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

by Rane, April

  “Well, do not keep me waiting. I want to put it on!” Czarinaea scolded impatiently. “I must see how it feels.”

  Lotzar twirled around, showing quite a bit of leg as she imitated her flirtatious manner with the tradesman.

  “I must tell you the story first,” she said, affecting a respectful bow. “Surely you can wait a quick moment my queen.”

  They both fell on the bed laughing at Lotzar’s attempt to act like a servant. The only child of their housemaid, she and Czarinaea, being the same age, had become the best of friends. They had learned to ride together, though when it came to hunting, Lotzar said she would rather cook and clean, even if no one had ever seen her do either. It seemed she was good at telling stories that entertained, and at flirting with the male servants, which in turn, got her anything she wanted.

  “You begged to come with me, to be a servant, therefore you should be submissive and hand over the necklace.” Czarinaea laughed until she finally had to hold her side at the sight of her friend bowing to her ‘queen’ and talking as a servant would.

  “Lotzar, do you even know how to be a servant?”

  With a sparkle in her eye Lotzar said, “I know much about being a friend! The rest I can acquire.”

  Czarinaea’s renewed laughter brought tears as she realized that she was friendless except for this incredible girl. Lotzar had such integrity, she thought, and would zealously protect her in any situation. Had her mother not sent her to me, she reminded herself, she would be alone in this bedlam of men while they preen themselves and war at the drop of a hat. Then again I’ve heard of tribes of women that are just as bloodthirsty, but the Emetchi only fight to protect themselves or others that are being taken advantage of. Unbidden thoughts of her mother emerged like a bolt of lightning winding its way through a dark murky sky. She reached for her friend and cried in her arms. There was no need to say a word.

  Lotzar recognized the pain, for she also carried a deep longing for her mother and their homeland. Then, taking Czarinaea’s hand, she lovingly placed the necklace in her palm.

  Pushing her raven curls off her face and wiping her tears, Czarinaea stood and put the amulet gingerly around her neck. Composing herself she remembered the last time she had cried; it was at the bathing pool. She was very aware that crying marked periods of great change in her life. Reaching for the talisman, she painfully realized that the crescent moon that harbored a tear shaped emerald was hanging in the very spot from whence came the warrior’s cry.

  She touched her finger to her bottom lip and felt a slight quiver. A soft, sad “hippa, hippa,” the cry that female warriors make when entering the battle field, involuntarily passed through her lips. She knew that for her, all of this was a battle and she must not weaken. Her dream of going to the temple would never come to pass, but she was to serve in another way. Her visions told her that she was to lead men and women alike, and that her name would linger long after she was dead and buried. She would be known as a woman that was fair and brave. She was not sure how she felt about the visions, but she was aware that they always proved themselves to be true.

  Both women, sisters of the blood, walked out into the herb garden and gazed up at the moon. It was waxing… a golden crescent that looked exactly like the amulet that Czarinaea wore. They both knew it was an omen.

  Marmareus woke her from slumber, roughly shaking her shoulder.

  “The Medes are riding north. We can intercept them,” he told her. “The surprise will leave them at our mercy. Come! It is time to ride.”

  Because he had been telling her for days to be at the ready, her tunic and belt were at her bedside. Lifting her breastplate and her new shield, untouched as yet by battle, she suddenly envisioned a scene in which she was sitting beside a man who she knew to be her teacher. He was lovingly handing her a shimmering golden shield that had been intricately designed by him.

  Stunned by the premonition, she stared at the protective shield in her hand. Today she was going to meet the man that had fashioned for her a shield in another life. Panic rose, yet her heart pounded. Slipping excitedly into the armor, she moved quickly and steadily behind Marmareus. The knowing smile that passed her lips seemed to heighten the importance of the premonition, as it dangled intrigue before her.

  The horse handlers stood outside the gate, the scouts already in the saddle anxiously awaiting the king with news of the enemies’ position. The king was excited. This would lead to the eventual fall of Media, a prized city. He would kill and take the heads of the leaders, and plunder their goods. He could taste victory. It was his. On entering the open countryside they were joined by more than a thousand Scythian warriors.

  They rode steadily all day, and when it was time to make camp Czarinaea rode off in the direction the scout had taken earlier in the day, knowing full well that Marmareus would doubtless fall into a rage and send someone after her. But if he did, the man did not find her and when at last she returned and crawled into the space where her mate was feigning sleep, he pointedly ignored her.

  “They have changed direction.” said Czarinaea matter-of-factly. “They come toward us. Our fires are out so they will not spot us this night. On the morrow we will meet them on the field of battle.”

  He did not move nor ask her how she knew this, and she knew that, no doubt, he was ruing the day he had seen her by the river and that he was damming her as a brazen hussy, no doubt because he knew she was right, and hated her for it. His scouts had fallen for the misleading clues that the Medes had left.

  Czarinaea was up before the sun crested the horizon to tell the men to be very quiet and to eat dried food. There would be no fire. Small groups of them were being told of the new development and it passed to all the warriors. They now knew that there was no way to surprise the Medes. The call was given and they rode out forty abreast in the direction she had indicated.

  The scout came toward them, shame in his eyes, and turned to retrace his path. Marmareus, Czarinaea and a small party followed him to the top of a precipice where they stopped and took in the scene below. Seeing perhaps five hundred well armed men galloping toward them, Marmareus told the small gathering to ride back and have the troops split and ride around the small hill they stood on. They would take the enemy from the east and westerly flank.

  “East first. Let them think that is all we have. We outnumber them. Keep this in mind!” he shouted to the party as they rode off.

  King Marmareus was known for his battlefield strategy. Many times he had surprised his enemy. This time the tide was turned, however, and he was not pleased.

  “Shall we ride together or should I take the west group and –”

  He cut her off. “We ride together, my queen by my side. Is that not what you have told me, dear queen?”

  Brazenly the enemy came from the east, battle cries and the beat of war drums filling the air. King and Queen rode neck and neck, spurring their horses on, keeping a keen eye on everything happening around them. The sound of metal on metal wrenched the air as armor was struck by arrows and swords. Horses cried out as they careened into each other and the heavy sounds of bodies hitting the ground rent the early morning dew.

  Czarinaea moved through the throng of horse flesh, deftly defying many who sought to bring her down simply because she rode beside the King. Her maneuvers took her to the middle of the battle, where she attacked the most mighty of the warriors, swiftly unhorsing him just before a sharp blow to her head from behind stunned her. She fell forward as her horse reared up from a brutal injury to his neck.

  Momentarily dazed, her world threatening to go black, she swayed and felt something sharp enter her side above her belt. Looking down she saw that a dagger had penetrated in an upward thrust just under her armor. Weak as she was, she tried to focus on pulling it out. Knowing that she was not going to be able to stay astride much longer she pulled the reins hard to move away from the middle of the battlefield. Her horse in pain, reared up again, pawing the air.

  She fell hard,
and although she tried to roll to her feet, horses and men seemed to be taking every inch of ground. Then, suddenly, Czarinaea felt herself being pulled out of the mayhem. As the battle continued she went limp, giving in to the weakness that had threatened and to the safety she felt in the arms that surrounded her. A face appeared before her, and a voice, seemingly from a distance, asked where she was hurt. Gentle hands knowingly prodded her body for injuries.

  I’ve seen those eyes in a vision, she thought. But everything in her world was hazy. Those eyes! Why couldn’t she remember where she had seen them before? She struggled to remain conscious, but little by little the scene before her became a distant play, the sounds lost their shrill tones and then complete blackness engulfed her.

  During the next few days Czarinaea was semi-conscious for small periods of time, only half aware of the people around her. The smells were different and the small bits of food that she was fed seemed spicier than the normal fare. She did not feel frightened, for the dreams she was having were so delightful. She had over-heard the remark more than once that she was out of her head, but if that was what this was, it was glorious.

  She immersed herself in the enticing inner vision she was having. The sights and sounds and colors were more vivid than anything she had ever encountered. Out from the brilliant hues rode a superbly handsome man, who was racing beside her, and both were laughing at the fact that she had won.

  Not wanting the vision to end, she squeezed her eyes shut to deny the outer world and willed it to continue. Moving in a haze of vibrant colors, she saw herself and the handsome man diving under sparkling azure water, playing like children. When they emerged from the water they were naked and he was throwing colorful flowers at her feet. Drawn to his mesmerizing eyes, she recognized that this was the man who had taken her from the battle field. Oh those eyes! Had she brought him to her with her foolish magic? She recalled her sister’s warning.

  “No, no!” she cried, beginning to struggle violently until, sitting bolt upright, she attempted to leave the pallet where she was lying only to be gently forced down again. Those strong arms, she realized, belonged to the one that had been in her visions all along. Desperately she tried to erase her youthful folly.

  Her forehead was being bathed with cold water and the voice that spoke lulled her to sleep again, a voice like the sounds of a gentle river on a still day.

  In her dreams, she heard herself say, “I cannot do this! I am queen and I will lead the people. They depend on me. I must be strong. No man can hold my heart for it would bind me. I have not come into this life to serve a man. I’ve come to free women from oppression and cruelty and to stop the destruction of the sacred shrines of the Goddess.”

  But even as she said the words, she knew that she hadn’t been doing as she had promised. But who was it that she had promised? A goddess! The name on her lips was Diana.

  “I’ve promised…I’ve promised. She sent me on a mission,” As her dreams, her visions and her waking time seemed to run together, she began to worry that she was out of her head.

  But far worse than the fears of being delusional were the moments of absolute certainty that she was awake and everyone that came and went from her room had halos around them. The man, the beautiful man with soulful eyes had bright gold around his head and rich verdant green around his body. It was startling to see how strong the colors in his aura were when compared to others that she saw. But see them she did and it was frightening. Yet there was awareness on a deeper level that it meant something. She searched for answers and finding none she wondered if her spirit guide would help … and then she realized she wasn’t speaking to her. She felt desolate and alone and thrashed about on the pallet seeking forgiveness, even though she had no knowledge of whom or what she was asking forgiveness of.

  Czarinaea felt strong arms around her, but did not know if it was a dream or if he was really holding her. It was so extraordinarily comforting that she did not want it to end. She cried out, “Goddess you want too much of me. I cannot do this thing you ask, truly I cannot! Do not ask, do not…”

  Her voice drifted off as she slowly slipped into a deep healing sleep.

  Holding her, Stryangaeus called out to one of the house boys to come and help him.

  “Gaylor, bring a new pallet and follow me.” He lifted her gently and carried her outside.

  The teachings of the Goddess say the light of the Sun is healing he thought to himself, as he walked toward the river remembering his mother’s words, “a clean pallet and lots of water and mashed berries from the Golden Rod tree will hasten healing.” He had given the cook the precise instructions for creating the potion.

  When Gaylor laid the pallet where his master had instructed, Stryangaeus tenderly laid her down. Holding a pouch of coriander seeds he wet them in the river and put them on her wound. This was his favorite spot on the river. He would keep her here till the setting of the sun. Perhaps when she woke, she would not be so frightened.

  Gaylor, fascinated by his master’s concern for his enemy, stood staring, his blond hair sticking up like hay and his freckled face red from his exertion of bringing the bed. Stryangaeus knew this young man cared for him. He recognized the fear and confusion in his eyes and he soothingly put his hand out and ruffled the young man’s head.

  “It’s alright Gaylor. Go to the cook hall and see if the medicinal tea is ready, and if so bring it to me. After that perhaps you could fish for our supper. Would you like that?”

  For three days, having carried her outside into the sun, Stryangaeus sat by her side at the river, as he sang the lullabies that he had heard his mother sing to the babes that were born after him. Remembering with his mother hardly cold in her grave, his father had been busy with the house servant. The only justice was that she had died in childbirth too. He remembered that he and his sister attended her, for none of the midwives hurried to her side. Some even claimed that his father’s wench had given poison to his mother to get her out of the way.

  Yes t’was father’s way to charm the ladies, Stryangaeus mused, as he glanced down at the beautiful woman lying by his side. His olive skin and light hair glistening in the sunlight was a stark contrast to her pale skin and deep blue/black curls wet from his efforts to wash away the blood. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder, trying to move himself away from the direction of his thoughts. But they still plagued him.

  What on earth was he doing here with this woman? How was it that she had won his heart as no one else had been able to do, and yet she had not even spoken his name? What was to come of this? He was wed, and she belonged to another.

  Stretching seductively like a sleek mountain cat, her muscled body rippling under her light clothing, Czarinaea stirred from her long slumber, her whispered breathe a deep purr of contentment.

  She had inspired his heart, and now the sight of her awakening tore through his body. Passion came like thunder out of a darkness he did not know he possessed. She is weak in body and spirit, he thought, I can’ nor slake my passion upon her….

  Golden embers danced in the dark depths of Czarinaea’s eyes as she looked deep into those of the man she had seen in her visions. Running her tongue over her lips she opened her mouth as if to speak, but found she could not.

  When Stryangaeus took his index finger and traced her full lips, she did not move, nor did she turn away from him when he wetted his middle finger in his mouth, even though the moisture from his finger on her lips created hot wet heat in her woman-hood. Instinctively she reached for him, and they melted together. Their hearts recognized ancient flames of desire, dancing in a circle of forever. It was the perfect merging of one body, one essence and one heart. When he entered her, she cried tears of such deep sadness, tears of longing that she had only dreamed of, tears of release, of coming home in some way that she could not fathom.

  Czarinaea felt herself lifting from her body. Above, in spirit she watched the bodies below. Observing the tenderness and in awe of the passion that raged through he
r, she recognized she was observing and feeling the heat of the union all in the same moment. She did not want the moment to end, for if it did, she was not sure it would be possible to make sense of what was happening to her.

  When the lovers, sated, lay side by side with hands entwined, Czarinaea finally spoke.

  “I was once betrothed to a man whose name I did not know,” she told him. “And now I am besotted by a man who has not shared his name, but somehow has given me an understanding of the depths of who he is and the measure of the man he has always been. My good sense tells me that if we part now our lives would be easier. My heart tells me I must know everything about you, even before you tell me your name. Do this for me. Tell me of your life. Tell me every bit of it, all that you can remember.”

  Stryangaeus said, “I will if only you do the same, for I want to know your life, to hold its essence in my hands and feel every nuance. Just as I have felt the immeasurable spirit of your body, I must feel the boundless spirit of your life.”

  And so they talked for hours, lying side by side. She told him of every vision she had had, including the ones in which she had seen him. Czarinaea hesitantly told him about seeing an aura around some people when she was a child. But now the colors were brilliant and she could see them around everyone, which only happened since the injury on the battle field. She asked him if he thought there was something wrong with her eyes.

  “No, quite the contrary,” he assured her. “My mother saw color around everything, trees, flowers and people alike. She said that it gave her secret information about plants for making herbs and important information about people, whether they were good or bad.”