It came, that slow, liquid beat I’d felt the day I stepped onto the Pearmains’ property and touched Clifford and Abigail. Even in the thrall of a powerful spell, their land pulsed through them. And later, when I’d been in the orchard with Tanner and heard the bee-like humming in the ground. The land spoke to me then, and it spoke to me now. I was here to listen, and never again would I shy from my duties to care for the one that gave life and accepted death and had forever been my ally.
Startled, thinking my name had been called, I raised my gaze and looked into the distance, beyond the costumed bodies of a field full of women. I went farther still, picked out a set of eyes glowing gold as they caught the last sparks of the setting sun. The visage of a bear, hunkered in the grass, its fur disguised by tall strands of wheat, shimmered next to a set of wolfish eyes.
“Calli. You can get up now,” the woman to my left said.
The bear disappeared; the other animal blinked its eyes and disappeared. Strong, slender hands cupped under my arms and lifted. I brushed my palms together and stood, once again present to the moment. The women at the outermost reaches of the field began to walk toward me, slow and deliberate, their voices vibrating with the repeated phrases of a chant. I could not hear the separate syllables, but I felt them in my bones. One day—soon—I would learn the words.
Once again, I was the only one dressed in red. This time, everyone else wore black, and at a signal from Rose, they donned the masks hanging from their necks, small masks to the front and larger versions facing away from the backs of their heads. A few of the women crouched and stood, emerging with drums of assorted sizes in their hands. They added muffled percussive beats to the chanting, creating a low, thrumming, undercurrent of sound.
Rose stepped closer, took my hand, and led me forward into the start of a dance. The spiral revealed itself after a few turns around the tree in ever-widening circles. Joining my voice and my feet with the rhythm set by the drums, I left my head-centered space and connected further with everything around me. As the spiral turned back in on itself and drew me closer and closer to the massive apple tree at the center of the field, my blood answered the call and wet my inner thighs.
More hands than I could count passed me down the line and guided me to face the great tree and the maw that split its trunk. The opening looked less like a mouth and more like a heart ripped open from the inside.
“You must enter Her, Calliope.” Whispered words coming from no one place, no one woman. Maybe the words were in the air or in the ground or dropped from the branches like over-ripe fruit. “Enter the tree.”
Bark, loamy and musky on my nose and sharp on my cheek, drew close to my face. A hand on my head reminded me to duck. I gathered the skirt of my dress, pressed my elbows against my sides, and entered. Dropping the layers of silk and cotton, I stood, extended one arm, and the other until my fingertips made contact with the interior surface. The wood was worn smooth. I turned slowly, unable to see anything, and let my eyelids close and my other senses take over.
I smelled honey. My back made contact with heartwood. The wood was surprisingly warm, inviting me to lean in and feel it supporting the entire length of my body, the backs of my shoulders, buttocks, thighs, and calves. Pressing my palms against the inner surface of the tree, I walked my fingers up. At shoulder height, branches split away from the center, offering a set of living wood sleeves. I slipped my arms up and in, dressing myself in the tree, a little girl playing with an ancestor’s old gown.
A wider stance was needed for the bottom half of my body to feel balanced, sturdy, and steady. I stepped my feet apart, giving blood space to flow from my womb and onto the ground. Bees buzzed from far up the inner tree and honey dripped onto my head.
The tree began to fit itself to me like a custom-made dress, molding to every curve and bend in my body from wrists to ankles. I had room to breathe—or maybe the tree breathed me—and outside, the drumming and chanting had begun to echo the rhythm of a human heartbeat. The longer the women played, the more I dissolved into the tree until I moved beyond the inner surface, beyond the outer bark, projected into the field and the surrounding forests and coastline until I wasn’t one body—I was a million bodies with a million umbilical connections.
And a little too late for me to do a damn thing about it, an ancient presence slipped inside the tree with me and whispered the word, mine, mine, over and over again until my blood fed the earth, my breath fed the sky, and my brain synapses sparked in time with the twinkling stars.
I giggled and cried until I burst apart.
Sounds of suction breaking drew me back into my tree-bound body. The release of wood wrapping flesh began around my ankles and travelled upward until only my wrists and fingers were encased. I took in a deep breath, felt no restriction in my chest, and took in more breaths. I pressed down with my toes, rocked my weight back onto my heels, reveled in the strength of my legs.
“Ready,” I exhaled, and the pressure around my leather-wrapped wrists loosened until my arms were free. I lowered them slowly, patted my face and chest, smoothed the front and sides of my dress. My hands
