Voces Inferi - The Dead Man’s Tongue
On Saturn's day, I head to my cemetery as the Sun kisses the horizon, announcing its depart. The walk is short; bated breath amidst thick Summer air and footsteps on still-hot asphalt. On my shoulder a small bag, the contents of which were dedicated to the task: bread, wine, water, honey, three silver coins, my Black Knife, and a small box containing three chains of bone and brass, laid upon Ghost Corn.
Before crossing the iron gate, I call to the yard's Grim. Honey, water and three silver coins are given; "Let me tread upon your domain in peace and power, to my ends and yours." I step into the darkness. No light seems to peek through the boughs of Pines and Apple trees. Lost in a sea of black, I seek out the Faeryie tree - a great Dogwood with gnarled, hollow limbs and bulging roots, which have long lifted the nearby graves from their foundation. Three times I circumscribe the land, blind to my great sylvan friend.
I call out to the Grim - "Take me to the Dogwood! I seek the help of my blood!" - and the figure of a dog seems to run past me. Still lost, I follow its path and swiftly find myself beneath the boughs of my ally. I trace the circumference of its reach with my Black Knife before plunging the blade into the earth. With my bare hands I dig a small hole beneath a large root and place my box within it. As I call to my ancestors of blood, of land and of craft, the hole is covered. I break bread, leaving the pieces of which at each cardinal direction and atop the box itself. I soak the earth in wine, honey and water. The air shifts, suddenly cold and heavy, and I feel dozens of pairs of eyes on my person. Have I attracted the attention of my kin?
"What are you doing here?"
The voice startles me - have I been found out? Surely no one is guarding the cemetery so late at night. I take a breath, terrified to face the endeavor of explaining to this man what I'm doing. When I've built the courage, I turn my head to face
— nothing.
Still feeling the piercing gaze on me, I quickly understand that this is not the Land I am accustomed to. My diurnal visitations have led to my understanding of a single side of the coin. The Sun sets, and the cemetery comes to life; the Dead walk amongst the graves and dance beneath the boughs of trees. They converse with one another and make themselves known to those who can listen. I have gathered them by my call, and they stand now, all-ears.
"I am here today to present these chains to you, that they may become sacred tools of divination, for the sake of communicating with the Dead and the Land. I lay them beneath the earth with the lot of you, that their mundane form may die as they are interred and their magical nature be born as they are drawn from the ground. Let them be your means of speech, forever guiding their users along their paths."
I begin intoning my prayers, clutching the rosary - clutching the Serpent that is - and hoping for the good reception of my petition. The wind shifts once more in a drastic display of strength, and from the boughs above I hear the chittering of bats. My request is granted.
I will leave the box beneath the Dogwood for a week's time, returning with further offerings to unearth it as dawn breaks on the following Sunday. When I do so these chains of brass and bone shall no longer be simple links, but powerful tools of prophecy and divination, serving as the tongues of the Dead and of the Land itself.
Mahigan - 2021.06.11