She needed to go there and thank him for all he had taught her.
Whenever she went in search of that man, she was looking for something; whenever she found that something, all she did was leave, often without even saying good-bye. But he had shown her the door through which she hoped to pass at the next Equinox.
She should at least say “thank you.”
No, she wasn’t afraid of falling in love with him. She had read things in Lorens’s eyes about the hidden side of her own soul, and while she might have her doubts about being able to dream of a dress, as regards his love, about that she was perfectly clear.
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Thank you for accepting my invitation,” she said to the Magus when they sat down. They were sitting in the only pub in the village, which is where she had first noticed the strange light in his eyes.
The Magus said nothing. He noticed that her energy was quite different now; she had clearly managed to awaken the Force.
“On the night you left me alone in the forest, I promised that I’d come back either to thank you or to curse you. I promised that I’d come back when I found my path. But I didn’t keep either of those promises. I always came in search of help, and you never let me down. It may be presumptuous of me, but I want you to know that you have acted as God’s instrument, and I would like you to be my guest tonight.”
Just as she was about to order two whiskies, he got up, went over to the bar, and returned carrying two bottles, one of wine and one of mineral water, and two glasses.
“In Ancient Persia,” he said, “when two people met to drink together, one of them was chosen to be King of the Night, usually the person who was paying.”
He didn’t know if his voice sounded sufficiently steady. He was a man in love, and Brida’s energy had changed.
He placed the wine and the mineral water before her.
“It was up to the King of the Night to set the tone of the conversation. If he poured more water than wine into the first glass to be drunk, that meant he wished to speak of serious things. If
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he poured equal quantities of both, they would speak of both serious and pleasant things. Finally, if he filled the glass with wine and added only a few drops of water, the night would be relaxing and enjoyable.”
Brida filled the glasses to the brim with wine and added only a drop of water to each.
“I came to say thank you,” she said again, “for teaching me that life is an act of faith, and that I am worthy of the search. That has helped me enormously on the path I’ve chosen.”
They both drained that first glass quickly. He because he was feeling tense. She because she was feeling relaxed.
“Only light subjects, all right?” Brida said.
The Magus said that since she was the King of the Night, it was up to her to decide what they should talk about.
“I want to know a little about your personal life. I want to know if you ever had an affair with Wicca.”
He nodded. Brida felt an inexplicable tremor of jealousy, but she wasn’t sure whether she felt jealous of him or of Wicca.
“But we never considered living together,” he said. They both knew the two Traditions. They both knew that they were not each other’s Soul Mate.
“I didn’t want to learn how to see the point of light,” thought Brida, but she saw now that this was inevitable. That was what love between witches was like.
She drank a little more. She was getting closer to her objective; it would not be long now until the Spring Equinox, and she could afford to relax. It had been a long time since she had allowed
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herself to drink more than she should, but now, all she had to do was dream of a dress.
They continued talking and drinking. Brida wanted to return to the subject of Wicca, but she needed him to be more relaxed, too. She kept both their glasses filled, and they finished the first bottle while in the middle of a conversation about the difficulties of living in such a small village. The locals associated the Magus with the Devil.
Brida was pleased to feel important to him; he must be very lonely. Maybe no one in the village ever addressed more than a few polite words to him. They opened another bottle, and she was surprised to see that a Magus, a man who spent all day in the forest seeking communion with God, was also capable of drinking and getting drunk.
By the time they had finished the second bottle, she had forgotten that she was there in order to thank the man sitting opposite her. Her relationship with him—she realized now—had always been a veiled challenge. She didn’t want to see him as an ordinary person, but she was getting dangerously close to doing just that. She preferred the image of the wise man who had led her to a cabin high up in the trees and who often spent hours contemplating the sunset.
She began to talk about Wicca, to see how he reacted. She said what an excellent Teacher she was and how she had taught her everything she needed to know so far, but in such a subtle way that it was as if she’d always known the things she was learning.
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“But you have,” said the Magus. “That is the Tradition of the Sun.”
“He’s obviously not going to admit that Wicca is a good teacher,” thought Brida. She drank another glass of wine and continued to talk about her Teacher, but the Magus made no further comment.
“Tell me about you and her,” she said, to see if she could provoke him. She didn’t want to know, she really didn’t, but it was the best way to get a reaction.
