Rose stopped moving as she finished speaking. Her dress, glowing with silvered flickers of light, settled against her slender form. She took a wider stance, bent slightly at the knees, and turned her palms to face the ground.
“Elemental earth,” she said, gently tamping her feet in place and pressing the air with her hands. “That which is everywhere underfoot, grounding and abundant, please be present. Bless us with the dark of your caves and the green light that grows within everything planted.”
The lights on Rose’s dress faded, and my vision sped outward, past the wide trunks of the trees and into the consuming dark.
The spruce and the fir absorbed the lingering wisps of Rose’s words. “Our intention as we gather here amongst these ancient trees, on this sacred ground, is to guide our sister, Calliope Jones, through the stages that bring her to Priestess. Calliope, are you ready to receive?”
“Yes.” I waited, expectant.
Sounds filtered into my awareness, rising from the ground and closing in from the surrounding trees. It took me a few stuttered breaths to understand the women were creating the sounds, using drums, a rainstick, fingers clicking, soft clapping, voices trilling. A chant began, and as the words gradually became clearer, I joined in, silently mouthing and following along as the voices got louder and louder.
The moment I thought we had reached a crescendo, voices went silent as if one. Women’s arms floated out and up. White sleeves slid toward shoulders to reveal skin: bared, tattooed, adorned. Muscled, plump, and lean. Fingers wiggled, and the sounds of nature at night gradually replaced the women’s voices.
I almost giggled. I stopped myself as the women around me lowered their arms in slow motion, bent their knees, and took hold of objects they’d left by their feet. One by one, they placed wreaths—or maybe they were crowns—on their heads. A couple of the women bent again and retrieved other objects. L’Runa adjusted her headpiece, made her way to me, and offered a simple circlet of braided wire decorated with alternating metal leaves and round mirrors the size of silver dollars.
“For me?” I whispered.
She nodded. Her glowing braids swished against her body. “Yours to keep, Calliope Jones.”
I tucked my chin as L’Runa placed the circlet on my head and stepped away. I straightened, touched my fingertips to the metal, and gently adjusted the fit until it sat secure.
Busy was next. She lifted the length of ribbon draped behind her neck and placed it across my uplifted palms. Little blue flowers were braided into her crown. “I am Daughter. I offer Calliope Jones the gift of play and the power of innocence.”
She stepped back, and Cordelia stepped forward. Her crown was decorated with arrowheads and bits of antlers.
As Cordelia spoke, she lifted one end of Busy’s ribbon and joined it to the one she offered. “I am Maiden. I offer Calliope Jones the gifts to be found in the fertility of your mind and within this earth we inhabit and the power inherent in joining this community of women. May it be a place of solace and insight.”
“I am Blood Sister,” said Sapphos Star, “and I offer Calliope Jones the gift of knowing and embracing her deepest self and making the time to run with Her as she finds her pack. I bless you with the power of unfettered truth.” Sapphos repeated the step of joining her ribbon to the prior one. The scent of apple blossoms and nectar wafted up from her headpiece of carved fruit and flowers.
I inhaled quietly; my nerves calmed.
Airlie stepped forward, her lush curves visible beneath an almost transparent gown. Roses and downy white feathers interlaced with pink ribbons formed her headpiece. She smiled at me as she tied a knot in the lengthening ribbon and recited her pledge. “I am Lover. I offer Calliope Jones the gifts and powers of death and rebirth.”
“I am Mother.” I would have recognized the throaty laugh in Belle’s voice whether it was fully dark or I’d been blindfolded for this event. “I offer Calliope Jones the gift of nurturing, be it others or your own creativity, and the power of trusting your body.”
Belle’s ribbon was a wide, silk velvet, and her crown was adorned with gold-painted sprigs of wheat and other grains.
The next woman walked toward me with a centuries-old dignity. Rachel, that was her name, and I recognized her from Dr. Renard’s office. The tiny torches in her headpiece lit up like fairy lights, and in between each was a reclining female figure with a rounded belly. “I am here to represent the Midwife. I offer Calliope Jones the gift of nurturance beyond the circle and the power of the Gatekeeper and the Storyteller.”
Her ribbon consisted of many intertwined lengths of yarn.
Ivy danced forward, her smile lighting her face. She was another woman I hoped would be part of my growing social circle. “I am Amazon,” she sang, her trill accompanied by the tinkling sounds of metal pieces bobbing against one another. “I offer Calliope Jones the gift of self-determination and the power of inspiration as you focus on your passions.”
As she leaned back to remove the cord draped over her neck and down her chest, I spied an arsenal of miniature weapons circling her head: bows, arrows, conch shells, shields, javelins, and even a noose.
If Ivy was joy-filled, the next woman was ageless and formidable. Tonatzin, the Mexican goddess. Over the required white dress, Justine wore a green cloak decorated with stars. She loosened the dress’s black belt and tied it to the growing
