After a couple more bitterly cold days, the weather eased up, the snow began to melt, and the damage all across the countryside was tallied. To describe the event a word from mythology had been adopted by the news outlets, and then by the public: Fimbulwinter. In Norse mythology it was supposed to be the immediate prelude to the events of Ragnarok. Given widespread belief that the world of mankind was coming to an end, it seemed darkly appropriate.
The Met Office warned in dire terms that even though the immediate storm had passed, Earth’s climate was becoming more and more disrupted and unstable. The ever-expanding Barrier interacted with the atmosphere in ways that were impossible to predict. The public should brace for more surprises — or else, become converted to ponies as soon as possible and emigrate to the Exponential Lands where weather could be controlled magically. Humans lucky enough to become pegasi would rarely have any difficulty landing a job in weather control.
When the ground dried out at the work site, earthmoving resumed. Upon the next weekend Moondancer’s coven gathered at Castlerigg, and Trixie was invited to join them. Before the ceremony Moondancer explained, “Magic can be divided into two categories. Thaumaturgy is the working of wonders, and theurgy is the divine work. Thaumaturgical magic usually has a specific goal: gaining a fortune, losing weight, making crops grow, or banishing disease. Those are the sort of workings I’ve been showing you, and I got the impression most unicorn magic is like that too. Theurgy has a more spiritual and devotional focus. We perform it to bring us closer to the goddess, or to transform ourselves into a more holy or godlike state. You understand?”
Trixie frowned. “I… I don’t know. In our lore, in Equestria, contacting supernatural beings usually ends in them trying to take over the world and bring on eternal night, or eternal winter, or some other kind of eternal nastiness.”
“No benevolent gods or goddesses?”
“Not really. I suppose the closest thing we have to that is Celestia. And she’s… beautiful, and powerful, and loved by all, but, well… She’s still a pony. I don’t think she’s what you’d call a goddess.”
“That’s something a lot of humans have debated, actually. About Celestia, I mean. In our ancient history we had stories of, um… let’s say, demi-gods. Like Hercules, yeah?” Trixie only blinked, uncomprehending. Moondancer continued, “Ok, well… We had rulers who claimed divinity, from the Pharaohs to Alexander the Great. And the dividing line between mortals and the divine was more blurry than in modern times. So maybe Celestia fits into that sort of mold? But even then it seemed like they were always the lesser gods. If they walked the Earth, there always had to be others above them who didn’t. Something in the human psyche always looks to a higher power.”
Trixie considered the alienness of the human psyche for a moment before asking, “Are you sure you want to have a pony at your ceremony?”
Moondancer blinked, and then knelt and placed her hand on Trixie’s mane, over her withers, and told her: “Trixie, you’ll be the guest of honor! In our lore the unicorn is most magical and spiritual of all creatures. Having you there with us in the stone circle will make it very special for us.”
“I, uh… I won’t know what to do. Should I rehearse?”
Moondancer smiled. “You won’t have to do anything. We’ll have a place of honor prepared for you, where you can sit and watch. It’ll be fun, trust me!”
When Trixie went to the ceremony, she saw that all the construction equipment had been moved across the field, away from the henge and the stone circle. Trixie had imagined a gathering of mysterious, grim figures concealed in black cloaks. Instead she found most of the women wore loose and flowing garments, brightly colored, while the men tended towards striped tunics or sweaters, the overall look seeming old-fashioned even to Trixie’s eyes — like costumes from a pony play depicting the early classical era, perhaps. Many of the men had full beards, much more prevalent than she’d noticed among the general population, and many of them carried walking sticks, while many women (and a few men as well) had large, beaded handbags slung over their shoulders. Beaded jewelry seemed commonplace among both genders, too.
Ivan, escorting her, seemed right at home with the group. He admitted to Trixie that he wasn’t a close adherent to their religion, but he had basic knowledge of it, and a lot of past experience with these people through his work.
There was much conversation, smiles and laughter. This was no solemn event — or not yet, anyhow. A fire had been built in the center of the stone circle, and people gradually filtered in through the avenue leading through the side of the henge. Before they entered, some of them stopped at a folding table, where they left their phones or other electronic gadgets for safekeeping, these not being welcome inside the circle.
There were no other ponies present, and Trixie immediately became the center of attention. It seemed that all of the milling humans felt compelled to stop and introduce themselves, fawn over her and praise her for gracing their meeting with her presence, and for her contribution to their cause. Trixie wasn’t sure what exactly she had contributed thus far, but she concealed her doubts and anxiety the way she always did: by retreating into her stage persona. “Never let them see you sweat,” was what she’d been taught early on in show business. With her head held high, the haughty, lilting tones of her voice rang out, reassuring and thanking all who accosted her. The Great and Powerful Trixie, Most Magical Unicorn in All Equestria, was nothing if not confident — at least on the outside.
Even the Great and Powerful Trixie felt a little embarrassed to be greeted as “Holy One of Purity and Grace”, though.
As the wiccans filtered into the henge, the sun gradually slipped below the horizon, and the sky darkened to shades of twilight. The small bonfire seemed to come alive, turning the circle into an oasis of light and life.
The crowd settled down somewhat as they collected inside the henge, and Trixie joined them. One of the witches guided her to a cushion where she could rest her hindquarters. Near the fire were two figures in dark cloaks, more like what Trixie had expected to see from the beginning. One of them, she realized in a moment, was Moondancer, and the other was a bearded man she didn’t recognize.
Ivan knelt by Trixie and pointed at some new structures around the stone circle. “Look there… They’ve set up shrines in each of the elemental directions. To the east, air.” Trixie looked and saw a cluster of long sticks standing erect and decorated with feathers. “To the south, fire.” There smoke wafted up from a bundle of incense. “To the west, water.” A large bowl colored with swirls of green and blue sat on a small platform. “To the north, earth.” There was a small, rude structure of stone decorated with ferns and flowers.
Trixie nodded and whispered to him, “Earth, Air, Fire and Water. In our lore they stood for each of the pony tribes — assuming that Sea Ponies ever existed, that is.”
She glanced toward Moondancer and her companion, who were standing next to an altar bearing astrological symbols of Mars and Venus. Ivan commented, “The priest and priestess represent God and Goddess — which, I must say, are rather vaguely defined entities, as far as I’ve ever been able to tell. Various covens seem to identify with different deities. I’m wondering who they’ll invoke tonight.”
The priestess — that is to say, Moondancer — raised her hands in a gesture calling for quiet and attention. Then she announced, “Merry Meet, all ye faithful! We are gathered tonight for a sabbath unlike any other. We have the honor and privilege of taking part in the rebirth of this most ancient of sacred places.” She spread her arms, indicating the nearly-complete earthworks around them. “We are here to invoke God and Goddess and seek their blessing, to reconsecrate this place.” Then she indicated Trixie. “And our guest of honor is without peer: the Great and Powerful Trixie, most magical unicorn in all Equestria.”
Trixie took a bow as the wiccans spontaneously applauded her mere presence.
After a moment the priestess signaled silence once more and commanded, “Now all kneel and be anointed!” She began to make her way around the circle, using her fingertips to place a small dab of oil upon each forehead. The priest followed with a smoldering bundle of sage, ritually smudging each with the smoke while muttering an incantation. When Moondancer came to Trixie, she paused to carefully lift her wizard hat and set it aside, then she reached with her hand… Trixie braced herself, anxious for an instant that Moondancer was going to touch her horn. That wouldn’t have harmed her, but it was most definitely a faux pas among ponies. Her hand moved lower, though, and she placed a dab of the scented oil just forward of the base of Trixie’s horn.
Someone began rhythmically beating on a drum. While everyone else remained kneeling, the priest and priestess ritually swept the bounds of the circle, and perfumed it with incense. Next Moondancer pulled out a dagger from the folds of her robe, with a wicked-looking, wavy blade. Alarm bells went off in Trixie’s head, and every campfire story she’d ever heard about evil cultists and bloody sacrifices came surging to the front of her mind. Her haunches involuntarily tensed, and she almost launched into flight when something touched her shoulder. It was only Ivan, though, seeking to reassure her.
Moondancer held the dagger out for all to see. “With this athame blade I cut a boundary between our sacred circle and the mundane world.” She moved around the circle and mimed the action of slicing through the air, her motions becoming a dance in time with the drum beat.
She put away the dagger and said, “All rise!” The drums stilled. The priest joined her, and they offered brief invocations to the spirits at each of the four elemental shrines.
The couple went to stand and face one another between the main altar and the bonfire. Moondancer then intoned: “Horned God! Lover! Protector of the Earth! Cernunnos, you are needed now more than ever. I bid you manifest in your priest!”
The priest said, “Divine queen! Goddess of sovereignty, maker of kings! Rider of the shining white horse! Rhiannon, you are needed now more than ever. I bid you manifest in your priestess!”
They closed their eyes, bowed their heads for a moment, then stepped closer to one another and kissed. For several moments they held this kiss, while the crowd watched in reverent silence, then slowly priest and priestess drew apart.
Someone in the audience began to chant softly: “Awen! Awen! Awen!” Others picked up the chant.
The priest turned and stepped over to the main altar, his body a silhouette in front of the bonfire, raised his hands to silence the chanting, and then intoned: “Hear now the words of Cernunnos! A day of reckoning is close at hand. This old Earth is stirring. Spirits are rising amongst its mountains, its oceans, it’s forests, and in the ruins of civilizations gone and past. They demand that our world must not, shall not, be subsumed by another. Many will stumble and fall in this time of testing. War and Strife stalk the land, touching it where they will, and battles shall be fought in the skies, and the Great Deceiver shall play her hand.”
Then the priest stepped aside, and the priestess moved to the altar, and she intoned: “Hear now the words of Rhiannon! Wiccans… Britons… The blood of warriors flows in your veins. It calls you to rise to the challenge of our time. You must not let the hot blood lead you astray, though. The ponies are not your enemies, and the victory we seek cannot be won through force of arms. Your mission is one of creation and salvation. Even while the ignorant mock your efforts, you must rebuild the old straight paths and rediscover their full power; only then can our world be truly safe.”
There was silence for a few moments as that sunk in. Then she spread her hands and said, loudly: “Now let us raise magic!”
The drums resumed their beating. The priest and priestess then went around the circle directing various persons to raise magical energy. The group continued in this way, chanting, drumming, praying and dancing around the fire. Ivan assured Trixie that she was welcome to join in any activity that struck her fancy, but she demurred and sat upon her cushion and watched, trying to appear aloof.
After this had gone on for a while, the priestess came to Trixie and asked, “Do you feel the Cone of Power forming?”
“The what now?”
“All of this magical energy we are raising: it’s forming a Cone of Power. Do you feel it?”
“I, uh… Trixie is not certain.”
A shadow of disappointment crossed Moondancer’s face, but in a moment it passed — or she managed to conceal it. She reached out a finger toward the little unicorn’s horn, but stopped short of touching it when Trixie winced slightly. “But you already have a cone of power of your own, don’t you?” She quirked a smile, and turned away to continue her work with the other wiccans.
Ivan had also gone to join some other activity, and Trixie found herself left oddly alone and detached in the circle of most eccentric and puzzling humans, in the light of the fire. Even though they had been nothing but friendly and welcoming, she understood none of what they were doing, and she’d rarely felt so out-of-place in her life. She glanced up at the stars. They were supposed to hold the secrets of magic — at least as it was written in unicorn lore. She wondered if they could see her. What did they think of this spectacle?
Then her imagination carried her away, and she envisioned the view from far above — the flickering, ruddy light of the bonfire, the shadows of the dancers and the ancient stones, and the softly moonlit darkness of the landscape beyond. Trixie was a mere dot in the vast, awesome panorama of space and time — a performer on a stage beyond comprehension. A shiver went through her. After a few moments she shook off the waking dream and came back to reality. Unsettled, she blinked as she reoriented with her surroundings. She mused inwardly, “Are these humans getting under my skin? Or could there be something else…”
She closed her eyes for a moment and extended her senses, and her horn glowed very softly as she cast a simple spell to detect any other magic around her. Just like every time, it came up with nothing. As far as magic was concerned, Earth was a desert, a wasteland. Even the living humans around her felt more magically dead than lumps of clay. She sighed.
After the Cone of Power had been raised and dispersed, the priest and priestess came together once again to invoke the sacred marriage between god and goddess. The priest brought forth a chalice of ale, into which the priestess plunged the blade of her athame — the sacred knife. Then they blessed the ale and shared it with all present, offering each a token, ritual sip from the chalice. They wrapped up the ceremony by thanking and dismissing the elemental spirits and bidding farewell to the god and goddess, and ritually resealing the circle with the athame.
Then the ceremony was declared over, but nobody left. Instead people immediately began bringing into the circle beach towels, food and ale, and soon feasting and merrymaking were well underway all around the fire.
Trixie reclaimed her wizard hat, and she was rejoined by Ivan. Moondancer came over too, still wearing her ritual robes, and she sat down with them. Smiling she asked, “Well, Trixie, what did you think? Have you ever seen anything like this?”
“No, never!” she replied truthfully.
“And the magic power… Surely you felt something! Can you tell if the henge is active now?” Her eyes gleamed with eagerness.
Trixie gulped and looked around. In addition to her friends, a small crowd of humans were gathered around, watching her, listening, wanting an answer. Their faces were excited, hopeful. She knew what answer they wanted. She licked her dry lips and uttered, “Trixie did feel something tonight. She is sure that there is magic here.”
She was startled by the rousing cheer that went up around her, and she found herself suddenly picked up and hugged by Moondancer. She barely had a chance to respond before she was put back down, and Moondancer was announcing loudly to all the rest who hadn’t been close enough to hear at first: “Everyone listen! Our unicorn, The Great and Powerful Trixie, has pronounced our ceremony a success. This stone circle is now alive with magic!”
Then the festivities truly kicked into high gear, cider and ale flowed freely, music and dancing became general, and Trixie found herself being treated as if she’d just announced world peace and a rollback of the Barrier at the same time. The party continued late into the night.
Festooned with flowers and beaded necklaces, and somewhat lit up with ale, Trixie staggered into her room at Low Nest Farm after midnight. In a daze she sloughed off her cape, her hat, and the adornments that happy wiccans had garlanded her with, climbed awkwardly onto the high (by pony standards) bed, and barely managed to worm her way under the covers before passing out.
Through disjointed, disturbing dreams, a chiming sound intruded, pulling Trixie out of sleep. Part of her tried to cling to the dream, to remember it. Someone… someone very important had been very disappointed in her… The details slipped away as her phone kept chiming from its place on the tabletop. With a groan she raised her aching head, blinked her bleary eyes, and observed that sunlight was coming through the window.
With an effort she pushed back her sheets and rolled upright on the bed. She had left her phone on a table before going to the ceremony the previous evening. Even as she identified the source of the noise, it went silent. Trixie closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with her pastern. She did not feel good, not at all.
After a couple of minutes she took a deep breath, focused on the phone and stylus, and tried to levitate them over to her. She winced. That felt even less good, but she persevered, and the phone wobbled its way across to her. The screen was dark, aside from the tiny sparkles of her magic. She tapped it with the stylus and got it turned on, then stared at the colorful icons and tried to remember how to operate the new and unfamiliar device. Humans used them as naturally as living and breathing, but the instructions she’d been given always seemed vague and difficult to remember. While she was pondering, the screen went dark again. She’d learned, to her frustration, that it went to sleep whenever she didn’t poke at it for a while. She sighed, and she woke it again and began poking at the screen with the stylus.
After a few more frustrating minutes of going in circles, she finally determined that Lord Peter had left her a message, and she got it to play. A tiny, tinny reproduction of his voice emitted from the gadget: “My dear Trixie, I just wanted to congratulate you! I got the news this morning. Everyone is buzzing about the successful ceremony last night. You can hardly know how much it means to me, and to everyone, to receive your confirmation that Castlerigg is coming back to life. I’ve already passed the news on to Katrina, and we’ll be hearing back from her soon. You’ve given us a new birth of hope. Good show, Trixie! Good show!”
Trixie stared at the phone for a minute, then dropped it onto the bedspread. She flopped onto her side, limply. Her eyes were open but staring at nothing. After a minute she muttered, “Sweet Celestia… What have I done?”