Fall Harvest at the Crossroad
“It’s time.” Phallina stepped through the tent flap. Morning mist hung in the air and a soft breeze blew.
A crow’s cage swayed, the chain connecting it to the gibbet frame creaking and its occupant shifting slightly, but was still asleep.
Phallina looked to the east. The false dawn gave a misty nimbus to everything. She removed her robe and proceeded sky clad; slinging a supply satchel over her shoulder, she turned and walked to the center of the crossroads. On the flat top rock marking the center, she placed her ritual blade, wand, and chalice.
The cage’s occupant, an unkempt criminal in tattered clothes, stirred and sat up. Blinking, he stared at her, but remained silent.
Phallina walked to the outer edge of the junction and circled in widdershins to dispel any residual energy.
“You know, for an old witch, you’re breedable.” As she passed by, he sniggered.
A shiver ran up Phallina’s spine, and she hoped it was only the crisp morning air of the steppes on her nakedness, but she completed a second circumambulation just to be safe. Returning to the center of the crossroads, she pulled an apple from her satchel and placed it on the rock. She stood and sang an invocation to the Goddess in a deep tenor voice.
The caged criminal continued to leer.
Phallina took her ritual blade and cut the apple in half in one expert cut. Spreading the halves and inspecting the core revealed a perfect pentagram of the seeds. “An omen for a good harvest.”
Phallina approached the man in the crow’s cage, wand in her left hand and knife in the right. “Mabon is about balance.”
“So, you’ll let me out?” The man asked dubiously.
“Yes.” Phallina said. She touched her wand to the cage’s lock, and it sprung open and fell off.
The man tried to push the cage door open.
Phallina grabbed the man by the hair. “This is about reaping what we have sown.” She pulled his head back sharply and slit his throat.
