Dee got heavily to her feet, her hand curving protectively around her huge belly. The child within gave a mighty kick as if in protest, causing Dee to grunt in surprise. She quickly smiled, reveling in the strength of her child. She walked slowly towards the house, waddling slightly. It wouldn’t be long now, she thought. This little one was anxious to be born.
The screen door banged shut behind her, hinges squeaking in protest. Every window in the house was open, letting in all the sounds so common to small town life. Dee listened for a moment, smiling as she heard a group of children laughing. Soon, very soon, her child would be joining them. She watched them through the kitchen window, the silver crescent-moon shaped suncatcher flicking in and out of her line of vision. She reached up and touched it gently, causing it to spin slowly. Dee smiled secretively. So many of her neighbors had commented about her hanging the moon in her kitchen. They all loved it, and many had asked where they could get one. There was no way for them to know what it really was, nor why they couldn’t buy one.
Dee gave the moon a final spin, then turned and walked toward the spare room. Of all the rooms in her small house, only this room remained closed off. The windows stayed down, the curtains pulled tightly shut. In this small mid-western town, it was nearly impossible to keep anything secret, but she’d managed to do it. The few who had asked about the room had been led to believe that it was converted into a darkroom. She’d been able to put off further investigation by hinting that her pictures would be ruined if they opened the door just now. The fact that she had a small darkroom in her basement and was able to regularly produce pictures for them to see was more than enough to keep them from prying further.
As Dee laid her hand on the door knob, she unconsciously reached for the necklace that lay hidden beneath her cotton maternity shirt. She held the small, deer-shaped medallion in her hand and muttered a brief prayer before she opened the door. As the door shut firmly behind her, Dee subconsciously locked it, her mind already far away from the mundane aspects of the world around her. She walked quickly to the rough altar in the center of the room, and knelt to pray.
No longer was she Dee Harrington, the pregnant widow who had come to town six short months ago. She was Deanna, priestess of the Goddess Diana. As she communed with her goddess, Dee’s hands ran absentmindedly over her belly, caressing the child within. In her mind, she replayed the Festival of Diana, held last August. The ides of August, she mused. The 13th. Such a special day.
She’d had to travel over 500 miles to meet with other worshipers of Diana. They were few and far between. Since the dawn of Christianity, worshipers of the ancient ways had hidden themselves away, desperate to escape the scourge of Christian zealousness. Still, the old ways had been passed on, and they had survived. Beliefs and ceremonies, however, had to be kept secret for the most part. In the Christian dominated Midwest, worship of the ancient ones would not be tolerated.
Yes, the ides of August had been a special day for her. Until that day, she’d been a virgin priestess, held sacred and protected until her day of becoming. She’d arrived nearly a week early in order to undergo preparation by the High Priestess. She’d fasted, prayed, and purified herself. She’d been bathed, massaged with scented oil and dressed, all with anticipation growing within her. Fortunately, the High Priestess had been gentle and understanding when she performed the ritual to test Dee’s virginity.
The ceremony itself had been everything Dee could have wanted it to be. She had given herself to Diana and celebrated the rituals of fertility with the priests, and had come home blessed with their seed growing inside of her. Diana caressed her belly again, smiling as she remembered. Tonight, there would be another ceremony, attended only by a few of Diana’s worshippers who lived near enough to attend. They would celebrate the upcoming birth of her child and pray to the goddess for a quick and easy delivery. The child gave another mighty kick. The ceremony wouldn’t be any too soon, Dee thought. Perhaps the child would be born even before the Believers left at sunrise tomorrow.
Her prayers and homage completed, Dee rose awkwardly from the altar. She turned slowly in a circle, eyes feasting on the symbols of Diana placed in this special room. There were hundreds of icons, all symbols of the great Goddess: deer, moons, fertility and birth. One picture on the wall caught her attention. It was a picture of the Goddess herself, a deer at her side, the head of a baby pushing out between her legs. “May this child be born as easily,” Dee prayed.
All too soon, she left the shrine. There was much to be done in preparation. She cleaned the entire house and prepared refreshments for her guests. The clock ticked off the minutes, but Dee measured her day by the waning sun. Finally, everything was ready, and she sat down, a glass of ice tea in her hand, on the porch swing to wait. The evening was nearly as hot as the day had been. Sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades as she rocked slowly back and forth, calling greetings to neighbors as they passed by. Cars turned into driveways as working fathers and mothers came home from a long day at work. Mothers called their children reluctantly from their play to come in and eat. There was the soft hum of locusts in the background.
Finally, just as dusk turned into dark, the first of her guests arrived. They greeted each other joyfully, with soft words of praise to the Goddess. Another arrived, then another, until the five she expected were all there. Ideally, there should be more, but the reality was that in Midwest America, there were few worshippers of the ancient ways. The six women gathered in the kitchen, drinking tea and snacking on the refreshments Dee had prepared. The clock ticked away the minutes as they chattered, catching up with each other, until Murielle, the oldest of the group, spotted the first glimmer of the full moon rising.
They rose as one, and Dee led the way to her private shrine. They gathered in a loose circle around the altar, waiting for Dee to take her place at its center. Just before she stepped forward, she remembered the rose. She wanted to hold it in her hand when she received the Goddess’ blessing. Quickly excusing herself, she hurried from the room, closing the door tightly behind her.
In the kitchen, she grabbed pair of shears, and stepped out the back door. A quick glance at the moon told her there was still time. It was only half-way above the horizon. The ceremony was to start the moment the full moon shone. She rushed into her garden. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight for her to find the rose she’d selected earlier.
Dee squatted down, conscious of the weight of the child within her. Holding the rose in her left hand, she snipped the stem where it joined the rest of the bush. Dee lifted the blossom, now dry, to her nose and breathed in deeply. It was beautiful, a perfect offering for the Goddess.
Just as she started to rise, she heard the soft sound of a footstep just behind her. Before she could move, a heavy hand reached around and clamped itself firmly over her mouth. She dropped the shears as an instinctive scream rose within her, only to be blocked by the force against her lips. In the next instant, she felt the cold steel of a knife against her neck. The cold sweat of terror covered her in that brief moment of knowing she was going to die.
A hoarse voice whispered in her ear, “Dahok requires a sacrifice. Yours...and the babe’s.” Before she could even comprehend what her assailant had said, she felt searing pain as the knife was drawn across her neck and she felt her own warm blood spurt down her breasts and across the huge swell of her belly.
She was still alive, although unable to more or speak, as her attacker lowered her to the ground and sliced the knife across her belly. There was no pain, she was too far gone to feel anything more than deep sorrow as she saw him lift the child from her body only to draw the knife across its throat as well.
The priest of Dahok laid the baby girl on the woman’s chest. He reached out a blood covered hand and gently closed Dee’s eyes. He caught a final trickle of blood on his finger tip and drew an ancient symbol on her forehead, copying it onto the forehead of the baby before whispering, “Dahok thanks you for your sacrifice, my lady.”
In another instant he was gone. The full moon rose above the horizon, glistening in the dark, wet puddle of blood, the life force of both priestess and babe, that slowly seeped into the ground. The sweet smell of crushed rose petals rose from Dee’s hand, the only offering that Diana would receive this night.
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