the Goddess and living in filth and wickedness.
What was weird, she thought , giving the moons one last glance, was the way people thought of Lulunar as the month of insanity, when everything became its opposite and chaos reigned . Already Outbackers were posting small statues of the Goddess over doorways and in windows as protection against the doubling that was said to attack even the clearest of minds at this time. Why Lulunar was considered the month of insanity, when it was the only time the twins’ souls were united, was something Nellie hadn’t been able to figure out. Certainly her schoolteacher hadn’t explained this aspect of the myth when they’d studied it in the Interior. She shrugged. Back then she hadn’t paid much attention to the Goddess and Her sons. Sure she’d gone to church on major holidays and paid obeisance to the gods and the stars, but she’d had a mother then, and she’d thought she always would. She hadn’t needed the Goddess, not really. Fiercely Nellie blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. Fortunately, Ivana was the Mother of all mothers, and willing to overlook mistakes of the past. Otherwise there would be no one to love her now.
Easing out of the shed’s shadow, she waited, but the troubled wickawoo seemed to have subsided into sleep. Still, she knew enough to be cautious—the twin moons might be in their crescent phase, but they were currently riding the center of the sky, casting everything into sharp relief, and the city was a restless sleeper at the best of times. With a last glance up and down the alley she startedoff, lifting the kerchief wrapped around her head and scratching irritably. A week had elapsed since the Skulls’ attack and her scalp itched constantly as new hairs pushed through the skin. Sometimes the urge to scratch drove her frantic and she would claw at her scalp, wanting to dig the itch out by its roots. Sniffing her fingertips for blood, she licked them clean, then tied the kerchief securely into place.
A doogden tree loomed to her right and she slipped behind it, then peered out at a domed structure that sat at the alley’s far end. A wealth of arches and gables, the Sanctuary of the Blessed Goddess was one of many small parishes dedicated to Ivana that were scattered throughout Dorniver’s poorer suburbs. Rising from the center of its domed roof was a spire tipped by a pair of brass hands—the Goddess’s hands, cupped and lifted high above the city. Again tears stung Nellie’s eyes. The Goddess never rested; all over Dorniver Her hands lifted from church spires, continually beseeching the heavens to gaze upon Her followers with mercy.
Leaving the doogden tree, she trotted down the alley toward the church. A quick run across a small parking lot, then along a short wall brought her into a narrow courtyard that nestled against the back of the building. Sharp-edged shadows slanted down the parish walls. In the radiant moonlight each cobblestone was clearly etched and the silvered air hung motionless, waiting within itself. As far as she could see, everything was on schedule, which meant she was early.
Darting across the courtyard, she ducked behind a large rain barrel that stood opposite a metal dumpster. It had taken several weeks’ careful watching to discover the secret that lay behind the dumpster—a small service door that led directly into the church. During the day the dumpster was kept shoved against the wall so the door couldn’t be seen, but on certain nights it was pulled out just enough to permit the body of a man to slip sideways through the gap—not just one, as Nellie had eventually discovered, but eight, in a predictable sequence with five minutes’ wait between each one. If everything went as usual tonight, she’d arrived approximately ten minutes ahead of the first man. Flattening herself against the barrel, she tucked her breathing into a quiet inner place, and settled down to wait.
She would never have known about the
What was weird, she thought , giving the moons one last glance, was the way people thought of Lulunar as the month of insanity, when everything became its opposite and chaos reigned . Already Outbackers were posting small statues of the Goddess over doorways and in windows as protection against the doubling that was said to attack even the clearest of minds at this time. Why Lulunar was considered the month of insanity, when it was the only time the twins’ souls were united, was something Nellie hadn’t been able to figure out. Certainly her schoolteacher hadn’t explained this aspect of the myth when they’d studied it in the Interior. She shrugged. Back then she hadn’t paid much attention to the Goddess and Her sons. Sure she’d gone to church on major holidays and paid obeisance to the gods and the stars, but she’d had a mother then, and she’d thought she always would. She hadn’t needed the Goddess, not really. Fiercely Nellie blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. Fortunately, Ivana was the Mother of all mothers, and willing to overlook mistakes of the past. Otherwise there would be no one to love her now.
Easing out of the shed’s shadow, she waited, but the troubled wickawoo seemed to have subsided into sleep. Still, she knew enough to be cautious—the twin moons might be in their crescent phase, but they were currently riding the center of the sky, casting everything into sharp relief, and the city was a restless sleeper at the best of times. With a last glance up and down the alley she startedoff, lifting the kerchief wrapped around her head and scratching irritably. A week had elapsed since the Skulls’ attack and her scalp itched constantly as new hairs pushed through the skin. Sometimes the urge to scratch drove her frantic and she would claw at her scalp, wanting to dig the itch out by its roots. Sniffing her fingertips for blood, she licked them clean, then tied the kerchief securely into place.
A doogden tree loomed to her right and she slipped behind it, then peered out at a domed structure that sat at the alley’s far end. A wealth of arches and gables, the Sanctuary of the Blessed Goddess was one of many small parishes dedicated to Ivana that were scattered throughout Dorniver’s poorer suburbs. Rising from the center of its domed roof was a spire tipped by a pair of brass hands—the Goddess’s hands, cupped and lifted high above the city. Again tears stung Nellie’s eyes. The Goddess never rested; all over Dorniver Her hands lifted from church spires, continually beseeching the heavens to gaze upon Her followers with mercy.
Leaving the doogden tree, she trotted down the alley toward the church. A quick run across a small parking lot, then along a short wall brought her into a narrow courtyard that nestled against the back of the building. Sharp-edged shadows slanted down the parish walls. In the radiant moonlight each cobblestone was clearly etched and the silvered air hung motionless, waiting within itself. As far as she could see, everything was on schedule, which meant she was early.
Darting across the courtyard, she ducked behind a large rain barrel that stood opposite a metal dumpster. It had taken several weeks’ careful watching to discover the secret that lay behind the dumpster—a small service door that led directly into the church. During the day the dumpster was kept shoved against the wall so the door couldn’t be seen, but on certain nights it was pulled out just enough to permit the body of a man to slip sideways through the gap—not just one, as Nellie had eventually discovered, but eight, in a predictable sequence with five minutes’ wait between each one. If everything went as usual tonight, she’d arrived approximately ten minutes ahead of the first man. Flattening herself against the barrel, she tucked her breathing into a quiet inner place, and settled down to wait.
She would never have known about the
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