Page 50 of Tasteful Anarchy and Tangled Auras
I HAVE NEVER BEEN INVITEDto visit the Temple of Aine, as male visitors on their own are only allowed on Sabbats. AndI make a habit of hiding in nature on those holy days. But the Temple, it’s stunning. The thrum of the energy here is profound. I shift my sight. One large and three smaller ley lines meet right under the dome of the Temple. These shimmery streams of energy seem to pulse and throb. And the reverberation of the river, that sub-auditory primal rumble, is noticeable through the soles of my feet and prickles my skin.
A blazing fire burns in a large stone pit near the center of the clearing. I feel right at home in the chill air, surrounded by the sounds of nature, the sight of the sun dipping behind the treeline, and the scent of woodsmoke.
Thisis how I feel the presence of the Goddess, not in the ridiculous court rituals. My eyes flick to Adelaide.
The soft hood of her sweater is pulled over her head and she looks lit from within, utterly divine. She’s smiling, and she inhales deeply.
She is my incarnation of the Goddess, now. I had never thought I’d have a female I adored and who took the shape of the Goddess for me.
I slip my arm around her waist and press my face to her curls.
“I’m so lucky to have you,” I whisper, and I see her smile widen.
“Let me show you the Temple.” She grins wickedly. “And then my rooms.”
“They keep your rooms even though you’re not here often?” Ossy asks.
She nods and draws us further into the clearing, towards the largest building. “Yes. Royal representative, blah blah blah.” She makes a face. “Alys insists they keep rooms for her, too, even though she technically shouldn't require them.”
“Will she be here?” I ask, nonplussed. How has this not come up before?
Adi guides us through the open archway. “No, she only attends the Imbolc ritual. She doesn’t believe it’s a plush enough lifestyle here.” She rolls her eyes. “She’s always lobbying to get more money diverted to building improvements.”
My breath catches as I take in the interior of the Temple. It’s remarkable. The curved wall behind us extends about two-thirds of the way around and is the only part of the Temple that is roofed. Past that, the walls and roof stop; only the pillars and arches continue to create the full circle. The arches stand empty and open to the outside.
My arm falls away from Adi’s warm waist, and I drift deeper into the Temple. The Murimont comes so close to the open arches, I could stand under one and dip my fingers into the river. In fact, after a good rain, the water surely would burble up into the Temple, flowing in a sheet, settling into the crevices of the stones.
The trees standing on the far side of the wide river are mostly graceful evergreens with a few red-leafed maples mixed in. The babble of the river is lulling. And the presence of a compassionate and peaceful Goddess is almost palpable.
I turn to Adi, speechless. I’ve never seen another building that created such an obvious and serene atmosphere. It’s clear Ossy is impressed, too, standing still but eyes studying the space.
But Adi is gliding towards one of the back arches. Several wooden shelves are built, set back, into the arch, the tallest at chest level. Adi kneels and places a single orange leaf on a low shelf that has other small offerings. On the central shelf is a sculpture of Aine, I can only assume, for her face is smooth, without feature.
Adi bows her head and sits silently for a few moments, hands clasped in the lap of her white skirts, which have bloomed around her on the stone tile. Her left hand grabs the hilt of her blade from her forearm sheath. The blade catches the light asshe unsheathes it. She presses its point to a finger. Blood wells immediately, and Adi wipes it on the wood in front of the statue. She stands and catches us staring.
She walks to us, hips swaying, as she explains, “The blood was for the Morrigan. I don’t normally bring her offerings, but it seemed appropriate.”
I raise my eyebrows but acknowledge the sense of it. No point in pissing off your patron Goddess.
Ossy clears his throat. “Why is your Goddess faceless?”
“She takes the form you need. You’ll see your mother’s or your lover’s face, or the face she chooses.” Adi shrugs. “Is your Goddess not faceless?”
He thinks before answering. “I suppose she is. I mean, that she looks as you need or as she feels. But our artists give them faces in our sculptures and paintings.”
Adi nods. “Come on, I want a bath.”
I snort. “Spoiled royal pet.”
She turns and whips a pine cone at me. I quickly duck, raising my arms over my face.
“Who carries around pine cone ammo?” I shout, as both my mates laugh.
Adelaide
MY ROOMS AT THE TEMPLEcurve with the exterior of the building. The sunlight filters in through thin but elongated windows, the Murimont visible through them; the hum of the river seems to fill the rooms even when they are closed.
Someone, probably a Priestess-in-training, warned by the wards, has lit a fire in the small wood stove that’s set upon a low stone platform in an apex of the wall. A fern-green tea pot sits, happily bubbling, atop the stove. Nearby, my personal altar is built into the stone of the wall, a tiny alcove where I’ve placed theTemple’s handmade beeswax candles and other items that called to me: a shell from the river, an old Irish penny with a Book of Kells bird on it, smooth pebbles and shiny crystals, an acorn I found on the street in Boston, cedar cuttings to toss into the wood stove to make the room smell wonderful.
