Phoenix RisingFour: Ace of HeartsOut in front of Baba Irina’s pavilion, MacGyver slipped his feet back into his sneakers and turned to Jason. “Are we about ready to leave?”
“Leave?” Jason shook his head in surprise. “The rites haven’t even started yet.”
“The
what?”
“The main celebration. There’s the fire blessing, and the Spiral Dance, and – you know, Mac, rolling your eyes like that is
not going to win friends and influence people. Not these people anyway.”
“Sorry.”
“Lighten up, all right? You’ve made one hell of a good impression so far – don’t ask me how – but you leave now and you’ll offend everyone, especially Baba. And trust me, she
will notice if you’re not at the fire when the time comes. She might even pull your invitation for coffee.”
Mac sighed. “Okay. How much longer is it gonna be?”
“Hard to say – no-one here really worries about running anything on schedule. And folks are still getting ready. Speaking of which . . . there may be a little problem . . . ”
Mac gave Jason a pained look. “What now?”
Jason looked to Gina as if for help, but she rolled her eyes at him. “C’mon, baby. Spit it out.”
“Well, okay,” Jason continued. “It’s like this. The Tribe didn’t used to be all that formal in its practices – ”
“You call this formal?”
“Don’t interrupt. Anyway, Gina’s been involved since they got started – she’s the one who brought me in, of course. And she and Tasha have been best friends since college. Now, Tasha didn’t think much of the Tribe at all – ”
“I can understand her feelings,” Mac muttered. “Okay, sorry, I won’t interrupt again.”
“But she told Baba about it . . . and next thing we knew, Baba started showing up and teaching us some of the Rom ways. She said that with her own tribe scattered, it was time to pass some of it on so it wouldn’t die out. We’ve always held a gathering on the Solstice, and Baba said that was great – she calls it
Ivan Kupalo – but she insisted we had to include a lustration.”
“Lustration – okay, so you do some kind of ritual washing. How do you manage it – roll around in the dew?”
The look Jason gave Gina this time was long-suffering. He turned back to MacGyver. “Mac . . . this is Marin County.”
“Yeah?”
“We do our ritual bathing in a hot tub.”
“Oh, no.” Mac held up both hands and took a step back. “No. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Jason grinned wickedly and held up the bundle he’d been holding behind his back: large towels in gaudy colours. Mac suddenly remembered Jason loading that very bundle into the Jeep. “What did you expect? The Tribe also believes in karma – and that was one cold river you dumped me into, you know?” He grabbed MacGyver’s arm and tugged him across the meadow; Mac followed as if in a dream, Gina trailing behind them and trying to swallow her own grin.
The full moon had risen far enough to crest the trees, and the long shadows dappled the meadow grass. Behind them, the drummers had begun to pick up a faster beat, and cheerful whoops resounded from the circle around the bonfire; but ahead of them, a broad path cut through another arm of woodland leading to a smaller clearing not far from the road, where the power lines gave access to electricity. Mac could hear splashing and laughter.
Female laughter. He stopped dead in his tracks and began to protest again.
Jason cut him off. “
Forget it, Mac – there’s some ‘local customs’ you can’t blow off. And relax, for Christ’s sake. No-one’s going to bite you.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, honey,” Gina murmured. She smacked her lips, and Mac closed his eyes with an expression of pain.
“Oh, hell, now look what you’ve done,” Jason grumbled. “Hey! Aspen!” Mac turned and opened his eyes as Jason waved to a newcomer approaching from the main meadow – and turned away just as quickly; the approaching woman wore a flowing skirt, several garlands of flowers, and nothing else.
“Aspen, it’s great to see you – ” First Jason and then Gina hugged the woman without taking any apparent notice of her semiclad state. Jason continued. “You’re on your way to the tub, right? Do me a favour – when you get in, would you kill the lights and turn on the bubbles?”
Aspen chuckled. “First-timer, huh? Don’t tell me – he’s from, let’s see, Kansas?”
“Worse. Minnesota.”
Aspen looked MacGyver up and down. “Minnesota’s loss, then. Damn, I knew there was a good reason to come out here tonight. You’re on, Bluejay. Give me five minutes and bring your boy in.”
With Jason and Gina running interference, and the moonlight throwing confused shadows across the clearing, it wasn’t so bad. The tub was set on a wooden deck, with benches for clothes and towels; off to one side close to the nearest thicket a showerhead had been rigged, and the shadows were deeper there. Once showered, Mac was able to keep his towel wrapped firmly around his waist until the time came to actually slide into the tub, and Jason and Gina sat on each side of him and introduced the other bathers as if they’d simply sat down at a picnic table.
“Phoenix, you’ve already met Aspen – she’s one of the Tribe’s elders and founders. This is Talis; her partner Moira is one of our best drummers.”
“Not just any drummer,” Gina murmured. “She gets so into it poor Talis is practically a widow overnight. And on Midsummer, too! But she rocks, man.”
“And that’s Morgaina – she’s Sunrise’s older sister.” Morgaina had been staring at Mac since he got in – he suspected she’d been staring before that, too.
The tub was amply large enough for eight or ten people, and the steaming water was roiling from the underwater jets; once safely in, the foam hid everything under the surface. Mac was just beginning to let the hot water start to ease the tension in his back and shoulders when he felt a hand starting to slide up his thigh, hidden under the surface of the bubbling water. He shifted his leg, trying to slip away without drawing any notice, but the hand followed and continued to roam.
Suddenly Mac had had enough. He caught the straying hand by the wrist, held it in a lock just firm enough to be uncomfortable but not painful, and lifted it clear of the water.
“‘Scuse me. I’m not sure who this hand belongs to, but that leg belongs to me. Okay?”
Jason and Gina looked embarrassed; Aspen scowled, and Talis developed a sudden cough and became fascinated with her own fingernails. Morgaina, the owner of the hand, pouted and giggled. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re feeling sexually harassed?”
Aspen reached out and deliberately smacked the surface of the water, sending a splatter right into Morgaina’s face. Mac released her hand as she shrieked with outrage and scrabbled at her eyes.
“
Stuff it, Morgaina! Everyone here agrees with you: the man looks like sex on legs, and we’re all going to have naughty fantasies about him. Well, maybe not Talis. But he’s got every right to be ticked off over you treating him like a piece of meat, so
back off.”
Morgaina hunched her shoulders and glared at Aspen – but she also folded her arms, which at least put her hands well out of reach of MacGyver. “You can’t blame me for trying.”
“I
can blame you for trying so clumsily that you screw up anyone else’s chances. No, I take that back. I can blame you, period. If a guy did that to
you you’d have every right to pitch a fit and punch his lights out, and we’d all stand in line to help. What makes you think it’s any better the other way around?” Aspen turned to MacGyver. “Phoenix, I’m so sorry that happened. Whatever it was exactly. And if you wanna punch her lights out, we’ll help out if only in the name of fair play. Hell, if you’re too chivalrous to punch her out, we’ll even do it for you.”
“
Stop it, Aspen!” Morgaina wailed. “Why are you all being so
mean?” She clambered out of the tub, grabbed her clothes and stormed off.
After a long moment of silence, Talis looked over at Mac. “Hell, if that’s what it takes to get rid of that little twit – you gonna be busy on Lammas? Don’t suppose you’d like to stop by again?”
“
Talis.” Aspen gave MacGyver an apologetic look. “Talk about a lousy way to end the week. I don’t suppose we can persuade you to develop a sudden case of really bad, really short-term amnesia and forget the last five minutes ever happened?”
Mac shrugged, trying to let the embarrassment pass. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay, but bless you for saying that anyway. Maybe we can make it okay. If you’re willing to trust me with your feet, I’ll make a start at least.”
“My feet?”
“Sure. Just lean back and let your legs float up – and don’t worry; I swear by all that’s holy that I’ll stay below knee level. But there’s isn’t a human being alive in the concrete world who doesn’t need a foot rub.”
Talis laughed. “Better do what she says, Phoenix. Aspen gives the best foot rubs in California. And she’ll do both feet, ‘long as you don’t p*ss her off.”
“Yeah, right. After that little display of immaturity, I’m gonna hunt Morgaina down and rub
just one of her feet, to teach her a lesson!”
Mac was never sure how it happened, but the next thing he knew he was reclining in the hot water, with Aspen working miracles on his feet and calves and Talis talking to him matter-of-factly about the best places to find motorcycle parts in the Bay Area, and her favourite local rides.
Jason and Gina had retreated to one section of the tub and lost any sign of interest in anything but each other . . . which should have been embarrassing, but was somehow easy to overlook. After a while, the other three climbed out and left Jason and Gina alone in the hot bubbling water and the moonlight.
φThe night was still quite warm and dry; MacGyver guessed that the dew wouldn’t even begin to form until shortly before dawn. In the meanwhile, he had pulled on his jeans and sneakers but simply draped the too-tight shirt around his neck; he would wait to struggle back into it when he was no longer damp.
“Did you eat yet, Phoenix?” Talis was asking. “Someone brought a kick-ass casserole, but it’s long since gone.”
“Um, I think that was mine . . . plain white dish? Yeah.”
“Damn,” Aspen exclaimed. “And that was tofu, right? You don’t know what a compliment you’ve just been paid. Talis is
not a tofu kind of person. She usually hacks roadkill into bleeding chunks and broils them over the engine of her Harley, then eats them without salt.”
“I do
not. Jesus, Aspen. You gotta have salt to cut the taste of the engine grease.”
Aspen laughed. “Me, I’ll eat anything that hasn’t developed language skills and a rudimentary mythology. Sorry I missed your casserole, though.”
The moon had risen high over the meadow, and cast faint shadows ahead of them on the long grass. They were approaching the firepit, which had become the centre of activity: the drummers had abandoned their tent and were gathered off to one side of the bonfire, and a couple of dozen people were dancing nearby, the firelight dappling their bodies.
Talis turned to MacGyver. “Hey, Phoenix. Didn’t you say something about playing guitar?”
Mac felt embarrassed – the desultory conversation in the tub had wandered in a dozen different directions, and music had been one of the detours. “Well, yeah, but mine’s at home in LA.”
“Well, crap, Cairbre usually brings his, and then he don’t play it. Lemme see if he’ll let you . . .”
“Really, you don’t . . . have to . . . ” Mac’s voice trailed off; Talis was already gone, pausing to wrap her arms around one of the drummers and give her an enthusiastic squeeze from behind, before she started talking earnestly to another, a tall black man with dreadlocks tipped with bright ribbons. Mac looked at Aspen. “I thought Jason – Jay – said the drumming was gonna go on all night?”
“Oh, it will.
And the dancing – that’s the whole point of the Long Dance; there’ll be someone drumming, and someone dancing, every moment from when the setting sun touches the horizon right round till when the sun returns at dawn. Fortunately, on Midsummer it’s not that many hours. Midwinter is the marathon. This is just a wild party.” Aspen glanced at MacGyver. “I’m sorry – that’s not what you were asking about, is it? The drumming – it doesn’t mean you can’t throw in other instruments if someone brings them. Hell, we used to have a real hot-ass flute player who’d go on right through for most of the night . . . but he was too sick to come this year.”
“Sick as in . . .”
“AIDS. You’ve heard about that? Yeah . . . it’s hitting us pretty damned hard. You’re straight, right? Thank God. I don’t know how many more friends I’m going to lose this year, but it’s looking pretty damned ugly.”
Talis returned, carrying a battered guitar case festooned with decals and bumper stickers. “Check it out, man. Will this do?”
MacGyver spent some time tuning the guitar; there was no tuning fork or pitch-pipe in the case, but he cocked an ear towards the tones of the drums and used that as his starting note. After several minutes, he realised he was procrastinating. He wasn’t used to playing for such a large group – he generally played guitar alone, at home in the evening, with no-one but himself to listen and no-one to wonder what moods were carried along in the music. He would have avoided playing, but it seemed rude to do that after Talis had gone to the trouble . . . and the rhythm of the drumming was beginning to seep into his blood.
The drummers weren’t playing a simple beat, or even playing the same beat; the lead flashed between one player and another, bursts of syncopation and short complex rhythmic phrases spoken first by one drum, then echoed by the others before another drum responded to the pattern as it changed and mutated and flowed. Mac started strumming, following the underlying rhythm and letting himself settle into the river of sound, and then began to let his fingers dance, improvising around the many-voiced chatter of the drums.
He never knew how the music would hit him, in his more introverted times; sometimes it seemed to come from within, sometimes from outside. That was always best on windy nights, when he could hear the wind and the sound of the ocean crashing against the beach, and try to wrap the voice of the guitar around the patterns of sound. Sometimes it just came spilling up out of whatever hidden inner well contained it when he was focused elsewhere.
Tonight, underneath the drums there was the crackle of the fire and the feet of the dancers – mostly barefoot, soft stamps on the earth and the brushing of long grass against bare legs, warm sensual laughter and occasional wordless shouts. With the deep tones of the drums dominating, MacGyver thought the guitar music would find its place amongst these softer sounds, no more than a half-heard thread; but either Cairbre had been keeping an ear cocked for the sound of his own guitar, or else the musicians had become a single force, many-handed but with one heart. When Mac hit his stride on the guitar, the drums dropped in volume and opened a place for him in the complex dance of rhythm and tone.
He glanced up and met Cairbre’s eyes, and the man flashed him a broad white smile as wide as the Pacific; his hands on his djembe picked up the riff Mac had just played and somehow echoed not only the rhythm but the phrasing and tones, embroidering on the theme and tossing it back with nonchalant glee. Mac repeated the riff again, with an extra turn and a flourish, and this time Moira and two of the other drummers echoed him, then each other, and then passed the lead back again. The sound seesawed crazily, growing and expanding and turning back in on itself before looping outwards again; louder whoops came from the dancers as they responded to the renewed energy and intensity.
The floodwaters of a mountain river were nothing to the force of those currents of sound. Mac had no idea how long the mad, intoxicating chase lasted before the music, seemingly of its own inclination, began to settle down into a quieter, steadier mood. The drums didn’t quite stop, but several of the drummers who had been playing when Mac had begun had paused or dropped out, and their places had been taken by others.
He let the lead go back to Moira one last time, followed her and Cairbre into a lull, and finally let his hands grow still. Moira stepped back from her drums and stretched out her hands, and Talis materialised beside her, kissed her and handed her a beer. MacGyver carefully laid the guitar back in its case and stretched his own hands, feeling the comfortable ache of well-used muscles.
His right hand was promptly seized by one of the women who had been dancing close by. She smiled at him and began to rub his hand, not very effectively. “That was, like, so cool. It was totally magic. You want a beer?”
“No, thanks.” She’d already had plenty herself; he could smell the fumes.
“Aw, you sure? There’s lots.”
Raven materialised on Mac’s other side. “Holly, he just said no.” She offered him a large paper cup. “How about water?”
Mac accepted gratefully; it gave him an excuse to retrieve his hand from Holly’s grasp. She promptly slid a hand up his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. “That was so totally awesome! I wish I could play like that . . . ”
Raven murmured into Mac’s other ear, “Whatever you do, don’t offer to teach her. Holly uses that line all the time– she collects musicians.” She watched him flexing his left hand and asked, “May I? I used to play some myself – I know which muscles are going to want attention.”
“I guess so – ” Mac was still feeling bemused from the tumbling power of the music, and the murmur of the drums was beginning to pick up intensity again already as a new group of drummers joined in. Raven took his left arm between both hands and kneaded the muscles of the forearm, then caught his hand in a firm grip that seemed to peel away the stiffness and fatigue like a glove. He blinked. “Wow.”
“‘Scuse me, Holly – ” Raven deftly supplanted the younger woman and repeated the manoeuver on MacGyver’s right arm and hand, pausing at the end with a frown to study his knuckles. “You’ve got some swelling here. What did you do, punch someone out?”
To Mac’s relief, she didn’t seem to expect an answer.
Well, yeah, but he really had it coming. Much better left unsaid; it was a thought from a world that seemed very far away at the moment.
Mac noticed the fire has begun to burn low. Before he’d made up his mind to do anything about it, one of the other men approached it: Hawk, a heavyset older man with a ridiculous bright red bow tied into his greying beard. To Mac’s surprise, instead of building it up higher, Hawk spread out the glowing coals in a line across the width of the firepit and added wood carefully and deliberately, until the fire blazed bright without burning high, a long finger of flame tracing a line along the ground.
“Oh, look,” Raven pointed. “They’re finally coming out to give the blessings.”
Across the meadow, Baba Irina had emerged from her pavilion, with Tasha and several others in attendance. Tasha carried a folding chair, and Rainbow and some of the others bore cushions and drapes; Bryce was trailing after them, carrying a large padded footstool. From his peevish expression, Mac guessed that he had been hoping for something with a little more dignity. Tasha set up the chair near the fire and directed the others in spreading out the drapes and arranging the cushions to give the simple folding chair the air of a throne.
Baba paid no attention to the preparations as she moved around the circle of drummers, formally kissing each, repeating the process with the group at the firepit. She then drew herself up to her full height and gestured dramatically, scattering a double handful of powder into the fire, which flared up and died down quickly. Mac tried not to roll his eyes noticeably at the transparent showmanship, but the assembled crowd cheered and whooped.
Baba bowed her head graciously in acknowledgement and settled herself in her throne, then nodded to Talis. MacGyver wasn’t sure what would happen next, but what did happen was the last thing he’d expected: Talis began to sing.
Even more unexpected than the singing itself was the sound of Talis’ voice: she had a deep, resonant alto that drew rich echoes from the trees and couldn’t fail to draw notice from every corner of the festival encampment. The pure tones of her voice also drew awe and a trace of envy from MacGyver, whose singing voice had never been a strong point.
“Yeslib zhizn’ lyudyei byla
Kak skazochnaya pesn’
Dlya peniyav nochi – ”He recognised the tune after a moment, although he’d last heard it two years back, and in English. Talis sang it through once in Russian before switching to English; when she did, the rest of the assembled gathering joined in, picking up the tempo and breaking spontaneously into a round after the first repetition. The song did seem to be a summons to the entire camp; more people were coming up out of the darkness to join the group by the fire. Mac saw Jason and Gina in the crowd, arm in arm, Gina’s incandescent smile flashing as they swayed to the music of their own singing.
If the people lived their lives
As if it were a song –
For singing out of light
Provides the music for the stars
To be dancing circles in the night . . . “Did Baba tell you that was an old Russian Gypsy song?” Mac murmured to Raven.
“No, not at all. Talis learned it off a record, and Baba laughed at us and said it would do.”
It wasn’t as elegant as it had been at the UN concert, with a full stage set-up and a horde of international dignitaries for an audience; but it was completely heartfelt. Mac wasn’t sure when he began singing himself; in the swell of voices, he didn’t have to worry about whether he was quite on key or not.
No-one signaled the end of the song, but after several repetitions the different voices of the round came together in a final chord as strongly as if it had all been rehearsed. The drums had dropped to a soft murmur while the singing lasted; suddenly a new set of complex rhythms leaped forward as if released by a breaking dam. Mac saw that Moira had resumed her position at the largest set of standing drums. The meadow echoed with whoops and shouts, and the gathered crowd spontaneously formed into long lines, hand clasping hand, and were beginning a wild serpentine dance. Half a dozen chains of dancers were looping around, snaking back and forth, doubling back on their own tracks and sometimes ducking between two dancers in another line, drawing shouts of laughter until the tangles resolved.
Raven had kept hold of Mac’s hand throughout the singing, and Holly, after a moment’s pout, had slipped around to his other side and taken his other hand. Suddenly Mac felt himself being dragged forwards in Raven’s wake into the dancing. He tried to break free.
“Hang on, Phoenix!” she called cheerfully, and her grip tightened.
“No, wait –
no way, I don’t know this dance – ”
“There’s nothing to know! Just hold on and enjoy yourself!”
Enjoy this . . . ! At first, Mac gritted his teeth as their own line, perhaps a dozen people with Raven at its head, wrapped itself into the interlaced skeins of dancers weaving crazed patterns around the meadow. His mind had flashed back to old games of crack-the-whip on the ice in Minnesota. He’d taken some bad spills before he’d mastered the knack of tucking and rolling out of a fall – a skill that had saved him from serious injury on innumerable occasions since then. But Raven’s grip on his hand stayed firm, and although the pace was energetic, there were none of the abrupt changes of speed and direction that meant grief on the ice. The object of the dance wasn’t to shed stragglers, but to keep the line together through even the worst snarls. The faces Mac saw in the moonlight and the firelight were laughing and smiling even when someone stumbled.
Someone heading another line ducked under the hand Holly was clasping, and she laughed and lifted their arms into an arch, swaying in place as the dancers in the other line squeezed through; Raven promptly turned their course back on itself, following along the curve of the second line. Mac had expected to have his arm yanked half out of its socket; but after a moment of confusion when he thought he was going to be pulled in two ways at once, the coil smoothed out and the crossing dancers flowed smoothly past – except for the last three, all women, who each slowed down as they passed him and tried to land a kiss on his face. Between his height, the darkness, and the unsteady footing, their aim wasn’t very good; Mac attempted to dodge the last one, whose breath smelled very strongly of wine, and nearly collided with her instead.
Then they were in the clear, and Raven doubled back and dived in turn between two dancers in another line. The threads twined and intertwined, and began to link up into longer lines that doubled back on themselves so that the dancers streamed past each other, finally creating one great spiral that wound in on itself, disintegrating at last into indiscriminate clusters of people hugging or kissing, their arms wrapped around each other in groups that coalesced and broke up and reformed. Mac found himself half-squashed in a group that included Jason and Gina, and also Morgaina. When she saw him, her face crumpled and her eyes brimmed over. He could smell wine fumes on her breath as well.
“Phoenix – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything – well, I did, but I didn’t mean . . . oh,
crap. I’m sorry is all.” She threw her arms around him in a fierce hug, then released him and slipped away.
“Wow.” Aspen materialised beside him. “How do you like that? A real apology. Maybe there’s hope for her yet.” She selected a flower from one of her garlands and tucked it behind Mac’s ear. “Congratulations, Phoenix. You’ve survived your first Spiral Dance.”
“Terrific.” The flower promptly started to slide down his neck, and he scrabbled for it.
“And don’t worry about your lost dignity. You can pick it up on your way out; they’ll have it at the door, along with everyone else’s.”
“What door?”
“Damn. We forgot to bring a door. Isis – ?”
Gina had been kissing Jason with obvious enthusiasm; she looked very annoyed at the interruption. “What?”
“Remind me to bring a door next year!”
Gina’s reply was unprintable. Aspen laughed, caught Mac’s hand and tugged at it. “C’mon, Phoenix!”
“Where are we going?”
“Back to the firepit – they should be hard at it by now. C’mon!”
φAlthough the group dance had ended, the drumming was continuing at a wild pace and there were still over a dozen individuals dancing around the fire. More than that: Mac saw, as they approached, the reason for the odd arrangements Hawk had been making earlier.
On one side of the long tongue where the fire had been extended, a man stood, swaying to the beat of the drums, his movements becoming ever more tightly wound, like a coiled spring; at last, he took several steps backwards, stamped on the ground like a charging bull, and ran straight towards the fire. Without realising it, MacGyver was starting forward in alarm when the young man leapt over the blaze and landed safely on the other side. The group around the fire whooped and clapped – and another person, a young woman, stepped forward into the jump zone and began to sway back in forth, gearing herself up for the leap.
“What the – ” Mac hadn’t realised he’d spoken out loud until Aspen replied.
“They’re jumping the fire. It’s part of the tradition.”
“That’s
crazy!”
“It’s midsummer.”
“But – ”
Aspen shrugged. “It means good luck for the coming year, and new beginnings. And when two people do it together, it’s a pledge, the strongest pledge there is. Anyway, take a closer look – we’re not totally nuts.” She pointed to where Hawk was standing between the firepit and the woodpile; MacGyver realised he had a bucket of water beside him, and what looked like a thick blanket already soaked down.
“Anyone ever been hurt?”
“Other than their feelings, no. Well, we did get one sprained ankle a couple of years ago. But we stay prepared anyway. Excuse me – I need to get closer in, or it’ll be ages before I get my turn.” She slipped away from him and moved next to the fire as the next leaper stepped up.
Talis had been sitting with the drummers; she set down the djembe she’d been playing and walked over to stand near Mac
“Well?”
Mac eyed her uneasily. “Well what?”
“Aren’t you gonna jump the fire?”
“I just told Aspen it was completely crazy!” MacGyver burst out.
“Yeah? So what? I know that look in your eye.” Talis smirked at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done anything crazy in your life.” She pointed. “Here comes Isis and Bluejay – awright!
Finally. Jay missed the Midwinter fire festival – I hear he was out of the country or something – and Isis wouldn’t jump without him. They’ve been waiting long enough.”
Jason and Gina, holding each others’ hands as if they never meant to let go, had approached the fire; at a gesture from Aspen, several people who had been waiting to jump stood back and let the couple go ahead of them. Mac heard the drumming kick into high gear and recognised Moira’s signature style and rhythm. He hadn’t seen Baba since the dancing began; now she advanced forwards out of the darkness, a stately figure in spite of the gaudy haphazard finery she wore, which should have made her look absurd but instead gave her a wild magnificence. Jason and Gina bent their heads to her in turn and received a formal kiss on the forehead.
Talis tugged at Mac’s arm. “C’mon, man. We need to get closer. You’re his buddy, right? Time to show your support.”
Jason and Gina looked at each other, and Mac couldn’t quite stifle a spike of envy at the joy in their faces.
Maybe someday. Maybe. They turned to face the fire, and when the drums reached a new peak, they ran forward as one and leapt together, Gina’s fluttering draperies well above the level of the flames, landing safely on the other side.
Mac found himself clapping and whooping with the others, carried away in the delight of the moment. Jason and Gina made the rounds of the group by the fire, trading hugs indiscriminately; even Bryce, who had been standing off to one side looking petulant, gave a warm hug to Gina and a perfunctory one to Jason.
When Gina reached MacGyver, she paused and looked at him seriously. “I owe you big, Phoenix. Jay don’t talk much about it all, but he don’t have to.” She wrapped her arms around him and murmured into his ear. “You like helping people, don’t you? Well, you ever need anything yourself, you just ask, you hear?” She kissed his cheek and moved on to wrap her arms around Talis.
The couple had left the firepit, but Mac suddenly found himself the centre of attention. Raven had joined the group and was looking at him expectantly.
“Aw, c’mon, Phoenix – give it a try!”
The shout was taken up by the others. “Phoenix! Phoenix! Phoenix has to jump the fire!”
Somewhere very far back in MacGyver’s brain was a small voice insisting that the whole idea was crazy, stupid, pointless, and dangerous. Mac ignored the voice. He’d heard it on a lot of other occasions, always insisting the same things, and he’d ignored it then too, when he’d usually been up against something a good deal more spectacular than a bonfire of his own making.
The rhythm of the drums had invaded his blood, and the challenge of the fire was blazing as bright as anything ever had. He waited for the drumming to tell him the right moment, ran forward and leapt as high as he could, hearing the shouts of delight and acclamation as he landed on the far side, tucking and rolling out of the leap from long habit.
Raven materialised out of the bright haze, helping him to his feet. She was grinning from ear to ear. “Way to go. You know that means you’ll have a new beginning, don’t you?”
MacGyver started to protest, but she waved him off. “Before the season turns, you’ll find yourself on a new path, and it will lead to where you most want to be. Oh, don’t look like that. You don’t have to believe it – but three months from now, you remember this moment. You’ll see.”
I'm glad it worked so well for others too. 
