The Mother
by Lisa Farrell
All rights reserved
Copyright © October, 2010, Lisa Farrell
Cover Art Copyright © 2010, Charlotte Holley
Gypsy Shadow Publishing
Manchaca, TX
www.gypsyshadow.com
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this eBook are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this eBook may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and eMail, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing.
* * *
“We are all proud of you, Alandra,” the Mother said. “You have learned your lessons well.”
“Thank you, Mother,” she said, bowing low and taking hold of the holy skirts to kiss them. The feel of the rough, bleached fabric against her lips was familiar and comforting.
“You performed well on the last mission, and we think that the time has come to send you on a task of your own. Do you feel ready to face the world with no one by your side?”
“I know that the Great Mother will be watching, Mother,” she said, unable to keep the smile from her face. She kept her eyes cast down. “I will attempt whatever task you see fit to give me.”
“Good, child.”
She felt the Mother's bony fingers brush her cheek, and images began to flick through her mind like memories. She saw the house they wanted her to hit, along with the route she must take to find it.
“It is up to you, child, how you bring their fate upon them. But the Great Mother has made Her choices and tonight you must be Her instrument. However you do it, be sure that Her will is made known.”
Alandra nodded, the smile still upon her face. She waited, listening to the slow, sliding footsteps of the Mother shuffling away across the marble floor. She flexed her hands, stretching her fingers, then clenched them into a fist, digging her long nails into her palms. Only when the Mother was definitely gone did she lift her head. The room was empty, but for the crates stacked against one wall, obscuring a frieze of the Great Mother defeating the crocodile god of a nearby island, some old enemy of her people.
Alandra would not be carrying any more crates today, she would leave the task for some other child of the Great Mother to complete. She had to prepare herself for the work ahead. This would be her first solo mission, the first time the Mothers trusted her to go out into the world without some elder as an escort. She had done everything she could to show them how useful she could be, and now she finally had a chance to prove her competence.
She would pray. She left the storage room, her bare feet quiet as she walked with practised care. It was mid-afternoon and supplicants still lingered in the temple, waving incense sticks and muttering before the image of the Great Mother. Her statue was made of white marble like the floor, and looked as cold. Her expression was meant to be serene, but it looked merely unfocussed to Alandra, as though the Goddess gazed uncaring over her people and did not see them. Her six arms were spread out, her palms cupped to receive candles and offerings. It had once been one of Alandra's jobs to clean and polish them when night fell and the temple closed, but she had given that job onto another, younger child as soon as she was able.
She passed the statue and went through the dark doorway behind to the inner sanctum, where only the Mothers and children of the temple were allowed to go. She passed through the room containing the Casket, said to house stars that had dropped from the sky, sent by the Great Mother to be made into powerful weapons of war. Beautiful shells had been arranged around it, gifts from the waters surrounding the island, the waters that kept their enemies at bay for much of the year.
Alandra passed on, listening to the whisper of the augury bats shifting about on the ceiling above her. She entered the last corridor, which sloped steeply downwards and was never lit. It was wide enough for two people to pass, as long as each kept to one side. She traced a finger along the wall beside her. It was of stone, but had been polished to feel as smooth as glass. She took a deep breath. The air was warm and smelt of cloves. She quickened her pace, anticipating the warm glow of the sacrificial fire. She could already see red light at the end of the tunnel.
Here, under the earth, she truly felt the presence of the Goddess. Here she was safe. She entered the large cavern and looked up to show her face to that of the Great Mother, in her darker form. Fanged jaws and snake-eyes greeted her, six hands held knives and whips, a torch and a globe of truth. This statue was made of the hard, dark rock found deep inside the earth. It shone, glinting red in the light of the fire that always burned before the statue. The fire where offerings were consumed.
This was where the Mothers lived their selfless lives, where they slept and ate, absorbing the power of the Dark Mother to bring it to Her people. This was where the healing came from, not from fragrant smoke blown around the marble image standing somewhere above their heads. Here the power lay.
Alandra approached the fire, drawing her slim dagger from its sheath, which lay concealed against her chest. She had little of her own to give so as she had before, when she was first allowed to glimpse the statue, she offered herself. She took a handful of her hair and held it taut, cutting it off near the scalp. She threw her offering into the fire before her and watched the strands leap and curl in the flames, and wrinkled her nose at the sharp smell they gave off as they burned. One day she would bring the Goddess something better, when she had proved herself worthy.
She knelt down, one knee pressed hard into the rocky floor, and bent her head over the other knee. She closed her eyes and gripped her dagger with both hands, pledging herself to the service of her Goddess, in all Her forms.