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Internet Message Format | 2002-03-12 | 10KB

From: [e-mail]
Subject: (arfic-l) There and Back Again 1/2 (Willow POV)
Date: 13 Mar 2002 00:19:32 -0800

Title: There and Back Again 1/2 (Willow's POV)
Author: Ailie McFarland
E-Mail: [e-mail]
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Post "Wild at Heart"
Disclaimer: The lyrics belong to Enya, the characters belong to Joss, the
rest belongs to me!
Distribution: Oh! Well, if it helps, I'm gonna say yes.
Archive: www.fanfiction.net eventually my site
www.geocities.com/aixla/buffy.html but I'm way behind on that right now.
Disclaimer: Please. Pretty please? With sugar and whipped cream on top?

Author's note: This song and the song in part 2 left a deep impact on me,
and the stories wrote themselves once I contemplated the lyrics for a few
moments. If you don't know what movie they came from, you've been living
in a hole since December 19th. *L* This part is also part of my ongoing
attempt to portray Wicca in a realistic light through my writing. Let me
know how I do.

P.S. Those of you waiting for part 2 of Temperantia ... it's coming!
Promise! School's just kicking my butt right now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
May it be an evening star
Shines down upon you

May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true

You walk along a road
Oh how far you are from home

Morniδ ut·liδ [Quenya: 'Darkness has come']
Believe and you will find your way
Morniδ alantiδ  ['Darkness has fallen']
A promise lives within you now

May it be
The shadow's call
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The woods are dark and peaceful. My footsteps are a soft crackle,
counterpoint to the song of the last few crickets of warm weather and the
occasional hoot of an owl. Nighttime in Sunnydale is not safe; I know
that better than most. But there's something I have to do, and nothing is
going to scare me away.

"Oz, don't you love me?"

"My whole life, I've never loved anything else."

We spoke those words this morning, but already it feels like a lifetime
ago. Every moment without him here is an eternity. Every second carries
him further away. I spent most of the morning walking around his room,
trying to soak up his scent, his presence. Eventually I moved my moping
back to the dorm, and talked to Buffy for a while. That helped a little.
She told me I needed to get out, clear my head, and get my mind off
everything. After all, there was nothing I could do.

It was that last part that got to me. After Buffy left on patrol I
rummaged through the trunk at the foot of my bed. The supplies weren't
that exotic, and the research was fairly basic. This would probably one
of the simpler spells of my Witchy career, and also one of the most
important.

I pick up the few remaining ingredients along the way; a few leaves here,
some water from the creek there. It's kind of nice being out in nature,
gathering what I need instead of paying money at a store. More like the
old ways, like the old ones. And for a moment I can almost forget why I'm
out here in the first place.

Almost.

Finally I reach the clearing. I don't think there ever was a more perfect
spot created for working magics. Tall trees worship the sky with leafy
arms, allowing just enough space between for silver moonlight to trickle
through and illuminate the 10 feet or so of ground space. Ferns and
grasses grow in a protective wall up to the edge of the trees, but past
that point there is nothing. Just a soft bed of mosses and pine needles.
Stepping into this place changes you. The noises dim, the air grows
warmer ... other rites have been performed here, I can feel it. You can
practically see the energies moving and swirling, waiting to be worked
and woven.

My blue terry cloth robe slides from my body. I'm naked by conventional
terms, "skyclad" according to the magic users. I never really understood
that term until now. Not true. I suppose I had the intellectual
understanding of what it meant to wear the air or the sky, but somehow in
this place, for this purpose, it all makes more sense. The stars seem so
much brighter now. Moonlight and shadows play across my pale skin.
Breasts grow taught as bend my head to look over my body. There is no
self consciousness, only reflection. And memories of the last time he
touched me ...

I arrange the votive candles from my bag in a circle and kneel in the
middle. The final candle, white, is placed before me. My favorite photo
of Oz lies underneath. He's wearing the shirt I bought him for his
birthday, and his hair is as close to his natural color as I've ever seen
it, I think. I don't need to turn it over to remember the writing "I call
on the Goddess Danu," my voice is a hushed whisper as I strike a match
and hold it to the wick. "Mother of all gods, creatrix of earth, giver of
live, death and rebirth.. Within your great hands you hold the keys to
all knowledge and magic. Hear the request of your humble servant, accept
my offerings. Grant your protection to the one for whom I plead tonight."

I stare into the flame of the solitary candle, transfixed by its wind
dance. Seconds, minutes, hours ... unknown time passes as I fall into
trance. It's almost like watching myself from above, as if someone elses
hands take the candle from its place and pass the flame to the yellow
candle on my left.

"I call on the Guardians of the Watchtowers of the East. Powers of air
and thought." Time for the offering. I light a small charcoal tablet and
coax it to a warm glow with my breath. Then it's time for resin;
Frankincense and Myrrh. When I burned this stuff in my parents' the smoke
was so thick it set off every fire alarm in the house. Out here the
tendrils of smoke just curl up into the sky, and the sweet smell is
nowhere near as overpowering. "Wind, carry  to Oz my thoughts of
devotion, blow all harmful spirits from his path. Help him to find his
way through the mental maze to the answers he seeks."

Still kneeling I turn to my left. This time a red candle awaits me. "I
call on the Guardians of the Watchtowers of the South. Powers of  fire
and passion." In a perfect world I would light a large bonfire as my gift
to the spirits. But their's a no-burning ordinance in affect and the last
thing I need is to have the police track the source of the smoke to a
naked girl in the woods. So I offer fire stones; the ruby earrings my dad
gave me for my sixteenth birthday. After burying them at the base of the
candle I continue. "Burn to remind Oz that the home fires still burn as
well, and that my love for him remains true. Burn with fiery vengeance
those who would harm him, and keep him warm through the cold, lonely
nights."

My back is to the yellow candle, a blue one before me. "I call on the
Guardians of the Watchtowers of the West. Powers of water and fertility."
The thirsty ground soaks up the water I gathered from the river earlier.
Over this I lay one of many tissues that gathered my tears today. "Carry
on your tides my sadness, my longing for Oz's return. Put out the
hellfires that reach to lick at his heels. Help him to be an open vessel
in which the seeds of newfound knowledge can grow."

The final candle stands just behind the white. It is green. "I call on
the Guardians of the Watchtowers of the North. Powers of earth and
stability. Elemental home of the Great Mother who watches us all." I tie
three oak leave together with red thread, placing them reverently before
the flaming candle. "In all living things, send the message to Oz that my
love grows as well. Holy mother, smite those who may stand in his path.
Send him whatever he may need to become the man he needs to be."

"Goddess, Mother, Creator, grant your protection to this lowly traveler."
The white candlewax has all but obscured Oz's face, so I close my eyes
and hold his image firmly there. "May his path be straight, his journey
swift, and his homecoming happy. So mote it be."

Sometimes magic isn't spectacular. Flames don't leap and dance, balls of
light don't appear, and there's no visible evidence that anything has
changed. There's just this ...  release. This is one of those times. The
energy gathered in the circle passes through me. The intense focus and
concentration is suddenly gone, replaced by weariness and a feeling of
accomplishment. I fall forward onto my hands and knees, and take a moment
to collect myself.

Being a witch is about shaping energy, control and balance, but sometimes
it's like every other religion ... it's just a matter of faith. I have to
allow Oz his free will, to let him do what he needs to do and then come
back to me when he's ready, so I have to accept that this blessing and my
faith are enough to speed him on his way and keep him safe. It's hard,
knowing that I have the power to do more but unable to do anything. But
if I did it wouldn't be right, and the person coming back wouldn't be Oz.

So ... Faith. Worry, pain, heartache, loneliness ... and faith. And love.


Quietly and quickly I dissolve my circle, dismissing the spirits and
thanking them for their presence. "Stay if you will, go if you must."
It's comforting to know that no matter how alone I may feel, there are
always spirits, elements, and other forces watching over me. Now they
watch over him as well.

Soon my supplies are all packed, the clearing picked free of candle wax
drippings. I allow myself one more moment of my almost-full moonlight
bath before I pull my robe back on, then it's time to get back to the
dorm. Buffy will be worried.

The last item to be collected is Oz's picture. I kiss the photo before
placing it in my pocket, next to my heart. "Be safe," I whisper. "Come
home. I love you." Although the moon is my only witness, somehow I know
he knows.



Ailie


"What do you fear, lady?" he asked.

"A cage," she said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept
them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or
desire."

~ The Return of the King


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