By Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
Chapter Twenty-Four "The Neighbors' Walpurgisnacht"
Eva clapped her hands together, as if warming them before an open fire.
In fact, there was an enormous bonfire going in the backyard of the house. The house that held the Casket of Augersaal. In the driveway, cars from all over town had pulled up. Tonight was the Walpurgisnacht Rally held annually by the Political Committee for its loyal membership. The petition goal had been reached, and in the morning Berny Cottswold would be installed as Temporary Mayor Extraordinaire. His parents, long major players in the community, were relieved that their son was getting back on track. The elder Cottswolds pulled up in a silver limousine, an Archer Limited, and stepped out onto the lawn dressed as if they were attending a black-tie formal.
The whole sloping backyard, down which Barnabas and the girls had rolled commando-style to the stone wall at the roadway, had been transformed into a ballroom, where bright papers were draped from cypress to cypress, although one cypress in the solemn line had been incinerated to a stick and stood gaudily wrapped with the crepe. No less than three tremendous bonfires raged on the field. Into them went bales of complicated paperwork hauled surreptitiously from the town's officers' desks. "A new broom sweeps clean," banner hung from the eves of the house, with a picture of Berny Cottswold astride the broom, holding his mayor's top hat over his head as if he were a character in a musical.
"Fine, fine," beamed Berny, his glorious voice sounding particularly well-tuned that evening. He rubbed his hands together before him as if crushing all opposition between them. The Gods of Autumn had been wreaking havoc all day, and the people were on the brink of allowing their new mayor to impose a rather limitless form of marshal law on them. This time, no petition would be needed, just the firm agreement of the highest judge for the district--one Aglet Agitprop nee Cottswold.
A crowd of several hundred were attending, despite the troubles in town, to celebrate this victory. Daffiyd and Gwynnith Tone were there, as well as their old friends Arthur and Cyndy. Apple cider was heating up in large cauldrons, and the sound of hands slapping backs could be heard for half a mile, like a convocation beavers of whapping the surfaces of their ponds with their flat leathery tails.
"Ah, Daffiyd," said Gwynnith. "I've a sigh of relief to sigh now, and no mistake."
"Sure, and things'll be settled one way or another certain enough," Daffiyd agreed, somewhat cryptically.
"Without you two, we'd never have come round to anything that Plimsoul fella was for," Arthur said empathically.
"Too true," agreed his wife Cyndy, tipping back a hot cup of cider. "He's got a fishy feel to 'im."
"Just think of those new-fangled methods he introduced at the high school!" Arthur shook his head remembering the fact.
"They've got to quantify the children's achievement some way or t'other," said Gwynnith.
"Yes, against the old standard," disagreed Daffiyd. "That's what the standard's there for, to measure yourself against it, like a ruler, or the white height of a sturdy steeple."
"How else can you get where ye're goin', if ye can't measure where y'are," agreed Arthur.
"I don't think the old standards, as you call them, brought all of us to where we might want to be." Gwynnith got the hard, far-off look she always got when she was thinking about Gilman. Daffiyd steered the conversation to another topic. A child standing by them threw a fistful of chestnuts into the fire, causing a series of artillery-like pops to explode. Gwynnith shivered and hunkered in close to Daffiyd's clasp.
Daffiyd still wasn't fully reconciled to the Political Committee's doings, or the fact that his own mother, Granny Pansy, was so incontrovertibly opposed everything about it. Still, she'd been watching the children for the last week and a half with no complaints, and if it weren't for Granny Pansy's agreeing to do that, enough petitions might well not have been signed. Daffiyd and Gwynnith Tone were powerful convincers to most folks. The men knew that Daffiyd was slow to embrace anything, on principle, and Gwynnith was sharp-tongued and vibrantly certain enough to make all the Political Committee's points quite clearly.
Sarah walked out of the house and over to where her parents were standing.
"Ah, Sarah m'dear," said Daffiyd, smiling.
"Honey," chimed in Gwynnith.
"Mom and Dad," Sarah began. "I want to come home."
"But I thought you hated Abbey and Dar and the whole situation at home," said Sarah's Mother.
"I do. But I think I can live with that, as long as Granny Pansy doesn't get on my case about it." Sarah knew that her Ganny Pansy wouldn't let her have any special privileges.
"Yes, well, Sarah," began Sarah's Father, Daffiyd. "Our work for the Political Committee's done." He looked over at Gwynnith, who was quiet. "At least for now. Your Mother and I have agreed to that. And we've already asked Granny Pansy and her friends to leave the day after tomorrow."
"Oh, really, Dad?" Sarah had conflicted feelings about her Granny Pansy leaving, but she knew that she didn't want to hear what she would say about the new Sarah. Sarah had a feeling that Granny Pansy and Missy would have similar views on the subject of the new Sarah.
"And your cousins will most likely be out by the Christmas Holidays. They'll be going back to the city and staying there."
Sarah hugged her Father and grinned. She must tell Eva! Sarah raced back into Mr. Plimsoul's house to find her, but, on heading toward the kitchen, heard Eva and Mr. Plimsoul arguing. Sarah stayed just on the other side of the doorway and listened.
"I still don't think that the risk is worth it," Mr. Plimsoul was saying. "At least, not without the Casket of Augersaal."
"Simon, you simpleton," snipped Eva. "It is the Casket of Augersall that represents the risk, not Sarah. No one has invoked the casket in nearly a millennium. The lore handed down about it is partial and contradictory. And your attempts with the girl so far have failed."
"They all agree that the Casket of Augersaal is the most powerful magical object in existence! There would be no need to hedge our bets. Our power would be absolute. We have the words now that Granny Pansy's finally ponied up to her promise. I feel that there's simply some magical object missing. A magical musical object."
"Sarah will serve, without the casket," countered Eva. "You see how easy she is to manipulate. Her parents abandoned her emotionally when we had Gilman killed."
"Yes. I suppose that Sarah's spinelessness was an unexpected consequence of removing the 'warrior crown' from our path. But how does that help us now?"
"Keeping Sarah on our side, even marginally, denies her Granny Pansy her most powerful tool. Sarah's voice is unique."
"And so far all you've had her do with it is bewitch her classmates at school! These are parlor tricks and conjurations, no more!"
"If Sarah knew how powerful her voice truly is, it would not be safe. Not even for us, Simon. And until she is firmly committed to our cause, I would not have her fiddling with the Casket of Augersall. The Casket may do her bidding, but first we must make certain that she will do ours."
"I suppose," said Mr. Plimsoul, unconvinced. Mr. Plimsoul wanted the Casket of Augersaal for his own. Then Eva would see who could order who around.
Sarah felt an elbow in her back.
"Ooops, pardon me Miss," said Berny Cottswold in his politest party voice, turning round and waving goodbye to a sleepy supporter. The arguing stopped instantly. He swung the kitchen door open with his foot.
"My team-members are departing the premises precipitously, Eva. We'd better start with the speeches!"
Eva and Mr. Plimsoul came out into the hallway, wondering who Berny had said "pardon me" to, but there was nobody there.
The night went on with speeches by Berny Cottswold and Mr. Plimsoul, and all the higher ups in the organization. There were yawns all round at that. By ten o'clock, only those who had some magical connection to Mr. Plimsoul and Eva were left standing in the flicking flare of the bonfires. Now the true Walpurgisnacht celebration could begin, culminating in a midnight ceremony which would install Eva as their Crannoch-in-Chief.
Berny Cottswold and his parents were the last non-magical guests to leave, pulling away in his parents' silver limousine, which purred as softly as a sleeping lion. Before the dust had even settled back on the drive, Eva called the meeting to order, throwing a double fistful of illuminosii powder into then nearest bonfire. The flames, leaping fifty feet into the crackling night air, turned a molten amber hue, like the baleful bloodshot eye that appeared above the fire.
"Attendees!" Mr. Plimsoul shouted, for there were more warlocks and helper creatures in the edges of the firelight, just moving in for the midnight ceremonies, than were strictly visible in the immediate circle of light. "Attendees! Tonight we honor our new Crannoch-in-Chief! This coven has been without a Crannoch for five long, outcast centuries. But now, by the wit of Eva, we shall once again be whole."
"And powerful as never before!" Eva lifted off the earth on her extended wings, a dark angel that all eyes followed.
The little stone altar was dragged from the basement, and a large turtle was placed on top of the altar upside-down. There was a large red eye painted on the turtle's belly. The Casket of Augersaal, as potent as it was, lay forgotten and gathering dust in the crowded basement behind them. Gar hopped up on a step-ladder, loosening a small hatchet that hung at his side from a leather belt. The hatchet had the same eye stamped into the side of its grey blade. Only the edge of the hatchet was shiny. It had been sharpened that very afternoon.
A booming tuneful drum began to sound, followed by more and more drums until the entire yard was throbbing like a giant heart beat.
"Sing!" Eva commanded as Gar brought the little hatchet down. "Sing the gathering divine! The Gods of Autumn themselves cannot oppose our will! Make this Walpurgisnacht burn brightly in our memories, for tomorrow our enemies will lie utterly defeated! None shall oppose us. The old world of our ways will no longer lie hidden in the dark, but shall grasp the very levers of power. We shall be a beacon to all who would obey. Sing!"
Eva pointed to Mr. Hecatomb. "Eugenius, the wild chant, if you please."
Mr. Hecatomb took up his sharp baton and, waving it before the fire which leaped onto its tip and danced.
"Walpurgisnacht, come knock the heart!
Sorcerers and sorceresses,
Light the candles and break the dishes!
The blood is black that knock my heart!
"Walpurgisnacht, come knock the heart!
Our breaths were held that now take part
No more we wait in the weary dark!
Now we come to eat their hearts!"
The light of the fires was in every eye.
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR