyone else who doubted her that she was a force to be reckoned with. She wanted to learn magick that would make her mother regret sending her away. She wanted her stepfather to quake in his boots. She wanted Mary to be under obligation to her for a while.....Yes....yes it’s all falling nicely into place now.

The sunbeam appeared in the distance now, lighting up the cottage like a freak show amongst the dignified dwellings which were snuggled around the edge of the village. Omelia smiled to herself as she drank in the vision. She felt in a way as though it was hers, like she was the one earning it. She knew Mary knew this too. She loved that she hadn’t dared broach the subject with her. She loved how much more care Mary took to be nice to her and to swallow her rage and her cutting remarks. She really loved to watch Grace’s face contort with futile disgust each time Mary instructed her to help out in the garden. She relished being the unspoken queen of the pecking order. And she glowed with anticipation of them pretending to be in bed asleep when she arrived home.

She sent her wandering eye, as Crowther called it, onwards to the house to look in upon her hosts. Grace was picking up on her nearing presence and was alerting Mary, who’d been crying into her wineglass in front of the fire. They were scrambling to make the living room look as though they hadn’t spent the entire evening there. Omelia laughed as she observed Mary stretching up to shove the wine bottle into the antique toilet cistern before scuttling off, half-cut, to bed, and Grace positioning herself in lotus upon the floor of the meditation room, trying to look enlightened. Fools, all of them. Useless, cursed fools.

She pulled her coat tight around herself again and called the fireball a little closer, so that she might benefit from its meagre heat. She smiled, quite satisfied with herself. Yes, it’s all falling nicely into place.

Minorie

The perfectly circular moon was a milky dot on a satin sheet of twilight blue. The air had that icy nip which had been penetrating her bones all winter, but she liked to think she was hardening to it gradually. Every day since the last full moon she had brought her cushion and her fire bag down to the water’s edge and sat on this same rock, which was protected from the rain and the snow by an ominous-looking overhang.

On the rock directly in front of her sat the fire pit, a loose term for the steel tyre rim which Blaise had cut to shape with the angle grinder and sealed on one side with sheet metal. He’d even put curved legs on it and made it into a decent receptacle for a small but functional fire.

He’d looked damn sexy, wielding power tools and building stuff like a boss. She’d almost told him so more times than she could count, but each time it had felt like she’d be imposing a weirdness over what was otherwise an awesome friendship. Sometimes he’d come home from ‘parties’ Minorie wasn’t invited to with a gigantic smile on his face, and in the past few months, he hadn’t given off even one single flirty vibe to her. She knew deep down that this was one door that would remain closed, even if it did drive her crazy from time to time.

She rummaged around in the large canvas bag for the tinder sticks she had thrown in earlier. It felt like sitting in a cave here, protected from watchful eyes yet still vulnerable to the elements. The sea breeze felt fresh on her face and made her lungs feel cleansed and full as she breathed it in deeply and admired the last daylight glimpses of Carlinn Lough. When she had carefully arranged the tepee formation inside the fire pit, she took from the bag the little board of rough clematis wood, in which Blaise had shown her how to make grooves with a hand drill. She placed the board on the cold rock beneath her and weighted it down with a stone. Next, she took out one of the long elder rods which had been drying in the woodshed since just after the Festival of the Dead.

Na-nan had taken her and Blaise both outside in the frosty morning and instructed them from her comfortable driftwood chair on the veranda in how to fell the sick old elder tree in the corner of the garden which had been losing the fight for territorial dominance amongst its younger, taller brethren. Blaise had told Minorie that elder was one of the best woods to use for making fire. She thought gooey thoughts about him every time she ground the rod inside the hole and watched for the appearance of the faint little wisps of smoke. How considerate that he should want her to be equipped with top notch fire-lighting gear....

When the little puffing tendrils inevitably came, she needed to delicately tip the ember into the nest of dried grass. She folded the nest in on itself and waved it up and down to the moon and the tide which lay before her, mostly unmoved by her presence.

She liked this part. She felt as though she was cleansing them, or making an offering to them.....Maybe she was doing both. Na-nan says that making the fire is, in itself, a meditation. From making the rods to adding the last log. When you’re makin’ fire, you’re talkin’ to it, she had said. And mind you listen too, ‘cause the fire be talkin’ back....

As it turns out, the fire had been talking back, and it wasn’t the only thing either. She had been humbled and at times terrified by the eerie, vast stillness of the sea’s presence, the unknown horrors and mysteries taking place below its surface and the thoughts that if she were to be dragged down to the very bottom of it, no-one would ever know what had happened to her. The glassy black surface probably wouldn’t even ripple as it swallowed her whole.

In contrast to the consuming dark of the water, the moon had taught her about how light lives alongside darkness and how, in its absence at the birth of a new moon or on the nights where the cloud cover was complete and constant, a girl could imagine outlandishly terrifying things which would never otherwise occur to her. Some of these could threaten to drive her insane if they weren’t immediately dealt with.

The fire, now that was different. The fire had called her before she had ever made it to Carlinn, when she lay asleep in the upstairs bed in her father’s house, dreaming of a better place. She had flickered then like one of its flames, as she did every evening when she called it up from wherever fire lived. She was part of it and it was part of her. So far the lesson of fire had been that of transformation. She had learned that as fire tears through that which is old and unwanted, it breathes new life into it in return. This was a philosophy she was beginning to utilise in all aspects of her life – killing off the old to make space for the new. She had still felt bad hacking at the trunk and limbs of the gnarled old elder tree in Na-Nan’s garden, but then she had felt new hope and a sort of redemption as she had learned from Blaise how to turn them into a wand for summoning and communing with spirits, and enough rods for a year’s worth of fires, maybe more. With these same rods he had also shown her how to make charcoal drawing sticks by wrapping them in foil and placing them in the fire itself.

This had inspired her to take up her drawing again, and she had drawn the mountain and the boats on the water in front of Na-nan’s house. She had drawn the house too, both inside and out. She drew Na-nan in her driftwood chair, squinting out over her reading glasses at a dusty book; she drew Blaise gutting a fish on a barrel in the fish shed, and she drew Menew playing with and eventually eating the fish’s entrails.

Every day as she’d lit this fire in Na-nan’s private cove, where the little rowboat was always tied up, she wished she could capture in charcoal this image of herself waving the smoking wad of dried grass at old Grandmother Moon, and the moment that it would burst into flames in her hand, when the night air had lent enough of its breath to combust the smoking ember. As she delicately placed the burning pile beneath the tepee of sticks in the fire pit, she wondered why she wanted to show off the moment so much. Why should I make a self-portrait when there are so many other things to draw? Who do I want to show it to, this moment of fire magick? She felt