by Carl E. Mullin ©2020
Her eyes popped wide open with a gasp.
“Sister?” a strange voice asked in concern.
She did not hear her. Her eyes searched in fear and wonder. She was in a room. A cell. A cell stacked full of books, old and heavy. Afternoon sun painted the room with a bright slash across the dressed table. Glasses of various shapes, their bright outlines glittering. Walls of irregular stones painted in neutral color. Icons of the Gods in their bright colors. Warm breeze from an open window, yet she felt a deep cold.
“Sister?”
She did not hear her. She was on the floor, her legs crossed. Sitting in the center of a drawn circle full of geometric lines and symbols. Candles were dotting the circle. She was wearing a cloak of forest green with black trimming over her tan dress adored with black embroidered vine-like leaves. She was meditating she remembered now. She felt something in her hand and looked down at the metal prayer beads. And the candles…
“Sister?”
She did not hear her. She was staring at the flame dancing atop one of the candles, entranced by its light. It enveloped her, pulling her out of her world. Things. Death. Destruction. A sword flashing against the curtain of fire. Fear seized her, chilled her. Her breath grew ragged. Death. Death of her heart.
“Ziyatoestah Holl-Mahpyuatashuke, is something wrong?”
She snapped away from the candle-flame, staring at the nun sitting crossed-legged opposite her outside the circle. Concern marked her face. A friend. She relaxed and shook her head. “No. There is nothing wrong, Sister Loretta. It’s mere a dream.” The young nun looked skeptical. “It is.” She looked down at her prayer beads again. “We were meditating, Sister. Let us begin again.”
She nodded. They closed their eyes and began reciting, “Divine Hestia, hallowed be thy name. The First and the Last, draw us near thy sacred fire…”
Ziya peeked at the candle-flame as she recited. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Only a dream.”