The necromancer pinched two of the brazier’s legs and stood, careful not to tilt the pot. She blew on the coals and the copal, creating a trail of smoke behind her. Belle followed, scattering petals.
Maritza spoke next to the quartet of druids. “The bodies may be brought into the circle. Do not place the feet facing one of the open doors. We wouldn’t want them wandering off.”
She smiled. Necromancer humor.
The four men brought in the bodies, placing them to either side of the center, and followed Belle out the opening to the north.
Making hand movements in front of the pile of cloth that traveled from the house to the burial mounds, Maritza indicated her wish. The pieces assembled themselves over the headless bodies, covering them from the necks to the wrists and ankles. She then reached into her purse and withdrew a giant spool of ink-black thread and an equally large needle.
The necromancer sat cross-legged on the ground, lowering herself with measured elegance at the heads of the two corpses. She joined the edges of each piece of fabric with her magically enhanced needle until burial shrouds covered both bodies.
“Peasgood, Hyslop, come in through here, please,” she said, “and bring with you the libations and offerings. Rose and Belle, when they have finished, you may bring in the heads.”
Peasgood and Hyslop paused before entering the circle.
Maritza gave them a moment to collect themselves before she waved them forward and continued her instructions. “Open the bottles of beer and mead, pour servings into the glasses, and place the bottles to the outside of the bodies. Whatever food you brought can go on these.”
She withdrew two squares of cloth, embroidered with brightly colored images of flora and fauna, from her purse. Shaking the squares open, she bade them to float.
The air swelled with solemnity as the grandsons and the embroidered pieces followed her instructions. The squares fluttered to the ground. Peasgood and Hyslop placed containers of Abi’s homemade cheeses and fruit preserves on top and removed the lids.
“Was there anything else you thought to bring that might assist with awakening the dead’s senses?” Maritza asked.
“We brought apples, ma’am.” Peasgood withdrew two apples from their bag and handed one to his brother. In unison, they rubbed the fruit against their shirts until the skins developed a pinkish-yellow sheen then set the apples beside the cheeses.
“Rose. Belle. Bring in the heads.”
The witches lifted the heads from the troughs and proceeded to the opening. They entered and circled clockwise until they came to Maritza. She took the first head from Belle, lifted the edge of the towel, and appraised the bodies laid before her.
“I think you belong to…” She went into a high crouch, waved the head over its presumed lower half, and was rewarded with movement through the cadaver’s chest and fingers. “Right.” She put the head in place, left the face covered, and turned her torso to reach for the other head. “Rose?”
When both heads were in place, Maritza again made herself comfortable on the pounded dirt and raised her hands, palms down, above the covered faces. Her threaded needle floated to her hand for the briefest touch then dove downward, into the throat area of the head and the stub of a neck on the torsos. Following the movements of Maritza’s hand, the needle rose and fell in a steady rhythm until the head was reattached. The necromancer performed the same series of movements over the second head.
She unstopped the vial she showed me earlier, opened her mouth, and sprinkled the contents over her tongue. She pressed her lips together, dropped her chin toward her chest, and spit the dirt over the corpses.
“I have sacrificed a piece of my birth so that the two of you may once again wake.” Cleaning off her tongue with another napkin, she glanced over her shoulder in River’s direction. “Did we ever get their names?”
“Sweetbough. And Bellflower.”
As she repeated the two names, the bodies under Maritza’s hand-stitched shrouds stirred. She lifted the closest edge of one shroud then the other, every movement studied, measured, and slow.
“Welcome,” she said. “Our time here is short and begging your indulgence, there are people here who would ask about the manners of your deaths.”
Lips came unstuck. Whispers tumbled upward and dissipated.
Maritza bent over, turned her ear toward their mouths, and listened. “Peasgood. Hyslop. Your brethren would speak with you.”
She came to her knees as the men reentered the circle. They helped her to stand and took her place, one at the head of each hidden folk.
I walked to the opening at the east, my cell phone in my hand, thinking I would record whatever was said, if allowed. Cliff had warned me that taking photographs of the mounds would result in blank images. I hoped the same wasn’t true for the words of the dead, until the foursome’s indecipherable whispers had me abandon my idea.
When I checked my phone, close to fifteen minutes had gone by from the time the heads asked to speak to the living. I darted a glance at Maritza then at Tanner and the other druids and witches ringing the outer circle. Their attention was completely absorbed by the tableaux in front of us.
Maritza’s low whisper reached my ear. “There are things that must be spoken, knowledge that may only be passed from one hidden folk to another. The dead will speak for as long as they have things to say. That is the price we pay for their cooperation.”
I was beginning to feel antsy for something tangible to happen. I was also feeling the strain of the past twenty-four hours. It had to be at least dinner time, and when I peeked at my phone again, thinking I could text Rowan for a check-in, I had no reception. And the time read another twenty minutes had passed, and still Hyslop and Peasgood were hunched over the corpses and
