by Carl E. Mullin ©2020
Dagny’s Flat
Hannah held up some clothes and scoffed, “Ugh, doesn’t Dagny have anything that is not ten years out of date?”
Ziya looked up, “She’s not much of a fashion connoisseur, Hannah.”
“Neither are you, Sister.” They giggled together.
Ziya noticed the uncovered trunk. She knelt to open the lid and noticed the photograph. She took it and stood to study it. Gwen entered the flat, ‘The dishes’re done, Sister. Mrs. Bennet was so tickled to have us over that I feel bad that we won’t do it often.” She noticed Ziya studying the photograph and curiosity led her to her side. “Who’re they?” Then she took a closer look, “Is that…?”
“Yes, our picture from Sandhurst. That’s the Commander and I.”
“You’re from Sandhurst too?” she gasped. “I wouldn’t even have thought that…”
“Yes, that’s how we knew each other, child.”
“And this…is that?!”
“The Queen, yes.” Behind them, Dagny heard and entered the room from the bedroom.
“But they looked so…oh!” She covered her mouth in horror and looked at Ziya. “They’re not?”
“They were.”
“But I didn’t know…” she moaned.
Dagny spoke up. ““Cadet Bell, this place needs dusting.”
Gwen stiffened and saluted, “Sir,” and hurried off.
Ziya watched her off and said to Dagny, “I thought you threw this away.”
Dagny looked at the photograph. “I didn’t.”
“Look how young we were. So innocent to the world.”
“And naive.”
“It was a happy time we had. I forgot what we were like.”
“All in the past.” Dagny took the photograph. “We did look silly in those tight leathers didn’t we?”
They giggled. Ziya said, “You have grown in beauty and status, dear.”
“No, dearest Ziya, you were always a kind girl but I fear that I am more a fool than then.”
She shook her head, “You know that’s not true.”
“It’s true. Years I spent mastering my sex and, yet, it seems the Gods have mocked my pitiful labors.”
“And yet you have risen above much of our kind.”
“Vanity, it seems.”
“I speak the truth. I know my weaknesses. You’re stronger than you think, Dagny Mark.”
“Again, your kindness shines bright like your jade-like eyes. Daily, I bless the Moirai for bringing us close that day on the train. What small happiness I have received I had it from you and you shall have my fondest affections.”
“Dagny, don’t you dare make me blush.”
She looked at her, “Too late.” They giggled. She looked again at the photograph. “This picture, it makes me happy. And sad. I shall not see it again.”
Ziya looked at her, “You cannot possibly mean that, Dagny.”
She put the picture back into the trunk and shut the lid. “This book is closed. XO, let’s go over the list of candidates.”
Ziya watched as Dagny sat down to the dinner table. She crossed her arms and glanced out at the descending sun through the half-moon window.
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The sky grew dark.
The girls set out the table in silence.
The fish sizzled in the fat in the pan.
The water poured onto their soapy hands.
They washed their faces, cleaning themselves of miasma, the very act cleaning their minds of pollution.
Ziya’s red hands washed a ritual bowl with a special care.
They stood behind their chairs in the holy silence. They watched as the Volva scratched a match’s head against the rough box until it ignited. She lit the candle atop a golden stand which had three sculptured fairies rising on their toes to glance their adoring eyes onto its light. Three strands of liquid gold seemed to rise from under their feet to twist about their nude bodies to form a small base for the candle while holding it aloof.
She held a kindle to the candlelight ‘til it burst into a small flame, hot and young. This she fed to the wood in the fireplace. The logs accepted their fate and burnt slow and warm.
She cut out a small portion of the prepared dish and set it aside in the ritual bowl.
The cork of a fresh bottle of wine popped its virgin pop.
The blood-red liquid flowed free into a small stemmed glass.
By its stem, the Volva lifted the wine and her jade eyes glanced at the three solemn faces in their dress uniforms watching her rite.
They joined hands and she begun:
“Kharis! Lady Hestia of the sacred hearth, hear our prayers and accept our offering. Lady Hestia of the holy fire, the first and the last, whom Zeus was pleased to name thou the eldest and the youngest of the Olympians, hear our prayers and accept our offering. Lady Hestia, thou the first prisoner and the last freed of thy mad father Kronos, he of fearsome stone scythe who made the mountains his throne, draw us near. Thou who comfort thy brothers and sisters in the darkness, comfort us now. The first fruits of vine I pour to thou as libation, pour thee thy gift of concord on us so that we may dwell in happiness between us and with the Deathless Ones. As Zeus honors and succors thee with the first choice of meat in freedom, we too honor and succor thee with our first cut of meat in perfect imitation of the Father of Gods and Men. As we succor thee, succor us and bless us with thy eternal warmth.”
From her small cup she emptied the entirety of blood-red wine into the ritual bowl full of the first cut. Dagny watched her with warm and grave eyes. Ziya noticed and smiled a fleeting smile. She observed Hannah’s thoughtful look and Gwenevere’s wide blue eyes. Then she continued:
“Divine Virgin, be our Mother and receive us and receive our offering as thou receive the newborn and the bride about thy holy fire into thy worship. Draw us into thy divine dance with thy virgins’ dancing the holy dance of animated fire. In thy eternal flame bind us as thou hath bound the Gods, bind us in the golden chain of loving kinship with one another, mortal and immortal alike. Mother of fire, as a cell divided into two, a mother and a daughter, so too divide thy holy flame and favor us with a daughter flame to warm us, to succor us, as we spread seeds to parts unknown. Bless us, O Mild One, with thy daughters to lighten our way and to remember us our ancestral kinship with our fatherland afar. Be with us as we plant thy daughter fire and ancestral earth into our new home.
Maker of peace, thou who abide Lord Dionysus to sit upon thy Olympian throne, abide us and aid us to make and to keep the good peace so that thy glory may increase and more honor be accord thee.
So say we all.”
They spoke in union, “So say we all.”
The Volva picked up the ritual bowl with both hands in great reverence. She stepped over to the fireplace. From the bowl she cast the offering onto the snapping fire. They watched the offering being consumed by the hissing and licking flame-tongues.
The Volva nodded a grave nod. “Kharis!”
“Kharis!” they uttered in union.
Dagny closed her eyes. Now the die was cast and the Fates would move with subtle might to weave their golden fate-strings together. Has she the strength for the coming task?