Morrigan’s grin was short-lived. “Yeah, but can I watch you do it first?”
The old High Priestess’s gaze was kind. “You must learn to believe in yourself, child. The Goddess has already Chosen you—all that is left is for you to formally begin her service.”
“I want to. I really do want to.”
“Part of Adsagsona’s divinity already rests within you. Come, I will bless one basket, then let us see if you would like to bless the other.”
Morrigan’s stomach lurched nervously, but she nodded and stepped into the Usgaran at Birkita’s side. The busy room hushed as soon as they caught sight of Morrigan, but she was prepared for that. There hasn’t been a Light Bringer here in three generations. They’re not gawking; they’re curious, that’s all. Relax. Breathe. It’ll be fine. As if she was entering a stage, Morrigan straightened her spine and lifted her chin. She and Birkita walked to the two large baskets.
“Well met, Beacan and Mannix.” Birkita nodded and smiled at the two men. “It is a lovely harvest of sap you have provided us.”
“We aren’t used to being kept waiting, Priestess,” the shorter of the two men said.
Morrigan felt an instantaneous flush of rage at the man’s rude tone. Without hesitating to consider the source of such unaccustomed anger, she caught the man’s haughty gaze. “Birkita was with me. That’s why she was late.”
“You are the Light Bringer,” the other man said.
His tone was curious, but almost flippantly so, as if she was one of those overachieving four-year-olds who could recite all the presidents’ names, but who couldn’t tie her own shoes. It pissed her off. So instead of answering him right away, Morrigan walked a couple feet to the huge selenite boulder that rested behind him. It was still glowing softly from her touch yesterday. She placed the flat of her palm against its surface and, raising her voice, said, “Yes, I am the Light Bringer. I am also the new High Priestess of Adsagsona.” At the same time she spoke, Morrigan sent a silent plea to the spirits of the crystal to give her some serious brightness. The spirits answered her with a brilliant blaze that exploded in prisms of flashing light. Morrigan caressed the stone in thanks before turning to the men, who she now pointedly ignored, though she could feel their startled gazes on her. Hmm, must not have been at dinner last night, she thought. Then she smiled at Birkita.
“Go ahead and bless the sap now. The Usgaran isn’t a place for impatience, so let’s send these guys on their way.” Morrigan could hear the startled intake of breath from several of the women closest to her, but she didn’t care—not even when Birkita sent her a worried look as she quickly took her place in front of the first basket. There was something wrong here, Morrigan could feel it. She knew it deep within her, the same way she knew the crystals would light for her touch. She also knew she needed to do something about it, but Birkita’s raised hands and the hush of the room distracted her attention from her gut feeling.
“Adsagsona, I call upon you, above—” she paused and moved her hands from over her head down, to form an open-palmed reverse V on either side of the basket “—and below.” Then Birkita began swirling her hands in a graceful pattern over the top of the basket. Entranced, Morrigan watched a smoky darkness rise from the sticky, gelatinous sap as the woman who looked and sounded so much like her beloved grandma continued to speak. “From darkness comes light. From stone comes liquid. We know our Goddess hears our prayers because she nurtures us within the womb of her own body. Sidetha we are. Of the Goddess we are. And from the power of Adsagsona comes the way to see.” Morrigan’s hair lifted on the back of her neck as Birkita completed the blessing. “Bring us light, Goddess.” There was a small sizzling sound and the black fogginess that had formed in the basket under Birkita’s hand suddenly dissipated, leaving the sap clear and sparkling, like colorless Jell-O.
“It is your turn, High Priestess.”
Morrigan’s body jerked involuntarily at Birkita’s words. She glanced up from the basket of newly blessed goo to see that everyone in the room was watching her expectantly. She opened her mouth to tell Birkita thanks, but no thanks, when the words Embrace your destiny slicked through her mind and, with a little start of shock, she realized that she wanted to bless the sap.
Morrigan wanted to be High Priestess.
Without giving herself a chance to chicken out, she moved over to the second bucket. Mirroring Birkita, she raised her hands over her head. For an instant her mind was absolutely blank; like the first time she’d walked out on a stage in front of a real audience, all the words left her. But in the next moment her mind was filled with the blessing and, just like that first play, Morrigan spoke in a clear voice that carried to the corners of the room.
“From darkness comes light. From stone comes liquid.” She said the remembered lines quickly, and then Morrigan stopped, drew a deep breath and moved her hands to point downward. When she spoke again she recited the words that were coming from her heart instead of the by-rote words of a remembered prayer. “Hear me, Adsagsona. I am Morrigan, your Light Bringer, and your High Priestess. I ask light to come to me—impossible light from impenetrable darkness—something only a goddess could give me the power to create.” Morrigan paused while she began drawing her hands back and forth, around and over the sap in the bucket. From the alabaster liquid dark fog began to rise. The smoky blackness that fanned from her palms roiled and intensified, but within that darkness she felt it. The spark of crystalline light that had already grown familiar to her, like a childhood friend, and when she completed the blessing with the words “Light for me, please, Goddess” the power that snapped under her hands wasn’t a subdued sizzle. It was a clap of energy and light that made even Morrigan jump in surprise.
“Blessed be Adsagsona!” Birkita cried.
“Blessed be Adsagsona!” the room echoed.
Morrigan glanced at the two arrogant men and saw that they alone weren’t calling thanks to the Goddess. Instead they were watching her with hooded, considering eyes.
Her hands still tingling with power, Morrigan lifted one eyebrow and smiled smugly at both of them.
CHAPTER 6
The rest of the morning passed quickly, but not uneventfully.
Morrigan worked off the advice her grandpa had given her over and over again. “If you keep your mouth shut and listen, you’ll be surprised what you learn about the people around you.” So after the arrogant apprentices left, Morrigan settled comfortably onto a fur-covered ledge. With Brina curled at her side she sipped milky, heavily sweetened tea and she listened. Naturally, G-pa had been right. If she smiled and nodded encouragingly but silently, people soon either forgot she was there or became ever so willing to chatter on and on to her. Consequently Morrigan learned several things.
First, lots of people didn’t respect the priestesses of Adsagsona anymore—not since Perth and Shayla had become Master and Mistress of the Sidetha. And it was obvious that Shayla held the real power. The priestesses seriously didn’t like Shayla, not that Morrigan blamed them. Her one small introduction to the woman had been enough to have her agreeing (albeit silently) with the consensus. But it was also clear that even though the current Master and Mistress weren’t well liked, they were feared by the priestesses. It was also clear that the Sidetha outside the service of Adsagsona were firmly behind the current rulers, even though no one really liked them. The people were outrageously prosperous—Morrigan decided that many of them were flat-out rich. Shayla and Perth had made that happen.
The longer Morrigan listened, the more she realized that she had stepped into a major power struggle. The Master and Mistress were all for making the Sidetha, and themselves, as rich as possible. The priestesses had nothing against living well, but they believed Adsagsona was being forgotten in the midst of the people’s wealth, so they wanted the people to refocus on worshipping the Goddess and following something they kept referring obscurly to as “the old ways.” Whatever that meant.
This whole situation was doubly uncomfort
able because it seemed Shayla had the tendency to banish from the caves anyone who pissed her off too much. The word banish was spoken in a whisper and was usually accompanied by a shudder.
So where did this leave Morrigan? Well, the priestesses were clearly thrilled that she had suddenly appeared, and it looked like Shayla was equally as unthrilled. Great. Just what she needed—to be caught in the middle of a political tug-of-war.
It was a little after midday, while she was contemplating how to (subtly) ask if it was possible for a Light Bringer and/or High Priestess to be banished, that her liquid diet changed from milky sweet tea to red wine, which was at first too dry and dark, but after about half a glass became amazingly easy to drink. Actually, as she started the second glass Morrigan couldn’t remember why it was that in the past she hadn’t really liked wine. Just then she was thinking that she felt nice and warm and not hungry at all…
“My Lady?”
Morrigan looked up from her half-full second glass of wine to see Birkita and two lesser priestesses she’d been introduced to that morning, Deidre and Raelin, standing in front of her, smiling expectantly.
“Time for more wine?”
Birkita’s smile widened and the young women giggled. “No, my Lady. It is time to begin bathing and anointing you for the Dark Moon Ritual.”
“Okeydokey,” she said cheerfully. When Morrigan stood up she was surprised at how the room rolled gently under her feet.
“Perhaps changing to water would be a good idea,” Birkita said as she took Morrigan’s arm to steady her.
“I’m really not much of a drinker,” Morrigan confided as the four women made their way back down the tunnel to the Light Bringer’s bathing chamber.
“No one would have ever guessed that, my Lady,” Birkita said, causing all of them to laugh good-naturedly.
* * *
Morrigan decided that the glass and a half of wine on an empty stomach might not have been that bad of an idea. At least it allowed her not to be so uptight about three women bathing her. Actually it was kinda fun—more like a slumber party (except that she was naked and up to her chin in hot, soapy water) than a preritual anointing.
“Is the Keep of Oklahoma much different from our Realm, my Lady?” Deidre asked as she scrubbed one of Morrigan’s arms.
“Oh, yeah, lots different,” Morrigan said, and then added before she really realized what she was saying, “I never felt like I belonged there.”
“That is because you belong here, my Lady,” Raelin said with a bright smile.
“I think you might be right about that.” She turned, tilted her head back, and while they rinsed the excellent-smelling shampoo from her hair, Morrigan continued. “Even though I haven’t been here very long it’s like something inside of me has unwound and relaxed for the first time in my life.”
“I cannot imagine the pain it would cause to be separated from Adsagsona,” Birkita said. The other women nodded in solemn agreement.
“At least I understand it now. Before, I thought I was the weird one. I was constantly telling myself that it was my fault I felt like that because I wasn’t trying hard enough to be like everyone else.”
“Oh, no, my Lady!” Deidre said, near tears. “It was separation from your goddess that made you feel that you were an outlander.”
“You will never feel so again,” Birkita said, squeezing her bare, wet shoulder.
“You know, I was nervous about the ritual. But I’m really starting to look forward to it.” Actually, as the women toweled her vigorously dry and began rubbing sweet, almond-scented oil into her skin, Morrigan realized she was feeling almost giddy with excitement.
She was getting ready to hear the voice of her goddess!
Wrapped in a thick towel, Morrigan, accompanied by the three women, went to her room. Spread out on her pallet was a weird-looking piece of clothing made of a material that shimmered silver white in the light of the selenite stalactites. Morrigan stroked the beautiful cloth.
“Wow, it’s like silk, but it’s really leather.”
“It is the finest of kidskin, softened by the hands of Adsagsona’s priestesses, dyed and embroidered with the finest diamonds by a High Priestess who went to spend her eternity with the Goddess decades ago. I wore it for my first Dark Moon Ritual nearly fifty years ago.” Birkita’s smile was wistful. “Would that I was supple and young enough to wear it again.”
Morrigan studied Birkita’s petite form. Just like G-ma, she thought, barely over a hundred pounds soaking wet. “Oh, please! You could still wear this.”
The older woman’s cheeks warmed to a blushing pink, but she smiled. “It is time for a new High Priestess. I wish you many years of joy wearing it.” She motioned for Deidre and Raelin to help her, and together the three women began wrapping the supple leather around Morrigan’s body.
“Oh, nuh-uh. Hang on. There must be a piece—or two or three—missing,” Morrigan said when they had finally stepped back and were surveying their work while she gazed at herself in the full-length mirror. The glistening diamond-embroidered leather clung to her body, making her waist look tiny and her hips look full and curvy. There were slits on either side of it, almost up to the top of her thighs (and she didn’t have a damn thing on underneath). But what was really freaking her out was the fact that the garment laced tightly up her rib cage, and stopped there, like an incomplete bustier leaving her breasts and shoulders completely bare!
“You are correct, Morrigan. There is more to the garment.” Birkita paused as she turned to the large armoire and pulled out another beautiful piece of white leather. “This was added to the High Priestess’s ritual dress during the past decade.” She finished, placing the short, cape-like material around Morrigan’s shoulders and lacing it up.
Wrong…it is wrong…blasphemous. The whisper in her head was angry and clipped, and it overshadowed Morrigan’s embarrassment at her bare boobs. “It’s not right.” She spoke almost to herself as she fingered the soft material.
The two younger priestesses were visibly uncomfortable. They kept glancing furtively back and forth from each other to Birkita.
“What is it?” Morrigan’s frustration at again not having a clue about what was really going on made her voice sharper than she’d intended. She drew a calming breath and said, “What don’t I know?”
“For generations Adsagsona’s High Priestess has bared her breasts during Dark Moon rites to the Goddess. It is only right—only logical.” Birkita’s voice sounded strained. “If a priestess covers her body before her goddess, what else might she be covering? Guilt? Secret desires? Dishonesty?”
“If that’s what you believe, then why did you start covering yourself?” But Morrigan knew the answer before Birkita spoke it.
“Shayla decreed that it was immodest. She even used the word vulgar,” Birkita said, disgust clear in her voice. “Oh, at first she didn’t phrase it like that. At first she spoke only about my age.”
“Instead of honoring our High Priestess as a woman of value, one who has passed from Maiden to Mother to Wise Woman, Shayla made small comments about how unseemly it was to see the naked breasts of a woman who was of the age of a grandmother.”
Morrigan looked at Birkita and saw the hurt and embarrassment in her eyes, but the old High Priestess lifted her chin proudly. “None of the younger priestesses had been called as Chosen. There was no one else to perform the rituals. I know Adsagsona sees nothing but beauty in my body, but the people—the Mistress’s people—they are not the Goddess.”
“Some of them do not even know the Goddess,” Deidre said angrily.
“Many of them do not know the Goddess,” Raelin agreed.
“So you stopped baring your breasts?” Morrigan wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of her grandma—or a woman who looked like G-ma’s twin—going around without a top, but she was more uncomfortable with the idea that a hateful bitch had made her stop.
“Shayla had that made for me.” Birkita motioned to the cape that was
now securely laced over Morrigan’s bare breasts. “She gave it to me in a very public display right before a Dark Moon Ritual. She said it was a gift from the Mistress of the Sidetha to Adsagsona’s High Priestess. Refusing it would have been a terrible insult.”
“Wasn’t wearing it a terrible insult?”
Birkita met Morrigan’s eyes steadily. “That, my Lady, is something you must decide for yourself. You are now Adsagsona’s High Priestess.”
“Yes, I guess I am…” Morrigan murmured as she gazed at herself in the mirror.
* * *
There wasn’t much dressing left to do. Birkita combed some kind of lovely product into her hair so that as it dried it didn’t frizz at all. Instead the heavy waves of auburn glistened like dark water. Dangling from her ears and around her neck hung ropes of a light blue jewel Birkita said was blue topaz, because, she said, “It perfectly matches your eyes.” Then Morrigan slipped her feet into soft leather shoes that reminded her of ballet flats, and the women inspected her.
“You are beautiful, my Lady,” Deidre said.
“Lovely,” Raelin agreed.
“Perfect,” said the woman who looked so much like her grandmother.
“Nervous. Again,” Morrigan said.
“Priestesses, you may leave us now. Call the people to the Usgaran. The High Priestess will be there shortly,” Birkita said.
“Thank you for helping me get ready,” Morrigan said as the women curtsied and left the chamber. She turned to Birkita. “Okay, tell me what I’m supposed to do.”
“There are ritual words you should say, and I can easily teach you those. First I want you to tell me what you know of the dark moon. In your old world, what did it symbolize?”
“I’ve been thinking about this—by dark moon you mean new moon, right? The time between the waxing and waning moon when it isn’t visible.”
“Yes, the dark moon is as you describe.”
Relieved that she understood something, Morrigan answered easily, thankful that Grandma had been way into the moon and its different phases. “The new moon, or dark moon as you call it, symbolizes new beginnings. My grandma always said it was the perfect time to start new projects, begin new relationships, start a trip. Things like that.”