(A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read the story so far, especially Scoobycool9 and Luckycool9, Curse You Perry the Platypus for your kind words of support. What a confidence booster they were. I'm not sure how long this every other day thing will last, but I'll be writing all the same. Again, thanks).

Chapter 3

Summons

The summons came at the most inconvenient time. Though I had awoken the next day in strange anticipation of my court date, it fizzled out quickly as the first few days came and went. At the mines, Goneril had "accidentally" thrown her pick through a wall (she was trying to hit a bat) and discovered another network of caves, caves where the foreman immediately put us to work. Almost all of my time was spent in the examining room, separating the good rocks from the bad and hoping I wouldn't explode from the massive amounts of excitement. The drudgery of the diamond mine stamped out any and all ideas of grand adventure, even smacked the fear of my crime being discovered straight out of my mind.

There were a few good things about all this, however, the first of which being that the monotony of the work gave me lots of time to think. I asked myself several good questions, though my conclusions were never exactly concrete. Why did I choose to help Drizella? Because they took my voice. How would I keep it a secret from the queen? I will be silent (silent). How did I even meet the queen in the first place; and in that vein, what was that vision, and why was the queen watching that monster? Hold a second, Sigrun. Why was I so convinced they were connected? It is written. It is written.

I told you I didn't come to any decisive conclusions.

As the week in the mine kept up, even these queries dissipated into wisps of swift thought. These events seemed very insignificant and very far away. I began to think that perhaps I had made up some elaborate daydream of it all, played adventurer and prophetess like I did with my sisters in childhood. For the real world was at hand now, and the real world is a very monotone sort of place with very monotone happenings.

I would often listen in on the old biddies around me gossiping as they tossed cracked gems over their shoulders and hunched over their tables, whispering in hushed, giddy tones. They were always content to let me do this, chirping things like "Oh, look at her. Sigrun's too prim to talk about folks behind their backs" or "Oh, we're excluding her! How cruel of us!" It wasn't particularly enjoyable, but they meant well, and I learned a great deal of news from them.

Their talk was serious those days, which was funny because they weren't the sort of women one takes seriously. But from the way they gabbed, they believed themselves to be couriers of some long-lost god, whispering of his good deeds to avoid claims of heresy.

"They sent a messenger to the village last night. I was there, I was. Heard the woman myself. Announced in the square that the queen had declared regency."

"What of the princess?"

"Queen says she's continued the 'princess's courtly education', whatever that means, and will 'ascend her to the throne when her bearing permits it'."

"Oh…Do you think she's schooling her in them black arts of hers?"

"Wouldn't surprise me. That bat has a few nasty tricks up her sleeve, if you ask me. Why, I heard she's been neg..nego..negotiatin' with them Minuits. Peace talks and such."

"The nerve! They go an' kill 'er 'usband and she talks nice with 'em! I heard when the king died, she didn't even show one sign of grief. Didn't even 'old a public funeral for him."

"Now, now…Don't be cruel. She's your queen, and don't you forget it."

"I can say as I damn well please. What does she want with little old me? She probably cares less about us back here than the king did."

"Oooh…be careful. They say she's got a mirror what can look anywhere in the world, anytime. And they say she goes about in disguise too, sneakin' to the homes of those who wrong her, and murdering 'em in their sleep."

"Oh, them's just stories. Don't believe everything you 'ear."

Despite the ludicrous speculation and sad attempts at good character, the crones' jabbering kept me grounded. Every time someone would say the word "queen" or "Minuit" or something else of that nature, I felt a fire in my heart for a split-second. The memories would flood my spirit for a split-second and then drift back into the humid air of the mines. Still, this was enough to make me realize the reality of my situation: all this would be gone soon.

It was very difficult not to tell my family about anything. I thought about mentioning my summons, but I never did. I knew it would happen, and when it did, what could they do stop it? I knew I was acting sullen and broody the entire time, but as I didn't really know how to stop it without feeling forced, I just let it happen. Everyone noticed, of course, especially Cuchulainn (he was asking after my wellbeing almost hourly), but I managed to stave them off with stories of heat and illness and overwork. No one really questioned that because they all were facing the same issues. We were too exhausted even to talk in the den before dinner.

So that was the rest of the week, and then came Friday. With the political turmoil and the extra work and my own shadows of doubt and frustration, I had completely forgotten that Friday was the Feast of Lady Aphrodite. One of the twelve holy weekends in the Olympian calendar, this particular holiday is a favorite of man and dwarf alike. It is a massive celebration that goes for three days, Friday to Sunday. Everyone stops work and participates in three ceremonies: the vespers, the initiative, and finally the bacchanal. While most people I know typically love the romping, wine and loud music of the bacchanal, the vespers has always been my favorite.

It happens Sunday night—the clerics dress in white gowns and do their hair up in ceremonial braids, painting their faces green and gold and purest white in recognition of the goddess. These holy women walk along the paths of the Greatwood as the sky darkens, chanting in an ancient tongue, their voices mostly in unison, save for a contralto who holds a steady drone beneath the lilting melody of the others. This music is otherworldly and mystifying, and I never have understood how such plain creatures as dwarves can create such esoteric art. They swing incense and burn candles in front of them, stopping from door to door. All come, for the dwarves are very religious, and even those who aren't are drawn in by the haunting scene. One by one, the clerics lead the entire dwarven settlement up the slopes of Mount Wodin. And at its peak, they deliver them one by one into another world entirely.

The ceremony that Friday night was one of the best I had ever witnessed. As I stood in the great circle and the clerics passionately recited the liturgy, the words they said took new meaning, and I was transfixed in them, pouring the shape of my body in between the dashes and lines so that I danced a dance of wonder and ecstasy, a dance too sacred for music. The clerics would call, the rest of us would respond, and with each phrase uttered the night sky grew brighter, the hilltop more grandiose, and everything was connected.

"The goddess does not love as we do. She does not stop her gaze upon the beauty of youth and pleasure. Instead, she gazes upon what lies within each of us. She loves all things as her own paramours, her own parents and children. Give thanks this day, for she has loved us all the same."

We give thanks, O Great Goddess, for the blessings of your mercy.

"The goddess stays the hand of her lover Ares. When he ravages the land, she picks the people up from the ashes and whispers words of life into their ears. Give thanks this day, for she has spared us from the ruin of war."

We give thanks, O Great Goddess, for the blessings of your peace.

"The goddess does not envy…"

"The goddess does not mar…"

"The goddess is no mere slattern…"

Eventually, the words almost stopped sounding in my head altogether. I became lost to the timbre of the women's voices, exuberant and profound. I noticed women kneeling, lifting their arms to the heavens and men openly in tears, basking in the promise that all would be well in the triumphant arms of Aphrodite, who loves all beings as her own. Though I had never had an experience of such ecstasy, I greatly enjoyed watching them, for I have always thought the afterglow of rapture is just as pertinent as the joy itself. I stood there now, basking in it, inwardly smiling at the great amount of joy concentrated in so small a place.

I looked at Lauga, peacefully reclining on the ground, her eyes closed in contentment.

Rest, Lauga.

I looked at Father, his head bowed and glasses drooping, trying so hard not to mince the words of this prayer (he so often did that.)

Be at peace, Domnall.

I looked at Mother cradling a sleeping Kitta, beaming at the scene around her.

Smile, Mother. Always smile.

I looked at Goneril, trying so hard to pretend she hated the whole affair. But I also saw the tear trickling down her cheek and the heaving in her breath.

Be free, Goneril. Be brave.

And lastly I looked at Cuchulainn, my very best friend in all the world. He tried so very hard to stifle his coughs for the sake of those around him, but still some cantankerous old ladies scoffed at him.

Live, Cuch. Please, for the love of the Goddess, be healed.

I gazed upon them all at once, and suddenly my consciousness was filled by one word: Now.

The voice was not my own, and I knew immediately what it required of me. I tried to ignore its urging and stay, but the spell was broken. I only saw some people chanting. NOW! It rasped again, striking a chord in my stomach and turning my hands feet jittery. I gazed upon my family, hoping for all the world that I would be able to see them again.

NOW!

I turned from the circle and began making my way toward the trail. As I turned to go, Cuchulainn glanced at me, a question in his eyes. The hardest thing I had ever done was not answering it. I lowered my gaze and took off, letting my weight and emotion and all the energy I had been hiding the past week propel me westward, toward the palace, toward the ocean, toward whatever fate awaited me.

The summons had come at the most inconvenient time, but I answered it with the fervor of a madwoman.