Page 50 of Firebird
It was the witch inside me who pushed me now, so I obeyed. I wrapped a scarf over my head as I walked inside. Down a short corridor, I passed a line of columns into a grander domed space, the interior of the temple, which was cool and silent. Shocked, because I was expecting the god of the underworld, Pluto, I froze at the sight of the figure looming large above me.
At the temple’s center stood a magnificent white marble statue of Proserpina, a beacon of light shining on her from an oculus above. She took my breath away.
In half-skin, she spread her arms and wings wide as if in welcome. She was bare-breasted with a sash tied loosely around her hips, one clawed foot and slender leg extending from the drapery. Her tail curled in a way that indicated she was in movement. She was heading somewhere with a fierce, determined expression on her lovely face, coils of hair falling over one shoulder.
Heavens, she was lovely. If the real Proserpina was half as beautiful as this artist had rendered, she would be almost too magnificent to behold.
To the right, a white marble statue of Pluto loomed in an alcove, lit with oil lamps. I gave him a cursory glance. He was also beautiful, horns and spikes sprouting from his head in half-skin as some dragons bore them. But he didn’t occupy this space and dominate the temple as his wife did.
A priestess in white, her head and face veiled by gossamer fabric, walked to the front of the temple, knelt, and whispered a quick prayer. I watched her, wondering about the white dragons, the females who were born being an anomaly to their kind, forced to become priestesses at Roman temples simply by expectation of their birth.
Of course, what choices did any of us truly have? By birth, we wereforced into some circumstance and place in this world that wasn’t of our choosing. But of the gods’.
I stared up into the fierce expression of Proserpina. She’d been stolen from her home above and forced to marry Pluto and live in his world below. But fear or grief or remorse wasn’t what I saw on her expression now. She’d taken control of her fate. She’d become a queen in her own right. And she was stepping forward to greet and welcome the souls entering her husband’s kingdom.
The priestess rose from her kneeling position. She glanced at me and was about to walk right past when I asked her, “Why do you worship Proserpina and not Pluto?”
The priestess moved in her fluid way to stand and face the statue with me. “Because she rules the underworld.” Her voice was soft and pleasant.
“No, she doesn’t.” That wasn’t what I’d always been taught about the Roman gods.
“Trust me,” said the slim priestess, standing nearly a foot taller than me, as most patricians did. “She does.”
“How does she do this?”
The priestess faced me. I could barely see pale pink eyes behind the veil. “Because she rules her king’s heart. He will do anything for her. Therefore, supreme power is always in her hands. Not his.”
Then she slid away and disappeared down another corridor leading to the back of the temple while I remained pleasantly dumbfounded.
Without waiting another moment, I stepped forward and knelt before Proserpina, removing the cloth bag I carried with me. I’d borrowed the one that Stefanos used when gathering eggs for that was all I could find.
I pulled out four red geraniums. Kara had tended the pot of flowers that decorated the atrium of Julian’s home, and I didn’t think anyone would miss a few buds.
Two petals had fallen off but otherwise they were just as perfect as they were in Julian’s atrium. They reminded me of my baby sister, Kizzy. She loved flowers, always plucking them from meadows and adorning her hair, skipping along and smiling.
I say she was the baby, though she was only a few minutes younger than her twin, Kostanya. But Kizzy always seemed younger, so innocent and sweet. Kostanya was serious and watchful, the leader of the two.
My hands trembled as I placed the first flower before the altar of Proserpina where other offerings had been laid—food, flowers, even silver denarii, and promises to the gods scrawled on parchment.
“For Enid,” I whispered. “I pray you’ve found peace, my dear friend.”
Then I placed the second red bud on the floor.
“For you, Kizzy.” I pressed my forehead to the cold stone and whispered a prayer that Proserpina would look after her in the underworld as well.
Sitting straight, I said, “For you, Kostanya.” I thought of my solemn sister, who’d always watched out for us, mothering us when Mama wasn’t with us as we traveled. Then I placed the flower next to the first and pressed my forehead to the stone again, whispering another prayer.
I set the final flower as a tear slipped free. I was closest to Lela since the twins had each other. That night we were attacked, she’d looked so beautiful in the gown Bunica had made for her, love shining in her eyes as she gazed up at Jardani.
When the Romans in half-skin had charged into the wedding at the center of our village, I’d frozen. I’d seen the one who swiped a claw across Jardani’s throat, spraying blood on Lela’s dress while she screamed. Papa had jerked me aside and shoved me toward the woods.
Run!His voice echoed in my mind now. I’d instantly obeyed him, noting the flash of relief on his face, and through the tether I’d attached to him the second he’d grabbed me. I ran as fast as my legswould take me deeper into the woods, panting and sweating, then I sensed a sharp pain through the tether, and instantly after, I felt nothing. The connection severed even while I reached and grasped for it with my magic, the ghostly frays slipping away into the ether.
That was when the tears had begun to fall. My papa was dead. And the rest of my family with him.
Later, I asked every traveler from Dacia if they’d heard any news of my village. One man had scowled when I mentioned it, saying he’d heard of the attacks, having lived a few villages away. He’d said that part of a Roman legion was drunk on bloodlust and had used not only my village but also several others to gorge themselves. Something about dragon madness had overtaken them.
When I’d asked the stranger about survivors, he’d shaken his head and said, “No one survived.”
