All the way down to Botany on the bus, Martha drank in every new sensation, every smell, every sound, every view. As the bus rumbled through the night, she examined the warm lights glowing from the isolated farms and lonely villages; wondering who lived there, what kind of life did they lead? She awoke stiff and sleep sodden to a grey fog surrounding the bus, all the passing trees strange branched ghosts sliding out of the white then away. The sun burned off the thick mist. The bus crossed over a dry plain riddled with the scars of strip mining, then as the vehicle travelled towards the horizon, the sky shimmered a deeper blue. They had reached the sea.
The bus turned onto a large freeway crammed with motorized transport of every description. The roar and beeping deafened. Martha stared in amazement at local buses and trucks encrusted with beaten metal, bits of mirror, glass jewels and scripted religious verses. Copper Ankhs dangled from the windows. She peered down into the cars and found small statues of Gaia stuck to the dashboards. Martha resolved to buy one for Dad.
The bus ground up a long hill. It mounted the top and there spread out before them lay the city of Botany, its silver glassed towers gleaming through the pollution haze. Out the left window rested the ocean, the sun dancing over the white caps; out the right window, on a hill all to itself, sat the ruins of the stepped pyramid, ancient beyond time when the first explorers found it. Today a communications antennae topped the pinnacle. It was the home of an Adonis cult that exploited loads of tourists wishing to climb to the summit. On the far side of the valley, above the grey stone castle of the Mage, and the clusters of noble houses taking advantage of the fresh salt breezes and the fine view of the city and harbour, rose the gold onion dome of the Grand Temple. The bus wound through the city to the bus station. A weary Martha with baby pulled herself out the bus door and through the gleaming station. For a second, she saw Wordless in a sad faced young slave mopping the floor. Her heart tugged.
Outside the main doors, a row of glass and mirror bejewelled taxis stood waiting for customers. A short wiry driver grabbed her bag before she could protest and popped it in his trunk. He opened the back door for her. Martha remembered to look straight at his warm brown eyes.
"Where to My Lady?" he asked with an elaborate bow.
"The Grand Temple of Gaia," she giggled as she tucked her skirts into the cab.
Martha rode like the Queen, the chatty driver pointing out every passing place of interest. He stopped right beside the Chapter House. Martha remembered she should tip him. Perhaps she gave him too much for he handed her a small card and said,
"If Madam wishes a tour of the city, very reasonable, and a visit to all the best shops. Call and ask for Adonis." He gave a huge grin at her surprised look."Really. It's a popular nickname for those of us who live round the pyramid." The taxi sped off.
Martha tugged the rope hanging down beside the dark wooden door. The tap of the bell echoed before absorbing itself into the sounds of the children playing beyond the red brick wall. The sweet cedar smell of hita trees and fresh cut grass drifted through the air. Sleeping Sophia shifted then snuggled in the folded shawl that tied her to her mother's back. The door creaked open to a young woman wearing a crown of braids and dressed in the green habit of a professed of Gaia. Martha handed her the letter of introduction. The nun opened it and read.
"I'm Sister Clare. Come in, Martha of the House of Endor," she smiled. "There's still time for you to get settled before vespers. What a sweet sleeping face peeks from your back."
The nun turned to lead the way and Martha noted the sister's own baby cuddled in the deep hood of her cowl.
"Don't they look innocent when they sleep," remarked Martha.
"Yes. All children are the blessed of Gaia."
They walked along a path engulfed by overhanging shrubs, fragrant herbs, sprouting vegetables and new born flowers. The garden itself twisted across the grounds in various geometric and symbolic designs. Martha longed to stop and examine each plant and pattern.
Beside the chapter house ran a large fenced playground filled with busy children sliding down chutes, crawling through tunnels, opening small doors, climbing up ladders, hiding in holes, digging in sand. Several toddlers paddled along the walks in plastic cars. Trees and a brightly striped canopy provided shade.
From her radio programs and overheard conversations, Martha knew that some women, like Madam, came to study for awhile then returned home; some arrived as widows or divorcees and took vows; others dedicated themselves to Adonis in the spring festival. While men weren't allowed, except during festival days in the spring and fall, the order welcomed pregnancies and children. She imagined a life here. The herb garden showed that her magic could be used for the greater glory of Gaia. Sophia would learn all she needed to become a Saint. Martha decided that if the worst happened and Dante never appeared, she would come here for awhile after she settled things at the farm.
Despite mulling things over on the long bus ride, she still had trouble absorbing the truth. How could Madam keep her past from her? She thought the best. Perhaps then as now, strict laws forbid intermingling between nobles with magic and their fertile slaves. Martha frowned. Dad remained her Dad, no accident of conception could take that away. She would return and claim her rights. Dad and Reba needed her protection and Sophia deserved the best.
The nun guided mother and baby to a simple room with a single bed and a small crib. An Ankh of Gaia hung from the white plaster wall above the bed. An ancient mural depicting Gaia suckled by baby Cerea tucked in a sheaf of wheat, brightened the other side of the room. A small dresser sat under an open window facing the garden.
"Vespers start in a half hour," smiled the sister as she left.
Sophia stirred. Martha sat down on the bed and set her to nurse. The baby gazed up at her with adoration as she fed, her little hand resting on her mother's breast. The picture of Gaia and Cerea echoed them. Martha memorized the mural with joy, praying without words, feeling at one with her God.
A cool sweet scented breeze wafted through the window. The voices of the children silenced as they went inside to prepare for vespers. A constant low rumble ran beneath the chirp of the lizards. Martha thought at first she heard the sea, then recognizing the beep and blare of car horns, realized the roar came from highway traffic far beyond the quiet confines of the noble neighbourhood surrounding the temple. She remembered nursing Sophia in the midnight silence of the farm. Her joy melted a little with a sudden pang of homesickness. The bells chimed for vespers. Sophia lost interest in feeding, turning her head to the sound.
"Now we join in Gaia's meal," smiled Martha as she lifted up the baby and patted her back. Sophia refused to burp, giving a satisfied squirm instead. "Ah, it's time for a change."
Martha closed her top and placed the baby in the crib then emptied her suitcase and the diaper bag, changing Sophia into a yellow crocheted dress over flannel leggings. The baby kicked her chubby legs as her mother buttoned her up.
"There. All done. Aren't you a pretty girl," said Martha with a soft pat to her diaper padded bum. Sophia gurgled in agreement.
Martha took off her best brown cotton dress and put on the enlarged black velvet hand- me-down given to her by Madam. She examined herself in the wavy mirror on the back of the door, adjusting the plain sleeves, the high neck and the stiff black lace covering the new feeding openings.
The bells chimed again. They set off for vespers, joining a line of chatting and smiling nuns, children and visitors that wound its way through the garden, around a corner of the chapter house, across a bricked square and in through a side entrance tucked in beside the huge ornamental door only opened for investures, royal weddings and the Adonis ceremonies. The setting sun bounced off a polished mirrored wall on the other side of the square and fired the brass pounded around the door's green lacquered goddess tree. Martha gasped in awe.
"Beautiful, isn't it? How Adonis says good night to Gaia," whispered Sister Clare who had appeared beside her.
"Yes," whispered Martha. Sophia stared in solemn fascination at Clare's baby peeking at her from its mother's hood.
They entered the round temple. Delicate gold streaked marble trunks arched up to emerald studded satin banners that trailed from the edge of the dome of dancing painted angels like the branches and leafy bowers of the sacred grove. Golden wood tables and benches laden with food and drink, curved in a Celtic knot around a stepped altar hazy with the smoke of incense. A richly robed and crowned statue of Gaia, her marble arms spread open in welcome, stood on the top layer like a bride atop a wedding cake. Soft pink blushed her cheeks and lips, her brown eyes gazed down in love. A group of priestesses and nuns circled the altar, facing outwards, expressions solemn but arms welcoming.
"That's Princess Beatrice," said Sister Clare, nodding towards the circle and a frail, nervous girl dressed as a novice. "She's just apprenticed to her mother, Prince Yevgeny's Strega cousin, Queen Constance, the priestess beside her. We're honoured today. Some say the seraphims sang to herald the fulfilment of the prophecy and that Beatrice is the new Beloved." Martha opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, a moment of foreboding stopping her lips. The sister continued. "But there's a polite duel going on between his Excellency Yevgeny and Our Holy Reverend Mother Sain. He fancies that his supposed exile here signals that he's the new bodhisattva. He certainly burns with righteous anger." The nun moved her hand in the direction of an elegant wheelchair beside the altar. Inside, propped up by corrective cushions, sat a tiny ancient priestess, eagle-eyed and erect. "Bishop Sian had a vision. Perhaps you've heard of it. Gaia promised that she would see The Beloved before she dies. But the years have passed with nothing. Then the seraphim on All Souls. She says it may mean The Beloved, it may not. I believe we will see The Daughter of Gaia," The nun grimaced, " but she's not simple Beatrice."
Sophia grinned at Sister Clare. Clare touched the baby's cheek and returned a smile. Martha bit her lip, overwhelmed with the desire to confess all to this friendly nun. She managed to hold her tongue.
The line of women and children wound through the Celtic knot of tables, each finding a place to sit. They stood behind the benches, looking at the altar.
Martha ended up in a group of nuns and guests known to Sister Clare. They all introduced themselves. The noble guests, though their hair and makeup was muted out of respect for the nuns, had dressed for Spring in rich, coloured silks and satins, bare arms peeking through the slits in their puffed brocaded sleeves. Martha suddenly felt out of place. She glanced down at the strip of gold zig zag sewn along the bottom of her dress to hide where the worn edge of the hem had once rested during Elizabeth's many years of use. The new brocade had thrilled her when Madam had given it to her. Now it looked cheap, a charity gift to a slave. For the first time Martha wondered what had possessed her to come here, she could never belong among these beautiful nobles.
She glanced at the proud majestic woman standing beside Beatrice. Martha could imagine herself a country wizard's wife. The Queen, never. Dante had scowled and shaken his head when she asked him if he ever longed to become Mage. Martha hoped his firm, almost bitter denial would remain.
The priestesses began a slow weaving dance around the altar. Princess Beatrice stared at her toes, then at the movements of the woman ahead of her. Shoulders hunched, she shuffled forward, her steps lost, a smile frozen to her face. The Queen whispered to her and the girl straightened. Martha felt a pang of embarrassment, glad that she only had to stand behind her seat. The religious began to sing Gaia, Queen of Heaven. The words danced up into the dome. Martha's voice joined the others, outsider reluctance melting away in the joy, for she remembered all the times she had listened to the broadcast of this very ceremony, and now here she stood, in the Grand Temple itself.
The incense grew stronger. Sophia cooed and burbled. The room filled with the scent of roses. The smoke wavered and billowed around Gaia .Her arms began to rise and open for a blessing. Her stone mouth seemed to smile. The crowd murmured. Sophia held out her little arms, reaching away from her mother, wanting the Goddess to pick her up. The Reverend Mother glanced their way. Sophia beamed as she strained against Martha's arms. The Bishop gasped and half rose from her chair, a miracle in itself. Sophia laughed and gurgled. Gaia's eyes came alive through the haze, a smile behind them. The face of God shone with an unearthly light. No one noticed except Martha, everyone else's attention was focused on the dance and the mechanical arms. Mother Sain glanced up at Gaia then back at Sophia. A look of transformation crossed her face. She slumped back in her chair, gripped by a vision. Sophia clapped her chubby hands. Rose petals rained from the dome. People cried out at the beauty of it, only the high priestesses wondering who had set up the trick. The Reverend Mother returned from her vision. She stared where Martha stared, at the face of God.
" Ma Ma," chortled Sophia.
Gaia accepted her first words. The halo brightened then dimmed. The eyes of God laughed then returned to paint. No one but a stunned Bishop and an amazed Martha had noticed the change. The song ended. All bowed their heads in prayer. The service carried on.