Meeting of Two Worlds.

A little information about Samhain: (October 31st -Nov 1st)
also known as: Halloween, ShadowFest, Martinmas, Old Hallowmas

The Last Harvest. The Earth nods a sad farewell to the God. We know that He will once again be reborn of the Goddess and the cycle will continue. This is the time of reflection, the time to honor the Ancients who have gone on before us and the time of 'Seeing" (divination). As we contemplate the Wheel of the Year, we come to recognize our own part in the eternal cycle of Life.

The Celtic peoples called the time between Samhain (pronounced "SOW-in" in Ireland, SOW-een in Wales, "SAV-en" in Scotland or even "SAM-haine" in non Gaelic speaking countries) and Brigid's Day "the period of little sun." Thus, Samhain is often named the "Last Harvest" or "Summer's End".

The Samhain Holiday begins at sundown on October 31st. The nightide was always a time to be wary of walking alone in the countryside. So much more on this Night when the veils between the worlds of humans and spirits was at its thinnest. Traditional lore speaks of the dead returning to visit their kin and the doors to the Lands of the Sidhe (pronounced "shee") or Faery Realm being opened.

"The Feast of the Dead" ("Fleadh nan Mairbh") is laid out by many to welcome these otherworldly visitors and gain their favor for the coming year. Many folks leave milk and cakes ("Bannock Samhain”) outside their door on Samhain Eve or set a place at their table for their ancestors who may want to join in the celebrations with their kin and family.

Part One.

The sun had set long ago, and even the last clinging slivers of flaming sunset had turned to dark hours ago. The countryside lay dormant, a silence only found away from cities blanketing the British area where Hadrian’s Wall still stood. The Roman structure was not as imposing as it had been over 1500 years before, but the history of it was no less fascinating, and where garrisons and towers had been amazing finds were coming to light.

Dr. Meagan Fraser had crept from her tent at sundown, and gone to the Wall. She had always preached to her students that a site was no place to be in the dark. Some sites could collapse, killing an unwary person. Sometimes one inadvertently damaged a site or the treasures one hid. And yet, despite this knowledge, she could not keep away. She had foregone the more modern flashlight, or torch as the British called them, for an old lantern, and the flame within the glass sides flickered eerily.

She sat with her back against the Wall; the stone roughened over the centuries from weather and age, and reached a hand up to stroke it. “Why do you call to me? What is it you want me to know?” Turning her head she pressed her cheek to the stone, shutting her eyes for a moment. “Talk to me,” she urged softly.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

The voice startled her, and her eyes flew open. “Christ, Mark, you scared the bloody hell out of me!” Pushing guiltily to her feet she blushed. “How did you know I would be here?”

Mark Anderson stared at her, and then shook his head in amazement. “You’ve been working too hard, Meg.” He held wooden box out to her. “Have you really forgotten what night this is? It’s Halloween.”

She hissed in a deep breath. “Samhain,” she whispered. “How could I have forgotten?”

“You’ve been working too hard,” he told her. “It hasn’t helped that the funding for this dig is being cut off.”

“Don’t remind me,” she growled. Reaching for the box she held it in one upturned palm, her other one stroking the smooth grain of the oak. “Och, you’re so good to me, Mark.”

Only slightly older Mark Beattie was her partner, and her best friend. With close cropped dark hair and dark eyes he was in his early-forties while she was in her early thirties. “I know how important your faith is to you.”

“Want to stick around?” she offered out of kindness.

Mark snorted, but his lips quirked teasingly. “A good Christian like me? I wouldn’t want to be struck down by lightning. I won’t be far.” Reaching into a pocket he held out a two-way radio. “Do me a favor, will you? Remember to carry this bloody thing!” He set down a bag, and put the radio atop it.

He was turning away and disappearing into the dark when she knelt upon the ground. Placing the lantern a little ahead of her she set the box down and reverently caressed the lid before lifting it. “How could I have forgotten?” Reaching within she pulled out a silk-wrapped object, and carefully unwound the material. The lantern light gleamed off the metal of a blade. Next she reached for a small leather pouch, and opened it to ascertain that the rock salt was still within. It was. The box also held other pouches, and some jewelry as well as a deck of tarot cards and a smaller box that held her runes.

Rising Meagan turned until she knew she faced north. Her arms opened wide, and then slowly rose to over her head, the point of the athame lifted to the dark skies. “I am earth. I carry the seed and birth that which grows.” Her head fell back, her face lifted to the heavens. “Though water, fire, and air are not present, I beg you, Mother Goddess, to gift me with the power needed for this night, and this celebration in your honor.”

She could feel a tingling in the athame. After a few moments she lowered her arms, keeping the blade in her right hand she held her arm straight out from her side, the point stabbing at the dark. “Within this circle I am safe. No evil may enter.” She did a wide circuit. Once done, she re-walked the circuit with the pouch of salt and herbs to reinforce the strength of the Circle.

“And so it is, we gather again, the feast of our dead to begin. Our Ancients, our Ancestors we invite, come! And follow the setting of the sun. Whom do we call? We call them by name. All who dwelt here long ago, and all who dwelt here presently. The Ancients have come! Here with us stand where ever the country, where ever the land. They leave us not, to travel alone; flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone! Grandmothers, Grandfathers, great be their Power! Past ones and present-at this very hour! Welcome within are the dead who are kin, feast here with us and rest here within our hearth is your hearth and welcome to thee; old tales to tell and new visions to see!”

As she recited she opened the bag, and set out the food Mark had blessedly packed just for this occasion. It was not much, but it was better than nothing. Apples, oranges, bread, cheese, some cold slices of meat, and a few bottles of water. One did not invite the dead to the Feast of the Dead, and not set out the feast, even if the dead did not eat.

Meagan’s head snapped up as some kind of low sound came to her ears. Blinking she shook her head, and went back to placing the containers of food upon the ground. Once again some unknown sound caught her attention, and she peered up, but the dark was thick, and she could see nothing. Sighing at her own foolishness at thinking the dead were really coming she rose and turned, and a scream froze within her throat, choking her so that breath did not come readily.

“Tell me, wench, do you also offer wine?”
………………………………

Tilting his head slightly the man regarded her amusedly. “You offer a weary knight food, but no wine?” His gaze deliberately roamed over her, and he frowned. “What manner of clothing do you wear?”

Meagan blinked, certain she had to be hallucinating. “Who are you?”

The sound of her voice, so unsure and hushed, drew his attention back up to her face. A pretty face with eyes as blue as his homeland’s skies, and a wild tussle of curls so dark a red he was mesmerized by the way the glow of the lantern cast fiery lights to lick at the mass. Straightening he lifted his chin, lips tugging up at he corners. “Lancelot, at your service. And you are?”

Her jaw dropped, and for a moment she could not speak. “Lancelot du Lac?”

One dark brow shot up. “I do not know of whom you speak. I am Lancelot, knight here at the Wall, and one of Arthur’s men.”

“Arthur…King Arthur?”

Shaking his head she chuckled. “King? Commander perhaps, but I know of no king. Rome rules here.”

Meagan struggled with warring thoughts and emotions. “I’m sorry, I must be a little confused.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged, his hands moving to show the palms. “I do not know of these persons you speak of.” He frowned momentarily. “And you have yet to tell me who you are.”

“Doctor Meagan Fraser,” she replied. Now she was gazing at him, trying to think if any of the students here resembled him. This had to be some kind of joke.

“Doctor?” The word was foreign to him.

She waved that away, shaking her head. “Are you one of my students?”

“Student? Are you a teacher?” Lancelot looked slightly affronted. “There is nothing I need learn. I know the art of battle, and the art of love. What more could I need to learn?”

She saw now the twinkle of flirtation in his dark eyes. “Did you come because of the invitation?”

“You asked all to come,” he told her. “I am here. Do you have wine?”

“I have water,” she replied.

“Water is for children, and for bathing,” he snorted. “Is there naught you can offer me that will tempt me?”

Suddenly she felt rather flustered. Could this really be Lancelot, the knight of legend? “Tell me of yourself, Lancelot?”

“What would you know? There is not much to tell.”

“I would know about your life, about you, and about Hadrian’s Wall. Why are you here? How did you get here? Who else was here?”

Lancelot held up a hand, shaking his head. “For that I need wine,” he told her.

“You certainly have a one-tracked mind,” she grumbled.

Lancelot turned away, walked a few steps, and then glanced back at her. “Do you come with me, or are your answers not important to you?”

She hesitated. “Where would you take me?”

“To this land as it was when I was.” He waited. “There all your questions will be answered.” She was still hesitating so he sighed heavily. “The veil is thin only so long. You are a child of the Old Ways. You know that upon this night it is possible for a meeting of two worlds.”

Her heart thudded, and she glanced about. Now she noticed the moaning of the wind in the trees a little ways off, the rustle of it over the grasses, which sounded almost like whisperings, and the darker shades of shadows, which seemed to move eerily in the night. Turning back she whispered a small prayer to the Goddess to protect her, and stepped out of the protective circle.