Once Wes lowered the cart’s extended handles to the ground, the two brothers swung their legs to either side and stood, wobbling. They refused offers of assistance and hefted small bags that clanked with the sound of glass hitting glass.
“We brought mead,” Hyslop said, “and some of Gramp’s home-brewed beer. Hidden folk love anything fermented, and the hops were grown here on the farm.”
Rose and Belle stood. “Can you roll that over here please? We can load the troughs into the cart and bring everything in with us at once.”
“I was going to suggest that, Rose.” Maritza’s voice arrowed out from inside the burial mound and landed in the middle of our assembly of Magicals.
River winked at Rose, brought the cart closer, and we followed him through the doorway.
Chapter 8
I held my breath as my leg swung over the threshold, landing my foot in the hushed and hallowed place where certain Magicals buried their dead. The ceiling rose far higher than I would have guessed from the outside. After the first steps, a gentle slope led downward. My thigh muscles bunched in anticipation of managing the incline without slipping.
Coffin-shaped mounds of varying sizes and heights filled the space in an ordered way, but none stood out for being noticeably larger or smaller than the others. Light filtered in via fat, square beams from four openings in the ceiling. Kaz waved from a spot in the middle and informed the group he was fairly certain the mounds closest to where he was standing were the oldest.
“How can you tell?” I asked, in awe of what being inside was doing to my peripheral awareness. This was a far different experience than the tunnels under the apple trees. There, I scuttled around on my hands and knees because the space was so confining. Here, the urge to go to the ground had more to do with an overwhelming urge to worship.
“A placing on of the hands, Calliope,” he said. “I invite you to try once we’ve completed this task. These two mounds,” he continued, pointing beyond the beam of light, “are where Clifford buried the bodies. Maritza, how would you like to proceed?”
“First, I prepare the ritual area.”
She strode forward, a leggy bird adorned in colorful plumage. Waving her hands like an orchestra conductor, she focused on one section at a time, leaning forward, drawing back, and swaying side to side, until it was clear she was working with the pile of particles to create a circle on the ground about twelve feet across. During the circle-making she stopped and started, marking open spaces at the cardinal directions.
“If everyone would gather around the outside of the circle and have your items at the ready. You will enter through the door to the east as per my instruction.” She pointed to the correct opening. “Kazimir, if you and the other druids would uncover the bodies?”
Maritza reached into her bag and extracted a small clay brazier and a pouch. She dropped coal in the squat, black pot, lit a match, and blew the briquettes into lighting. Another pouch held chunks of a different substance, one which glowed amber and gave off fragrant smoke once placed the live coals.
“Copalli,” she said, “from Mexico. Belle, if you would bring in the marigold petals and sprinkle them on the ground as you follow me.”
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 them wandering off.”
She smiled. Necromancer humor.
The four men brought in the bodies, placing them to either side of 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 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 the 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
