Free Unraveled Visions (A Shaman Mystery) by Nina Milton

with my arm from the centre of the space. I lit the incense in its shell dish and lifted it on the palm of my hand. The aroma was a blend of the herbs from my garden with added resin of frankincense and some dried juniper berries. The smoke traced the shape of the protective circle. I followed this with sprinkles of water from Glastonbury’s red spring and spoke the ritual words.
    “ With fire in air I consecrate this circle. With water from earth I consecrate this moment. With all my will I declare this is sacred space in sacred time. ”
    “What you say?” asked Mirela, her voice low.
    “That we have created a place and time for our work tonight,” I said. “What did you say as you were sweeping?”
    “Eh …” She frowned, trying to bring the words into English as best she could. “Go out! Out! Go away, badness of Beng, bad luck of Bibxt, bad spirit of Mulo. Not welcome here.”
    My eyebrows shot up. “Mirela, that’s fantastic—perfect. You’re a Romani, all right. So, now we’ve got rid of the bad spirits, we can request the presence of good ones. Do you have a good spirit we could invite?”
    She nodded. “Devla is our god.”
    I stood at each aspect of the circle; north, east, south and west, to call in their elementals, totem animals, and sacred winds. Then I moved to the centre, where Mirela stood, still holding the besom. “And I call to Devla, god of the Roma, to be here at this time, to guide my spirit journey and offer inspiration.”
    Once Mirela was lying on the floor cushions inside the circle, I covered her with a fleece then took her wrist and loosely attached it to mine with a silken cord plaited in white, brown, and green. This cord would guide me towards her otherworld. One hand out of action, I got down on my own cushions and covered myself as best I could.
    I pulled a dark scarf over my eyes. If I was lucky, I’d move close to that twilight zone between reverie and almost-sleep where you suddenly recall nothing of the outside world. From there, the otherworld was a blink away. But I tipped a little too far, and in moments I was deep asleep and dreaming.
    _____
    An owl flew in front of the moon. It was all stealth, silent in the soft breath of the night. I was standing beside a rock face that rose above my head, above the trees, until it seemed to touch the moon. The owl disappeared behind the rock’s peak and I noticed there was a slit at its base, wide enough for my body to slip through. I couldn’t resist. I pushed through into a deep and narrow cave. A little moonlight illuminated the floor and I took cautious steps forward. The cave greyed into blackness. I could see nothing at all. The point of a stalactite scraped against my head. I put my hand to the wound and realized that my head was shaved as it had been nine months ago, forcibly and down to the flesh. I shuffled a few more metres before I noticed the gentle light that flickered in the far distance. Deep inside the cave was a man, carrying a candle cupped in his palm. I could make out that his hair was dark and dreadlocked, but his skin shone in the candlelight like pearl. I thought he’d just got out of bed, because he seemed to be wearing nothing but the sheet he’d pulled off it and a pair of loose leather sandals.
    He did not acknowledge me but kept walking towards me. After a moment or two, I saw a second figure loom out of the darkness. It was a woman. Her face was warm honey in the back-glow of the candle flame.
    The man spoke. His voice was low, but the tones echoed around the cavern. “I can’t look back.”
    “No,” whispered the woman.
    “I must not look back,” the man repeated, but his eyes were distracted and shifting. He told her he must not look back because he longed to do so. He longed to look at the woman with all of his heart.
    They passed me, moving towards the gashed mouth of the cave.
    “I must not look back,” he said again, and my tongue dried with the knowledge that he hungered to look