Myth of the Moon Goddess - The Aradia Chronicles, Books One, Two and Three

by Rane, April

  Hesitantly, he turned back to her, shrugging his large shoulders as he spoke.

  “When we’ve been in battle beside the women from the Euxine Sea, it was this weapon that they carried. So when you drew it I knew what you were referring to. With the knowledge of its use, it can be a fine weapon.”

  Palion’s condescending look told her he thought it would be wasted in her hands. “How did you know about it?” he demanded.

  Eurynome’s eyes darted to Jontue, as he was aware that she had seen it in a dream.

  “I told her about the unusual weapon the women carried, and she thought to have one of her own,” Jontue retorted quickly, saving Eurynome from the need to explain.

  They said their goodbyes and moved toward Jontue’s small lean-to, where he stored his weapons and a supply of dried fruit and meat. He had learned a while back, that eating the grain that was cultivated by one of the men in the group and enjoyed by all seemed to disagree with him, creating weakness, and cramps. However, he did find it difficult keeping away from the porridge made from the grain. It was a quick and easy meal in the early morn, and was almost irresistible when mixed with honey from the bees that some of the men in his tribe kept.

  Pulling a large well wrapped package out from his lean-to, he said, “Come. Before you open it, let us go and sit by the brook. But when Eurynome reached for it, he kept it tight to his chest, and said in a cautionary tone, “Remember, no one knows that I am not going on the pilgrimage. Palion thinks this was made for me, so you must wait a bit longer to see my surprise.”

  When they were seated at the brook he handed it to her. Holding her breath, she gingerly un-wrapped the leather cloth surrounding her surprise. A golden shield glistened in the morning light, intricately designed with fire breathing dragons, the rising and setting sun and the moon in all her phases, remarkable for its workmanship. Eurynome just stared, unable to comment on its beauty. “He…he….Palion did this?” she questioned, stunned by its splendor.

  “He made the shield,” Jontue told her, “When he was finished, it was my turn. I carved the symbols and designs especially for you. The dragon is to remind you of your courage. The rising and setting suns represent the warrior’s journey, for there is always a beginning and an end to the physical warrior. But the moons phases indicate that the soul is ever growing and moving forward in its evolution, if we assist it with courage and valor.

  “The shield is to protect you in battle, but the symbols on it are to remind you that no matter what the outcome if the warrior is brave the battle will always be won.”

  Eurynome put the shield aside and hugged Jontue. She had not hugged him since she was a little girl. She felt the warmth of his heart, though his skin was cold and his ribs much too evident in her embrace.

  “Ah Nomie, it is time for you to go now.” She began to say something else, but he put his finger to her lips.

  “No… there is nothing left unsaid,” he told her. “I will be leaving for Hattusas in a few days. I wish to sit again at the feet of the goddess, to work with her on any obstructions that might be in the way of my final journey. She will look deep into the soul; nothing can be hidden when you are able to look at the records that are kept there.”

  Seeing the worry in her eyes, Jontue moved his finger from her lips to her cheek.

  “Go,” he said with finality. “And remember… there is no death.”

  “Come child, what is all the fuss? It is a new day and already you wish to argue with me. We have much to do. Can you not mind what I say? All of the women in the village come to me for wisdom yet you push aside my knowledge as if you were the elder!”

  Eurynome’s grandmother knew that look. Her grandchild was determined to discuss the pilgrimage many of the women of the village were planning. There was constant chatter and excitement about the Goddess Cybele. In fact, it was nearly all that the women could talk about. Though there is little known about Cybele’s heritage, what was whispered was that the ancient God Zeus had ejaculated on the ground and from it had sprung a hermaphrodite. The other gods were jealous of any being that could procreate without a partner, so they castrated the male appendage and Cybele, ‘Mother of all,’ was born. It was rumored that she married a mortal and her children carry the royal blood.

  Jontue had told her and Eurynome that he had looked into those born of the line of Cybele and although Theba and Eurynome were poor cousins so to speak, their blood carried the mark of royalty. This was why a brother will many times marry his sister, to carry on the royal line, because there is a special portion of the female’s blood that carries the immortal mark of the Goddess. A mother could give it to her son, but he could never transfer that portion to his child. Only a daughter could carry on the royal line, Jontue had claimed with certainty.

  Grandmother could see that all too familiar determined look in her eye.

  “I know what you are thinking child!” she said. “But you know we are too poor to make the pilgrimage to the Great Hall of Hattusas.”

  “Poor is in the mind,” came Eurynome’s quick retort. “You have told me that many times. I must go! If I meet with the Goddess, I will ask her for blessings on my life of service and if…well nothing else matters but that I go. It is predestined!”

  As Grandmother watched Eurynome do her chores she was not amused by the fact that this headstrong child would go with or without her permission. The gathering that was taking place this evening was to pray for strength for the village women who were to make the journey. Some would also pray that their offerings would allow their daughters to stay at the temple to study to become a priestess. Only the most beautiful and intelligent young girls were chosen for this honor. Grandmother, looking at Eurynome with enormous pride, knew there were few girls more beautiful and more intelligent than her granddaughter. But she could not afford the gifts it would take for Eurynome to be accepted as a novitiate. Grandmother smiled, shaking her head as she thought, even if for a moment the child could behave like a lady, rather than one of the wild animals she incessantly talked with in the woods!

  As Eurynome gathered dead branches and small logs for the communal cook fire, Marta came out of her hut, and at first it looked as though she would avoid Eurynome. They had been friends as children, but none in the village befriended Eurynome now since most were afraid of her visions. Marta was secretly jealous that Eurynome had the ‘knowing;’ feeling cursed that she had none. The few men that were in the village hated Eurynome because she spoke her mind and sometimes knew the future. They said she was evil and kept their women and children away from her. Marta didn’t have that problem because her father had left as soon as he had found out her mother had been pregnant. He told her he was going to the next village to barter for sheep, but he never came back. It was sad Marta thought with a wry smile, that so many of the women of the village told one another stories about how their men would return some day.

  “Eur, are you almost done?” she asked Eurynome hesitantly. “I…I thought you might tell me what you know about Hattusas. My mother and I are going on the pilgrimage. I could help you with the gathering, then…”

  “I’m done,” Eurynome claimed as she threw the last of her gatherings onto the wood pile. “Let’s sit under the oak tree near the path to the woods. I can’t go further as I need to speak to Grandmother when she is done with her chores.”

  When they sat, Eurynome closed her eyes and focused her attention inward, to her heart, where the stories that Jontue had told her could be found. Her face became an ethereal reflection, as she swam through the silky sea of memories that came from inner visions, as well as what Jontue had lovingly shared. Opening her golden eyes, she gazed up at the tree, and reaching out her arm felt its leaves beneath her hand. She searched for an acorn, and finding one, began her story.

  “Long before you approach the Great Hall in Hattusas, there are two enormous stone appendages gracing either side of the road that, it is rumored, were fashioned by the gods themselves, to protect the dwellers
of Hattusas. Some say that if you do not have good intentions you should not journey toward the city, because you would be struck dead before you could move beyond the stones. It is important to place small offerings for the gods there at the opening, and to walk through with your head bowed and reverence in your heart.”

  Eurynome turned the acorn, holding it up to the sun, mesmerized by its significance and knowing that Marta, who was sitting on her hands to contain her excitement, did not quite understand. Eurynome’s voice had taken on a deep compelling quality that seemed to open the mysteries of life. She knew the power of her gift, and made Marta wait as she looked intently at the acorn. When she knew that Marta could not handle any more silence, she began again.

  “If you make it beyond the entrance, you are met by a colossal statue of Cybele,” she continued. “Her face bears strength and beauty, a combination that is prominent with most goddesses. Adorning her is a mighty acorn headdress and her hand is resting protectively on one of the two small children beside her. The acorn, coming from the most sacred of trees, represents the fertility that Cybele brings to the land and the small figures beside her bear that out. Her other hand is placed on her heart. I truly believe that if you listen you will hear the words that mother goddesses have chanted throughout the ages. I bid you welcome, and grant you fertility of the heart, mind and body.”

  Eurynome looked at the treasure in her hand with respect.

  “So it is that Cybele’s vast wisdom is enclosed within this acorn,” she said, tenderly handing it to Marta, “that from this tiny acorn is born an enormous tree such as this.”

  With reverence her arm swept above her towards a gently sloping oak branch, just as a raven swooped in to perch.

  “The oak is a sacred tree,” she continued. “It conceals the doorway between the world of the seen and unseen. Ravens see things many do not. They teach us this, by the fact that they feast upon the eyes of their prey. In essence they are telling us, use your eyes to see, or we shall come for them. Brother Raven came today to teach you that many are ignorant and superstitious; they claim evil where it is not. It is up to you to know the difference between good and evil. You wish to have the sight. Raven came to extend that gift to you. But you must ask that the gift be yours, not envy that it is not.”

  Marta found herself staring at the acorn and when she looked up Eurynome was gone. Marta did not know whether to be angry or appreciative that Eurynome had spent the time with her.

  Grandmother busied herself with her chores, trying in vain to ignore the attention her mind kept giving to the subject of the pilgrimage. The sun’s glare was so harsh that it was necessary for her to shield her eyes when she looked at Eurynome. Her granddaughter, she thought, could one such as she be groomed as a priestess? Imagine her constantly being told what to do and not to do, ha! She had it in her head that the Goddess Cybele would recognize her in some way, and bless her! Madness!

  As Eurynome approached, Grandmother, with frustration in her voice, said, “This trip is impossible! What good will come of dwelling on it, child?” But then the events of the night Eurynome was born flashed into her vision. With a shrug of resignation she thought, mayhap I should consider making the trip if…

  Eurynome, impatient with the silence that had followed her grandmother’s last remark, said, “We have Two Door. He’ll gladly make the trip with us. I’m sure if I explain to him the great honor of being accepted as an offering for my audience with Cybele, he would be proud to do it.”

  Grandmother was aghast at the impudence of her granddaughter.

  “You mustn’t take the name of the great goddess so lightly,” she scolded her. “Acting as if it is your right to have an audience with her could bring torture on you and any that you will beget.”

  Eurynome’s head snapped up.

  “Never!” she vehemently mouthed the word. “I will beget no child until I cleanse the world of men who grind women under their feet, taking their pleasure and tossing the woman and child aside as if they were something foul when they are finished! Men sack temples and put their gods above the goddesses. You know the only reason Hattusas is still intact is because of the female warriors vigilantly protecting the great hall. The thickness of the walls and all its great towers would do very little good if not for the proud women that protect it.

  “I will be such a warrior!” Eurynome, her face pinched in an expression of disgust, jabbed her finger toward her heart. “But I will not wait till the men come in the night with their stealthy ways. I will find out where such men are and kill them! I will be swift and give no mercy for they have given none.”

  Eurynome herself was surprised at her own vehement outburst, instinctively knowing, as she did, that some of this hate and distrust came from another lifetime. She wished she could understand more. Her mind seemed constantly to be searching for answers that seemed to be just out of reach. Her grandmother’s words interrupted her musings.

  “Oh child, I am fearful of the ideas you entertain.”

  Yet, at that moment, Grandmother knew clearly that the child would become a woman on the pilgrimage, and she knew it was her destiny to see that Eurynome would make this journey. And yes, she sighed, with a peculiar smile, thinking, the pig Two Door, aptly named because he could not fit into the shelter unless they opened up both doors, would make a good offering. He was supposed to be their meat for the next winter, yet this trip could change many things. What was the good of looking so far ahead when life was so uncertain, she thought as she exhaled noisily? Yes, the only way was to make the journey. Her decision was not an easy one, yet really the only one she could make, knowing somehow that it would be just a short while before the time would come to part with her granddaughter. All this hesitation was just putting off the inevitable. What greatness lay ahead for this child… and what sorrow? pondered Theba.

  The next month went by quickly. Grandmother noticed great changes were taking place for Eurynome in body as well as mind. She had become much quieter now and closely observed everything, even the tiniest insect and the color change of the leaves on the trees. She spent less time in the woods, yet she was never really separate from nature and its workings. Eurynome would sometimes take an apple, slice it through the middle, and just sit and stare at the seeds in the center.

  Just as Grandmother was thinking of this strange behavior she observed the child, or could she even think of her as a child any longer, take the apple she was holding and place it in the crook of a large branch. Then, backing up a distance, she threw her hatchet, halving the apple, and calmly took half of it to ponder under the shade of the tree. Grandmother knew she missed her teacher Jontue who had gone to Hattusas.

  Eurynome indeed was remembering his teachings, as she stared intently at the half apple she held in her hand. “The core of an apple is shaped like the womb of a woman,” he had told her, “The seeds in the middle are to remind you every time you eat of the fruit that the goddess is central to all life.” Jontue had told her to ponder the apple as her journey to womanhood unfolded. Eurynome found her development fascinating, yet still was getting used to the seemingly enormous breasts that got in her way as she threw her labry, her double bladed hatchet. Also, when she used the bow and arrow, she needed to adjust to her new growth.

  “It is time we spoke of the journey.” said Grandmother with a big sigh as she lowered herself to the ground next to her granddaughter.

  “What is left to speak on?” asked Eurynome with a shrug. “We have all of our food prepared. I have spoken to Two Door and he is quite content with his fate. I am clever with my blade and labry. I have decided I will move ahead of the party and see to their safety. What more will we discuss?”

  Grandmother’s voice tightened as she said, “Now see here, how is it that you have taken it upon yourself to be the asculter? Jontue is to be the one to scout for us. I know he is sick, but he has always been the one to lead pilgrimages. He will not allow this!”

  Eurynome looked directly into her grandmo
ther’s eyes and in a dry monotone voice said, “He is dead. It is better that it is over now. He has prepared me for this,” spoke Eurynome with finality. “He and I knew he would not make it to Hattusas with us.”

  “There has been no signal of a death!” Grandmother spoke sharply. “The men with him are few, and care not for us. But they would have alerted us if Jontue had died!”

  In the same emotionless manner, Eurynome answered, “Make no mistake about it. The spirit of death has come and gone.” There was a deep sadness about her, and yet a strong resolution as she looked toward the northern sky. In the twilight, a ribbon of smoke softly played against the hills. It was a funeral pyre from the other village.

  Spotting the smoke rising from the distant hills, yet again Grandmother realized that this frustrating child had insights that could not be denied. So she picked herself up from the ground with resignation and made peace with the fact that Eurynome would lead and keep them safe on their journey to the Great Goddess. I pity the Goddess Cybele, she thought, as she will have to deal with this willful and headstrong child. And she reminded herself that she should no longer think of her as a child.

  Motionless as a statue carved from marble, her breath smooth and easy just as Jontue had taught her, Eurynome stood beside the remnants of Jontue’s funeral pyre. The men from his village had all gone and she was glad to be alone.

  Memories of times with Jontue came flooding back to her. He had told her glorious stories of ancient goddesses, and had spoken of the grand statues at Hattusas, bringing them alive for her. He was the only man she had ever trusted, perhaps because of his age; he had already become a man when she was born. Warmth flowed through her as she remembered how she had recognized his voice, even as a child. Upon hearing it for the first time, she had flown out from behind Grandmother’s robe straight into his arms. As she grew older, she knew his was a voice she had loved throughout time, yet intuitively, she also knew she had disappointed him in their last life together.