“We are assembled, and it lacks but a few minutes to daybreak,” said Conor.

I felt again the presence of others, wiser, stronger, older ones, settling around him like a mantle. Instead of a dark-haired youth in a white robe, it was as if some ancient sage stood there before us, and the clearing seemed in some way to open up around him.

“Soon we will begin. But I warn you all. We stand together, we seven; she who tries to sever the bond between us does so at her peril. This is a great mystery, and may achieve our end. But in all things, we draw from the spirit world only such aid, and such strength, as its dwellers are willing to give us. Beyond that we must rely on our own wit and courage and resolve. Now, we begin our ceremony. And when it is ended, we part for a while. You, Sorcha, and you, Padriac, must go into hiding. Father Brien will shelter you and see you to a place of safety. When all is finished here, we will come for you. And whether what we do this morning brings help or no, the rest of us will act today for better or worse. We have the proof; our father must confront the truth and make his choice.”

We made a formal circle around the small tree as we had done many times before, standing close enough so that, if each had reached out an arm, he could have touched hands with the next. But there was no need to touch. This was our place of ritual, of oneness; the old oaks and beeches here had heard our childish rhymes, our tender secrets, had witnessed our communion with our mother’s spirit. Sometimes we had been solemn and serious, and sometimes we had joked and laughed. These trees held in their hearts the tale of our growing years, and now they were to witness a mystery greater than any in our experience.

The first glint of the rising sun lightened the rim of the sky. Conor faced the south, and held the birch wand up before him.

“Creatures of fire, darting salamanders,” said Conor, “children of the cleansing flame, steadfast of purpose, we salute you!” It seemed there was a stirring of the air, a momentary flickering of light; but the clearing was mist shrouded still.

Liam stood on the western side, and he looked out over the lake waters. Diarmid could not hold his place in the circle, but sagged against Cormack’s shoulder, blinking in the growing light. Cormack held his errant brother’s arm in a fierce grip. Liam raised the bowl to catch the pale dawn.

“Water spirits, changing and turning, deep-hearted, knowing ones, keepers of mysteries, we salute you,” he said, and lowered the bowl again.

Finbar faced north, where the tumbled boulders made a sort of giant’s pathway between the great trees. His long hands held the mossy stone; the wakening light showed its surface etched with tiny marks and symbols.