By Sea, page 16
part #4 of The Witches of Portland Series
The Snack Bloc was set up on the edges of the park, handing out ice cream, protein bars, and bottles of water.
It was quite the mix of sound and fury. Charlie wished he could just enjoy this strange slice of Portland on this beautiful day. Unfortunately, there was work to be done. Now, if only he knew how to do it.
“Tim!” Charlie called to the large heathen.
“What’s up, man?” Tim passed a hand over his lush brown beard.
“I’m…this sounds weird, but Thor is…”
“Just spit it out, I guarantee you I’ve heard weirder shit before.”
Charlie allowed himself to sag in relief, just for a moment, before breathing steel back into his spine.
“Thor has asked me to help protect my people. This is all new to me, but some of the witches say he’s actually been…speaking through me. And he wants me to draw a rune ring around our group, to keep them safe from these assholes, kind of the way the cops are keeping the assholes safe.”
“And you want help?”
“Yes.”
“You got it man. Let’s start.”
“Watch our backs?” Charlie said to Hai and Sam.
Then both men turned away from the cops and toward the teeming crowd. It was truly huge. Charlie had no idea how they were going to do it.
He turned to his left. All of a sudden, Raquel was right there. Where had she come from? She gave him a kiss. He closed his eyes and inhaled her for a moment, memorizing the press of breasts and lush, round hips, her coffee smell, and the taste of her lips.
She leaned away from him, and looked into his eyes. “You got this.”
He gave a tight nod, turned to Tim, and said “What now?”
“Now we chant the runes, my friend. You ever done that before?”
“Nope.”
Tim gave a wild grin.
“Well then. Today’s the day! Just follow my lead.” Tim turned his head. “Hai and Sam? You ready??”
“Sure thing,” Hai replied.
Tim turned to the north, clasped his hands together, and traced a hammer shape in the air. Then he began chanting, starting with the first letter of the alphabet, the rune fehu.
“Fehu, fehu, fehuuuuu.” Tim’s voice rumbled outward across the grass, the trees, and the people.
Charlie tried to match Tim’s tone, “Fehu, fehu, fehuuuu.”
He felt the buzzing at his skull as the rune rolled from his mouth. Charlie imagined it shining on the other side of the crowd, an upward tilted F, beginning the ring that would offer protection to the crowd.
They chanted the rune three times, then moved on to the next.
Uruz. The wild aurochs. Strength. Pure, primal power.
Charlie widened his stance, took in a deep breath, and blended his voice with Tim’s.
“Uruz, uruz, uuurruuuz.”
Syllable by syllable, rune by rune, with the power of the sky and earth, and the buzzing at the base of Charlie’s skull, they built the ring.
35
Raquel
Raquel left Charlie and Tim to their work. She had her own to do.
Surrounded by the churning crowd, she found a small patch of grass, and rooted her energy more deeply in the ground beneath her feet. The earth held and supported her. She let her witch self rise up inside of her, pulling on the power of the river, tracing its pathway north, to where it flowed into the Columbia, and further, to where the Columbia kissed the Pacific.
“Yemọja,” she whispered, the word drowned in the noises of the crowd. “Yemọja. River. Ocean. Mother. Lover. Power. Be with me now. Be with us all.”
She felt a tingling along her skin as the power of water flowed into her body. Raquel licked her lips and opened out her arms.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she felt the strength of the crowd, the push and pull of them. The battering from in front and from behind. She let the noise and the heat of it wash around her, as if she were a stone in the midst of a river of humanity.
Taking a moment, she scanned the crowd, trying to see if Zion was still there. A movement in one of the trees further back toward the sidewalk caught her attention. And there he was, grinning, waving from among the branches of a cherry tree. Surrounded by pale pink blossoms, he looked happy for the first time in weeks.
She could just make out Alejandro’s head. Her coven mate stood beneath the tree, arms crossed over his chest. He looked ready for anything.
Thank you, mother, for my coven. For my life.
Zion bent his head down, saying something to Alejandro. Then someone passed up a mic attached to a bullhorn with a black coil—was that Tariq?—and all of a sudden, Zion was speaking, voice just carrying over the sounds of the crowd.
“Remember who you are!” he said. “Remember what you’re fighting for!”
Holy shit. What the hell was Zion doing?
Raquel formed her shoulders into a wedge, and tried pushing her way through the crowd. But it was too dense. She couldn’t fight her way through.
“Damn it!” she said. “Mother! Help me!”
:You must let him work his will.:
“No! He’s just a boy!”
“Ouch! Watch it, lady!”
Raquel didn’t even notice the person she’d just stepped on. Panic rose inside her. She had to get to her son.
“The drums of war only beat when there is a thing worth fighting for,” Zion continued. The bullhorn squeaked and crackled, but his voice came through, true and clear. “Make certain you know, in your heart, what you are fighting for, not just what you fight against.”
The crowd stilled for a moment, drinking in Zion’s words. Ṣàngó’s words. The reason Zion had insisted on coming out today.
:Listen.:
Raquel was listening now. Every bit of her paid close attention. The words penetrated, striking home. She was fighting for Zion. She fought for his future. For the future of every Black, geeky boy and girl.
She came to a dead stop and raised her fist in the air. Up in the cherry tree, Zion raised his own, mirroring her salute.
A crew of drummers had shown up, and began pounding out a rhythm at the back of the crowd, toward Naito Parkway and the trees. Raquel danced a little, eyes still on Zion, catching the beat and using it to fuel the magic flowing through her body.
“Let the drums of the ancestors call us home!” Zion said. “Fight for love! Fight for justice! Fight for beauty! Fight for righteousness! Fight for the future!”
That was most certainly not her son speaking. But she had to trust that Alejandro would help him out of the tree when the time came. And that her coven mate would also help Zion come back from whatever place allowed him to access the ancient Powers.
Ancestors, watch over my son. Protect him, mama. You, too, Ṣàngó.
Then, deciding to trust in the Powers, she blew Zion a kiss, turned around, and began to wade back to the front lines.
:Stop.:
“What?” Raquel looked around, scanning for danger. She felt the row of riot cops behind her, toward the river, facing the people protesting the Nazis, of course. The cops never seemed to go up against the white supremacists themselves. Too many supporters in their ranks.
She felt the white supremacists behind the cops, a roiling mass of seething hatred, interspersed with pockets of glee, and a few people that actually felt earnest. Whatever.
She felt the anger, fear, and outrage of the people between her and the sidewalk. Her people. The ones who had planned and coordinated, and come together to face the danger and hatred infecting their city. Raquel reached even further, sending the sense of river water rippling outward, connecting her people to the support, power, and flow of Mama Yemọja.
Raquel could sense the members of Arrow and Crescent as the water washed around them. The Wyrd Sisters. The heathens. Antifa. A few of the local Black churches. An immigrants’ support group. All the different people they’d reached out to over the past week, who had gathered themselves together on this piece of sacred ground, once walked only by the Multnomah. She offered a quick prayer of thanks to the first peoples of this land.
The drummers segued into Ṣàngó’s rhythm. Was that good, or bad? She felt the Sons of Ṣàngó, all heading toward the street. Craning to see between the bodies surrounding her, she caught sight of the fighters, dressed in white and red, running past Zion’s tree. Why?
And then she felt it. The discordance. The glee. The hatred. It was no longer just near the river. It was at the street.
Just beyond Charlie and Tim’s ring of power, they were surrounded by white supremacists. Shit.
The crowd around her roared and began to chant.
36
Charlie
“Ban-ish Na-zis! Ban-ish hate!”
The crowd started chanting. Right after Tim and Charlie had gotten the rune ring up, Zion began speaking from a perch in a cherry tree. Some powerful and kind of spooky words to be coming from such a young person.
Charlie guessed he needed to get used to a lot of powerful and spooky things. Like the runes he could sense flickering around the crowd. They were palpable, practically humming in the back of his mind. It felt as if he could reach out and pluck them from the sky. Tim knew what he was doing.
In the building of the ring, Charlie had lost track of Raquel. He really hoped she was okay.
The crowd pushed toward the ring of cops and the white supremacists behind them. The helmeted police smacked their batons against riot shields, warning off the crowd.
“Stop protecting fascists!” someone behind him shouted. A bottle sailed overhead and hit one of the polycarbonate shields with a splat of cheap plastic, spewing water everywhere. The cops surged forward, shoving at the crowd with their shields.
In the midst of the confusion, Charlie heard the sound of drums.
He struggled to maintain focus. Struggled to keep the rune ring up around the crowd. It began to flicker in and out.
“Tim!” he shouted.
“Ban-ish Na-zis! Ban-ish hate!”
The big man clamped a hand on his shoulder, and leaned in close. “I’m right here. Hold it steady, man!”
Charlie tried. He really tried.
Thor? If you’re real, and you’re around? We could really use your help, man.
The strange, buzzing feeling was back. Charlie felt the runes around the crowd strengthen, crackling and humming, pulsating in counterpoint to the rhythm of the drums.
He smelled the grass, the river, and the rising sweat of a hyped-up crowd.
Charlie, left hand on Tim, right hand raised into the air, began to rotate his arm in a clockwise fashion, following the trajectory of the twenty-four shapes that glowed and glimmered, shining red in his mind’s eye.
Right. Red.
“Tim? You got a knife?”
“Yeah, man.”
“Cut me.”
Tim didn’t hesitate for a moment. Just fished in his pocket and snapped a pocketknife open. Charlie offered him his right hand. Tim slashed a small stripe on the fleshy part of his pointer finger. Red beaded up right away.
Tim slashed the pointer finger on his own left hand, then looked at Charlie.
“My blood’s okay,” he said. “Yours?”
Charlie nodded. “Got tested six months ago. I’m good. What…?”
Tim nodded, pressed his finger to Charlie’s, just for a moment, then Charlie’s hand with his own.
Both men raised their fists this time. Charlie felt the warmth of Tim’s huge palm, the sting of the cut, and the wet of the blood as it ran through his clenched fist and down his arm.
He felt the change when a drop of blood hit the ground. The power of it boomed around him, rippling outward, causing the cops to stagger and the drums to falter, just for a moment. Tim gripped his hand harder.
The crowd paused for one breath, and the chanting started up again.
Then everyone rushed toward the street.
Charlie and Tim were caught up in the crowd, being pulled and shoved along.
“Hold on to the ring!” Tim shouted.
Tim slammed into Charlie’s shoulder and fell, dragging at Charlie, who dropped his hand. A stupid Nazi prick grinned, then shook his hand out and ran. He’d punched Tim, who rolled on the ground, holding his ears.
How the hell had he gotten through the rune ring? It felt so solid!
“Fuck!” Charlie shouted. “Tim!” He crouched over the big man, trying to protect him from the running crowd. Trying to keep that damn rune ring up. He felt Thor knocking at the back of his head, telling him to stand.
So he did. Charlie straddled Tim, one foot on either side of his torso, and spread his arms out wide, making space.
The crowd eddied around the two men. The ring of runes still held.
Thank God, Charlie thought. One in particular. Thanks, Thor.
The effort of holding the ring in the midst of the barrage spiked a sharp pain through his skull. Gritting his teeth, Charlie stood as tall and steady as he could.
He just hoped the witches were doing better than he was. And he hoped Raquel and Zion were both safe.
“Sam! Hai!” Charlie needed backup now that Tim was down.
“Here! What do you need?” Hai’s eyes were intense, and Sam looked practically feral.
“Help me protect Tim! I can’t do that and hold the ring up myself!”
As the words left his mouth, three floppy-haired white men ran toward them. Fuckers. It was Blond No Socks and Dark Haired dude, plus some other jackass. The HackMaster assholes from the store. Charlie swung his hand and punched the blond one in the face. No Socks squealed in rage. Charlie’s hand throbbed in pain, then his head snapped back from the return blow. He tasted blood.
And saw the SS runes on the asshole’s jacket.
Rage joined the spiking pain in Charlie’s head. The rune ring wobbled as he snapped an uppercut into the man’s jaw. He couldn’t fight and focus on the runes. He almost tripped over Tim. Damn it.
Charlie sensed Sam and Hai, fighting off their assailants alongside him. Heard the crunch of bone, and the grunts and pants of effort. He smelled spit, anger, and… kerosene?
And fire. Holy fucking Gods, was something on fire?
White hot pain crawled up his back.
He whirled, only to see another grinning white man, whipcord thin, waving his fingers in his face.
“Charlie!” Sam screamed, then began beating at his back. “Your back is on fire!”
Searing heat licked at his jeans. He looked down. The bastard had dumped kerosene on Tim’s legs, then threw a match. Charlie dropped hard onto Tim’s legs, then rolled, trying to put out the flames on Tim’s legs and his back at the same time.
A fist connected with his left temple. A blow from behind.
Bastards…
Everything went black.
37
Raquel
Raquel ran toward the rest of her coven. Arrow and Crescent had formed a half moon, arms linked together. Alejandro was the only one missing.
“Did…” She could barely form a sentence over the shouting, and drumming, and the pushing, angry panic all around them. It was hard to think.
“Zion’s safe,” Brenda replied. “Moss and Lucy helped Alejandro get him out before this end got blocked in. They barely made it back in time.”
“But we’re here now, ready to smite these pendejos,” Lucy said, dark hair bound tightly behind her, face fierce and grim.
“Okay. We ready?”
The other seven members of Arrow and Crescent all nodded.
“You’re lead today, sister,” Selene said.
Raquel felt tears pricking at her eyes. She loved these people so much. Almost as much as Zion. She closed her eyes and sent up a quick prayer for his protection, and Charlie’s too, then took in a deep breath of grass- and sweat-scented air. There was an undertone of kerosene and a tickling at the back of her head that bothered her. But she couldn’t trace either of them well enough to figure out what was going on.
Focus, girl.
Raquel centered herself. Reached for the earth beneath her. Felt her coven around her. The river behind her. The cops and the patriots in between. Charlie? She felt confusion there, then nothing.
She re-centered, took another breath, and reached, answered by the power of Yemọja and Ṣàngó. They were there. Stronger than ever. She just hoped she was strong enough. Much as she tried shoving her doubts away, there they were, a presence in the midst of her need to be strong. To get this done.
So much hinged on her doing what she used to do best. Being a priestess and witch.
Unlike some of the other actions the coven had done in concert with other local activists, this one required the coven to make the magic, and everyone else to provide energy, protection, and distraction.
Every day a new day. Every action a new action. Each piece of magic, something that had never been seen before.
No matter how many times you repeated a thing, it was new. Maybe she could be new, too?
“Raquel?” That was Brenda again, asking her what the hell she was waiting for.
Raquel took a deep breath.
“I’m ready now,” she said. She would have to be.
“Everybody, link!” Brenda called out.
Raquel felt the energy of each coven member move through the arc, twining together in the strange marriage they made when they worked together. Family. Joined beyond blood and breath, linked in the æthers, in all the planes from above to below and beyond.
She moved her feet, stomping softly on the ground, finding the rhythm. Finding the source of the dance.
She felt the ring of runes that still surrounded them. Felt it waver, then flare, crumbling to the ground, sucking away some of the power of the crowd with it. Shit. Was the protection ring gone now? Some residue of power still flickered in her mind’s eye. Not enough. Damn.
