Divination 2

It's misting, very, very light mist. Almost fog, but not so soft. It does not hang over the earth, like a fine fur coat, but instead coats everything in a thick dew. The grass, would shimmer if there was even the slightest hint of sunlight, but today, is not the day for sunshine. The Mother sees people she knows, those she calls Family. Each cries, wiping tears away. The men especially. Each saying what a 'great man' he was what a 'wonderful friend’ he had been. Each knows in their heart, that he was taken too soon. Each is saddened by the woman he left behind. No one can understand the pain she feels, no one save her sisters, who sit beside her. The oldest holding her left hand, the one in between her right. Her blood sister, and her brother-in-law sit across the aisle. Neither knew him like the others, but they were fond of him none-the-less, and they too, are saddened by his untimely passing.
The Maiden sits in shell-shocked silence. She can not bare the things that are passing before her. Too much has happened. Two of her daughters sit beside the Crone, her youngest sits beside the Mother. They all weep, they all understand what has been lost. The Maiden, can only watch, as each of her husbands friends say a few words about the lost one. She does not hear any of it. She does not comprehend what is happening. She only knows that her sisters are holding her hands, and that she is grounded to the earth, by that small, inconspicuous connection, and that the very instant they let her hands go, she will fall back into the black abyss, from which she unwillingly climbed that morning.
Tears are beyond her now, she can't feel anything anymore.
When everyone has spoken their bit, and the men who loved her beloved best, have lifted the cold silent box he now rest in, and carried it to the hurst, she will get up. Her sisters will keep their hands firmly in hers and they will walk to the car. They will follow her husband to the graveyard, where he will be lowered into the warm loving earth. Then her sisters will take her home, and they will undress her, and lay her in a bed, not her bed, for her bed will be burned, nothing of him will be allowed to stay, and she will sleep.
She will sleep for many days. She will dream of the things that made her happiest, the moments in life when she knew who she was. She will dream of her beautiful daughters, and her sisters, and her husband, and the place they met. So many things gone forever. So many things lost. Then finally she will wake. The Mother will bring her tea, and she will weep. Finally, she will weep, and her pain will be too great for her to handle. Her sisters will take some of it on, wishing they could take it all. Knowing that will not be allowed.
After sometime, the Maiden will rise from her bed. In the night she will find her tools, and she will sneak out of the house, she and her husband shared. She will move into the woods that surround her home. She is no longer afraid of the things in the woods. They are now afraid of her. She cares not for her life, she will sacrifice it to bring back the one she loves. None would dare cross her then.
She finds the place the Mother and their sisters had practiced magic before. The land held the enchantment tightly, and the power from that place was strong. She slipped from her robe, allowing it to fall to the ground, fearless of anyone seeing her, focused only on her task. She will bring back her beloved, her husband, the father of her beautiful daughters. She will take on the form of Goddess, she will send out power and bring him back to her whole and safe, he will be alive and well, and her sadness will end.
She looks at her atheme, she feels the weight of the obsidian spear head. She feels the earth under her feet. She begins to move, casting a circle, more, a wall, around her. She will need more than a flimsy protection for the magic she intends to work.
Once her wall is erected, she moves to the center. She holds her blade in her left hand, takes a deep breath, and presses it hard into the vein at her elbow, dragging it down her arm. As the blood flows, she pumps her hand encouraging it. Then taking the atheme in her other hand she does the same to her other arm, then to her legs, then her breast, and her throat. As the blood runs and flows, she gathers it on the blade and flings it to the North, calling for her lover to rise from the earth. Then the East, calling to her lover to begin anew. Then to the South, calling him to regain his passion and courage. Then to the West, calling him to take back his life, and his emotions and come to her. Then she gathers blood to her hand, flinging it straight down to the earth, crying out, to Spirit to release her beloved from its hold and to allow him to return across the water to her.
She lets the blood flow longer, casting it to her right, and her left, calling to the God Hades to free her husband, to let him cross the waters of death and come to her. Then to the Goddess Persephone to persuade her husband to free hers. Then when her cries are not answered, she calls to Aphrodite. She calls to her, begs her, beseeches her, demands of her, that she repay the debt that is owed to her. That she reclaim the Maiden's husband from the God of Death, and bring him to her.
All of the Maiden's cries, however, go unanswered. She can feel her blood dripping from her fingertips, to the earth. She can feel the life force draining from her, and she can not bring herself top care. She can hear her sisters calling to her from their dreams. Then blessed nothingness over takes her, and she feel...no more.1

There is nothing. there is not darkness, nor is there light. She is not sitting or standing, or laying. She can feel everything, and yet she can feel nothing. Then a voice speaks to her.
"You have asked for things that are not in the skein. We would give them to you if it were possible. Do you not know, that we see you, and morn for you. But the skein is woven, as the skein is meant to weave. We only direct the threads, we do not know the pattern before it is woven, we only know where the threads are to go."
The Maiden is angry, she knows what they mean. She knows what they are not saying. She knows she will live. She glares at the voice, though she is not sure from where it comes. It seems to come from within, and also without.
"You mustn't lay in the dirt dear child. Get up and go to your sisters, they are worried, and searching for you. Your wall keeps them out. Your children need you, and so do they. You have not finished your tasks. Things will become clear, but not tonight. Now don't doddle, get up and go to your sisters."2

There was light in the sky. Not bright, but a hazy grey, as if the sun were trying to shine through a piece of black cloth. The Maiden struggled to her feet, staggering, throwing her arms down to break the wall she had build, her atheme in her hand. She grabbed her robe, clutching it to herself, and slowly, dizzily stumbled back to her home.
On the path, she met the Mother, who sighed in relief and clutched the Maiden to her. The Maiden could feel her worry, and knew the visions her older sisters had suffered, knowing what she was doing, but unable to find her. The Crone came to them almost immediately. Each took a side of the Maiden and eased her robe back over her marred skin, then taking a side, they stumbled toward the house.
There were no spoken words between the women, each knew the others heart. The Crone and Mother took the Maiden to her bed, and the Crone wove a spell for sleep. Together the Mother and Crone watched over the sleeping Maiden, knowing her pain, and hoping something could be done, but knowing there was nothing for it.
They would one day weep together, and cry for all that was lost to them, until that time, they would morn together, separately.