Free Harvest of Changelings by Warren Rochelle

had become different-colored shadows: the pentacle, the bell, and the cups were copper; the athame knife silver-white, and each of the black candles seemed to have disappeared except for their flames. Thomas inhaled and exhaled, filling himself with incense and nothing but incense, and with each breath, it seemed his skin was dissolving, his aura expanding to merge, one glowing filament at a time with all the others. And there were so many others, bits and fragments of their thoughts, feelings darting about and through him—needs, hungers, wants, desires. Behind the priestess the cauldron bubbled and boiled. Thomas heard footsteps behind him, but he didn’t turn and look; he remained as still as possible. He felt fingers on his back, his neck, then a blindfold covered his eyes. His hands were pulled behind him and tied together, and then a cord was passed around his neck. His feet were tied together and then whoever was behind him stepped away. Thomas could see through the blindfold the red of the fire.
    Then the priestess spoke:
    May the Most Powerful,
the great root of existence;
all-pervasive, omnipotent, eternal;
may the Goddess,
the Queen of the Moon;
may the God,
Homed Hunter, Lord of the Night,
may all the unseen Powers:
the stones, the elements,
the stars in the sky, the earth beneath our feet,
bless this place, this time
and Ilwelhe who are/am/is with Thee.
    Thomas answered, words he had practiced over and over and over again:
    O Most Powerful,
O Queen of the Night,
O Lord of the Night,
O Most Mysterious, dark, unseen, hidden,
I stand in this place,
open to You.
Open to the changes

in my body, mind, and spirit.
I am Yours,
I am Yours forever, O Mother Goddess, O Father God.
    Your energy fills me,
it fills my body, my mind, my spirit,
O Great Goddess, O Great God,
I am one with Your Being.
I am one with Your Being.
I am one with Your Being.
    Somewhere a temple singing bowl was stroked and almost simultaneously the others began todrone:“ Aaaaaaaaaooooooooouuuuuuuuuiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee .” A drum began to beat. Thomas heard, barely, other footsteps in front of him, and then something cold and metallic and sharp pricked his skin between his navel and his groin, his erect penis.
    â€œThomas, you stand on the boundaries between the known world and the world of the Dark Ones, the Dread Lords, the world of power. Are you ready? Are you prepared? Are you brave?”
    â€œI am ready. I am prepared. I have the courage.”
    Thomas felt pressure then, first above his heart, then on the opposite side of his chest, then to the right and left of his navel. With each touch the high priestess spoke: “We mark you, then, with Air, with Fire, with Water, with Earth. You are ours.”
    Behind him Thomas could hear the others moving, their breathing fast and hard. The weaving dance began and someone drew Thomas in and everyone was touching, being touched, everywhere. His blindfold was taken away, and there was no part of his skin that was not touched, caressed, felt by hands and mouths. And Thomas touched and stroked and caressed with his hands and his mouth. The high priestess sang:
    O Most Powerful,
O Great Goddess, O Great God,
As you are One,
So, we become one with our brother, Thomas.
O Great Goddess, O Great God,
Let us celebrate the Oneness . ..
    Thomas ran, trees all around him, close, dark, green, black. A full moon marked his path as he ran, his feet slapping the earth, cobwebs catching his skin, snagging his hair, branches slapping his
chest, cutting his skin. He was bleeding; he could feel his own warm blood on his chest, his arms, his face. The trees moved in a rhythm that matched his heart, the pulsing of his blood. Finally, his chest burning, Thomas came to a bramble of thick, close branches, with thorns that pricked and drew more blood. He cupped one hand over his genitals and pushed his way through the bramble into an open glade. He stood still, panting and