Page 85 of Moon Chosen

Then Mari began speaking. Her words echoed Leda’s, but they were her own—unique and heartfelt. And as she spoke Mari sketched within her imagination a beautiful scene. In it the silver threads of power that cascaded from the moon and only answered a Moon Woman’s call rained long, thick ropes down upon her beloved bramble thicket until the branches thickened and grew, and the sword-edged thorns multiplied and spread creating an impenetrable barrier from all who would harm Rigel and her.

“As my mother before me

It’s your protection I seek.

Let the moon’s powerful light

Swell thorns and branches this night.

By right of blood and birth channel through me

That which the Earth Mother proclaims my destiny!”

Cold power flowed into her palms with such ferocity that Mari had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out. She almost lost her concentration then, but she clung to the image in her mind, thinking over and over,I am just a channel… I am just a channel.With a sweeping gesture, Mari threw her arms wide, ridding herself of the cold power by sending it—like wildfire—into the bramble thicket.

The strange familiarity hit her with a force that almost dropped her to her knees.

The moon’s power coursed through her and into the plants surrounding her like wildfire…

Like fire from the sun. The feeling was so similar! Except that moonlight was cold and it healed. Sunlight—the sunlight grief and despair had caused her to channel the day of Leda’s death—was hot and it destroyed.

How could I have not thought about what I did? I set the forest on fire. Me!

It was then that Mari began to wonder about notwhoshe was, butwhat.

She heard Sora’s exclamation of surprise behind her, and Mari opened her eyes slowly, still managing to hold the image in her mind. All around her the brambles sparkled with glittering silver light. Each thorn glistened, firefly-like, as they swelled, lengthened, strengthened.

“Just like it used to do for Mama,” Mari whispered. “Even though I am definitely not my mama.”

Then, as quickly as it had begun it was over and the thicket settled back into the waiting darkness of a true protector.

Mari stared at the idol’s face. It was as serene as ever. Mari listened as hard as she could, and opened herself completely.

Nothing. She felt nothing. Not even one small, precious hint of the Goddess’s presence. With her mind in turmoil, Mari called Rigel to her, and while she waited for Sora to finish planting the fern, she took comfort in the unconditional love that came from her Companion.

25

Dead Eye was God. Of course the People called him Champion, or rathersome ofthe people called him Champion. Some still respectfully acknowledged him as Harvester. Some avoided him completely, choosing to spread rumors and dissension. Dead Eye understood that the dissenters acted from confusion and anger. They were used to worshipping a dead god given false voice by selfish old women. Dead Eye knew what changes he must make so that he and those of the People worth saving could move into a new future.

His first step was to purge the Temple.

The Reaper’s Temple was in the center of the ruined City. It was an unusual building, as was proper for housing a god. The buildings all around it had crumbled under the weight of time, but the Temple stood straight and tall. There was even some glass left in the dark windows. The skin of the building was also unique, and unlike anything else in the City. Slick green tile gave way to long, vertical stripes of red metal interspersed with broken glass and the cream-colored stone of the rest of the Temple.

The statue the People called the Reaper God perched above the covered entrance to the building, guarding it and the City in all of her fifty feet of magnificence. Dead Eye stared up at the statue, his fingertips stroking the trident scar on his arm contemplatively. As he met the cool, unwavering gaze of the Reaper, he was surprised to find that part of him still wished She would speak to him, even if it were to strike him down for trying to usurp Her.

But she did nothing. She wasn’t a god. She was simply a magnificent, empty statue.

Yes, Dead Eye knew what he must do.

It was dirty, disgusting work. He’d killed several of the obsolete Watchers the night he’d announced to the People that he was the Reaper’s chosen Champion, but within the Temple there was a nest of the vile old women that had been living there, sucking off the teats of the People for generation after generation.

Dead Eye entered the Temple, grimacing at the stale scent within. His eyes adjusted quickly to the murky daylight that filtered hesitantly in through the broken windows, and he headed to the stairway that led up to the God’s balcony and the chamber beyond that housed the Watchers.

Dead Eye remembered what the Watchers’ Chamber had look like when he’d been a boy and he’d been brought by the Caretakers to be presented to the God for the first time. It had been frightening and magnificent and mysterious.

Today the chamber he entered held almost no similarity to the one in his memory.

There were only two fires burning within the Watchers’ Chamber. The other metal pots were cold and filled with moldy ashes. The curtaining vines had grown untrimmed and untended so that they seemed to pour from the ceiling and form waves of green that threatened to drown the filthy pallets that held the sleeping bodies of Watchers. Bones were scattered in messy mounds all around the chamber. They hadn’t been cleaned. They hadn’t been arranged in patterns pleasing to the eye. Flies buzzed fretfully around the room, moving lazily from rotting pile to pile.