The Firehills Read Free Page B

received only a rather worried
smile.
    They scrambled into Megan’s car, and she raced off into
the twilight, down to the seafront, past the net shops, and then climbing up
once more, heading inland. Leaving the last houses behind, they emerged onto
the windswept ridge high above town.
    Under Mrs. P.’s direction, Megan parked the car at an
overlook, and they clambered out. Off beyond the lights of Hastings, the sun
was setting and the air was growing cool. They crossed the narrow road and
marched down a rough track that dwindled eventually to a footpath. Charly soon
lost all sense of direction and concentrated instead on the retreating backs of
her mother and Mrs. P. They passed under trees, slipping and stumbling in the
shadows, and finally emerged onto a hillside. The trees gave way to scattered
bushes of gorse, jet black in the fading light. At the foot of the slope, the
gray of the wild grassland was replaced by a different color, a vast expanse of
pearl, tinged with the last light of the dying sun: the sea. Charly could hear
its voice against an unseen shore, the eternal sigh and hiss of the ocean.
    Mrs. P. had stopped and was looking around. She walked a
few steps and stopped once more.
    “What is she doing?” Charly whispered to her mother.
    “Looking for somewhere suitable,” replied Megan.
    “For the ritual?”
    “Yes, dear. For the ritual.”
    “But don’t we need a full coven for the Initiation
Ritual?”
    “Ideally, yes. As I tried to point out to her. But in
exceptional circumstances, it can be performed with fewer. Fortunately, we have
representatives of the three aspects of the Great Goddess—Mother, Maiden, and
. . .Wise Woman.”
    “Crone,” said Mrs. P., coming to join them. “Say it,
I don’t mind. I’ve worked long and hard to earn the right to be called
crone, nothing to be ashamed of. Maiden, Mother, and Crone: the Three in One.
And here is the perfect setting. These, my dear”—she gestured around
them—“are the Firehills, a very special place.”
    “Why are they called that?” asked Charly.
    “Well,” replied the old woman, “one theory is that
it’s because of all the gorse.” She pointed at the dark mounds of the
bushes. “Nearly all year, they’re covered in flowers, and it makes the
place look like it’s on fire. A very pretty theory, if a little fanciful.”
    “What’s your theory?” Charly knew Mrs. P. too well
to think she wouldn’t have one.
    “One of the ways of controlling scrub like this is to
burn it every few years.” She smiled. “I know, not as romantic, sorry. Come
on.”
    ‡

    “We won’t do it sky clad,” said Mrs. P., taking her
place, “it’s a bit chilly.”
    Charly was relieved. Sky clad meant in the nude, and the
evening was cool now that the sun was down. They had meditated for a while,
each of them sitting with their own thoughts as the sun dropped into the sea
out beyond Hastings. Now Mrs. P. had brought them together in a grassy clearing
among the gorse bushes. The bright yellow flowers were still visible in the
twilight, and their faint scent of coconut hung on the still air.
    Mrs. P. took a wand from her backpack, a short length of
wood bound with silver bands and with a piece of crystal at the end. Holding it
before her, she walked clockwise around Charly and said:
    Blessed be those within this circle;
    Cleanse heart and mind,
    That only truth be spoken,
    Truth only be heard.
    She fell silent for a space of thirteen heartbeats and
then continued.
    “A seeker is among us . . .” and here she spoke
Charly’s secret name, the name she had chosen for herself and by which she
would be known within the ranks of her coven
    “proven by magic, who doth aspire to join with those who
follow the way of the ancient craft.”
    The ritual took its course, the ancient words familiar to
Charly from her studies. At the correct points, she gave the appropriate
responses to Mrs. P.’s questions.
    “Do you seek the Way
    That stretches beyond