past me and takes up his position beside the high altar. The instruments of magic and ceremonial objects sit in their places upon the silver-threaded silk that covers the altar, the precious gold chalice most prominent among them. There is also a beautiful statue of Hekate, queen of all witches and our guardian when we are spellcasting. The Master of the Chalice bangs his staff three times on the stone floor, the dull sound rebounding off the high ceiling.
“We come to witness to the inauguration of the new Head Witch of the Lazarus Coven. The nominee stands before us, unadorned and revealed. What is your given name?”
“Lady Lilith Montgomery, daughter of His Grace, Lord Robert Montgomery, the sixth duke of Radnor,” I answer, struggling to keep a tremor out of my voice.
“By what right do you lay claim to the title of Head Witch?”
“The right of my bloodline, being the eldest child of the last Head Witch, whose coven name was Brightstar.”
“What is to be your coven name, daughter of Brightstar?”
I hesitate. Up to this point I was too young to take a coven name, and so have used my given name, but as Head Witch this will not serve. All leaders of the Lazarus Coven must have coven names, and they are important. I have agonized over my choice for many sleepless nights since my father’s death. A witch’s name must mean something, must signify some quality or strength or aspect of that person’s nature that is important and special to them. For a Head Witch it is imperative the name fit, or it will not be respected. I will not be respected. I raise my chin and force my voice to ring out clear and strong.
“I will be called Morningstar,” I declare.
There is a collective intake of breath among the coven members, like the shocked gasp of a wounded giant. It is a response I understand.
The Master of the Chalice is driven to question me on my choice.
“Why have you selected such a name?” he demands. “You must have known this would be a contentious decision, child. Explain yourself.”
Slowly I turn on the spot where I stand so that my answer is directed at all of the assembled company. I must show that I am not afraid of any of them.
“I know that there are those among you who believe this name is synonymous with Lucifer, and so hold that it is another name for the devil. But I believe it stands for the star that is bright enough to shine in the daytime, to outshine even the sun. The star that in this way links the night with the day, as it is visible in both. For me this is the perfect symbol for the position of Head Witch of the Lazarus Coven, standing as I must between life and death, holding the hand of the living while communing with the dead. What could better represent my role? And if the name could be taken to refer to one who fell from the light into the darkness, might that not serve as a warning to others? A warning against pride and ambition beyond the good of the coven?”
There is a great deal of whispering among the witches, whispering that grows gradually louder and more forceful until the Master of the Chalice is compelled to strike the floor with his staff again to restore order and quiet.
“It is the prerogative of the nominee to select their own name,” he reminds the dissenters. “We will proceed. The candidate will step into the sacred circle.”
Silence falls once more as I move forward with a stride showing more confidence than I feel. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse Iago sitting beneath the altar, watching my every move. I will him not to trot over to me. His presence is barely tolerated as it is. Such a show of disrespect would surely have him thrown out. And his presence comforts me. He reminds me of my father’s faith in me.
A female witch detaches herself from the group and comes to stand next to the Master of the Chalice. In a clear, high soprano, she begins a sweet song of worship. At the end of the verse the whole company joins in, raising their
“We come to witness to the inauguration of the new Head Witch of the Lazarus Coven. The nominee stands before us, unadorned and revealed. What is your given name?”
“Lady Lilith Montgomery, daughter of His Grace, Lord Robert Montgomery, the sixth duke of Radnor,” I answer, struggling to keep a tremor out of my voice.
“By what right do you lay claim to the title of Head Witch?”
“The right of my bloodline, being the eldest child of the last Head Witch, whose coven name was Brightstar.”
“What is to be your coven name, daughter of Brightstar?”
I hesitate. Up to this point I was too young to take a coven name, and so have used my given name, but as Head Witch this will not serve. All leaders of the Lazarus Coven must have coven names, and they are important. I have agonized over my choice for many sleepless nights since my father’s death. A witch’s name must mean something, must signify some quality or strength or aspect of that person’s nature that is important and special to them. For a Head Witch it is imperative the name fit, or it will not be respected. I will not be respected. I raise my chin and force my voice to ring out clear and strong.
“I will be called Morningstar,” I declare.
There is a collective intake of breath among the coven members, like the shocked gasp of a wounded giant. It is a response I understand.
The Master of the Chalice is driven to question me on my choice.
“Why have you selected such a name?” he demands. “You must have known this would be a contentious decision, child. Explain yourself.”
Slowly I turn on the spot where I stand so that my answer is directed at all of the assembled company. I must show that I am not afraid of any of them.
“I know that there are those among you who believe this name is synonymous with Lucifer, and so hold that it is another name for the devil. But I believe it stands for the star that is bright enough to shine in the daytime, to outshine even the sun. The star that in this way links the night with the day, as it is visible in both. For me this is the perfect symbol for the position of Head Witch of the Lazarus Coven, standing as I must between life and death, holding the hand of the living while communing with the dead. What could better represent my role? And if the name could be taken to refer to one who fell from the light into the darkness, might that not serve as a warning to others? A warning against pride and ambition beyond the good of the coven?”
There is a great deal of whispering among the witches, whispering that grows gradually louder and more forceful until the Master of the Chalice is compelled to strike the floor with his staff again to restore order and quiet.
“It is the prerogative of the nominee to select their own name,” he reminds the dissenters. “We will proceed. The candidate will step into the sacred circle.”
Silence falls once more as I move forward with a stride showing more confidence than I feel. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse Iago sitting beneath the altar, watching my every move. I will him not to trot over to me. His presence is barely tolerated as it is. Such a show of disrespect would surely have him thrown out. And his presence comforts me. He reminds me of my father’s faith in me.
A female witch detaches herself from the group and comes to stand next to the Master of the Chalice. In a clear, high soprano, she begins a sweet song of worship. At the end of the verse the whole company joins in, raising their
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