I pulled the spangled curtain that served as door and turned to Aulykaran. Be calm, I commanded myself. You know him; he knows the Lady’s Dance better than any man in Ascalon.
“For Our Lady’s sake, sit down, Moondancer,” Aulykaran said. “Just watching you think so hard exhausts me. And you are a goddess tonight, so you must sit that I may sit as well.”
Something in his voice set me at ease; so many people had spoken to me with honey-voices today that Aulykaran’s tartness came as a relief. I smiled, and sat down, gathering my tiered skirt carefully.
Aulykaran promptly lowered himself to the cushions, reclined upon one elbow. “There now, isn’t that better? And you have such an enchanting smile, sweeting, that I could do nothing all night but bask in its radiance.”
I tried to answer in the same light, confident tone. “Are mere smiles a proper way to honor Her? This is my Maiden Night, Lord Aulykaran. Bright Atargatis has led you to me.”
“Ah, is that who she was?” Something in the way Aulykaran spoke reminded me of Aylah; too mocking under a mask of perfect compliance. But his amusement, his easy assurance, gave me courage. With each word he spoke, my worry lessened.
“Of course. Who else?” I set my hands on the knot of my girdle and untied it, silently blessing the hours spent learning to accomplish this task in the dark. I set the girdle aside and said, “I have unbound my girdle. Now you must aid me in offering up my maidenhood to Our Lady. If you are not too fatigued, of course.”
“No,” Aulykaran said, “I am not too fatigued.”
Despite all my lessons, the reality of the Lady’s Dance surprised me. I had expected nothing, the first time, save that I would no longer be maiden. But my submission to Her gained me more than I deserved.
Lord Aulykaran proved everything I had heard of him to be true. Whether he believed or not, he was a true servant of the Lady of Love. And he opened me to a force stronger than sword-blades.
As the full moon poured down silver light, Her power flared through me, and I understood at last. I was only a vessel for Our Lady Atargatis; I need do nothing but surrender myself to Her, and She would use my body as if it were Hers. That was what happened when I danced for Her. This act of devotion was no different.
Yet even as I yielded to Our Lady’s divine pleasure, I longed for something more, although I did not know what it was I sought. Lord Aulykaran offered gentle guidance and exquisite sensual indulgence. And I was grateful to him for these gifts, even as I yearned to surrender to a man who would kindle delight and joy within me, rather than merely appease my body’s urges.
On my Maiden Night, I lay in the arms of the most skillful lover in all Ascalon, a man who awoke my body to its power and granted me the key to carnal wisdom. Yes, I lay in Lord Aulykaran’s arms, opened my body to his, accepted all he had to offer. I claimed the Goddess’s promise as I drank rapture from his lips, arched and shivered against his practiced hands. And as I closed my eyes, and imagined another cradled me in his arms, coaxed ecstasy from my willing body.
On my Maiden Night, when all my heart and soul and mind should have been dedicated to Our Lady’s worship, to utter devotion to Her, I lay in the arms of the man She had chosen for me—and dreamed that another man’s hands stroked me, another man’s lips caressed mine. Beneath the moonsilver light, I lay in Lord Aulykaran’s arms, and dreamed I lay with Samson.
After my Maiden Night, I knew my true worth to the Temple. I was sought after not only for my dancing but for my ability to grant Our Lady’s pleasure. Neither of my skills came cheaply; few men could afford Delilah Moondancer. Lord Aulykaran was one who could, when he chose, make sufficient offering to the Temple to claim me for a dance, or for a night. I liked him well enough, enough that rumor named him my favorite. I suppose he was; there were even times I lay with him and did not close my eyes and dream that another man embraced me.
I tried to forget I had ever looked upon Samson, just as I tried, when I danced, to forget that I now danced alone. Only in memory did Aylah mirror my steps, playing Sun to my dark Moon.
I did not think I would ever again see either Aylah or the man who had stolen both my heart-sister and my heart. But I was wrong, for the gods love best to toss men and women like dice to summon their futures.
And so I, just as I believed I had fought and won my battle, accepted my loss and gained serenity, I saw Aylah again—and again the bedrock beneath my feet melted into water and flowed away; again I struggled to balance past and future.
The year had turned; winter passed away and it was once again New Spring, the Month of Roses. To celebrate that festival, the smaller temples and the Groves asked the Great House of Atargatis in Ascalon to send the Goddess to bless their rituals. The Temple sent priestesses to carry the presence of Atargatis to Her worshippers.
The ceremony of choosing took place in the open Temple, before the public altar. Two deep bowls, one of alabaster and one of jade, waited upon the altar’s smooth-polished marble. The jade held small tiles upon which were written the names of the Groves and temples; the alabaster held the names of priestesses of our House. The High Priestess drew one tile from the jade bowl, and then one from the bowl of alabaster. That was how the priestesses were chosen for the Groves. By lot, and by chance, and at Our Lady’s will.
This season, my name was called, a thing I had known might happen. I had been chosen to act as Goddess at the Grove in the Vale of Sorek.
I had never left Ascalon before, so the journey to the Valley of Sorek enthralled me. Although I traveled in a litter, the cloth-of-silver curtains were tied back so that I might be seen by the common folk. Or, to be more truthful, so that they could look upon a priestess from the Great House of Atargatis.
Their eagerness to see a priestess from Ascalon mirrored mine to see the land beyond Ascalon’s broad walls. Never before had I seen a place not surrounded by walls of one sort or another. But on the road, the land flowed ever onward, endless under the arching sky. And nothing seemed to remain motionless. Men and women worked in the fields, tending the ripening crops. Others led donkeys laden with wood or fodder along the verge, pausing to yield the road—and to stare—as my procession passed by them.
I was carried past fields rich with early wheat; each breeze sent the wheat quivering, as if the field were the coat of a great golden beast. Later we traveled between olive groves, and the trees’ leaves danced to the slightest shift of air, changed from green to silver as they turned.
Of all the strange beauty I saw along the way, I liked the flowers best. I had not expected to see splashes of scarlet in the sown fields; I had not realized that poppies grew among wheat and rye and barley. As we passed a field luxuriant with more poppies than grain, I rang the bell hanging from the litter’s frame. When the porters stopped, I stepped out and went to the edge of the field. I stooped and picked double handfuls of poppies, and only when I carried my prize back did I see the looks upon the faces of the older priestesses and the handmaidens who rode in an ox-drawn cart behind my litter. Some looked appalled, some merely annoyed.
“Remember always that you must think before you act, Delilah.” I could hear Nikkal’s gently chiding voice as clearly as if she stood beside me. Heat stronger than that caused by the sun flashed over my cheeks; I should have asked one of the handmaidens to pluck flowers, if I desired them. Still, I was to be Goddess of the Grove and they were not. Smiling, I walked back to the cart.
“A gift from Our Lady’s bounty,” I said, and handed poppies to the two priestesses and the four handmaidens sitting in the cart. “Take these and remember that She grants us beauty and joy—and that I thank you for aiding me during this New Spring.”
This drew smiles and murmured thanks; I took the rest of the poppies I had gathered and went back to the waiting litter. Once the procession moved forward again, I spread the poppies in my lap and marveled over their color. So vivid, so dazzling. No paint could achieve this beauty.
Entranced by the scarlet petals, I wove the popp
ies into a small wreath. I held the circle of flowers in my hands, then set it upon my head like a crown. What more suitable adornment for Our Lady’s priestess than Her flowers, after all?
When we arrived at the Sorek Grove, I soon learned that any worries I might have were as nothing compared to those of the Priestess of the Grove. As soon as my litter came into view, she ran out of the small house outside the Grove, calling in delight, “Oh, you have come at last! Praise the Lady!” She dashed up, all her hair and skirts flying, and grasped the silver curtains. “A thousand blessings upon you, and you are staying for all the days and nights of the festival, aren’t you?”
She stared at me with brown eyes as huge and soft as a fawn’s. The Priestess of the Sorek Grove was a young girl, not a woman; her breasts were still only promises for the future. And she was plainly overjoyed to see us arrive from Ascalon.
I smiled and stepped out of the litter, and kissed her upon the cheek, as my sister-priestess. This was only proper, since as Priestess of the Grove, she and I were of nearly equal rank. Indeed, she held a somewhat higher honor, although I did not think she would invoke her status and insist on taking precedence.
“Greetings, Sister,” I said, controlling my urge to wipe the smudge of dirt from her cheek. “I am Delilah, Full Moon in the Great House of Atargatis in Ascalon the Beautiful. I am honored to be chosen to serve in your Grove this New Spring. What is your name?”
“Delilah?” The little priestess’s eyes grew round as full moons. “Are you the one who dances? Delilah Moondancer?”
Heat burned my face; I felt oddly mortified by this child’s awed delight in seeing me. But I would not hurt her heart, so I smiled. “Yes, I am Delilah Moondancer. But you still have not told me what you are called.”
“Oh—I am sorry.” Her cheeks blazed red as the poppies I had picked along the road. “I am Atirat, Priestess of the Sorek Grove. I bid you welcome in the name of Our Lady.”
I could not imagine how this child had become Priestess of the Grove, but I did not ask. I bowed and murmured the proper words acknowledging her welcome. I only hoped there would be a place for all of us from Ascalon to eat and sleep and, most important, for me to properly garb myself for the festival.
When I learned there was another there at the Grove who aided Atirat, I gave silent thanks to both my goddess and hers. Although no priestess, Donariel proved a good, steady woman old enough to be my mother. She looked me over carefully, and then escorted us to the hastily woven house of willow those of us from Ascalon would call home for the next few days.
After she had shown us where we were to live, Donariel asked to speak with me, and when I said, “Of course; shall it be now?” she relaxed and almost smiled.
“Will you walk with me, and show me something of the Grove?” I asked, and as we walked from the willow-house across the smooth ground to the Grove itself, Donariel told me what I needed to know.
“You are twice—no, thrice—welcome, my lady Delilah. I will tell this short and straight, for I know you must walk the Grove and also need rest. Our Grove Priestess is the daughter of the last priestess who ruled this Grove. Atirat was raised to follow her mother as Grove Priestess, but her mother died a year ago, and although Atirat is past twelve, you can see she is a child still. That is why we sent to Ascalon, begging a priestess from the Great House to come. Atirat cannot be Goddess-on-Earth.”
“No,” I said. “She is far too young, even were she trained in the Goddess-on-Earth’s duties.”
“Had the Great House of Atargatis not sent you, Atirat would have insisted on carrying out her duty as Priestess of the Grove. But now she need not, and for that I thank Bright Atargatis, and Her Temple, and you.”
“Don’t forget to give thanks to Sweet Asherah as well,” I said, and was pleased to hear Donariel laugh.
“I will not forget. Now here is the gate to the Grove. Return when you are ready, and you will find a good dinner prepared for you.”
I thanked her, and watched as she walked back towards the little houses. I, too, was glad now that I had come; no child could become Goddess-on-Earth. That Atirat had been willing to try did her credit. She must have been terrified. Well, now I shall be Goddess here this festival, and Atirat need not fear. Someone must send a priestess to teach Atirat, and to aid her until she is truly of age to be Priestess of the Grove.
I must tell the priestesses who taught the New Moons, when I returned home to Ascalon. So thinking, I walked through the arched willow gate into the Sorek Grove.
There was little about the Lady’s Grove in the Vale of Sorek to differ it from any other goddess-grove. A gate of willow and silver led into circles of trees planted long ago and lovingly tended: olive, willow, pomegranate. The Sorek Grove was not large—only three circles of trees and half a dozen pleasure booths set among them. But the image of the goddess on the gate had been newly painted, the old statue of Her at the center of the Grove freshly polished and gilded. When I entered the Grove, I walked down the path to the statue, and bowed, and laid the poppy-crown I had woven at Her feet.
Help me act well in Your name. I had dreamed all my life of acting as Goddess-on-Earth. Aid me, Bright Lady, to do honor to You and to Your house in Ascalon.
I had thought the exhilaration of acting for the first time as Grove Goddess would burn forever as one of my brightest memories. But while I cherish that brief time even now, a lamplight warm against dark dreams, its brilliance faded even before I returned to Ascalon. For on the third day, when I had finished the final blessing of the Grove, I walked down through the trees to the river. And there, beside the river Sorek, I met a woman walking along its bank towards the Grove. She paused when she saw me, then came forward, moving with calm, easy grace, until we stood facing one another at the river’s edge.
“It is good to see you again, heart-sister,” Aylah said.
After the first loving greetings, I stood back, holding her hands, and stared at Aylah. “Half a year has been forever,” I said, and then, “You’ve changed.”
She smiled. “Only my garments, Delilah. I am still just as I was when I lived in the House of Atargatis. But we make an odd pairing now, do we not?”
She was right; no longer did we form one brilliant image of Sun and Moon. We had been called each other’s mirrors when we danced together. But as I looked at what Aylah had become, I slowly began to see how different we truly were.
I stood there in all the glory of a priestess, a Full Moon of the Great House of Atargatis. Curled and knotted hair, painted face and gilded breasts, cinched bodice and seven-tiered skirt, scarlet girdle and anklets hung with silver bells—unless I moved, I could be taken for a statue, an icon rather than a living woman.
But no one would mistake Aylah for anything but a mortal woman now. Sun had gilded her skin, turned her face the hue of wild honey. Her bright hair hung in two long braids, the ends bound with leather. A skirt of undyed linen fell to her ankles; over that she wore a tunic woven in blue and white stripes. The tunic’s sleeves covered all her arms from shoulder to wrist, hiding the serpent tattoos she had earned when she became a Rising Moon. She wore a veil, too, a simple length of sky-blue cloth. The veil lay draped about her shoulders; she had pushed it back off her hair when she saw me at the riverbank.
In only one thing were we alike now. Both of us stood barefoot on the sun-warmed ground. Yet even in so simple a thing as that, we differed. My henna-tinted feet glowed rose-red. Aylah’s were brown from sun and dust.
“Well, Delilah? Have you seen enough to scold me for yet?”
“Oh, Aylah, I would not scold you—” I began, and she laughed.
“Of course you would; you always did. And you always wanted me to look like the Queen of Heaven, and I—Well, I prefer to be comfortable. I always did.”
I looked at our clasped hands, felt the strength and hardness of hers. “Oh, Aylah, I am so glad to see you. How did you know I was here?”
“Because everyone for a dozen villages around knew the G
reat House was sending Delilah Moondancer to be Goddess-on-Earth here in the Sorek Grove before you even left Ascalon. Such news flies faster than a swallow. But you must have known I would come, Delilah. Timnath is but an hour’s walk. Our farm is just beyond the village.”
For a heartbeat I could say nothing; Aylah drew in her breath sharply, and before I could gather words, she said, “So you did not know? Or did you not wish to know? Did no one tell you that this is the Timnath Grove? Or that the farm that was my dowry from the Temple lies near Timnath?”
“I—I knew the Temple dowered you when—”
“When I married Samson. You need not slink around the words, Delilah. It is no shame to marry.”
“No, of course not. But for the Temple to give you—a priestess—to such a man . . .” A man with strong hands and a sweet smile. A man bright as the sun itself.
“Samson is a hard man to say no to,” Aylah said.
“Because he wanted you for his bride, not one person—not even the High Priestess—could say ‘No, Samson. You may not have her’?” I tried to keep my face smooth, a proper priestess’s mask. Once I had shared all my dreams with Aylah; now she must never learn I still desired a man I could never possess. Fear that I would betray myself made me speak sharply, my voice harsh, as if I hated both her and Samson. “Why didn’t they tell him no? Why set him tasks? Why give him such hope? Why risk you?”
Aylah looked at me with what I realized, with a shock, was amusement—and pity. “Oh, Delilah, you never change! To you the world is so simple—black or white, yes or no, false or true. They set Samson tasks because they thought he would be killed before he completed the first.”
“But he was not killed.” I still did not understand how he had succeeded. “Was his god truly stronger than Atargatis?”
Aylah shrugged. “Perhaps—or perhaps Samson is cleverer than his enemies. And perhaps Atargatis wished him to triumph. Did you never think of that, Delilah?”
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