A single candle rested atop the gleaming, beige bone of a skull at the center of the clearing, with figures walking around that centerpiece as they spoke in secretive murmurs to avoid being heard. I crouched low at the base of an evergreen tree, pressing my cheek against the rough bark as I watched them moving rhythmically. Curiosity warred with fear within me, sending my heart pounding until I felt certain they would hear it.
They walked in a circle, chanting softly as they moved within the boundary they’d drawn with twigs lined up end-to-end. With the skull at the center like a bullseye, the outer boundary was perhaps a dozen steps out from it.
Every so often, one of them would turn their face my way, the white of their teeth glimmering in the flickering light as they raised and lowered the candles held tightly in front of them. My eyes couldn’t seem to stop wandering to that skull on the ground and the way everything centered around it; I wondered what person could be so unfortunate to have their bones used in some sort of ritual.
I had no idea what I was witnessing, but there was no doubt it was anything but the worship of The Father and The Mother that had been sanctioned by the Crown. Centuries had passed since King Bellham the First had liberated us from the Old Gods, who’d kept us entrenched in lives of sin and depravity, then led us toward the virtue we found with the New Gods.
One of the robed figures stopped walking, body twisting to the side to reveal the curves of a woman. Her head turned toward me, her gaze landing on me so pointedly that she left me with no doubt I’d been spotted. Where I might have expected animosity and fear, for the worship of the Old Gods was strictly forbidden by the Crown, she gifted me a kind smile and sighed as she tipped her head to the side, her dark braid falling over one shoulder.
She broke from their pattern, stepping over the circle they’d drawn around their fellowship with sticks and branches. Everyone within the circle paused as she made her way toward me, while my legs seemed unwilling to move, even though it would have been the smart thing to do. My own curiosity would get me killed if these people decided leaving me alive came with too great a risk; my ability to report them to the Mist Guard could see them burned at the stake for heresy.
My breath shuddered in my lungs, the faint fog it caused floating in front of my face before dispersing into the night air. She approached, that smile never leaving her face as she moved slowly, treating me like a frightened animal. As she came closer, I knew without a doubt she was not from Mistfell, and glancing around, her companions matched her, their clothes in good repair and skin and hair clean. Wherever they’d come from, they didn’t belong to the grimy village I called home.
“You are safe here,” she said finally, her voice a murmur hanging in the air between us. She shifted her candle into one hand, stretching out with the other to entice me forward. “The Gods welcome all who wish to know about them and their customs.”
“The Father and The Mother would never condone this,” I said, shaking my head as I stared at that hand. Something in the gesture called to me, pulling me forward until I felt the brush of her fingertips against mine and realized it wasn’t her who’d moved.
My cheek stung where the cold air touched the skin that had scraped against the tree bark; while my left hand dragged over the rough branches as I moved further from the illusion of safety they provided. “I do not speak of the Gods they worship indoors, begging for clemency on their knees before an entity that promises salvation only to those who do as they are told.” Something in her voice sounded wistful and sad, as if it pained her that I didn’t know about the alternatives to the faith that had been shoved down my throat for as long as I could remember.
“Worship of the Old Gods is against the law. If they catch you…” I trailed off when her knowing gaze held mine without fear.
“We know the consequences of discovery, and still we choose to worship. Some faiths are greater than life,” she said, sliding her hand against mine until she could grasp me more firmly. She pulled gently, tugging me away from the tree—my safe haven—and drawing me toward the circle at the center of the clearing.
“At least leave Mistfell. The guards aren’t far from here,” I said, grimacing at the smile she gave in return.
“And yet here you are, risking punishment by being out this time of night. I think you understand better than most why we must take the chance. There is beauty in knowing who you are, and in embracing that in spite of the potential consequences. We come here to be closer to the Gods, to feel the energy coming from the Veil itself,” she told me, nodding her head toward the boundary that separated Nothrek from Alfheimr. It twisted, dancing through the air as we watched through the gaps in the trees, the shimmering light continually beckoning me toward it, despite the dangers.
Rumor had it that those who touched the magic of the Veil itself relinquished their life to it, fed the power that kept it strong. It was forbidden, tampering with the single entity that kept us safe from the Fae of Alfheimr, considered the worst of all our trespasses against humanity. But in the interest of preserving the Veil and feeding the energy that sustained it, the High Priest chose one person to give to it every year, one person to sacrifice at the border of the Veil, spilling their blood upon the soil on the last day of the fall harvest in thanks for another year of safety.
Just as they had done to my father.
“This is wrong,” I said, pausing at the circle of sticks they’d laid upon the ground. I couldn’t seem to convince myself to walk away, but stepping into the inner circle where they worshiped felt wrong. It felt like a betrayal of everything I’d had beaten into me, of the virtues that were supposed to matter to me but had never appealed.
It wouldn’t just be the act of a curious girl observing something she’d stumbled upon. I knew if I stepped over that line, I would be an active participant in a ritual I didn’t understand. “You should not judge something that you’ve never experienced,” the woman said, stepping over the boundary while she watched me. She still entwined her fingers with mine, our clasped hands hovering over the sticks while she waited. “And no matter what you believe now, there is no harm in experiencing a faith other than your own. You can explore other beliefs without converting. If you still think of us as heathens by morning, tell the Mist Guard what you’ve seen and absolve yourself from sin.”
Sucking in a deep lungful of air, I lifted my foot and stepped into the circle, unable to ignore the pull any longer. Like diving underwater, everything from outside the clearing seemed to fade away. She grabbed a candle off the ground, lighting it with hers and handing it to me as the dozen people still waiting within the circle made room for me to join them. “Who was he?” I asked, glancing down at the skull at the center.
“Jonab,” she said, regarding the skull on the ground. “During his lifetime, he was the God of Changing Seasons. Killed during the First Fae War between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, when Mab fought against her brother Rheaghan.”