“Yes,” Khassis said, surrendering at last, “we can pray.”
CHAPTER 31
The night that Greer and Khassis chose for him to leave was the night of the full moon, when the moon rose late and the early hours of night were darkest. Together they packed a bundle for him—cheese and water, bread and fruit—and Greer gave him a small rose crystal that she had found, a flower in stone, so that he might look at it and see her face there. He himself packed a handful of acorns harvested from Joel’s tree last fall so that he might carry a live part of his lost love wherever he went. When all was in readiness, they had only to say their goodbyes.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m leaving you.” In the face of the final act, all his resolve slipped away and he cried.
Greer held him and let him cry. Her own tears mixed with his, dampening their clothing. Her arms ached, knowing this would be the last time she held him. He was more dear to her than she could have said. She could not bear to send him away, but she could bear his death at her feet even less. With all the Goddess-given strength she had ever had, she drew away.
“It is time,” she said in a shaky whisper. “The night is at its blackest.”
“Yes, the blackest night of my life,” Khassis said bitterly.
Greer held his face and wiped the silvered tear tracks from his cheeks. “And I have no words of comfort for you,” she told him. “Only time will ease the pain of this night, and only as quickly as it needs. But it will ease. There will come a day when you will give thanks to your God and laugh out loud again. There may come a day when you love again. But not tomorrow. Not now.”
“Not ever,” he insisted, “not the way my heart is breaking now.”
“My poor Khassis,” she said, and kissed him. “Perhaps the way our two hearts are breaking now, they will mend together and become one. I would like to think so.”
Khassis was unconvinced. “I have never felt such pain!”
“Nor I,” she said sadly and in her eyes he saw it was true. Her chin trembled. “Hold me, Khassis. Hold me one more time, then go. It hurts too much to stay in this agony.”
“My love,” he said, holding her fiercely.
“And mine.”
He left through the window. Greer watched him fade into the darkness like a half-dream, then went to her bed and cried. The Sanctuary echoed with her sobs. The blackness of the east brightened to silver as she cried; the moon crested the dark hills and spilled its light onto the earth as she cried. The cloud of stars above wheeled slowly, patiently, singing their thin, high song and she cried.
The moon stood full and strong and bright outside her window when she finally lay still. Weary, drained, dry, she pushed herself up from the bed and stared at the pattern of moonlight on her floor, a square of silver against the darkness. Feeling weighted down with the heaviness of exhaustion and the ache of heartbreak, she moved listlessly to the window and leaned on the sill and looked out.
The moon was a bright silver disc, glowing with its cool light in the black night sky. She peered at it, picking out the features that shaded its face: the rings, the starring rays, the great flat spaces. Some people, she had heard, saw the face of the Goddess in it. She tried to see Her, but could not.
Questions crowded her mind. Had she succeeded in her destined work? Had she failed? Was there more yet to do? She felt so empty. The weight of ages pressed down on her.
Something caught at the edge of her vision. She focused on the moon again and saw the smudge of shadow at its outer edge. A shadow on the moon? How great must a body be to cast a shadow on the moon? As she watched, the smudge grew ever so slowly and darkened. It nibbled a small arc out of the edge of the moon’s disc. She watched, fascinated.
She hoped Khassis was someplace where he could rest and be safe while the moon darkened for as she watched, the pale cool light waned. The thought of Khassis gone—far away, alone, gone from her forever—brought tears to her eyes again, hot, stinging tears. She thought she had cried all she could; now the tears flowed again, silent and silver in the moonlight.
She was alone but for the Goddess and this shadowed moon. How often as a child had she stood at the parapet of the Ruins and felt her aloneness? How often in her childhood had she felt herself separate from everything but the Goddess’ love? Even with Hannah, even with Khassis, she was still and always alone. Only the Goddess remained with her. The realization was sadness and joy, heartbreak and ecstasy. No one could ever be to her what the Goddess was.
Was that what she and Hannah and Khassis and Celedon had all been seeking? The thought nettled. Had they all been searching for the Goddess in the love of others? Was it Her eyes they saw in the eyes of their lovers? And expecting the kind of great, universal love of the Goddess from only other flesh and spirit humans, were they only disappointing themselves? She wondered and felt the trueness of it. And the sadness.
The shadow ate more of the moon; the disc was one quarter dark now. She thought back to the books, to the science of the old God-believers, and remembered about eclipses. It was the shadow of the earth itself that darkened the moon. It was a strange and wondrous thing, but also very logical and even predictable. It was the Goddess playing at shadows, something She did occasionally.
It had been long since Greer had played. Somewhere she had lost that. Things had gotten heavy, serious: too serious. She longed to play. She longed to run among the stars and make shadows on the moon. She longed to dance and sing.
But her work had been too important, too serious. What had she accomplished? She had spoken truly to Khassis when she said she had been a light that shone and drew people together, a light that had illuminated those peoples’ own hearts and revealed to them their own spark of the Goddess. Was that all she had done?
No, she thought, staring up at the moon. No, she had also taken a step forward and had brought the people of her age forward with her. The progression was continuing on. She and those of her generation—Hannah, Khassis, Reyes— had moved that much further forward from the place where the old God-worshippers had stopped—stopped themselves. They had stepped that much closer to unconditional love, to truth, to balance. They were that much closer to the moving point of stillness that was the Goddess’ perfection.
And now, she thought, the next generation would go on. Megan, Kyra, Cananea, and Hannah’s unborn child would gather up the strength and will of their parents and take the next step, and their children the next. And sometime, when they had all lived and died a thousand times, and they had all made their mistakes and learned from them, when they all understood what love was, maybe then they would find their home in that love and live there forever. Maybe then they would dwell within the heart of the Goddess.
The moon was a perfect dyad now, half light and half shadow. Greer peered at it curiously. The line of shadow made images of half-formed, dreamlike features. She could almost see Balat’s face there, his pale blue eyes, the soft aging of his skin, his high forehead, bare of hair. And Pat—she could see Pat: the sometimes hard curve of her jaw, the intensity of her eyes, the edge of discipline that, for Pat, was love. And even Hannah. Greer saw the soft silhouette of Hannah’s face, the receptivity of the mother. And Khassis. Dear Khassis. His face shone down on her like a silver lamp, his eyes and smile alight, the dark half like the underside of his life. She saw dark and light in all her relationships, in all her loves. And she saw the Goddess in all.
Had she found that perfect balance between dark and light, soft and hard, love and hate? She held up her hand, flat to the moon, and remembered telling Khassis about how the dark side and the light were one and could not be separated. Balance then, she thought, was living on that thin edge between light and shadow, the seam of gray that ran the outside edge of her hand. She looked back to the moon, where the darkness was more than half its disc now, and tried to find that thin edge of gray between the light and the dark. It was there, but it was so very thin, and it moved irrevocably acro
ss the face of the moon. No wonder it was so hard to stay there. That point of perfect gray, of balance, of moderation, was almost too thin to exist. Almost.
She looked back at her own hand. The moonbright side shone silvery, the dark side nestled in soft blackness. She turned her hand slightly at the wrist and the light shifted to the once-dark side, and the dark flowed into the once-light. That was life, then: the movement of shadows, the magic of light turning dark and dark turning bright.
Greer dropped her hand back to the windowsill and rested her head against the cool brick. She was so tired. She prayed to the Goddess to let her rest, just for a bit. She could see no more work before her but her mind was so tired. No images of the future would come. Yes, she needed to rest.
The moon was almost all dark now. The landscape darkened to a ghostly non-color, a false night that was eerie, surreal. She hoped no one left in the valley was afraid. There was nothing to be afraid of. The darkness would be complete and then it would slowly, inexorably, move on and the silver of the moon would be burnished again to its bright, cool shine. That was the way of things, light turning to dark turning to light. Always changing, always moving, living, dying, changing and moving on. That was the way of the Goddess. She was Change. She was the moon and the shadow and the interaction between the two. She was everything that was, and all was constant transformation.
The moon was dark. The place where it hung in the sky was a hole, blacker than the night around it. The stars pulsed. Then Greer saw the glimmer of light on the edge of the disc, the small blossom of quiet silver. The shadow was going; the moon would reclaim its lost light; the universe would continue to turn on its slow, ceaseless axis.
She had so little energy left, too little to stand. She made her way back to the cot and sank down on it. It was simple but comforting. She lay down and pressed her cheek to the coarse cloth. Even breathing was difficult. She turned on her back and stared up at the dark ceiling. Let me rest, Goddess. Let me rest, just for a while. Then I’ll come back and do what I must in the dance of dreams.
Visions of Balat and Hannah and Khassis swam before her, each one lit with the Goddess’ fire. They called to her. She pulled in a huge breath, a great gulp of air, let it sing through her body and when she breathed it out again, it was as if she slipped out with it and she was free.
EPILOGUE
And in the years afterward, there were some who would say that later that night when the great shadow of the eclipse had bloomed and faded from the disc of the Goddess’ moon and it shone with a new and resurgent brilliance that they saw stamped there on its celestial face the features of Greer the Sibling.
~~~~
I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, I would greatly appreciate a short review on Amazon or your favorite book website. Reviews are crucial for any author, and even just a line or two can make a huge difference. --MJB
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Melissa Bowersock is an eclectic, award-winning author who writes in a variety of fiction and non-fiction genres: contemporary, western, action, romance, fantasy and spiritual, satire and biography. She lives in a small community in Arizona with her husband and an Airedale terrier.
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BOOKS BY MELISSA BOWERSOCK
The Appaloosa Connection (Western Adventure)
When Ross Garvey's prized Appaloosa is stolen from his Colorado ranch, he fully intends to hunt down the thieves in their New Mexico hideout and regain his best broodmare. What he doesn't count on is bull-headed, fifteen year old Jaimie Callahan, whose horse was also stolen by the same thieves. And he certainly does not anticipate the beautiful Mexican girl who's dealing with the thieves, nor the fact that an entire company of Mexican troops is in on the deal!
The Blue Crystal (Fantasy)
In the realm of Zor, the tyrant Mal-Zor is maniacal in his quest for the mythical Blue Crystal of power sends generations of innocents to their deaths in the crystal mines. Jared, a young farmer from a small isolated village, has paid scant attention to the distant troubles until his younger siblings are taken as slaves. Jared vows to free them and his quest soon becomes enmeshed in the most magical power struggle imaginable. Accompanied by a recalcitrant halfling, mounted on a huge black lion and supported by an aging wizard and his daughter, Jared prepares to challenge the king and claim his hidden destiny.
Goddess Rising (Spiritual Fantasy)
It is the future, and a global geologic holocaust has destroyed civilization, leaving only a tiny fraction of people to rebuild scattered colonies. Reduced to a primitive state, they live close to the earth and cultivate a Goddess worship, and chosen ones dream a prophecy that Greer, a female savior, will return them to greatness. An epic and magical story of one woman’s exceptional destiny during exceptional times, Goddess Rising follows Greer’s journey from simple obscurity to prophesied reign. Acknowledged as the face of the Goddess on earth, Greer discovers the rewards of power—and its price—as she struggles through her own labyrinth of fear and desire, sexuality and sacrifice, love and death.
Lightning Strikes (Contemporary Romance)
Jessie Evans is a free-lance journalist, emphasis on the "free," with no plans to tie herself down. While researching a story in Flagstaff about Indian influences in Arizona, however, she encounters Lucas Shay, a smoldering paradox who is part Indian, part architect and all man. Whether igniting her temper with his arrogance or challenging her beliefs with his laser-like insight, Jessie can't deny that Lucas sets fire to her soul as well.
Marcia Gates: Angel of Bataan (Biography)
Marcia L. Gates was an Army nurse and prisoner of war during WWII. As an "Angel of Bataan," she spent three years in a Japanese internment camp in the Philippines. This is her award-winning story, told through her letters and the newspaper clippings, photos and letters collected by her mother. The book was awarded a medal for biography by the Military Writers Society of America and featured in the documentary Our Wisconsin: The Military History of America's Dairyland produced by WKOW-TV in Madison.
The Pits of Passion by Amber Flame (Satire)
Sealed to the man in an arranged marriage, Elizabeth rides the surging tide of shock and denial, lust and love, as she is swept from the manicured gardens of England to the savage shores of Africa and the wilds of the New World, never quite sure which Captain Elliott is the man she loves. Warning! This satiric romp is NOT your mother's romance novel!
The Rare Breed (Historical Romance)
The daughter of a white woman and an Indian brave, Catherine Boudry had spent the first thirteen years of her life among the Cheyenne. Restored at last to her mother’s wealthy parents, Cathy blossomed into womanhood surrounded by all the “civilized” comforts of the white man’s world. But at the age of twenty, the lure of her Indian heritage drew her back to the western plains. It was a journey that would awaken her to the joy and agony of passion in the arms of two very different men—Jory, the virile young trapper, and Barred Owl, the Cheyenne brave to whom she had been pledged in marriage long ago.
Remember Me (Contemporary Romance)
Elly Cole wakes up bruised and battered in a hospital-and has no idea who she is or how she got there. Her brooding giant of a husband informs her that she had been fleeing with her lover who was killed in the car accident that left her injured, that she is pregnant with that lover's child and that she has nowhere else to go but home-with him. Struggling against the threat of her husband's dangerous rage and jealousy, Elly str
ives to regain her memory and reconstruct the life she left behind, wondering how she could ever have loved this man who hates her.
Queen’s Gold (Action/Adventure)
Hal Thompson is a pretty ordinary guy. A widower who owns his own small business, he's doing his best to raise his two nearly adult children alone. When they convince him to undergo a hypnotic past-life regression, he is unimpressed that his "memories" reveal the hiding place of ancient Aztec gold. Other people, however, take it very seriously and when his family is threatened, he is forced to plunge into the jungles of Mexico, battling treacherous terrain, lethal wildlife and the haunting feeling of a love that spans centuries. Can he find the gold before it claims more lives? Or will he lose the love of his life ... again?
Stone’s Ghost (Modern Ghost Story)
Matthew Stone doesn't believe in ghosts … until he meets one. He owns a successful business in Lake Havasu, Arizona, home to the famed London Bridge that was brought over stone by stone and rebuilt over the Colorado River. He has a gorgeous girlfriend, a doting mother, and more money than he needs, but no time for stories about the ghosts who were transplanted from England with the famed bridge. When a chance encounter with a female ghost leads to unexpected friendship, Matt and the ghost are forced to rely on each other as they confront the pasts that haunt them.
Goddess Rising Page 44
