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ards around the fire—became mixed up in her head. She had waited so long for this night, but it was turning out to be just another party, like one of those charity dos, where people eat, get drunk, tell jokes, and then make speeches about the need to help the Indians in the Southern Hemisphere or the seals at the North Pole.
She began walking through the forest, always keeping within sight of the fire. She walked along a path that gave her a view from above the central stone. However, seen from high up, the view was even more disappointing: Wicca was busy circulating among the different groups, asking if everything was all right; people were dancing around the fire; a few couples were already exchanging their first drunken kisses. Lorens was talking animatedly to two men, perhaps about things that would have been fine in the setting of a bar, but not at a celebration like this. A latecomer entered the wood, a stranger attracted by the noise, in search of a little fun.
She recognized his way of walking.
The Magus.
Startled, Brida began running back down the path. She wanted to reach him before he got to the party. She needed him to help her, as he had before. She needed to understand the meaning of what was going on there.
Wicca certainly knows how to organize a Sabbath,” thought the Magus as he approached. He could see and feel the
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free flow of energy among the people present. At this phase of the ritual, the Sabbath resembled any other party; it was important to ensure that all the guests were on the same wavelength. At his first Sabbath, he had felt very shocked by all this. He remembered calling his Teacher over and asking him what was going on.
“Haven’t you ever been to a party before?” his Teacher had asked, annoyed at the Magus for interrupting an interesting conversation.
Of course he had, the Magus said.
“And what makes for a good party?”
“Everyone enjoying themselves.”
“Men have been holding parties since the days when they lived in caves,” said his Teacher. “They’re the first group rituals we know of, and the Tradition of the Sun took it upon itself to keep that ritual alive. A good party cleanses the minds of all those taking part, but it’s very difficult to make that happen; it only takes a few people to spoil the general mood. Those people think they’re more important than the others; they’re hard to please; they think they’re wasting their time because they can’t make contact with anyone else.
And they usually end up the victims of a mysterious form of poetic justice: they tend to leave weighed down by the astral larvae given off by those people who have managed to bond with others. Remember, the first road to God is prayer, the second is joy.”
Many years had passed since that conversation with his Teacher. The Magus had taken part in many Sabbaths since then, and he knew that this was a very skillfully arranged example; the collective energy level was growing all the time.
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He looked for Brida. There were a lot of people there, and he wasn’t used to crowds. He knew that he needed to partake of that collective energy, and he was quite prepared to do so, but first he needed to reaccustom himself. She could help him. He would feel more at ease once he had found her.
He was a Magus. He knew about the point of light. All he needed was to alter his state of consciousness and the point of light would appear in the midst of all those people. For years, he had searched for that light, and now it was there only yards away from him.
The Magus altered his state of consciousness. He looked again at the people gathered there, this time with a changed perception, and he could see a vast range of different-colored auras, all of them, though, were shifting closer to the color that would predominate that night.
“Wicca really is an excellent Teacher,” he thought again. “She works very fast.” Soon all the auras, the energy vibrations that surround each physical body, would be vibrating as one. And then the second part of the ritual could begin.
He looked to left and right and finally located the point of light. He decided to surprise her and approached without a sound.
“Brida,” he said.
His Soul Mate turned around.
“She’s gone for a walk,” a young man said politely.
For a moment that seemed to last forever, the Magus looked at the man standing before him.
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“You must be the Magus that Brida has told me so much about,” said Lorens. “Join us. She won’t be long.”
But Brida was already there. She was standing opposite the two men, breathing hard, eyes wide.
From the other side of the fire, the Magus sensed someone watching. He knew that look; it would not be able to see the points of light, because only Soul Mates could recognize each other, but it was a deep and ancient look, one that knew the Tradition of the Moon, and the hearts of men and women.
The Magus turned and faced Wicca. She smiled at him from the other side of the fire—in a fraction of a second she had understood everything.
Brida also had her eyes fixed on the Magus. They were alight with pleasure. He had come.
“I’d like to introduce you to Lorens,” she said. The party suddenly seemed like fun, and she no longer needed any explanations.
The Magus was still in that altered state of consciousness. He saw Brida’s aura rapidly changing and moving toward the color that Wicca had chosen. She was pleased and happy that he had come, and anything he said or did could so easily ruin her Initiation that night. He must, at all costs, control his feelings.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said to Lorens. “How about pouring me a glass of wine?”
Lorens smiled and held out the bottle.
“Welcome to the group,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the party.”
