Goddess Rising

by Melissa Bowersock

  “But, Mother,” she said, “everyone knows the Ruins are the place where the Sibling will come. I knew that before. Everyone knows.” In her mind, Grace pleaded silently for Pat to become normal and discard all this terrifying urgency. Please, Mother, please stop talking strangely; please just be Pat again.

  “Not where the Sibling will come,” Pat said deliberately. Her fingers dug painfully into Grace’s shoulders. “Where the Sibling is—now.”

  Grace’s mind went blank. Somewhere, deep down, she thought Pat’s words should mean something to her, should spark some emotion—joy or excitement. The Sibling here? Now? But her mind drew a black curtain around the words that she feared would mean so much more and they disappeared into it. The very blackness frightened her, but not as much as the deep, silent realization beneath it.

  “Mother, I don’t understand,” she said, and for that moment it was true.

  “Orin was looking at you,” Pat said. “When he said he could see the Sibling, he was looking at you.”

  Grace felt lightheaded. “But Mother, he’s blind.” She shook her head in confusion. “He can’t really see.”

  Pat drew in a deep breath. “Your name is not Grace. You are Greer. You’re not my daughter; you are my sister. I delivered you from our mother as she died. Do you understand now? You are Greer; you are the Sibling.”

  “No,” Grace breathed. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, then flung them open, wide and wild. “No, Mother, you’re wrong. I’m Grace. I’m just Grace.”

  “You are the Sibling!” Pat shouted back. She shook the girl roughly, seeing the hysteria rising up in her eyes. “You are Greer!”

  “No, Mother—!”

  “I’m not your mother!”

  “NO!”

  Grace tore from Pat’s grasp and reeled several steps away. She clawed at her face with her hands, as if she might gouge away the words Pat had flung at her. She was suddenly shaking with sobs, the tears streaming down her face. “I’m Grace,” she cried into her hands. “I’m Grace.”

  “You are Greer,” Pat said tiredly.

  Grace flinched back, facing Pat suspiciously. “Don’t come near me,” she said. “You’re wrong. It’s not me. It can’t be me.”

  “I couldn’t tell you before,” Pat said. “There was too much you needed to learn. You needed to grow. But it’s time now. The Goddess’ time. Greer—”

  Grace’s arms straightened rigidly at her sides and her hands balled into fists. Her eyes were lit with bright fear and denial. “My name is Grace!”

  And she spun and ran down the path.

  CHAPTER 3

  Although Pat felt an honest sadness that the truth had frightened Grace into reacting so badly, she knew the Goddess’ will would be done in its proper time and she had more to worry about than Grace’s adjustment to the inevitable. Now more than ever, she had to see that the way of the Sibling was prepared for her coming, and having an hysterical old man—prophet or not—ranting and raving in the great room could only create pandemonium. When she returned to the gathering it was to find Orin hoarse from alternately crying out and calling on the Goddess, his blind eyes running with tears and struggling against the restraining hold of half a dozen people. The room was charged with strong, yet conflicting emotions; no one could deny the seer’s passion or conviction that he beheld the Sibling, but was it literal truth he spoke or symbolism, prophecy or desire, vision or insanity? The room was a bedlam of shouting, arguing, praying and sobbing. It took five men—four visitors and Abel—to get Orin out of the Ruins and into a tent of the visitors’ camp where his distance from that Goddess-charged place—or exhaustion—finally calmed him. Pat knew all speculation would be laid to rest when Grace—Greer—made her final, prophesied entrance, so she did not waste her time trying to explain what would come to pass in its own time. There was no need for that.

  But there was a need to restore order to the Ruins, and once the gathering had been broken up and the people sufficiently dispersed, Pat slipped into the familiar role of director and portioned out duties to the colony men and women that would return the Ruins to its normal functioning state. During the evening as she helped clean the great kitchen and noted others completing their tasks, she thought repeatedly of Grace and wondered when the child would come to her senses and come home.

  By full dark, there was still no sign of Grace and Pat felt rather sure she had slipped back unnoticed and perhaps gone to her room to compose herself and assimilate the changes this day had brought. When all the cleaning was done and the great room was once again restored to normal, she took her evening tour and last check of the day and stopped by Grace’s room on the way.

  There was no candle lit there, no evidence that Grace had been there at all. Her pallet was still made up from the morning. Pat held her own candle high and peered around the room, her sharp, practiced eyes searching for the absence of anything Grace might have taken if she had planned to really leave. All her favorite things were still there: the fist-sized rock with shards of rose crystal in it, the seeds of a flower she was waiting to plant in spring, the delicate lace shawl Erin had made for her of cornflower blue. Nothing of Grace’s was gone. Pat felt certain the girl was only hiding just outside, in the grove, maybe or at the stream. It was not possible that she would actually leave the Ruins and Pat fought down the dark uneasiness that wanted to churn up her stomach.

  She went finally to her own room, genuinely troubled that Grace had taken the truth so badly. There was a twinge of regret that she had had to force the revelation on Grace in such an abrupt, harsh way, but the arrival of the blind prophet gave her no time to prepare. The man was extremely sensitive and Grace’s very nearness had been prodding the envelope of that sensitivity, that Goddess-sense, until Pat knew it was only a matter of moments before he seized upon her presence and announced it to all. If her own way of revealing the truth was difficult for Grace to accept, how much more difficult to have Orin crying it out in front of Grace and everyone else in the crowded great room? At least Grace had not had to cope immediately with scores of people clamoring their praise, adoration, desires and demands. As sensitive as Grace was—even being the Sibling—she would most likely have been paralyzed by that kind of immediate, total responsibility. So if Pat’s methods had not been the kindest, they had been the best in a bad situation. And now Grace was gone.

  Pat knew better than to doubt the will or the wisdom of the Goddess but for the first time in her life she was afraid.

  Abel came to bed sometime later, having checked that everything outside was as secure and orderly as those things Pat checked inside. He undressed silently in the thin candlelight and got into bed beside Pat. Instead of lying down next to her rigid, awake form, he propped his head up on one hand and stared down at her. Her eyes were wide and unseeing.

  “Grace is Greer,” he said. It was a statement. There was no question to it.

  “Yes.” Pat’s voice sounded thin. “You did not see her outside?”

  Abel started. “See her? No. Where is she?”

  Pat gripped Abel’s arm to keep him from jumping up. “She’s gone. She’s not in the Ruins, but ... I don’t think she’ll go far. She’s upset. She’s afraid of the truth.”

  The first start of panic Pat’s words gave him was further prodded by a similar, sympathetic panic for Grace, for what she must be feeling. How shattering would it be to find out you are the one who must lead the world’s people to undreamed-of prosperity? He could imagine the debilitating effect that massive responsibility would have even on him, but on sweet, young Grace ...

  “Do you think she is all right?”

  Pat’s answer was automatic, devoid of emotion. “She is all right. She must be. She is the Sibling, and she will do as the Goddess commands. She has no choice.”

  Pat’s words chilled Abel. Was the way of the Goddess so harsh, so completely without warmth? Was Her benediction actually an iron manacle about all their throats? But surely the Goddess would not choose someone
who was too weak to bear the burden of Her gift. She would not choose Grace if Grace were too fragile for the task. In his mind, faith and conviction left no room for doubt—Pat was right; the task would be done—but in his heart, he feared for Grace. Countless times he remembered walking the paths beside her, talking lightly with her of the beauty in their valley, brushing elbows as she walked with bent head and deliberated over some small miracle she had seen. How could this joyful, loving child be the awesome instrument of the Goddess’ power? How could her fragile spirit be strong enough to translate that terrible power into deed? It seemed impossible to him. Impossible, too, that her nearness had never touched that dream-chord within him, never made his spirit sing with awareness. Obviously there was much that he did not understand, was not meant to understand. All he could do, like his wife, was trust in the Goddess and wait.

  “I’ll still worry about her,” he said out loud.

  Pat hesitated. “I will, too. I don’t feel ... right about her being gone. I feel as if my stomach were a ball of lead. I know she’ll be all right, but I don’t like her being gone. She’s been my child ... for so long.”

  Abel stared down at his wife in surprise, hearing the uncharacteristic hesitation in her voice, seeing the unfamiliar pain on her face. He had never seen Pat unsure, confused. Even to him, she had always presented a controlled face, never doubting for a heartbeat the wisdom, the inevitability, of the Goddess’ will. Now he could see all the questions he’d asked himself and more in his stoic wife’s eyes. He could see how the weight of obligation had burdened her, how she had carried that burden willingly and silently, even when it caused anguish, even when it bore her down to her knees, as now. And for the first time he could see the anguish behind the devotion, the doubt behind the knowing, the tears behind the prayers. Pat was no Goddess; she was human and a very special woman. Abel’s heart went out to her.

  “Sleep if you can,” he said, and gathered her stiff body against him. Taut and rigid, she allowed him to enfold her awkwardly. “I want only to hold you,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow you will have to be strong again, but not tonight. The Goddess will not damn you for not being strong one night.”

  “I shouldn’t ...” Pat started.

  Abel shushed her. “There are no shouldn’ts tonight. Be at peace. Rest.”

  She held herself stiffly for another breath then, as if succumbing to a great exhaustion, melted against Abel. Her body sagged into boneless relief, and she felt the quiet, gentle knowing of the Goddess in Abel’s heartbeat under her ear.

  “I love you,” she said on a soft breath.

  Abel stroked the hair off her brow and kissed her, but waited until she slept before he told her that he loved her as well.

  Grace had not returned by morning. Pat and Abel knew a small search party must go find her and while he went to organize that, Pat went to the kitchen to explain to and rally the women. Still believing full disclosure unnecessary, Pat only told the women that Grace had disappeared and must be searched out. Her terse statement was met with stares of alarm and confusion and Pat felt strongly that this would be the last time she would be allowed to protect Grace from a harsh reality. The Goddess was taking Grace out of Pat’s hands, taking her back into the maelstrom of wisdom and power and will for which she was born and Pat knew, sadly, that she would never know the child Grace again. Grace was gone. Only Greer would return.

  So Pat directed the women to prepare packs for the searchers and the immobility of shock was destroyed by the need to act. Knowing there was no time to cook fresh, the women packed what foods were available and left over from yesterday’s feast. They worked quickly and diligently, but not without alarm, and when Pat left to see about the men that alarm was voiced.

  “I don’t understand it,” Nidia said as she sliced a brick of cheese. “Why would Grace wander off like that?”

  “I’m worried about her,” Erin said nervously. “Pat wouldn’t let her join the gathering and she wanted so much to be part of it. I told Pat she was being much too hard on her.”

  “Hard or not,” Nidia said, “Grace wouldn’t run away out of spite. That’s not her way.” She tried to recall an impression she’d gotten from Grace yesterday morning, something good and strong, but she couldn’t remember what it was. It seemed important, but ... beyond reach. She shook her head. “Grace isn’t that kind. She’s not a complainer. She either wanted to leave, or ... maybe she wandered too far and got lost, or hurt herself.”

  Erin shuddered at the thought of sweet, smiling Grace lying dead in a gorge somewhere. Grace had always been an obvious favorite of Erin’s, a treasured little sister. The thought of her hurt or gone was like a knife in Erin’s heart. Her chin began to quiver and she prayed silently to the Goddess for Grace’s safe return.

  “She was very careful where she went,” Susie said with frowning concern. “She always went cautiously in a place that wasn’t familiar to her. I can’t imagine her getting lost. Maybe an animal ...”

  Erin let out a wail and Susie bit her lip. Nidia, taking the lead in Pat’s absence, waved off all further suggestions. “There’s no point in imagining the worst. We can only wait and see what the men find and hope for the best. Grace is in the Goddess’ hands now.”

  There was no disagreeing with that, and everyone, following Nidia’s lead, turned prayerfully to the work at hand. Once the search party was supplied, there would still be the preparation of today’s food to see to and no one thought for a moment that Pat’s grief over losing Grace would alter that. Cooking and eating were as much the Goddess’ work as praying and dying; as long as Pat had breath in her body, the will of the Goddess would be done.

  Pat spoke briefly with Abel before the men set out. Few words were necessary. Pat left the hunting and tracking to him, and he left the interpretation and divining to her. The Goddess would guide them both.

  “We’ll find her,” Abel said. “If she is alive, we’ll bring her back.”

  Pat met his clear, determined eyes with her own knowing ones. “She is alive. She must be. If not, then the Prophecy—everything—is ... nothing.”

  Stark terror leaped in Abel at Pat’s blasphemy, but his wife looked strangely calm.

  “Pray for us,” he said.

  Pat nodded. “I will pray for us all.”

  The men found nothing. They returned between dusk and moonrise tired, footsore and discouraged.

  They’d found Grace’s erratic trail through the tall grasses to the fault, had even found the place by the stream where her worried indecision was stamped upon the grassy bank. The trail had led up the escarpment—traceable by the newly dislodged rocks and the pockets of sand scuffed by bare feet—but tracking her across the lava was an almost monumental task. Even Kip, the best tracker of the colony, found the going intolerably slow. They’d run out of daylight before they’d covered a quarter of the lava surface and they all knew finding Grace was going to be more than an afternoon venture. Returning to the Ruins, they told the women what they’d found and set about organizing a larger, more far-reaching search. They would set out again in the morning.

  That night, in bed, Pat was again dry-eyed and stoic.

  “What do you feel?” she asked Abel, probably, he thought with surprise, for the first time.

  “I think,” he began, using the more familiar sense, “that she has left the valley. She may only have gone up in the foothills and may still return, but I do not think she is in the valley now.”

  “I think you are right,” Pat agreed.

  Somehow her agreement was not comforting to Abel. “And what if she doesn’t return?” he asked, voicing his own fears. “Do you think she can defy the Goddess?”

  Pat immediately dismissed the question with a sharp shake of her head. “Neither she nor I nor anyone else can defy the Goddess. Her will must be done.”

  “Then,” reasoned Abel, knowing he was on thin ground, “perhaps her leaving is the will of the Goddess?”

  Pat’s pained expression told h
im she had not overlooked that possibility and that she did not like it at all.

  “It seems I no longer know what is the will of the Goddess,” she complained bitterly. “I thought I knew, I thought I knew how it would be. But I was wrong. I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

  And nestled in the center of her bitterness, Pat knew, was wounded pride and blasphemy—she was resentful of the Goddess for no longer confiding Her plans. If she had never been privy to the ways of the Goddess—like most people, like Abel—she would probably not feel so cast aside. But she had always known the Goddess’ thoughts as well and as quickly as she knew her own. Now, that glaring omission sparked feelings of anger, betrayal and fear. Pat could no longer be sure what the Goddess wanted. The uncertainty made her angry and the anger made her afraid.

  “Pray for me,” she whispered to Abel.

  “All right,” he said, knowing a little of what she must be going through. “I will pray for you, Wife.”

  And he also would pray for Grace.

  The men set out again at dawn the next day, supplied with enough food for several days and packing warm clothing in case their search led them into the high country that surrounded the valley. As Abel led the men back to the place they’d quit the trail the night before, he kept to himself the feeling that their search was doomed to failure and was, in fact, unnecessary. Shaken by Pat’s doubts, he had doubts of his own. All any of them could do was follow their feelings until the Goddess showed them the way.

  Kip, the young tracker, found the scant trail atop the escarpment of lava and by a painstakingly slow method of crossing back and forth over the area pieced together the direction Grace had taken. With each new speck of sign—the dark underside of an overturned rock; later, the faint smudge of blood on a sharp edge—Kip led the men farther along the escarpment, closer to the high country. Abel felt his hunch confirmed, and with that confirmation came a deep sadness.