illustration by Carl E. Mullin
by Carl E. Mullin ©2020
“Come on, Dagny! Wave! The people love you!” Hannah cheered through the confetti-filled sky in her dress blues as she waved with energy at the cheering crowds.
Captain Dagny Mark felt uneasy and it wasn’t the great heights below her.
She stood tall on the deck in her crimson uniform with dress corset and leather loincloth and white gloves. Her hand gripped tight the handlebar decorated with copper leaves as the air brushed her loose hair. They were gliding through between the canyons of marble, brick, and steel high over the streets of London. They stood atop an aeroyacht held aloft by the twin-horizontal balloons either side of its tail. A propeller and twin fins were sited between them. The aeroyacht was ornate with lines flowing alongside its hull. Its figurehead of four horses were carved in a baroque manner, painted white with gilded manes. These fierce stallions seemed to twist and strain with panting mouths as if struggling to break free of the metallic hull. Their eyes bulged big with masculine excitement as their forelegs posed over the empty air while their rears vanished in a thick whirl of golden cloud that spread to the rear of the hull. Their breasts bore the royal crest of the English golden lion on the crimson red. “I should have tied my hair back,” she muttered as the marching band played on an aerocrusier behind hers.
“Oh, hush! You look more dashing this way, more romantic, wilder in your dress red. That’s how they wanted it here at London. I mean, look at those pictures of you hanging everywhere!”
Uneasy, Dagny looked around at the various vertical banners hanging down the sides of cloud-dressed towers and under the arching skyways. They dwarfed the cheering crowds lining the hundreds of terraces and skyways above her head and below her feet. They showed photographs of herself striking various heroic poses. Some were a close-up of her from waist up while holding her sword by its quillon, some had her standing with her foot on a busted cannon while her sword rested on her shoulder, and, the most disheartening of all, a rare horizontal banner with her snarling as she prepared to swing her sword. She looked grand like a goddess with wild hair. Emblazoned across many of the banners were the words, The Girl With Dragonfire Hair. Her stomach sank lower as she saw those words. “I shouldn’t be here,” she muttered as she gave a tenuous wave.
“Come on, Dagny! London love ya. They love their victrix! Put your hand up and wave them back.”
“Eh,” she said as she looked around in a fear of being caught out as a fake. Behind her a lifesized bronze sculpture of winged Nike stood for her triumph through London. In her outstretched hand a golden laurel crown was held above Dagny’s head. Across Nike’s proud and bare breasts was a ribbon with words “Sic transit gloria mundi”, an apt reminder of the heroine’s mortality. On either side of her, two men carried their fasces amid the costumed actors dressed as satyrs and maenads. With them are the two tigers who were held tight by their trainers as the symbols of her mastery.
Hannah retorted, “Bollocks, dearest. You deserve to be here.” She bent over to one of the trainers, “They will behave, won’t they?”
“They have their shots, sir. But we’ll mind them their manners.”
“You better or I’ll have my dragon eat you, darling.” Then she flashed a wide smile and waved more. An actor dressed as a satyr bumped into her in a very suggestive manner. She slapped his hand away, “Behave, you naughty boy!” She slapped his hand away again. “Smile, Dagny! This is your hour.”
“There are others more worthy than I.”
“But you are here, dearest. Make the best of it.” She waved more at the roaring crowds who were hanging out of their windows of the ornate mile-high towers. She slapped away the groping hands of masked satyrs and nymphs, “Git!” As the areoyacht passed through a shadow of an overhanging arched skyway, she leaned closer to Dagny, “Come on, girl, do wave with some energy. The people want it. Put some life into it.”
“I’m really not at ease with this entire spectacle. I should be with my men, not here.”
“They are here, Dagny. In that boat back there. You earned it. Now you gotta live it up and join the fun, girl!” She slapped away the hands again. “Git yer hands where I can see ’em! Those ‘satyrs’ and ‘nymphs’ are getting more lifelike the drunker they are. I’ve done all I can to keep their paws offa my hooters. I’m saving them for the aristocratic boys, dearest.”
“It’s not really my place. I’m a mere shieldmaiden.”
“Don’t be such a wet blanket, Dagny Mark! Really, you do need to relax. You’re always such an Cincinnatus. So noble, always want to go back to his little farm instead of hanging around Roma for good times. Look, they want a good time and you, big girl, are going to give it to them. So wave! We’re coming out of the shadows.”
The light fell on Dagny’s face and she looked up at the crowd as they roared their welcome at the sight of her. She lifted up her hand in a torpid manner with a weak smile. Hannah was cheering on the crowd when she looked back at her friend. Her broad grin melted into an annoyed grimace. She put her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed as a sly idea came to her. Looking away, her hand wandered to Dagny’s buttocks and pinched.
Dagny jumped as her arm shot up. The crowds roared louder. She shot a dirty look at the innocent face of Hannah who was waving at the crowds. She looked back at Dagny and smiled a sweet smile, “Come on, wave, Dagny!”
Her eyes narrowed and she raised her arm higher with a sweet smile. The girls’ eyes met. Dagny’s promised a return favour. Hannah’s pearly smile just broadened, “Ah, London. The City of Clouds and we’re high on them!”
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The Great Temple of the Gods
London
The hoofs of a young bull clopped onto the marble tiles with a great weight as the bright-colored petals snowed over his garlanded head. The maidens, flower-crowned and light-robed, almost danced their way forward as they continued to shower the docile beast as he was being led by his handlers into the shadowed interior.
Hatless Dagny Mark followed the beast. Into the tall and silent space, she walked with her eyes facing front. The senior commanders in their dress uniforms and grave expressions marched behind her. The stone arches raced high over her somber head to meet their brothers at the pointed top, forming the four-corner arches. It would be a dark place but for the tall windows full of colored glass that told the stories of the Gods and heroes of renown. Arthur, Achilles, Beowulf, Hengist, Alfred, and so many lovers of the Gods. Their glazed power and beauty flooded the marbled floor of colorful geometric patterns with an intense noon light, lighting up this hallowed rectangular space. This sanctified space vibrated with the clean and pure voices of the boys’ choir at their wooden stands. Their small voices united as they sang their psalms, bringing glory to the Gods, especially the Triad.
As her feet brought her to their inevitable end, she observed the great crowds of great and small lining either side of the nave. In reverent silence, their light-colored eyes glowed bright with adoration, especially the little eager boys and doe-eyed girls carrying their flower-crowns in their hands. Her stomach knotted tight but she kept her composure.
Behind her, a squad followed, bearing the spoils of war. And behind them, the army marched forward into the temple in their dress red and blue, the army and the dragon riders in the front. They marched in the proper order, hatless and bearing their personal arms with their shields on their left and the flower-crowns in their right hands. Hannah marched with the girls of her unit. Her sunbright hair bounced their curvy locks as she shared in their peace and happiness in finally reaching their home under the aegis of the Gods. She too saw the peace and happiness in the civilian faces, especially the trust-filled faces of children.
The bull reached the altar. A group of priests in their white robes, their heads covered with a large cloth, approached the bull. Dagny and the commanders stopped. The visitors touched their foreheads and lips before holding out their open palms with “Kharis.” All of the army and the people did likewise. Her eyes rose to meet the calm faces of the Triad seated on their giant thrones. Zeus, Woden, and Teutates were looking down at their petitioner with serene majesty, their magnificent beards full of lively curves. Zeus sat in the center. He was the first among the princes of the Gods who led their respective curies in their own august estates with their hosts of gods, nymphs, and daemons. Their curies, their nations, were devoted to upholding the honor of their sacred Paters. To these hosts, their Pater was their sacred priest who established the forms and boundaries of their common worship before the sacred fire. To them was he their august judge who gave them their justice. To them was he their king who led them to war and to peace. To them was he the father to many of them via marriage or concubinage or as their ancestor.
Her eyes glanced either side to the smaller statues of the minor Gods and heroes crowding their chapels away from the nave. All bore witness to the majesty of the Triad dominating this temple. Long ago, each God had his own temple or grove to which the people brought their offerings. Then the deep cold set in, bringing war and famine and devastation as many nations crowded south and west to escape the cold hunger and destroyers on their small fast horses. Temples, once the stronghold of the cities’ treasuries, became the fortresses in every village. They provided security and warmth to the devoted who had kept their side of the divine bargain. The altar was brought inside so that the worship may continue without disruption. Once peace crept back into the world, their temples kept their new forms and grew in exuberant details. Spires grew tall to hold up the fresh-invented bells. Doors became enriched by the Keltic and Germanic love of twisting designs that filled the doors and the tympanum above the double doors. The stones and glass spouted new decorative details and colors. The capitals of the columns grew riotous with carved life of plants and beasts and man and fairies. Separate temples and groves were still maintained but this new style of temple became the mainstay in every village across the former Roman Empire.
As the priests performed their work, the squad stepped forward. Dagny stepped forward to kneel before the high priest. As she did, each specialist brought her their share of the war’s spoils. With a radiant face, she took an enemy’s sword and offered it up to the Gods before laying it on the steps. Music filled her soul as the boys continued their songs as she lifted up a helmet. Then a rifle. Then a breastplate.
Hannah struggled to suppress a proud grin as she watched her friend perform the proper rites.
After she made her offerings, the deed was done. Red liquid flowed into a great bowl. She closed her eyes with a small gasp and felt her side. She mastered herself and remained kneeling with the senior commanders.
The priests marked their faces. The high priest then brought a bowl to Dagny. He dipped his fingers in and raised his crimson hand. With these fingers, he painted a blood-mark on her passive forehead. As the priest continued to do the same for the commanders she studied the regal face of the All-Pater. Her lips parted a bit as a deep affection and holy awe overcame her as the songs filled her ears.
Hannah made a small gasp as the priest returned to Dagny with a crown of laurel leaves in his hands.
He held it high, “To the victrix of Nicaragua, beloved of the Gods!”
Dagny’s stomach tightened but she bowed her head. He placed the crown on her head as the boys’ voices rose. As one, Hannah and the soldiers and the riders crowned their heads with their crowns of flowers. On both sides of the nave, the men, women, and children crowned themselves with their flowers, a sign of the Gods’ blessing on all people of England.
The soldiers started to rap their shield, Hannah joining them. They cried out their ritual call, “Io triumph! Io triumph! Io triumph!”
With a slow movement, Dagny lifted her wreathed head, her glittering eyes meeting the marble face of the mighty father. Would he approve?
Would she approve?