The Pool of Two Moons by Kate Forsyth Page A

chanted with him:
    "Darksome night and shining light,
    Open your secrets to our sight,
    Find in us the depths and height,
    Find in us surrender and fight,
    Find in us jet black, snow white,
    Darksome light and shining night."
    Silence fell again. Jorge threw a handful of fragrant leaves and roots on the fire so the flames hissed green and yellow. He gestured to the children to begin their dance, their slow step and slide and stamp, as softly he chanted, "Ever-changing life and death, transform us in your sight, open your secrets, open the door. In ye we shall be free o' slavery. In ye we shall be free o' pain. In ye we shall be free o' darkness without light, and in ye we shall be free o' light without darkness. For both shadow and radiance are yours, as both life and death are yours. And as all seasons are yours, so shall we dance and feast and have joy, for the tides o' darkness have turned and the green times be upon us, the time for the making o'
    love and harvest, the time o' nature's transformations, the time to be man and woman, the time to be child and crone, the time o' grace and redemption, the time o' loss and sacrifice, for ye are our mother and our father and our child, ye are the rocks and trees and stars and the deep, deep swell of the sea, ye are the Spinner and Weaver and the Cutter o' the Thread, ye are birth and life and death, ye are shadow and brightness, ye are night and day, dusk and dawn, ye are ever-changing life and death ..." The smoke swirled about them, and Jorge began to feel his perception stretching, widening, thin and huge as a wind-stretched cloud. He had not dared open himself to the forces since leaving Lucescere, and he felt a flood of impressions rush through him, dangerously strong.
    Sparks fled into the darkness from the leaping flames and he followed them, flying through the night. He saw the river as a tangle of energies, the bright flames of night creatures stalking through the undergrowth, the smaller sparks of the hunted, crouching in the bracken. He saw another camp fire only a few ridges away, and heard the bored ruminations of soldiers and felt the malevolent presence of a seeker. Panic seized his heart— he had not realized anyone was so close!
    He tried to turn, to flow back into his body, but the powers had him. Visions flooded through him—red clouds that raced in from the south, rolling with thunder; the glint of swords and chain mail through mist; a tidal wave seething with scales and fins, which rose and swept the plains of Clachan; a white hind running through a tangle of forest, trying to escape a wolf that raced behind, blood-lust red in its eyes. Meghan is in danger, he thought, then he was whirled away again. He saw Finn wrapped in darkness; a winged man wielding a bow of fire, shooting flames; a girl that reached out a hand to a mirror, only to have her reflection come alive and grip her wrist. As he fell back towards his frail body, slumped by the side of a dying fire, he saw again the vision which had most troubled him— the eating of the moons, the devouring of light.
    Jorge drifted back to consciousness, feeling in his veins the coming of dawn and hearing the pounding of the children's feet as they stumbled around the fire still. He did not know how many hours he had been away. He was tired, so tired he could not lift his hands from his lap nor force his voice to speak. At last he croaked, "Dawn comes, the morning is here and darkness flees." He felt the children collapse as if his words had freed them from the dance, and he felt from them all the same tiredness, the daze of the smoke, the emptiness of the night.
    "Let us eat o' the flesh of our mother and drink the water o' her body, and let us rejoice, for the seasons have turned and the green months are upon us," Jorge said, and the children began to laugh and eat the small feast they had so excitedly prepared the night before. The old man knew that for the first time, the bread and water and fruit was more