“What more must I give you?” he shouted into the gusting wind. “My brethren are gone, my ship destroyed.”
“Your path unfolds, my son. Now sleep.”
Lethargy bent his knees.
“I obey, Goddess.” He slipped to the deck, sinking once again into unconsciousness.
*****
A loud screech pierced his ears and Dahlabar snapped his eyes open. What manner of beast cried so?
A score of black-and-white birds the likes he’d never seen before soared above him. What are they and where am I?
Thoughts flooded over him, the fishing journey, his five friends and the storm dropping from the sky, fast and furious. How many days had passed since the sea had swallowed his brethren one by one? Three? Seven?
He pulled himself to his feet. Water spread before him, a brilliant blue carpet.
The boat rode soft swells, pushed onward by the wind’s hand. He shaded his eyes. Dark fingers stretched across the horizon. Land. But whose? “What you will Goddess, I accept.” He leaned against the side of the vessel and watched the shore grow larger.
The sea flowed toward a cove. Before him, waves surged over a reef. He held his breath as the boat rode high, then released it in a relieved gust as he crossed and settled back into the water.
Inside the inlet, the water calmed to a mirroring sheen. On the nearing land, movement caught his eye. People ran down a length of beach, pointing. Their panicked cries reached his ears, but he could not make out their words.
“Dahlabar, save the girl.” The words formed in his head.
He saw her then, a small form floundering in the waves. Without thought, he dove. With three strong strokes, he was beside her. Treading water, he reached out.
The girl screamed, “dark devil,” and slapped frantically at his hands.
The sea flooded his mouth and nose, and he coughed and spit. Then the child’s eyes opened wide and all struggle left her body. He laced his fingers in her hair as she went under.
One arm around her waist, he towed her toward shore. His feet struck sand and he stood with the child in his arms. On trembling knees, he stumbled forward. People rushed toward him with strangled cries. Their pale faces blurred as they pulled the child from his arms. Questions were thrown at him. He understood their words but, as he started to speak, darkness edged his vision and swallowed him.
*****
“Whore of Satan.” The slap cracked in the small cottage. The woman stumbled back, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. The man lifted his hand again, reeling as he overbalanced. His ale-laden breath billowed into the woman’s face and she gagged.
“Kill it,” the man ordered, pointing to the tiny, swaddled form, “before I do and you too.” He turned, bounced off a table, and careened toward the door. “Be it not here when I return.” The door slammed behind him.
The woman grabbed her stomach and sank to her knees. What had she done to birth this daughter of Satan? Pain gripping her, she stood and walked to the baby. With a gasping sob, she picked up a pillow. The child’s eyes, one blue and one brown, opened and stared up at her. The woman cried out and stepped back. Dropping the pillow, she made the holy sign upon her breasts. “Remove your gaze from me, devil child.”
The baby began to wail and the woman’s breast milk flowed in response. “Dear God, what am I to do? He will kill you.” She turned to stare out the window. “You are but a babe. Perhaps the holy fathers can help drive away the evilness before it is too late.”
She wrapped the child in a warm blanket and, smothering her own sobs of fear and guilt, she hurried out the door.
At the top step of the temple of Ogdah, she listened. From inside came a voice raised in prayer. Avoiding her daughter’s eyes, she kissed the babe’s head and laid her gently down. “Go with God,” she whispered, then turned and ran.
Inside the temple Father Milo lifted his head and stared at the stained glass rendering of his god washing a child’s feet. He felt nothing looking into those soulful dark eyes, and his heart sank in despair. When had he lost his faith? When had the praying and hymn singing become only a day-to-day monotony, with no feelings of joy or peace? He dropped to his knees before the carved alabaster alter. “Please, please.” Silence rang in the temple that was as empty as his heart. Tears blurring his vision, he stood and walked to the double doors.
After the dimness of the holy chamber, the sun blinded him. Blinking his eyes, he stepped forward, only to have a voice ring in his head. “Look down.”
“What?” he murmured. He glanced around, but the street was empty. “Who are you? I heard your voice? Come forward.”
“Guard the child.” The voice floated into his head again.
Father Milo closed his eyes. “Is that you, my god?” But no answer came. He felt compelled to look down, spotting something on the stone steps. Leaning down, he picked up the small bundle. “A child?” Holding the baby against his heart, his gaze swept the street, but not a soul stirred. “Do you give unto me a child of your choosing?” Tears slipping down his cheeks, he walked back into the temple. Before the altar, he lifted the babe with trembling hands. “I will protect your gift with my life. This I pledge.” He heard footsteps and turned. A group of priests entered.
“What do you have, Brother Milo?” They circled him.
“A gift and a message from our god.” He smiled at the picture portrayed in stained glass. “I had a crisis of faith, and this was my answer.” The baby in his arms stirred and let out a loud wail.
“Let us view this gift,” a priest demanded.
Milo pulled the blanket away from the child so all could look upon her face.
“Oh, what a beauty. A little angel.”
The baby opened her eyes. A frozen stillness descended on the group of clerics, followed by panicked gasps and cries. The priests stumbled back, making warding signs against evil.
“What have you done?” one demanded. “Our temple is cursed.”
“Take it back to where you found it! It cannot stay among us.”
Father Milo picked up the now screaming infant and held her against his chest. “I cannot. I have made a vow. Our god brought her to us. She cannot be evil.”
“Look at her eyes. Darkness lies within her,” a priest cried.
“She is an innocent,” Father Milo said. “We can keep the evil from her. That is why she has been brought to us. We can…”
They turned their backs scornfully on him.
“Remove her from our sight,” one ordered. “We will call for a meeting this night. The High Father will decide.”
Milo jostled the baby in his arms. He had made a vow, but if the High Father overrode him, the child would be taken. He felt angry blood flood his cheeks. No. He would not let it happen. Glaring at them, he pushed through them and headed toward the temple doors.
*****
The bells shrilled, their strident call. Father Milo smiled bitterly. They had wasted no time. His meager belongings lay on his cot wrapped in a tight bundle. He still wore his brown robe but, if things went as he feared, it too would be left behind. It was by the grace of his god that he still had the tunic and trousers he had worn when he first crossed the Temple of Ogdah’s threshold. They would serve him well now.
The bells had awakened the baby, but she silently looked into his face as he picked her up and cradled her in his arms before going out to face whatever his god handed him.
In the grounds before the monastery doors, a strange sight befell him. Holding the baby close, he looked across a crowd of liveried soldiers and guards. The king’s herald stood heads above a circle of priests.
“He comes,” a voice cried, and the crowd parted before him. He walked the aisle. Raised angry voices came to him.
“We will not,” he heard the High Father say. “He is a heathen and fornicates with the dark god.”
Father Milo quickened his steps. A guard stepped back to let the priest and child enter the circle. King Frederick stood before the High F
ather, but it was the man who stood by the king’s side that made Father Milo gasp. He was black as a moonless night.
As the priest approached, all gazes turned to him, then dropped to the child he carried.
“You will obey me, High Father,” the king said. He pointed to the man. “He saved my daughter’s life. I have made a promise, and anything he wishes he shall have. But all he asks is to serve in the temple.” He motioned. “Come forward, Dahlabar.”
The priests drew back as the man stepped forward. “ I follow the Goddess’s path and she has led me to you,” he said.
“Goddess?” the High Father sputtered. “There is no Goddess, only the true god.”
King Frederick raised his hand. “Enough. He will remain among you for as long as he wishes. That is my command.” He turned to Dahlabar. “This is what you ask of me?”
“It is.”
“So be it.” King Frederick mounted his horse and, flanked by his royal guards, rode away.
A stilted hush followed the king’s retreat. Then Milo watched a crafty look spread across the High Father’s face. “Bring the child here,” he snapped with a hard glare.
Unease crawling along his spine, Milo stepped forward.
“I obey my king,” the High Father said in a spiteful voice. “You,” he pointed at Dahlabar, “will take and care for this child. It will be your only duty among us.”
“But, Holy Father…” Milo began.
“Silence,” the High Father said, his voice harsh. “It is only right that one of Satan’s children care for the other.” He glared harder at the young priest. “You have brought this evil among us. But our god in his wisdom has also brought to us a solution.” He turned back to Dahlabar. “There is a cottage in back of the temple. Take the baby. I do not wish to look upon either of you again.” He turned on his heels and strode away from them.
Dahlabar stepped forward and held out his hands, but Father Milo hesitated, clutching the child to his heart.
“I understand,” the black man said, “but it is her path. You have fulfilled your part. Now it is my turn. Do not fear. I will love and care for her as the Goddess wills.”
With a sigh tinged with relief, Milo released the baby into Dahlabar’s arms. He thought of the wrapped bundle he had left on the cot. His decision had been made as he stared into the High Father’s sharp eyes. This life was not for him and now he could leave with an easy heart, knowing the child would be cared for. “I will show you the cottage.”
Dahlabar followed the priest to the cottage and stepped inside. He stared around the single small room. It was cold and empty. He looked down into the baby’s eyes.
“We will fill it with warmth. You are Thea, Nature’s Child. The Goddess has named you so.”
And Thea smiled at his words.
Part Two
“Thea, gather your belongings,” Dahlabar said, coming through the cottage door.
She looked up from the book she read. “What is it, poppa-Dah?”
She watched him smile at her name for him. When she was a baby, she had not been able to say Dahlabar, but now it was the term of love she always chose.
“It is time we moved beyond these walls.”
Thea looked around. For the past six years this had been their home. Why were they to leave now? Surely the sour-faced priests who avoided her eyes like donkey dung would not want them in the monastery. Had the High Father at last won his fight with the King? Were they being thrown from their home? “Where do we go, poppa-Dah?”
“The woodcutter and his wife have gone to be with the Goddess. The king has granted their cottage in the deep woods to us.” He walked to the far wall and picked up a stack of books from the crude table he’d built. “It is time for you to learn more of the Goddess’s world.”
A thrill knotted her stomach. “What am I to take?”
He looked around. “Everything.”
Not a soul stirred as the pony pulled the loaded cart across the grounds. As they exited the gates, Thea looked back. She was leaving the only home she’d known, but all she felt was a surge of happy anticipation for what lay ahead.
Wiping sweat from her forehead, Thea sat back on her heels and looked around. The settling in was at last finished. The cottage was much bigger than the one they’d left behind, and it had thick walls and shutters that would block frigid winds and rain. She even had her own pace above in the loft. Their meager furnishings, added to those of the now gone couple, filled the rooms with comfort. Braided rugs in front of the hearth and table added circles of color. Drying herbs suspended in corners wrapped the area in scents of lavender, thyme and lemon basil. Tomorrow she would look for mint to join with them.
From outside she heard the whack and crack as Dahlabar chopped wood. She had teased him earlier about cutting enough to last them through the winter in one day. And he had laughed and called her a lazy bumpkin, telling her to get back to work.
A lazy bumpkin, indeed, she thought with a sniff. I will show him. She planned to make their first meal in their new home a splendid one. Already a fire burned high in the hearth. Sliced potatoes, carrots and onions waited for water in the round pot hanging above the flames to boil. Along with the stew she would serve cheese, soft slices of crushed-wheat bread, and cold, clear water from the well. Happiness made her feet itch and, unable to remain still, she stood and danced around the room, singing the rhyme poppa-Dah used to send her to sleep for as far back as she could remember.
“You are a floating butterfly,” Dahlabar said from behind her, and she spun with a laugh.
“No, not a butterfly, poppa-Dah, but a warble-bird, delighted in its own little nest.”
“Earlier I saw some ripe juice berries,” he said.
They would be wonderful. I will…”
“No, daughter, I will fetch them. Unless you wish a ruined stew.”
Thea smiled. Her poppa-Dah could coax a pile of sand to grow and blossom, but a simple meal was beyond him. “Give me two fingers of time. Then all will be ready,” she said. Dahlabar grinned. “You have learned your lessons well.”
Each morning they spent time on her learning. The method of plotting the day’s passing had been one of her first. She held up her hand. “One hand spread three times, held up to the heavens and spaced thumb to little finger, make up the first part of the day,” she recited. “And then three more make up the waning into night. The time between each hand is broken into finger widths.”
Dahlabar nodded. “In two fingers. But I will hope for less. Already my stomach grumbles.” He turned and walked from the cottage.
*****
Time passed. Snow came, departed, followed by spring’s first flowers and summer’s warm sun.
One bright morning, bird song woke Dahlabar and he knew without looking that he was alone. The cottage always felt empty when Thea was not around. The large woven basket kept by the door was gone. His daughter was gathering herbs. He rose and broke his fast with cheese and bread. When three fingers passed and Thea did not return, unease had him moving to the cottage door.
The sun rode high in a crystalline-blue sky. He chanted a prayer to the Goddess, thanking her for her blessings as he moved beneath the coolness of the forest’s trees.
Thea was not at the first three places he looked and his unease grew. The woods held no large predators, but a broken leg could fell one with the same swiftness as a pack of wolves.
He heard her voice before he saw her.
She spoke gently, coaxing. “Come, little one. Let me see.”
Dahlabar stopped beside the trunk of a large oak. On her knees in the sun-dappled clearing, Thea spoke to a spiky, green bush. As he watched, a small rabbit came from its concealment. It moved toward her with a limping hop. His daughter cocked her head. “A thorn, I see. Which foot?”
The rabbit held out its right front paw.
Thea turned it over. “And it’s gone nasty, too. No wonder it hurts you.”
He watched her work the thorn free, then reach into
the pocket of her gown and pull out a leaf-wrapped bundle. “This will make it well.”
She undid the leaves and smeared a thick layer of green salve on the rabbit’s foot. The rabbit laid its head on her knee.
“You are quite welcome,” Thea said.
Dahlabar bowed his head. “Blessed Goddess, you have gifted my daughter with much. For this I thank you.” When he looked up, the rabbit was gone. Thea sat, smiling into the sky. “Daughter?”
“Poppa-Dah, I did not hear you.”
“The rabbit…you understood its words?” He knew the answer, but asked anyway.
“Yes, a hurt foot.”
“You understand others?”
“I am a healer, poppa-Dah. A beautiful woman, haloed by light, came to me as I slept and told me so. She said she was The Mother to Us All, and that she was giving me the way to understand the words of all creatures that lived.”
“When did this happen?”
“It came with the rebirth of the year,” Thea said.
“I knew the Goddess had planned your path when she brought us together,” Dahlabar said. “But I did not know what lay before you upon it.”
Thea smiled. “I am happy it is so. Already I have spoken to a ram with curled horns from the now-capped mountains, and an eagle whose home is by the sea.”
“There will be more, my daughter.”
“And with each I will do my best.”
Part Three
Thea hummed as she crushed the dried leaves of mint with the smooth rock. The sweet herb, seeped in the simmering water, would help the fox kit’s sour stomach. As her hands worked, her gaze drifted to the far wall with its rows of black slashes. She’d made the first mark when they’d been in the cottage the first seven sunrises. Now the wall was covered with the slashes. By poppa-Dah’s count, today was the sixteenth celebration of her birth.
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