by Carl E. Mullin ©2020
Dagny recovered quick, suppressing her impulsive question as to how this strange maid seems to expect her. Fate, she thought. “Thank you kindly. I am Dagny Mark, a Commander in the Royal Service.” She noticed a brass fetter on the maid’s ankle which was long-chained to the altar. “Are you well, mistress?”
“Very well, Commander, and I thank you,” she smiled a radiant smile. “I am Ida of the Sisterhood of Herma, the handmaid to my Lord Hermes the Hacker Prime, the luck-bringer and a friend to needy travelers. Again, I bide you welcome in my Lord’s name.”
Dagny glanced at the nun’s bound foot again. She took Polly’s bit in hand and rubbed her head to hide her discomfort. “Are you alone here, Sister?”
“Not alone. I cast my eyes about this grand place, this lovely world. Though I be a single mortal, the daimons of this place surround me. The Dryades abound about us. There are the Oreiades, the pine-shepherdesses. Here are the Hamadryads, the oak-shepherdesses. Here and there, the fruit trees that we have planted centuries ago for the travelers, the Meliades’ charge. About the shrine, the Anthousai watched after the flowers to keep them pleasant for our Lord. Beyond, in the rear, is a lake where the lake-naiads watch over, the Limnatides. They also watch over the well as well.” She looked up. “Even at night I can feel the Nephelai high above me, shepherding the clouds, ready to shape them to be the omens of the Gods to us mortals. And there, there are the fairies about, assisting the nymphai and the wights of this land.”
Dagny looked out in the distance, “This lake is fair-sized. Looks good for fishing.”
Ida looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Yes. Many fine fishes to try your luck, shieldmaiden. And bathing.”
“Yes,” she answered taking care to not look at her chain. She walked over to the shrine and climbed the pure marble steps to the herm. She looked down at a tripod lantern.
“In answer to your question, Commander, no. I am well-cared for. I do my daily rites and I play my music for their amusement.”
“You played very well,” Dagny answered while eyeing the bust. “Beautifully in fact. I trust the Gods were pleased with your performance?”
“They have. They do. And they blessed me in turn.”
Dagny glanced over her shoulder. She returned her attention to the herm and made her sacred sign and pressed her kissed fingers on the phallus for good luck. “Kharis.” She looked closer at the smiling bust, “Your lord seems handsome, is he not?”
Ida smiled a broad smile. “He is, for a God. Not a day went by that my lips did not touch his and I like to imagine them warm flesh instead of a cold marble. Sometimes I think they were.”
“That would certainly fit his sly manner, Sister.”
The nun toyed with the loose collar of her dress and smiled again. “Not a day goes by that I do not dream of him as a lover. The Prince of Thieves. To be alone here and my dress a flimsy defense against his rough advances. To bear his children…that would be a great blessing upon my flesh. To be an ark of his progeny.”
Dagny was silent. “And have you had this happy occasion?” she asked looking back at her back.
“No, but I imagine many vivid things between us, my Lord and I.”
“He certainly has blessed you with riches, Sister.”
“A very adroit observation,” she laughed.
Dagny studied the bust. He was handsome. The artist had made a fine crafted icon of the god. Yet his smile seems familiar.
“Do you find my lord interesting?”
“Uh, I find the craftsmanship to be exquisite. He – he almost seems alive, as if Lady Aphrodite had put a spell on this marble.” She looked down. “At least he won’t miss everything.”
The nun covered her mirth behind her fingers, “No, he won’t, Commander.”
She stepped down the stairs and studied the altar as she did. There were a few scattered coins, some bread and a folded-up dress. She pulled out a solidus of gold and tossed it onto the altar. The nun smiled. Dagny took Polly’s reins and petted her head in an effort to ignore the ankle bracket on the nun. “It’s getting late, Sister. I’ll keep you company.” She saw a leather portfolio with a few large papers sitting on it with a rock weighting them down. A pencil was nearby. She bent the corners of a few pages. They were drawings of plants, flowers, and a number of a man in his winged hat. The man had an excessively engorged member in every one of them. Her eyebrows rose high. The nun giggled, “You like my drawings?”
“They showed a fair hand, Sister.”
“And of Lord Hermes?”
“Vivid, indeed.” She noticed a dug fire pit nearby. “I shall light the tripod lantern and the fire.”
As she collected the woods, the nun watched, “Tell me, Commander, does my bondage discomfort you?”
She stared at her beauteous smile. “I mean no disrespect, Sister.”
“None were given, shieldmaiden. I find no discomfort in my bondage. I revel in it. I rejoice in my submission to the one who is worthy of my heart and flesh, who completed the purpose of my sex. I offer myself up to the hallowed Herald as a living sacrifice, to him and to all who call on his name.”
She unbuckled the saddle. “Our Lord is worthy. He is also footloose and not always truthful.”
“Yes,” she smiled a broad smile. “A worthy man and a worthy god. We have no power to bend him to our will by our wiles. No traps can hold him. The boxes and the locks mere toys to him and he evades with a gay manner that excites our respect and our admiration and our…desire.”
She lugged the saddle and looked back at her, “Your gift for words made you worthy of our lord.”
“My gift is a shadow to his, Dagny.” She pointed at a tree. “The key is there, across the road.”
A key of gold was hanging from a branch of a tree, Dagny saw. She claimed it and as she readied to unlock the bracelet, “You’re certain?”
“It’s your choice. And my luck.”
She smiled back at the nun. She unlocked her and offered her a hand, “How is your ankle?”
“Could use a little rest.”
They smiled together.
After helping the nun walk to the lake, she returned to Polly and claimed her fishing kit. With her dagger, she dug into the soft soil and claimed some worms. Five strings she made from a tree branch, she hooked the worms and cast them across the lake.
“Five?” Ida said. “You must be starving.”
“A little something my father taught me. The more options you have the better the odds. One is all we need and this increases the certainty of tonight’s meal.”
“My master would approve of your father.”
She tied a white ribbon to each line. “They’ll let us know about a bite while I collect some firewood.”
Ida watched her. “You’re intrigued.”
She paused and then resumed her collection. “I’m not sure what you speak of, Sister.”
“You’re looking for something, Commander.”
She stood up and walked to the fire pit. “You’re imagining things, Sister.”
She shook her head, “My master cannot be fooled.”
“Your master is not here. You and I are alone.”
“And the Gods.”
She scoffed. She built a fire. As she studied the infant flame growing in the pit, “Have you no fear that this sacrifice may entail risks?”
“I do. I exposed myself to the elements and men so that my life and my body may testify to the greatness of my Lord. I am here to breed a generous spirit in men’s hearts for my Lord delights to see this in them. To the generous spirit he repays thousandfold. To the stingy spirit he likewise repays thousandfold.”
Dagny poked the woods with her dagger. “And what of the men who take? You long to be taken, but what of the unworthy? What if some take you and abuse you while bound? To use you as his toy for a day?”
“Then it’s my luck. Fate.” Dagny scoffed again. “How is that different from what you do? You live a life of sacrifice. If you fall into their captivity then you would share my fate in a like manner.”
She sniffed in hot air and yanked up her dagger, “I’ll draw more than a little blood first before they stuff my sex. You will just lie there.” With a huff, she got up and used the serrated edge of her dagger to saw off a couple of green shoots from a tree.
“It’s my choice, for his glory. It’s your choice for the realm’s glory. We can only do our best to complete the purpose of our sex and to rise to what challenges our fates have lead us to, with honor and, perchance, some happiness.”
Dagny grunted as she snapped off the shoots. “Happiness. A strange word.”
Ida nodded to the lake. “I think we have something.”
A white ribbon was jerking mid-air. Excited, Dagny rushed over as Ida rose with a smile. Dagny pulled up a good-sized fish snapping his tail with a grin. Ida took it by the gills after the hook was extracted. “We have another bite!” Dagny exclaimed. “It’s our lucky night.”
“Let me have your knife. I’ll clean them.”
Later, as Dagny turned the speared fishes, she turned to watch the sister bathing in the moonlit lake. She watched her pale back flexing strong in the blue night. Then she directed her eyes at the orange flames cracking the ruined woods. When Ida returned, she tore a part of the fish and made an offering to Lady Hestia by tossing it into the flames after a short prayer.
They ate in silence. “Is it good, Sister?”
“A feast fit for a queen.” Dagny grimaced at this.
After their meal was finished, they sat onto the opposite sides of fire in silence, their eyes watching the dancing flames. After a while, Dagny spoke, “I am in a need of luck, Sister.” The nun said nothing. Dagny licked her lips and exhausted. “I–” She drew her cloak over her knees and rested her chin on them. “There is something I want to do, Sister. Something I need to do. Something for me to feel…” Her eyes studied the fire. “War, the most chaotic of man’s enterprises. Yet I can read a battle with great clarity in the twinkle of an eye. I can spy out the strength and weakness of a line and act accordingly. I choose with the speed of a fox, the tactic needed for an advance and a victory. My men respect me because I unsexed myself so that I may not be a burden to them, but be an asset to them in a timely manner. I understood the risks to my sex and embraced them as a worthy price so I may bring greater glory to the Gods and honor to my country as my ancestors have done before me. Beyond… I am as a helpless babe. My mind is a jumble of knotted thoughts and confounded sensations. In a battle, everything I need to know I can feel them in my fingertips. Here, I am unsure how to say things. I do seek luck in what I have to do when I reach my destination. It’s… I do not know how to ask for it.”
“Then don’t. My master knows your heart.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Dear, we speak of the Hacker Prime. The Prince of Thieves. Do you really think that the secrets of your heart are more secured against him than the strongboxes and the dugpits of the pirates? He knows. Ask my master and perform your required rites and he shall answer. It may not be what you want but you shall have it.”
“But so much rides on this, Sister. I must have my heart’s desire.”
“Hush. He can read you better than you yourself.”
“What must I do then?”
“You have done enough. Your kindness to me has not gone unnoticed and he will repay you in kind.”
“Your confidence, I wish I had yours.”
“If you surrender to my Lord.”
“I can’t. Everything depends on me.”
“Then you will lose, Dagny Mark.”
Dagny’s nose flared. “Is this why you stay so composed here? To play your gay music with mere bedsheets for protection against the wolves and rapine without any means of escape? I cannot imagine exposing myself in such circumstance, to suffer the pricks of teeth and steel and meat without end.”
“It’s my luck. Not yours.”
“Fuck luck.”
“That too if you seek it with all your heart.”
She looked at her. “Come. Come fly away with me come the morn.”
“I gave my word, Dagny Mark. I have my vows as have you.”
“Don’t be naive.”
“I made mine after a deep consideration and prayer. My order refused to accept the reckless and the desperate. Only the quiet and the thoughtful do they accept. We are not mere placekeepers, to dust the sacred herms of foliage and dirt. We are the minsters to the body and soul of all travelers who wander by, though those steps have been guided by the Morai who measured out our fate-strings in the unrecorded time. Our quiet nature calms their fears. Our surrendering flesh eases their pain and, perhaps, restores their pride. These things you spoke of, these are my price that I accept in the full knowledge that my Lord will deal with them in his own good time for I am his property made hallowed to him. You must accept my choice.”
Dagny’s lips became a thin line. “I cannot. But I cannot set myself against the Gods either.” She looked around. “It’s late. We should sleep now.”
“I will make our bed. The grass here is good.”
“As you wish.” As Ida snapped out the blanket, Dagny fingered her dagger, watching it glittering in the soft moonlight.
––––––––––
The fog did not lift, Ziya noticed as she fingered her prayer beads. For the last few hours it had grown dark and then glowed with a moon-glow. She continued to follow the dog with tired feet. Her eyes were drooping and yet her feet moved of their accord.
Then the fog opened.
The witch-nun halted. Before her was a dark woodland with a vast circular depression in ground. It was a graveyard full of the bones of the strangers, and the outlaws and the outcasts. She lifted her eyes. At the center of triple crossroads that cut through this depression, towered an ancient shrine done in the High Frankish Style. Its three stepped columns with their flying buttresses rose straight and true and met in the pointed arches, leaving a vast interior space open to the elements. Above the arches rose the triangular wall of triforium that supported a great octagon spire. It was a night of the New Moon, the time of her Lady’s power. She looked around. Rows and rows of grave markers were facing this holy place. Many were old, their soil shifted, their steles crooked or fallen. Some were ornate with sphinxes or vases that once held long-gone flowers.
She breathed deep. She had arrived at the place of power.
The dog stood ahead, waiting for her. She was tired. Exhausted. But she was here because she was ready. She nodded and dropped her bag to the moist ground. She unbroached her cape and let it fall. She let her belt with her distaff and sacred knife slide to the ground. She loosened the ribbons that fastened her green dress at her collar and under her breasts. She peeled it off and let it crumple. She stepped out of the pile naked and bent to take something out of her pouch. She was ready. She stepped forward, her eyes searching for a special stone.
There, a small stone marker deep into the ground with a carving of a bull-head. This is where she will make her way through the invisible maze. She made her way alongside the row of graves. The dog followed.
Around and around she walked, turning there and here as she inched closer to the shrine. She longed to cut short this twisting path but the forms must be observed. A dead end here and there and she must retrace her steps. She closed her eyes and allowed the power of this place to guide her heart and trust not her willful mind.
Minutes passed.
Chest tombs peppered the gloom-fields. The wooden planks rotted to the core. Obelisks thrust high in this dark night. Ledgers glowed ghostly white. Mausoleums stood silent. Everywhere the weeds and ivies overflown the stones and lonesome trees, growing snaky from the pooled puddles. Down and up and round she walked through the confusing maze. The tower loomed larger and larger with each step, its three arches ever open to the risk of wind, cold, rain or snow. A suitable meeting-place of the quick and the dead. She could see three living colors dancing across the interior, given off by the burning kerosene lamps within. Above them, the wind-chimes hung.
Then she reached the end of her path at the bottom of the stepped platform. Far off, she saw a raised well in the center of the shrine. Three veiled women sat about the well in meditation. High above the well was a chained pendulum with a human-sized circle of iron containing an inverted pentagram.
She paused and breathed deep.
As one, the nuns raised their heads and looked at her, their faces young and expressionless.
With measured steps, the nude witch-nun entered and walked across the titled floor of stone. She entered a great circle full of the inlaid symbols of the compass pointers and runes and Greek letters. The nuns watched with endless patience.
She lifted her right hand and produced a silver coin.
They eyes remained unmoved.
She held the coin in front of her right eye. Then she tossed the coin into the well.
It fell.
They listened to the well.
It clucked off the inner wall. Then it hit again with a deep echo. And fell.
And fell.
They listened as if the coin was racing toward the Otherworld for days on end, toward the deep roots of the world.
Ploop! came the echo.
The offering accepted. As one, the nuns rose from their stone seats and disrobed. The dresses crumpled to the floor and their hair flowed down to their legs. They began to dance cat-like about the well in a counter-clockwise movement. Ziya joined them. They spun and clapped their hands. Then they spun and clapped as they invoked the Lady with their dance. Again and again they performed their sacred dance to wear themselves out, to weaken their will and minds so that their souls may be more opened to the Gods. The pendulum lowered to the well as they danced. The weird sisters rested the circle atop the well and Ziya climbed onto it. They fastened her spread-eagle with its heavy leather straps.
The pendulum rose as if of its own will as the nuns continued their dance about the well. Ziya rose upside-down, breathing hard. The blood rushed to her head. She felt exposed, helpless to the will of the Gods, yet it was her choice. Her fate. She must undergo this test if she is to know peace. She closed her eyes and prayed.
The pendulum’s chain continued to clack-clack as it rose. Then it stopped with a jerk. Her heart leaped. Her eyes looked around. The sisters were encircling the well again in an unending movement, spinning and clapping their hands. She glanced down at the black void in the center beneath her. She wondered if it was her fate to fall into that hole, straight to the Otherworld. Then she would know her shame no longer, perhaps an act of mercy from her Lady.
Then the sisters began their chanting. Chanting a long and hypnotic chant to the Lady as they danced about the void. She listened and joined in. She was tired. She wanted to sleep. But she willed herself to stay awake and chanted.
A gale blew. The wind chimes toned loud. The flames went out, casting the shrine into full and blueish darkness. Still the chant and the clapping continued. She saw many small white lights approaching the shrine from all directions. Fireflies? No. They were steady sets of twos that moved together. The ghost-eyes she realized in her haze. The eyes of the ghost-dogs. Their Mistress was approaching.
She continued her chant. The warm air chilled fast. She began to shiver but kept to her chant. She is a Lakota. She is the chief’s granddaughter. Elements have no effect on her for the blood of the braves roared hot in her veins.
The wind picked up. She chanted louder. Her pendulum started to sway. The iron of her prison grew cold. She gasped at the chill but maintained her discipline.
Then the wind blew hard, blowing her pendulum at a sharp angle. Her circle spun mad, disorienting her. She wanted to shut her eyes but the rite required her open eyes. Everything was in a blur. Stars, shadows, grey, blue, shadows of the barking dogs racing across the walls. She gasped hard and kept chanting for her Lady.
The wind died and her pendulum swung wild. She was a helpless puppet, a mere doll in the hands of the Gods. She was frightened and elated. This display of raw power excited her. The emotions flooded her like a hurricane full of conflicting sensations that made her alive to the moment, thrilling her.
The wind blew hard again and she gasped. But she kept her faith. She will submit, she must submit for this is the purpose of her sex, the consummation of her sex’s evolution. To be a link of her species to the wild and potent creative forces of the world so that they may serve their nations with certain knowledge and progeny to continue their bloodline’s trek into the eternal. Yes, she will prove herself a worthy servant to the Gods and the nation. To expose herself to such danger to obtain the secret gnosis for the good of her people, why it filled her with a sensual pride and she enthused in her completion. Take me, she wanted to cry to the Gods. Accept my worthiness so I may serve you into the eternal!
She was so dizzy. So tired. Yet she saw with clarity that her pendulum was pointing to a clear marking on the floor. A certain compass direction.
Another wind blew from the opposite direction. She was caught in a vortex and yet the sisters were still dancing around and around the well with their chant and clapping. The shadows of the dogs dashed across the walls as their barking increased strongly. She was spinning like mad. She forgot her chant and screamed, “Take me, holy Lady! Bless me!” She surrendered all-heart to her Hekate and let herself ride the wind. Her blood roared hard inside her. Her life pulsed like a mighty bull. Her doubts, her fears were gone. Only the joy of surrendering to her worthy Lady remained and she loved it with every fiber of her being.
The wind died.
The lanterns woke up again and a warm light rose high on the columns. Her lungs panted hard. Her body shivered with sweat. Her lips quivered without control. A jerk and her pendulum lowered. With closed eyes she felt herself levered and three pairs of hands releasing her. She did not want her freedom. She wanted to stay up here, to be a toy of the Gods but the hands lifted her up anyway. Her time had passed.
Her legs shook as she tried to stand up and they lifted her. With small steps they guided her outside. She opened her eyes to glance with love onto the new moon. With closed eyes, she felt the weeds and the grass and the soft soil under her bare feet. They stopped at a chest-tomb and lay her atop its slab. Her breathing slowed as she watched the sisters retreat and she rested her head onto the chilled stone and closed her eyes.
She fell fast asleep.
Time passed.
She opened her eyes to the gray darkness above her. Fog flowed over her body.
She rose from the shapeless ground that was not a ground. Darkness was everywhere. Yet there was an eerie light coming from somewhere. She looked around and saw nothing. She then realized that she was naked and yet it felt right.
A noise. A whinnying. She turned with complete calmness. A great dane approached her with an excited tail. “Hi,” she smiled and petted his head. He looked up at her with his moon-like ghost-eyes and licked her hands.
Beyond, she saw four small lights and walked to them. The dog followed. As she neared, she saw the lights were a pair of large and vertical candles hanging in the air without any attachment. Two flames licked at the wicks on the top and on the bottom. The second candle was lit likewise. The wax was dripping on the shafts and had been for centuries. From the top, the hot wax dripped down. From the bottom, the wax dripped upward. They met in a great cluster in the middle. The stalactites and stalagmites of wax moved away from each other in opposite directions. The hot wax ran over them and fell off, one to the befogged ground, the other upward into the mysterious sky.
“Hello, my pet,” a familiar and sensual voice whispered behind her.
Ziya turned to a hooded woman of great beauty on a throne and her eyes were full of stars.
“My Lady Hekate,” she said and bowed.
She smiled a matron-like smile from under a thick mane of chestnut hair. Two more great danes appeared on either side of her ornate throne, their tails wagging with excitement. “Shh,” she hushed her dogs as she caressed one’s head. “They missed you, my pet. They do. Nightly, they followed you across the Dreaming. They were most anxious to protect you from the dangers. It has been a long time, my pet.”
Ziya looked around and saw the bonemen approaching out of the gloam and felt relieved at her familiar friends. “Yes, my mistress,” she said as she petted a dane rubbing against her hips.
With a feline grace, Hekate rose to her feet and walked to her. One of the bonemen held out a chalice of many jewels which she took by its stein. She stood towering over her handmaid and handed her the cup. She took it with both hands. “Drink, my pet. This was drawn from the living waters of divine Memory, my aunt.” Ziya drank it and felt all her weariness drained from her body.
Hekate lifted her head with a light touch of fingers. “It has been too long since we last met, my pet. How well I remember that day when you first came to me. Lonely. Frightened. Searching. Full of potency. I welcomed you then, I made you warm and peaceful then, my pet.”
“I remember, my Lady.” She closed her eyes as she felt the fingers comb and smooth her long black hair. “I wasn’t sure if you would accept me. I–”
“Before you were born, you were always mine. The Sacred Weavers have decreed this so. This gift…,” she pressed her hand over Ziya’s heart, ”…the Gods have gifted to you.” Hekate lifted her star-filled eyes and they became dark brown of deep warmth under the heavy hoods. “It frightened you but it shouldn’t, for you belong to me, my pet,” she said as she caressed her cheek.
Ziya took the hand and kissed her palm, “My Lady, I do love you. Here, I’m so happy. I am your handmaid ever and ever. I am yours, my Mistress.”
Her smile was kind. “It has been a while, my pet. You should visit me more often.”
“My Lady, you are great and I a mere handmaid. It is not my place to bother you with petty concerns.”
The Lady took her hand and they walked together. “You never bother me, my pet, for you were always one of my favorites. You have such beautiful eyes. Full of cool green fire. A fine gift from your father.”
“My fath–” she fell silent.
The Lady looked at her and continued, “Tell me, my pet, how fare my handmaid?”
“Oh! But I’m happy being your nun. There was so much to do. So many troubled souls in a need of healing. They were a good cure for me for I see now that my affliction was not solely my own. What has surprised me is the rare use I have for my gift. Many who came to my order tended to have some physical or mental affliction, emotional too. And yet I found myself engrossed in their stories, in their dreams. Such beautiful, frantic dreams full of mad desires and scaring sentiments. They released me from my loneliness, my Mistress. Released me to feel needed, to be a part of their lives for a little while. And my works, they were terribly interesting, being trained as a nurse and in psychology, they helped me better dissect the hidden causes of their sufferings. Many hauntings have proved to be brain lesions, a poor balance of humors, horrible cancers, and so much more. Oh! But I did use my gift at times, my Lady. The nuns have trained me well in your craft.”
“Did your experiences unnerve you, my pet?”
“Some more than others. Some goetia were simple. A mere prayer, some sacrifice, and ritual chanting. The others…”
Hekate said nothing, but pulled her close with hands on her left arm.
“They were disturbing, my Lady.”
“Is that why you have come, my pet?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it.
Hekate stopped and faced her with their hands joined, “And what troubled my pet, hmm?”
She didn’t answer right away. She released her Lady’s hands and walked off a bit, her eyes lost in thought. The Lady watched with infinite patience. “I had a dream.”
“Tell me.”
“A terrible dream. I saw the world. A world of beauty and lightness, full of good green things and of waving seas. I saw the cracking of the world. Ripped. Distorted. Ruined. The world a-flame. The crust cracking like a hard egg and the fire seeping from within. Fire, fire everywhere, burning everywhere, destroying everything. All turned to blackness. Millions, millions crawling over each other like ants, their souls lost. Their humanity forsaken in the final hour. Fire towering over the snowless mountains. Men becoming the blackened mountains. At the summit I saw her, a woman…a shieldmaiden…fighting her last battle. The sword singing above her. Fighting for what remained of the truth and beauty fore the fire consumed all.
It was just a dream. Just a dream. I prayed it so. Then it repeated night after night. Then it loomed behind my closed eyes everywhere, ever increasing in frequency. It has now invaded even my waking hours.”
The Lady nodded and stepped closer behind her. “This is a true dream. A fearful fork in the road lay before you. Only you can decide the path that the Weavers have laid before you.” Ziya faced her. “You know who she is.”
She cast her eyes downward, “I don’t think I have the strength, my Lady.”
“Strength you have, my pet, for you have my love. The ghosts shall have no power over you, unless you let them. What does your heart tell you, dear?”
Ziya stood silent. “I don’t know if I can master my sex.”
Hekate shook her head, “Employ your sex to good purpose. It is not always a curse. It is the base of your power. How you channel it is the question. Success and failure rest on this.” She stepped closer and took her hands. “You must meet the test. It is in your blood, my love. You know what to do.”
Ziya considered and then closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes, my Lady, I do.”
Lady Hekate held her head and kissed her brow with gentleness.
She opened her eyes.
Chilly blue sky hovered above full of soft yellow clouds. The sun was breaking the night fast. She turned her head to see the horizon glittering with a liquid fire bright and pure. She lifted her nude body from the tomb-bed and felt the sun-god’s heat.
She looked around. She was alone. The dogs were gone. The lanterns snuffed long ago. None of the sisters remained by the dusty well. Her bare feet touched the grave-dirt as she stood up in the company of the strangers and the outcasts and the hip-high weeds. She walked to the shrine and found her dress and bag sitting near the column.
Was it a dream? Were they even here? She should be tired, yet what weariness she once had, had passed. After a prayer of thanksgiving, she sat on the stepped platform and ate her bread whole to feed her raving hunger.
––––––––––
In the gray and still morning light, the lake mirrored the soft pastel color of the sky as the sun shrugged off its earthen sleep. A tiny ripple radiated across the still water where a gnat touched for a drink. Then another ripple as a fish tried its luck. The veiled trees continued their bent positions over the lake, taking no notice of the luckless gnat.
Polly twitched her ears forward as she stepped closer one hoof at a time.
She bent her head down. She snorted with curiosity at a crumpled figure wrapped tight in her blanket of coarse wool that was once bright with colors and now dulled by use and time. She sniffed at the sleeping figure. Then she lifted her head up to study it with her eyes. Her ear twitched sideways and she glanced around for any help or danger. Finding none she looked down again. She whined her tentative question at the sleeping figure.
Not receiving any answer, she took a step forward and shoved it with her snort.
The blanket tightened itself into a ball.
Polly shoved it again with her head. And again.
Dagny bolted up from hips, her gun and dagger at ready, her eyes searching everywhere. She saw her horse and relaxed, “Oh, it’s you.”
Delighted, Polly bumped her sleepy mistress with her head and again. She answered with her own push, “Alright, alright! I’m up.”
The horse stepped back to nibble at fresh grass.
Dagny rubbed her eyes and looked over her shoulder at the contented horse. “Busybody,” she muttered.
She sniffed at the moist air and peeked. The mist was starting to lift as the clouds were painted by the rose-fingered Éostre while the horizon was outlined in bright liquid gold. With a sigh long and full-lunged, her arm stretched out and twisted out the sleep. “Huh,” she yawned. She winced at the old injury on her side. She ignored it and secreted her gun under the saddle. She took out an apple and cut it in halves with her dagger. After wiping her blade, she broke off a part of it as an offering to Lady Hestia into the small fire along with a dash of water from her canteen into earth. She ate her half. With a grunt she got up. The damp grass was a thick carpet of green blades and the soil surrendered to her steps. She caressed Polly’s neck and she raised her head to chew on her apple. Dagny held her head and rested her cheek on her as she swallowed the fruit. With a kiss, she stepped to the line of reeds to cast fresh lines for the fishes from the tree as before.
After resting her uniform on the saddle, she selected a tree to stretch her legs. Then she grasped an overhead branch. “One,” she breathed as she chinned up. “Two. Three.” After a hundred, she switched her grips and did another hundred. Done, she picked two fallen shoots and assumed a martial pose.
Right. Left. Right. Right again. Swing. Stab. Jump back. Right. Left. Right. Kick. Turn. Block. Over and over she repeated her series of mock moves as she attacked the warming air. Left. Right. Left. Right. Cartwheel through the air. Stand up. Lunge. Block up. Sweat dewed her bare and powerful back. Block. Block. Back off. Make space. Block. Make space. Strike. Block. Stab. Block. Kick.
The sun grew full and bright. The birds cartwheeled in a dash above the glowing lake. She continued to work out her moves on the green-staining grass. Her lungs heaved for air through her gritted teeth. Her breasts rolled with movement. Her blood pulsed with bull-force.
“Dagny, the line.”
She shot a look at Ida leaning on her hand then at the jerking line, its white ribbon giving a frantic waving. She strolled fast to the promising dish, “How long have you been watching?”
“Long enough,” the nun grinned as she walked up to her. “You have a beautiful body, Commander. Watching you move is a pleasure, and I do not doubt that my Lord is pleased too.”
She looked back at her, “Your appearance brings no disgrace to the Gods either.”
“I’m not as taut as you are,” she smiled as she took the fish.
“Your sex is a pleasing ornament to this holy shrine, a fit living icon of our Gods’ perfect beauty. There’s no greater honor than that.”
“True, of all our sacrifices, none is as pleasing to the Gods and our ancestors as a life well-lived and in a body sculptured by hard disciple and sweaty passion into an instrument of flawless mastery. No marble or pigment could compare to our cultivated forms.”
“Come next July the sacred games will be held in fair London. It will be a feast of beauty and excellence for the greater glory of Zeus. Men and women shall dress themselves in the hallowed oil for their contests in the blaze of sun.”
“Oh? The Olympian Games is to come to our sacred isle?”
“The news is on every lip, Sister.”
“Then I must make a sacrifice of thanksgivings to the Father of Gods and Men for this great honor.”
“Pray that his eyes do not linger long on your pleasurable form,” Dagny smiled a small smile.
“La! Perhaps I best put on my dress, eh?”
“That would be wise.” They giggled together.
After a hearty breakfast, they swam together in the lake to cool their baking bodies. After drying off, they dressed and saddled Polly. Two more fishes had been caught and Dagny gave them to the nun with a small bag of salt and two fishing lines and a few items for her womanly troubles. Ida flashed a smile, “My Lord bless you.”
Dagny stood and made an uneasy smile.
“My Lord has seen your kindness and he will not forget but rebound your gifts. Whatever void is in your heart, he will fill it with happiness in the most unexpected manner and at time of his choosing. Remember this for he is the Prince of Tricksters. He moves like a thief in the night, phasing past the iron-bars and the distances with ridiculous ease.”
“If you say so.”
Her smile vanished and she looked at her with burning prophet-eyes. “His eyes are on you, Dagny Mark. Your spirit has drawn him near. Do him homage. Keep your mind fluid and your heart cheerful and single-minded.” Dagny felt a deep unease. There was something in the Sister’s voice that arrested her attention, some new strength seeping into her voice. “Say you will, Dagny Mark.”
“I will,” she almost whispered.
It passed and Ida’s face become radiant with pure joy that stirred her envy. She held up her bracket.
Dagny’s heart was caught in her throat, “I cannot.”
“It’s my will.”
“Sister…Ida, please do not ask this of me. Come away with me.”
“Then I will bind myself and throw the key into the lake. It’s my will. Fate.”
Her lips became a thin line. She took the nun’s wrist and snapped it on her. The key posed, she glanced up for a possibility of a different outcome. There was none. Resigned, she turned the key. “Ida, I…” Ida ended her protests with a hard kiss. Their lips broke, Dagny stared at her in disbelief at her knowing smile.
She shot to her feet. They looked at each other, then she marched to the tree to hang the key. With some hope she looked back at the nun. She nodded in a regal manner.
She couldn’t take it anymore. She mounted Polly and walked her off. A few steps ahead, she looked back.
The nun had already begun her play on her recorder. Sweet music filled the air.
Dagny breathed hard and kicked Polly into a trot.
––––––––––
At the crossroad full of tombs, Ziya dressed and looped her bag. She looked up at the fresh sun. She knew which direction the pendulum had pointed to. She shall go to London.
There she will seek out her dear, dear old friend, the one with dragonfire hair.