Silence falls once more as I move forward with a stride showing more confidence than I feel. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse Iago sitting beneath the altar, watching my every move. I will him not to trot over to me. His presence is barely tolerated as it is. Such a show of disrespect would surely have him thrown out. And his presence comforts me. He reminds me of my father’s faith in me.

A female witch detaches herself from the group and comes to stand next to the Master of the Chalice. In a clear, high soprano, she begins a sweet song of worship. At the end of the verse the whole company joins in, raising their voices, which are curiously twisted through their masks, to ask the spirits to look favorably upon their potential new leader. I am not permitted to sing, but allow the music to feed my courage, to remind me that I am not alone, and that there are many present who will support me. When the piece is completed the Master of the Chalice bids a minor witch strike the heavy brass gong at the end of the altar six times, signifying the beginning of the hour of questioning.

Now I will be tested. But I am ready. For the next sixty minutes my fellow witches are permitted to question me on all aspects of leadership of the Lazarus Coven. I am asked about points of sacred law, or rituals and rites, of spellcraft and magic. I am compelled to explain how I see the role of the Head Witch and what I hope to achieve. It is an exhausting process, and by the end of it I feel drained and relieved that it is over.

The gong is struck once again, marking the finish of the questioning. The Master of the Chalice nods slowly at me, and though I cannot see his face I am certain he is smiling, pleased with how I have withstood the questioning. There remain only a few formalities before he can bestow my new title upon me.

“If there is one who would challenge the nominee’s suitability to lead the Coven of Lazarus let him voice his doubts now, or forever hold his silence,” he says.

“I challenge!”

There are shocked cries. People turn to see who it is who has spoken. The Master of the Chalice leans heavily on his staff and when he speaks his voice shakes with amazement.

“From where does the challenge come? Step forward. Show yourself!”

There is a shuffling among those standing to the left of the altar and a slim, male figure, dressed in a robe of heavy purple velvet, plain, but beautifully cut, moves forward to stand alone.