Chapter Text
They turned and rested that night. There was no celebrating. What was there to celebrate? Yes, they had all come through it. Yes, they had survived and the lands had grown easier for their struggle, their caring.
But reality also held that there was a long struggle ahead of them as well. The Overlord would not take this well, for all it had happened according to ritual and form, law and custom.
Political power did not care for the magick of Fire and Honey, Chalice and Master, Land and Circle, and they all knew that all-too-soon he would make his displeasure known.
The next day, they buried the bees that had sacrificed themselves to save them all. Buried them with honor in the curve of the drive, near where the ill-fated faenorn was held.
Mirasol held the Chalice for grieving, the cup held at all funerals. It had a bit of the honey from all her hives, and as many of the other hives as she could gather in the time she had, since she had no idea where the other bees had come from, what hives mourned their loss.
When the simple prayer of thanksgiving and sorrow had been said, by the Master in the lack of a Prelate, he threw the first shovel-full of dirt on them. Small, because of his still-small strength, but he did it.
When he was done, he handed the shovel to the Grand Seneschal, who turned to Mirasol and said, "By your leave, Chalice." She nodded and he added another small shovel-full of dirt to the surprisingly large grave. He in turn handed it to the next in the Circle, and then when the last of the Circle had added their shovel-fulls to the grave, the household was given a turn, until all had showed their respect.
When the ceremony was over, the brown earth a mound over the bodies, they turned to the next matter, that of finding new members of the Circle.
It was agreed that the butcher, the gardener, and the shepherd would be the first approached to join the new Circle. Their actions had demonstrated their loyalty, and the rods, once they’d been rather forcibly reclaimed from the former Prelate, liked them as much as they did.
The first person they approached was the gardener. "We would like you to become Prelate to the Circle and to Willowlands." Mirasol said, having been selected as the one least likely to frighten the chosen.
Comes of being a small beekeeper in a small woodright, she thought but did not say. She merely nodded and led the way to where the people waited.
"Oh, no, missus, I couldn't!" she stammered. "I'm just a gardener."
Mirasol looked at the woman with solemn kindness. "You thanked my bees." was all she said.
The gardener blushed. "That I did, missus, but how... why... why me?”
"You saw my bees as worthy of respect. I think, and we think, that means you'll see everyone here as worthy of respect. That's what a Prelate does, really, at the end of it all. They help us see the respect in ourselves, and the respect in and from the lands beyond."
"Oh!" was all the gardener said to that, and then, "I will, missus, if you and the others think I can."
"We do."
"Then I will." the gardener said with confidence.
"What is your name?" Mirasol asked.
"Mari. Mariaster."
"Welcome to our Circle, Mariaster."
She nodded gravely and joined them as they made their way to the fields to where the shepherd was watching his flocks.
"Shepherd Lody," Mirasol called. "May we speak with you a moment?"
"Of course, Chalice." He gave a small start of surprise at seeing one of the Housefolk with them, but said nothing.
"We would like you to join our Circle as Landsman." Mirasol said. "As a shepherd, you've been all over this demesne, you know its shape and form. You can tell us how best to bring it forth. To honor it and help it to nourish all who live on it."
"Who will watch my flocks?" he asked, concerned.
"Your answer does you credit. We will make sure your flocks are taken care of when you cannot. And I still keep my bees," she added. "They do not suffer for my being Chalice."
He nodded. "I'll do it." He gave a sharp whistle and a furry missile and a boy skinny with that rush of growth that boys have when they are busy turning from boy to man appeared.
"Guard the flock while I am gone," he said to both of them. "Watch them well." He gave the boy his shepherd's crook, and then came to the little group waiting for him by the edge of the field.
"Welcome to the Circle," Mirasol said.
Then together, they went in search of the last member to join them today, to the sounds of sheep bleating and boy and dog taking up their tasks.
They circled back to the House, to find Gresh, the butcher, in the kitchens.
"What would ye like?" he asked, wiping his hands on a bloody towel.
"We would like you to join us." Mirasol asked. "In the Circle, as Oakstaff."
He looked at them in wonder. "I don't know anything about trees." he said, confused.
"No," Mirasol agreed. "But neither did I know much about being Chalice when the land called me. And you do know about doing what is necessary. How to cull the beasts to fill our tables and make the herds stronger. I know, we know, that you can learn to do the same for the trees that guard our land."
"As the Land wills." he said simply, carefully cleaning his knives and putting them away.
"Thank you," Mirasol said as he came with them.
The new Keepfast they found from among the guards, the new Sunbrightener from among the small folk.
Keepfast was young and earnest, with some good ideas on how to help keep them safe from Overlord and brigand alike.
Sunbrightener was as bright and bubbly as the Sun Herself, one of the weavers of the demesne, and Mirasol thanked the rods for her.
Willow was chosen from among the children of the Ladytree district. A young lad, willow-thin, with an amazing affinity for the trees he played among, he was the final addition to their new circle.
With his selection, Mirasol breathed a sigh of relief. Now the next task could begin, the task of building this Circle into a Circle.
It was far easier than she'd feared it would be. She looked up the cups of love, of trust, of friendship and fellowship. She looked up what other Chalices had done to help bind their Circles together.
Then, when she and they were ready, she mixed the Cup she had prepared for this day, and they all gathered together in the East Hall of the House.
She noticed now, that the room was already less stuffy than it had been, less close. Looking back, she suspected that a lot of the closeness of the room before probably had a lot to do with the lack of closeness of the Circle.
Now that they were one and one-hearted, it was so much easier to hold Chalice. The Cup is almost a formality, she thought, but a formality we all need.
They each took a sip from her Cup as they entered: Grand Seneschal, Prelate, Weatherauger, Talisman, Clearseer, Oakstaff, Landsman, Keepfast, Sunbrightener, Willow. Then, behind them all in his place as Master, came Liapnir.
No more need to be there first to hide his weakness, he walked in with a slow but steady stride, pausing to receive his sip from the Cup.
"Be Welcome," she said as Chalice.
"Be Welcome," he said as Master, then turned to the rest of the Circle, who watched him expectantly but not fearfully.
"Be Welcome." he repeated to them all, catching and holding their eyes each in turn, before striding to his place.
When they were all in position, they began. By Fruit and Tree, by Sun and Earth, they bound themselves to each other, themselves to the Circle, the Circle to the Land, the Land to the World, the World to the Heavens.
And when they were done, as they had planned, Liapnir came to Mirasol and extended a hand. Executing the ritual gesture of a Chalice becoming mobile once more, she came with him to his space at the table, the Grand Seneschal and the Prelate moving aside to make room for her.
"There is one thing more we need to address this day," the Master said. Quick glances of surprise went around the Circle, accompanied by some knowing looks as others knew or guessed.
"Yes, while we are doing so many things new, here is one more.” Mirasol said. “Liapnir and I will be married."
"The Chalice marry?" It was Talisman who spoke, but her thoughts were echoed by the others.
Mirasol was not surprised at the question. She'd prepared herself with the answer, from dusty book and dustier paper, all those dead words that the Grand Seneschal, Nicandimon, she reminded herself firmly, used to tease her about.
"It's not unheard of," she said slowly. "I've read of it happening. Usually, it's because an outblood Master has come. It eases the transition to the new bloodline." She turned, to look into Liapnir's blessedly-brown eyes before turning back to the Circle. "Our Master's not outblood, but he is unusual. As are recent events. We need to bind ourselves together in as many ways as we can to withstand what's coming."
"Our marriage and our children, they will be a part of that."
"Will the Overlord recognize your children?" This was from the Grand Seneschal.
"He has no reason not to." she said carefully, aware she was not actually answering the question.
She turned her attention back to the Circle. "We would like to have the wedding as soon as possible. We don't know how long we have before the Overlord makes his next move, brings his next challenge. We only know that he will. The more things can be settled first, the more the land is settled first, the less he will be able to easily change things."
Nods of understanding went around the Circle. "The full moon is in a week's time. Do you think we can be ready for the ceremony by then?" she asked.
"We can and we will," the Grand Seneschal said firmly. "The land has waited too long for this."
"Very well, we shall have the wedding in a week's time."