Page 113 of Firebird
Tucking the dagger, the dragon skin, and the candle into my satchel with the peaches, I met Rhea and Doro outside.
“Now to the temple. See, Doro. We won’t be late at all.”
“We best hurry,” said Doro, looking up at the sky. “Rain is coming.”
He was right. Gray clouds billowed low from over the hills, slowly creeping toward the city. I followed Rhea at a brisk pace, back through the narrow alleys and onto the main road through the Aventine. It was even busier now, thick with a crush of people.
A gusty wind began to blow, the sky growing darker, rolling with thunder. The wind whipped my hair and billowed the cloth canopies over the shops. Vendors rushed to get their wares indoors.
“Quickly, Gideon!” A mother holding a babe in one arm pressed the veil over her head with her other hand as the wind tried to rip it off. A boy ran alongside her, clutching onto her skirts.
By the time we reached the temple, the first drops of rain began to fall.
“Malina,” called Rhea, taking Doro’s hand and hauling him toward a taberna where the smell of roasted meats and vegetables wafted onto the street. “We will wait for you in there to keep out of the rain. Don’t be too long!”
I nodded, then rushed into the temple, tucking the damp strands of hair that had come loose from my braid behind my ear. As soon as I was past the columns and inside the domed temple, there was that great hush of quiet that I loved about sacred spaces.
Lightning crashed outside, but I stepped farther into the atrium where two other worshippers knelt and whispered and prayed, lighting candles and leaving gifts of honey cakes and fruit and dead animals. I walked around them until I found a quiet spot to the left of the painted sculpture of Minerva close to the front altar.
Proserpina’s statue was magnificent and awe-inspiring, but Minerva’s likeness was horrifyingly beautiful.
Minerva was painted with mostly white wings, tipped with purple, the same shade as her eyes. Her black hair billowed in an unseen wind, which seemed to match the storm now pummeling the dome over our heads. Her breastplate was painted gold, a darker shade than her golden gown ending at her clawed feet. She held a sword high in her hand; herother hand was open, palm out, claws extended. The horns curling out of her skull were gold as well.
But it was her expression—fierce, determined, and confident—that held me most spellbound. I hoped this was what she actually looked like. A female goddess ready to do damage to her enemies. I needed a defender like Minerva on my side.
So I knelt quickly and pulled the square of dragon skin and the dagger from inside my bag. The other two worshippers were far away and wouldn’t see, not that they were minding me anyway. They were deep in their own requests and prayers, whispering to the goddess with heads bowed.
The wind howled and the rain poured down outside as I flattened the dragon skin to the stone floor. The temple was dimly lit with torches circling the dome but I could see well enough.
I carved the words in my own language, tears springing to my eyes as I embedded the Dacian words, whispering them to Minerva.
“Minerva, divine goddess, I beg you to protect my love and destroy all of my enemies.”I read what I’d written, then looked up at her and added, “You know who they are.” For I could not take the chance and name them. Any of them. Then I began carving again.“In exchange, and upon the final death of our oppressors, I give you back my magic. I return it entirely into your keeping for when it is needed again.”
I stared at the words, then lifted the dagger and sliced crossways where I’d been cut for the Rite of Skulls. How prophetic that I should overlap the same mark for their blasphemous rite with a righteous one. I cut deeper until my blood dripped freely upon the dragon skin, soaking in my sacrifice.
“Please, hear my prayer,” I whispered to the goddess before I pressed my open palm, stamping the words one last time.
Folding the square several times, I wrapped it closed and ripped a strip of my tunic from the hem. Then I stared at it. I couldn’t bind my prayer and my bargain with the goddess with a piece of cloth fromCiprian, my chief enemy. It must be bound with something precious to me or she might not hear me.
I stared up at Minerva’s fierce expression, thunder rumbling loud through the temple. Lightning flashed outside, brightening her face, her eyes, which seemed to be pinned on me. This was only a statue, and yet I felt her presence wafting and circling the room.
Tears streamed down my cheeks for I knew what was needed. With trembling fingers I reached behind my neck and unclasped the leather necklace. My papa had put the clasp on the soft hide rope and pierced a hole through the coin for me so that I could wear my talisman. And he’d never asked where I’d gotten it or why I’d kept it. He only knew that it made me smile.
Pulling the aureus into my palm, the gold coin minted with the face of Fortuna, the wedding gift of Julian’s father to his mother, I pressed a kiss to the talisman. “Minerva, protect us,” I whispered as I wound the chain around the dragon skin, binding the prayer with the possession I held most dear in all the world. “Loving spirits of the afterworld, protect us,” I added.
Then I took the short, fat candle Euphemia had given me and lit it from the larger oil lamp on the altar at Minerva’s clawed feet. I set the dragon skin, my sacrifice and prayer, underneath the candle, hoping the priestesses here would never remove it. Not until Minerva had granted my wish.
As if summoned, six priestesses draped in full white, veils covering their faces, slowly paraded out in a single line. They hummed in unison and then began singing a soft melody, a hymn to the goddess. I bowed my head and listened to the enchanting sound as they circled the altar, singing and praising her justice to protect the faithful, her mighty hand to destroy evildoers, and her wisdom in discerning who deserved her love. Their voices rose to the domed ceiling even as thunder rumbled louder.
Realizing I would be in their way when they circled to my side, Iused the scrap of linen I’d pulled from my tunic and wrapped my cut, biting one end to pull the knot tight.
Reverently, I stood, taking one last look at my square of dragon skin, my gold coin, and the candle, then turned and hurried away, wiping my eyes as I went. I walked toward the exit down the corridor between the row of columns and the small curtained vestibules meant for private sacrifices of large animals to the goddess.
I pondered that only patricians would likely be allowed to use them when a shadow leaped from one of the chambers. I squealed as I was grabbed from behind, a large hand clamped over my mouth. I kicked and fought, but my attacker was too big and strong, dragging me bodily backward behind the curtain of the closest vestibule. My heart thudded a fearful beat in my chest until I recognized the scent and the feel of the man at my back. Pulling his hand free, I spun, tears springing anew.
“Julian.”
XXXIII
