Children of Mother Moon

By Rick Bramhall

Imagine a matriarchal religion surviving into Renaissance Europe. A religion where the chief deity is female and the leaders are women. This is the world Broom is initiated into when two members of the religion rescue her from being raped by a prince's son. She receives a new name and discovers her calling. In a time when witch hunting was prevalent, the group has to be vigilant to survive and thrive. This is a coming of age story full of trials, struggles and success.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rick Bramhall
• Release date: Apr 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311344601

Rick Bramhall

I was born in 1952 and grew up Hawthorne, California. Served in the US Air Force from 1975-79. My longest gig was working in Medical Information at the Loma Linda VA from 1979-89. Got my BA from Cal State San Bernardino in 1989. Taught 8th Grade Language Arts 1990-94. Volunteered at the Santa Rosa Plateau Ecological Reserve from about 1997-2004. I moved to San Diego in 2009 to be nearer family. In 2019 I moved to Yuma AZ, as rent became too high in SD. In 2021, my place in Yuma burned down and I moved to Tucson to be nearer my childhood friend, Carl Harrison. I'm currently involved as a community activist.

Book preview

Chapter Seven: A Farewell to Spring#c7

Chapter Eight: Beginning the Craft#c8

Chapter Nine: When in Rome#c9

Chapter Ten: Deep in the Woods#c10

Chapter Eleven: A Warm Summer's Eve#c11

Chapter Twelve: Curiosity#c12

Chapter Thirteen: The Well-Laid Plan#c13

Chapter Fourteen: Another New Life#c14

Chapter Fifteen: Homecoming#c15

Chapter Sixteen: Seasonal Changes#c16

Chapter Seventeen: Sown Seed#c17

Chapter Eighteen: A May Day#c18

Chapter Nineteen: A Boy Named Hay#c19

Chapter Twenty: The Arriving Storm#c20

Chapter Twenty-One: The Trial#c21

Chapter Twenty-Two: "It Could Have Been Any of Us"#c22

Chapter Twenty-Three: Medicine Woman#c23

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Heir Apparent#c24

Chapter Twenty-Five: Responsibility and Impending Danger#c25

Chapter Twenty-Six: On the Edge of Danger#c26

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Swamped#c27

Chapter Twenty-Eight: This, Not That#c28

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Dreams and Other Nightmares#c29

Chapter Thirty: To the Rescue#c30

Chapter Thirty-One: Red Death#c31

Chapter Thirty-Two: And Black Is for Mourning#c32

Chapter Thirty-Three: A Special Winter Solstice#c33

Chapter Thirty-Four: Home to Roost#c34

Chapter Thirty-Five: Life Goes On#c35

Chapter Thirty-Six: Warlock!#c36

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The End and Beginning#c37

About the Author

Before Words

Just a few words before you start reading this story, so that you don't go in thinking this is about something other than it is. This is a what if story. It is not meant to be a portrayal of the way the world was during that time period. And, not only is it not history, it is really not meant to be a historical novel. I've done some research, to make the facts fit the general time and the general area, but it is not meant to be an accurate picture of the time and place, not even within the vague parameters that I've set.

The purpose of this book, other than to amuse myself and hopefully others, is to make people think. If it starts conversations, whether in your own mind or with others, then maybe it will serve some useful purpose. Keep an open mind and enjoy.

Recommended Reading

Davis-Kimball, Jeannine with Mona Behan Warrior Women

Eliade, Mircea Shamanism: Archaic techniques of ecstasy

James, E.O. The Cult of the Mother-Goddess

Frazer, Sir James The Golden Bough (abridged)

Goodrich, Norma Lorre Priestesses

Stephens, Walter Demon Lovers

...........................Stone, Merlin When God Was a Woman

Chapter One:

Trouble

It was fairly long ago. Not so recently that it seems too recent to have happened in reality, but not so long ago that it seems to have no connection to the world today. As histsorians would, in retrospect, later decide to call this time, it was the European Renaissance. It was a time of change when change was not something welcomed by most.

It happened in a principality far enough away from Rome that the Catholic Church couldn't directly control the place but close enough that its people considered themselves, for the most part, to be Christians. And, as you might expect in a principality, it was ruled by a prince.

In this particular place at this particular point in time, there lived a girl on the threshold of womanhood whose name was Broom. She lived in what these days would be described as a hovel but back then was more commonly referred to as a hut. She was the only child of a childless couple, which was to say she was a foster child. As we begin the story she was unaware of this.

In fact, this was what her foster parents were arguing about, and not for the first time.

She is a woman today, her mother argued. It is time she knew the truth.

Her husband shuddered. Do you have to mention such a thing out loud? Isn't it enough that she now bears the stain of Eve's original sin without you giving word to it?

As usual, you are using your male lack of rational thinking to avoid the real issue. You know we have to tell her sooner or later.

Tell me what? Broom stepped inside the hut, her red hair like a blaze with the young morning sun at her back. Her slim body, silhouetted inside the doorway, was result of a combination of the hard life faced by farmers and the physical changes that were so upsetting her poor father.

She was dressed in gray rags that were so in fashion among the poor of that time. At one time, far in the past, it had been part of the wardrobe of a woman much wealthier than herself. Now it was threadbare, with two spots even more threadbare, where her knees often pressed against the thin fabric. Because of Broom's recent growth spurt, the skirt was alarmingly short. It showed much more of her lower legs than Christian modesty of the time allowed.

Unfortunately for all of them, her blossoming good looks were upsetting other people as well. Most unfortunate of them was the son of the prince. He was unfortunate, not because he was smitten with young Broom, but because he was and never would be the man his father was.

Valiant was his name and he wore it like a joke. For he was anything but. He had not his father's natural bravery, nor intelligence, nor basic honesty. And he knew it. And it made him bitter.

So that when he lusted after some young maiden it never entered his head to do anything other than the least honorable of intentions. Having heard of Broom's great beauty from one the young scalawags that formed his usual entourage, who had just yesterday seen her at market, he called together his gang. Under the guise of riding to an informal hunt, they mounted steeds from his father's stable and took off at full gallop toward the poor farmer's land.

The collection of hooves thundered through the ground and so it was that the denizens of that small farming village had some warning before the young sprite and his band arrived. And so they were already on their knees when the young nobleman arrived. Scowling, the princeling scanned the motley little crowd.

Who among you is known as Broom? he demanded. Stand and make yourself known!

With trembling legs, Broom rose to her feet. Though years of work in the sun had made her skin less pale than was fashionably demanded, it was unblemished, soft and rose-tinged. Her body curved in a the right places and out at the right places. Pale blue eyes dared to rise to look at the young lord before her.

The teenage boy looked from his horse at her and knew that he had been given the best of advice. As often happened, he was hard between the legs, and was certain that his hard-on was not shameful. In fact, he imagined the maiden impress by the size of his cod piece.

Make yourself presentable, Broom, he declared, and present yourself at court by the end of today. I am granting you the boon of working at the castle.

But I have asked for no such boon! she protested.

The young lord raised his hand in the manner well understood to brook no further argument. Such favor does not have to be asked for. No matter how simple a mind you may have, life among gentlefolk can obviously be judged as superior to digging in the dirt the rest of your life.

Her full red lips parted as though to protest further, but the nobleman had already wheeled his muscular steed around and spurred it into a mad dash away. The deed was done and it seemed as though her fate was sealed. Her father, though, knew better.

I have served the Prince faithfully, here on his land and by his side in battle. I will take this directly to him. I know that he will hear me. He turned to Broom and raised her little chin in his callused hand. Do not fear. I will leave now and be home as soon as possible.

Broom's mother was not as sure of her husband's weight at court, although she hid it well from her daughter. As they sat and waited, she finally told Broom what she had been planning to do for some time. They sat on a split log outside the front door of their home, tending a small cooking fire and dropping fragments of cabbage and potato into a pot.

It is time that I told you how you came into our lives, Broom.

The young teenage girl's eyes widened and it was all she could do not to cut herself with the knife she was using. You're going to tell me about how babies are made?

The mother laughed. "No, not that far back. But before I begin, please let me assure you that although you come not of our flesh and blood, your father and I love you just as much as if you did. Perhaps it was the Lord's plan to make me barren, just so that we would have so much room in our

hearts to fill with caring about you. No, don't interrupt.

"You have heard your father's stories of the battles he has waged under the Prince's banner. The last time was many years ago, blessed be the peace we have had since. It was on the way home from the last conflict that the Prince's troops, including your father, stopped and camped for the night about one long day's march from here.

"It was near dark when they stopped and your father went searching for firewood. It was behind a broom bush that he found you. You know, one of those bushes with the long straight branches that we make the bristle end of broom from.

"So, there you were, you couldn't have been much more than one and it was amazing that you could still walk, for who knows how far you had come? You were covered in soot as though from a fire. He startled you so bad, you on your wobbly little legs, that you just sat right down and cried.

What else could he do but bring you home? You were cold and hungry, both our hearts went out immediately to you. And there they stay, our hearts inside of you, to this day.

For once Broom was thankful for the smoke from the fire, for it gave her an excuse to cry. Couldn't you ever find my parents?

Of course we tried. Not only couldn't we any one who had lost a little girl, but no one in these parts knew of anyone who had given birth to a red-headed child for quite some time. You know how rare your coloring is around here.

Meanwhile, at the castle Broom's father was still waiting to plead his case. It was not that the Prince refused to see him, but earlier in the day he met with the new inquisitor just arrived from Rome and had had a heated argument with him. Since then he'd been locked in his chambers, struggling to cool down so as to not make any decisions based on his anger.

The shadows had melted into twilight before Broom's father found himself called in front of his liege. He found his master older and heavier, a little slower in getting to his feet. But there was still the fire in his eye and the camaraderie was just as open as his gestures as he motioned his old comrade- in-arms to approach him.

Jan! My faithful foot soldier, I apologize for having kept you waiting so long. He turned to his attending courtiers. See, gentlemen, what we can all learn from a simple man of the soil. Patiently he has waited his turn, steadfast as he was when the enemy rushed headlong towards us.

The peasant farmer and veteran foot soldier knelt in homage to the prince whose strong arm, wisdom and wealth protected his land. From his knees he explained the dilemma the prince's son had put him and his daughter into. With a mighty oath that made the more religious among those present wince, the prince upbraided himself for not be a more attentive father to his rash son.

Of course your daughter shall not come to us if you and she do not wish it. I will settle this right away. He turned to the nearest page and commanded him to bring forward his son immediately into his presence. It was with deep consternation and concern that he greeted the news that his son had galloped off at sunset, headed towards Jan's village.

In the quiet of the new night, Broom and her mother heard the horse fast approaching as they sat and awaited the man of their household. They bade their time patiently, occasionally taking small sips of the soup simmering at the edge of the fire. Their concern over the approaching horseman was much as a farmer's concern over the next day's weather. There was nothing that could be done about either, such things simply had to be faced as they arrived.

Their worst fear arrived as the black horse reared up just short of their fire. The prince's son strode forth from the shadows, the firelight gilding the malice in his face. He came dagger drawn, the clear inference that one way or another he was going to have his penetration.

There was a barely perceptual buzz and suddenly he came up so short that he was almost

thrown off his feet. Puzzled, he looked back and to his left. Somehow an arrow had pinned his billowing cape to the ground. He began to turn to remove it.

Leave the arrow where it is, a voice from the other side of the cooking fire commanded. That the voice seemed to come out of nowhere was startling enough, but even odder was that it was clearly the voice of a woman.

The mysterious voice stepped into the circle of firelight. Here was definitely the source of the arrow, for the hooded figure stood holding a bow. But the feminine nature of the voice made the teenage boy bold. He turned once again toward his pinned cape.

You best do as my sister said, came another voice from the night. This voice was also female, but the anger in the tone caught his attention and he turned back. The second figure stepped within the ring of light.

This one threw back the hood of her cape and long chestnut hair tumbled down either side of a young woman's determined face. In one motioned she stepped toward the fire and bent down. When she arose it was with a burning coal in her bare hand.

Here, let me help you out of your cape, she sneered. She hurled the ember at him and it caught the full fold of his cape. It immediately caught fire.

The would-be rapist let out a surprisingly high-pitched scream as the flame quickly climbed his cloak. He clutched desperately as the jeweled clasps that held his cape in place then gave up to run away. He disappeared into the darkness, a great ripping sound testament that he had freed himself. The remnants of his cloak flamed up briefly then went out. Screams and shouts, interspersed with sobbing

noises, receded apace the retreating sound of his running footfall.

The two strange young women burst into laughter. The archer threw back her cowl, showing a head of raven-black locks. Neither one of them looked much older than Broom.

Broom's mother, who had risen to her feet in the excitement, now fell to her knees. Covering her face in her hands, she began to shake violently. Witches! Oh God, we've been beset by witches! And with that she began to moan loudly and sway back and forth. Broom crouched in concern beside her.

Oh dear, I was afraid of that, said the brown-haired one. Look, Mother. See my hand? She held out her left hand, the hand she had thrown the live coal with.

Out of curiosity, Broom's mother could not help but look. The hand was coated in some sort of thick, milky gel. See? I just covered my hand with an ointment, that's why I was able to handle to hot coal. She wiped her hand on her cloak. My hand's a little pink, but no real harm done. There's no magic. It's just a simple mixture from various plants.

The raven-haired one had strode over and retrieved her arrow. The prince and his men are not far away, Floral. We'll have to leave soon. Not much time for explanations.

Gently, Floral helped the older woman to her feet. We are members of the Sisterhood, she explained.

The Sisterhood! exclaimed Broom's mother. But I thought.

I know, Floral nodded. You thought your grandmother was just making up stories. Not that the truth will help when the prince arrives. This will be blamed on witches, especially when he hears his son's wild story.

The archer came back around the corner of the hut with three horses. You will be safe, Good Mother. But Broom will never be safe here as long as the son is around.

Before Broom had time to understand, she found herself astride one of the horses. Not only could a chorus of hoof beats be heard in the near distance, but village neighbors were beginning to overcome their superstitious fright. Hullo, is everything all right over yon?

Broom lept off the horse and embraced the only mother she had ever known. Good-bye, Mother. You know you will always be with me. I will never forget you.

Floral called now from atop another of the horses. Starry, you'll have to tie her on. You know she's never ridden.

Gently, Starry broke up the embrace. This time Broom clambered up herself and watched mutely as the Sister tied one end of a rope around her waist and secured the rest around the horse. She took Broom's hands and showed her how to grasp the horse's mane. Hold tight, you cannot hurt him. Keep your body parallel to the horse's neck. We'll be riding quite fast.

Starry quickly mounted her own steed. She looked back a final time at Broom's foster mother. Tell them whatever they want to hear. They will never catch us.

With that the two Sisters smarted slapped their mounts on the rump and they were off at full gallop. Broom's horse obviously knew to follow their lead. For the first time in her life, the farm wife wished she could swoon. But all she could do was weep as the night swallowed up her only child.

Mostly Broom kept her eyes closed, simply concentrating on keeping hold of the mane and keeping herself centered over her horse's neck. When occasionally she did peek, she saw that they were on the path leading deep into the woods. Only now and then was she able to see anything, as the moonlight was mainly blocked by the thick growth of trees.

She was surprised to find that eventually she fell into a natural rhythm with the galloping animal. How did she know to do that? She kept her eyes closed, but not so tightly now. The wind wiped around and by her in a way she had never known. When she did look she was amazed at the speed they were traveling. This must be, she decided, what it feels like to fly.

Chapter Two:

The Awakening

We should have brought an extra cloak.

We couldn't be expected to think of everything. It's not as if we had a lot of time to plan the whole thing.

Broom slowly became conscious that she was no longer on the horse. Her hands were no longer grasping a mane. They seemed pinned to her side. Her immediate instinct was to free herself of whatever was binding her.

Look, she's coming to.

See, I told you she wasn't going to die.

Broom focused on the two faces hovering above her. They looked vaguely familiar. But more important for the moment, she found that she was wrapped rather tightly in a rough woolen blanket. She struggled to sit up and found the stone floor behind her extended up to a wall behind her.

Where am I? she asked.

Oh, you're safe from the prince and his son now. We passed over the border of his realm some time ago. He wouldn't dare try to extend his powers past his legal limits. This was Starry, Broom remembered.

Floral was fussing around a small fire crackling just a few feet away. Broom looked around. They seemed to be in some kind of ruins. One wall was missing entirely, several others only went up part way, and there was no roof overhead. What little shelter there was from the sky was provided by the large limb of an ancient oak the reached through the remnants of a window.

A small metal pot perched on the edge of the fire and she could hear water boiling within. Floral had a small square of white cloth in her hand, and she put some kind of berry and a shiny green leaf in the middle of it. She gathered up the corners of the cloth and effectively closed the contents within it. Then she dropped the little the little bundle into the bubbling pot. This tea will warm you up, she said cheerfully.

When it was ready all three of them drank. The berries brought a light sweetness to the brew, and Broom smelled something like juniper in the steam.

The locals think this place is haunted, Starry explained. So we'll not be bothered here. We'll mount up again when you feel up to it."

Broom nodded. The tea really did seem to help. Then suddenly she did what seemed to be a very strange thing, without even thinking of it. She threw the last of her drink on the small fire. It hissed as it went out. Then she threw her blanket over it, effectively trapping the rising smoke.

Her companions opened their mouths to complain but she silenced them with a finger to her lips. Then they heard it. The faint clip-clop of approaching hoof beats. Vaguely, two male voices wafted in.

It gives me the creeps just going close by this place, one voice grumbled.

It's not like we're going inside, reasoned the other, and this is a short-cut.

The voices faded away as quickly as they had come. Though they were out of range, the three continued their conversation in nothing much more than a whisper. How did you know? asked Starry.

Broom opened her mouth to answer but found herself at a loss for words. I don't know, she confessed. How had she known? She found herself in the unique position of having to explain her answers. Back in the village, people just did things. No one ever asked why. But now that she thought about it.

I think it was the birds. She looked back and forth at the two faces in front of her. It wasn't enough. You see, they stopped singing. And it was if a light went on in her new friends' eyes.

Floral slapped her forehead. Of course, why didn't I think of that?

Probably for the same reason I didn't, Floral, whispered Starry. It comes from living too much in town.

Whatever it was, the tension was now gone. Broom retrieved her blanket, and though it smelled strongly of smoke and singed wool, she was soon fast asleep.

She woke to the smell of cooked rabbit. It was getting dark and soon after the meal was over they set out for another night of hard riding. Broom persuaded them to let her try riding without being tied on.

Broom took to riding so instinctively, and enjoyed it so much, that she was loath to leave the saddle at the end of their journey. It wasn't until she went to dismount that she discovered how much the experience had taken a toll on her body. Every joint in her body suddenly ached, the insides of her legs were rubbed raw, and her butt hadn't hurt this much since her father had paddled her when she was just a tot.

Never mind, said Floral cheerfully. I've got poultices and balms that will put you right in no time.

It was the wee hours of the morn when they arrived, and they had to wake a sleepy little groom to take their horses in. As sore as she was, Broom still had the presence of mind to try to take in her new surroundings. The only multi-storied building she'd ever seen before was the prince's castle, and that only from a distance.

It was all too much to take in at one time, and it was still quite dark, and she was very tired. She let her new friends half push, half pull her up a set of wooden stairs. The building was made of wood, not stone, so it wasn't a castle. Did she understand Starry and Floral right, was this really where they lived? It seemed so very odd to her. And there was the ground, way down there.

And at the top of the stairs there was a proper door, like only a few of the better-off families in her village had. Inside Starry lit a candle. What extravagance, to light a candle just for her. In a few minutes her eyes would have adjusted to the pitch-dark room.

After that, she must have been dreaming. For it felt like she was lying on a soft white cloud. She smiled at such a wonderful conclusion to her adventure.

Oh good, you're awake. It was the voice of Floral. Broom opened her eyes to find her standing in front of a small table, working away at a small mortar and pestle.

Broom looked around the cramped room. Besides the bed she was laying on, there was a wardrobe in the opposite corner and the small table. She noticed a basin of water on the floor next to the bed. She inferred that the basin usually sat on the table. On the inside of the door were three pegs. A cloak hanged from one of them.

She was in even more pain than when she had come to the room. The inside of her thighs especially felt like they were on fire. Recalling the coarseness of the horse's hair, she had no trouble figuring out the source of the pain.

Yet she still felt vaguely like she was still floating on a cloud. She took in the bedding she was laying on. Tentatively she pushed down on the white cloth around her. How could it be so soft? She thought of her bed back home, a risen form of pounded earth topped with a meager pallet of straw.

It's a feather bed, Floral answered her unspoken question. Surely you know of feathers?

We had a few chickens. Most families did. But this many feathers...

It does cost a pretty penny, Floral admitted. But now with you to help pay for its occasional re-stuffing, it will be a little easier on us. Broom noticed for the first time the two indentations, one on

either side of her. Her sleep must have been very sound indeed, she'd been totally unaware that the three of them had shared the same bed.

Here, said Floral, coming toward her with the contents of the mortar. Smear this on your legs and butt. It will soothe the burning and take down the redness. When you're done, make sure you wash the balm off your hands. Leaving the mixture on the side of the bed, she stepped toward the door and flung her cloak around her. We'll both be back later. And with that she was gone.

Although she really liked Floral and Starry, she was glad they had stepped out. She would have been much too embarrassed to raise her shift and expose her bare legs in front of them. The only light in the room came from two narrow slit windows high on the wall, just below the ceiling. No one would be able to look in at her.

With only a second's hesitation, she pulled her shift off over her head. The feel of the air directly against every square inch of her skin was a surprisingly pleasant sensation. Not since she'd been so young that she could just barely remember it had she been completely without clothes covering at least part of her body. She remembered how the priest in church would always say how wicked and evil was the human body, and that's why it must always be covered up. Could it be that he couldn't remember, that it had been too long ago since he'd felt such freedom?

Then she moved and the pain of her upper thighs lightly brushing together reminded her of the balm. Carefully she lifted the clay basin back onto the table. Then, tentatively, she dipped two fingers into the mortar's mixture. It felt cool to the touch.

She spread the balm over every inch of her legs that was red. The coolness seemed to radiate over her whole body. It even smelled cool. Then she touched her buttocks, and it felt good there, too. Such a sense of peace came over her that she almost forgot to wash her hands afterwards. Then she laid back down on the bed, face down, so the unguent on her backside would not spoil the bedding.

Starry and Floral crept quietly up the stairs. Even though it was late in the day, they were concerned that Broom might be asleep. And indeed she was. The late afternoon sun barely filtered through the high windows in the room. For a moment, they just stood there, taking in the slender, nude form of their new friend. Floral's remedy had work so well that there was nothing more than a slight rosy tint to her firm buttocks. They backed as silently as they had come out of the room.

Why did you pull me out of there? Starry demanded as they stood on the landing. Floral put her finger to her lips and they descended the stairs as softly as they had gone up.

Don't you know anything about country folk? asked Floral. She'd be as embarrassed as all get-out if she knew we had seen her buck-naked. And besides, remember that she was brought up Christian.

Well, what are we going to do? We're due with her to the high priestess real soon. We've got to wake her up. You know, I'm beginning to wonder if she's right for the Sisterhood.

That's not for us to say, Floral reminded her. Now we just head back on up these stairs, only we do it so loudly that we'd wake the dead.

Starry giggled. She could just picture Broom jumping out of bed at the sound of them coming up the stairs. She stomped her foot on the first wooden slat leading upward. Well, I guess it's time we wake our little sister! she all but shouted.

Floral clomped up right behind her. Yes, she said, in an equally loud voice, I hope she's ready! And they continued on in the same vein until they reached the landing. They strained their ears but couldn't hear anything from within.

Well, here we are! Starry swung open the door, half-hoping to catch Broom in the buff.

But their loud ruse had worked, and there sat Broom on the corner of the bed, all wide-eyed and awake, looking like she had been expecting them all along. Of course, she had no idea why the two burst out laughing.

Oh never mind, Broom, said Starry, we'll explain it some other time. Are you hungry? We've been invited to dinner. Her last meal had been the rabbit Starry had shot during their stay at the ruins. She jumped to her feet and was past her friends and out the door before they could turn around in the narrow doorway.

She stood waiting impatiently for them as they rather more sedately descended. Is it close, or do we get to ride the horses again? she asked excitedly.

Flora looked around as she reached the bottom step and then spoke softly to Broom. We're walking. But there's something very important that I need to tell you before we go any further. When we're in town, or around anyone who is not a member of the Sisterhood, you must address us by our public names. Why, we'll explain later. Right now, all you need to remember is that I'm Flora and she's Estella. Okay?

That's easy enough to remember, Broom admitted. Then, following their lead, she said nothing more as they wound their way through alleys and back streets of the town. It wasn't that large of a town, and soon they were on the outskirts and then in open country.

Broom was able to estimate that they had walked a league when her two guides stopped and looked cautiously around them. Then Starry pointed to a rather large outcropping of rock at the edge of the road and said, Mark this spot well, Sister Initiate. For this is the beginning of the Hidden Trail.

This sounded rather like the mystical stuff the priest back home liked to mumble, and Broom smiled inwardly. But then she was lead up onto and over the rocks. And there, indeed, was the beginning of a trail leading off into the forest.

Floral took the lead now, and they placed Broom in between them as they walked single file. My true name is Starry, and this is for a reason, Starry began. My special skill is in following the stars, the sky and all that is in it. Since this is often considered witchcraft, especially when done by a woman, it must be kept secret.

And you may have figured out that my name comes from my knowledge of plants, said Floral. This knowledge is also so rare that it is misunderstood by many, including the Christians among us.

We both have public jobs, for which we earn wages and our board, continued Starry. Mine is to keep the accounts for the tavern located below our room.

I was wondering why it was so noisy downstairs, Broom admitted.

Starry is a very humble person, which is a good thing among the Sisterhood, but the truth is that both her occult and open works require an amazing ability with numbers, added Floral. My public work is also related to my true calling. I collect and sell certain herbs to the local apothecary.

But why have I been chosen? asked Broom. I have no special skill or knowledge.

Not that you know of, said Starry.

That is why we are taking you to meet our highest priestess. It was she that knew of your situation and instructed us to find you, Floral explained.

Broom pondered on this as they followed the narrow, twisting trail. She had never met a priestess before, and hadn't even been aware that such a person could exist. Without really being able to reason it out, on some level of her mind she knew that a priest and the church she was raised in would not have been able to save her from her situation back home, and most likely would not even have tried to protect her.

And so when they eventually came upon the well-kept but unimposing little cottage she had no idea they had reached the home of the local high priestess. And when the kindly-looking old lady answered the door, dressed in clean but plain clothing, she could in no way associate her with the cleric

class that she was familiar with from her life before.

It was partly because of this that she was struck dumb as this rather normal looking grandmother of a woman was introduced to her as indeed the high priestess. But even if she had not been so caught off guard, it was likely that she would have equally been as tongue-tied, simply because she never knew what to say in such situations. She had been brought up among people who traditionally kept to themselves and by long habit and experience knew to say as little as possible in the presence of power.

Oh, a shy one, eh? Well, that's to be expected. The ancient priestess chuckled to herself as she turned to let the threesome into her home. Come in, come in, and close the door behind you.

Once inside, Starry and Floral fell to their knees. Blessed Mother, they intoned reverently.

With just the kind of fond look one might expect of a mother towards her children, the ancient priestess placed a palm of each hand on their heads. Blessed Daughters. Thank the Great Goddess that you are both safe.

Broom was not sure if, as a newcomer, if she should do the same. But it seemed so like her old religion that she finally, awkwardly, fell to her knees, too. She looked up at the kind, wrinkled face and realized that she, also, wanted to be loved by this woman. Did she really feel a warmth as the priestess touched her head, or was it her imagination? And you, dear child. I am glad our intervention was in time.

But then she turned away from them toward her fireplace and it was if the spell was broken. Did you bring the herbs I asked for, Floral? her voice now sounded different, too. Floral and Starry scrambled to their feet, and Broom followed.

Yes, Mother Word. From her belt she removed three small cloth bags. The priestess hobbled toward the large pot bubbling over the fire. Thank you, Daughter. You are so kind to me.

Of course she remembered the spices for her own meal, injected Starry, and all three laughed. Broom smiled, trying to fit in.

Go wash your hands, you three, it is almost time to eat. She reached for a large wooden spoon hanging from the mantel and began undoing one of the bags.

The resulting meal was poured into four bowls on the rough-hewn wooden table around which they sat. Broom again followed the others motions, tearing off a piece of the fresh-smelling bread from the loaf in the middle of the table. The middle of the bread could be used to soak up the liquid, while the crust was firm enough to scoop up the more solid pieces.

Some of the vegetables in the stew she was familiar with, such as the onions and carrots. But there were green things, some harder than others, some sweeter than others, that she had not seen or tasted before. The only seasoning she'd ever known before was salt, and that was quite precious and rare back in her village. There were little black speckles and other bits than looked like tiny twigs or leaves. But she was very hungry and the food was hearty and filling. Broom blushed when she saw she had finished before the others.

Her embarrassment was saved by a meowing sound. Broom and the others looked in the direction of the sound.

Tabitha! cooed the priestess. Is it time to go out already? She spoke to a large cat the color of thick smoke who stood rubbing against the back door of the cottage. The old lady got up and let her out. My word! I didn't realize it was so late. Girls, be of help and light the candles.

Candles were still a wonder to Broom, for in her village candles were a luxury only the priests and rulers could afford. Here it seemed everyone could afford such light. As Starry and Floral lit the waxed wicks, she delighted in the way the falling darkness was spread back. Flickering shadows danced on the walls, and people and items were colored in unusual ways.

Away from the door and back into the light, the priestess came. Come, Initiate Broom. In the silence and comfort of the night you will receive your first lesson in the Sisterhood. She pulled a chair up along side the fireplace and the three teenage girls sat on the floor around her. This first lesson is so basic that any adult True Believer could impart it to you. Most learn at as a child from their own mother. But since you come from outside, I feel a special need to begin you on the path myself.

With that she struggled to her feet and walked up onto the hearthstone. There was a piece of chalk in her hand and she used it to draw a symbol on the wall above the mantelpiece. Do you know what this is? she turned and asked Broom.

Broom had never seen such a thing before, and yet it was somehow familiar. A star inside a circle? she guessed.

The priestess looked like she might be cross with her for a moment, but then changed her mind. Instead, she erased the chalk with the sleeve of her blouse. I will draw it again, slower this time. And I will explain each element as I draw it. She drew a triangle, or arrow, pointing upward. You see how it points upward, toward the heavens. This was not a question, but Broom nodded anyway. Overlapping it, she drew another arrow, this one pointing straight down. This one, of course, points down into the ground. Around this configuration she drew a circle. And this, girls?

The circle of life, Floral and Starry intoned.

All three looked at Broom, for whom this explanation made no sense at all. The mother priestess looked down at her with compassion. Broom, she said, this is not the religion you were raised in by your foster parents. It is quite alright for you to say you don't know, or that you don't understand.

Always the dutiful student, Broom replied, Mother, I do not understand.

"Of course you don't. This symbol is a mere summary of much of our faith. It's mysteries are

manifold and deep. We spend a lifetime trying to understand all that it encompasses." This time she erased the symbol for good.

When you see someone make this sign, know that they are a member of the true faith. Just as when you make this sign, they will know that they can trust you. However, it must always be made in a way that can be immediately erased. For example, you can draw it in the dirt with a stick or the toe of your shoe.

It's like when we told you it's okay to use our true names, and when to use our public names, added Floral.

Exactly. We have many enemies among the Christians. Always be careful. The priestess closed her eyes and seemed to be seeing elsewhere. "We are the original religion, going back to the times when humans first had the ability to ask the question 'why.' Since then, many pretenders have come and gone. In the end, the truth will survive.

For now, know these basic truths: the earth and all of us are born of the mother. It is the Great Goddess, worshiped under many names, from whom all life comes. No one else can give birth, no one else can nurture.

Abruptly, she arose, turn and tottered off to the far end of the room, she opened a door and disappeared into another room. Broom followed the cue of her friends and curled up around the fireplace. Soon all three were asleep.

Chapter Three:

Day One

Broom fully expected to be the first one up the next morning. Now that she had been well-fed and caught up on her sleep, she knew that she would revert to her farm ways, which meant literally being up with the birds, which was when the first hint of coming dawn slightly tinted the dead-dark of night. Instead, she was awoken by the sound of their hostess, trying to move noiselessly around the small cottage so as to not wake her guests.

Soon all four were huddled against the chill that was the last of night, watching the kettle coming to a boil in the rebuilt fire. As Starry and Floral busied themselves cutting slices of bread and cheese for them to take on their walk back into town, the older woman pulled Broom aside.

I know you still miss your foster parents, she said, and that is only right. But understand this about the religion you have been brought into. When those of your generation call each other Brother and Sister, and their elders Mother and Father, it's not just words. The idea is that we are all family, and that we are all here to support each other. Your sisters will find you a job in town, among our extended family, and you will find all the love and support you could want or need. Cherish the memories of your childhood, Broom, but be at peace regarding your future among us.

In the doorway, she gave the departing figures her benediction, May the Great Goddess be with you. Their rejoinder was swallowed up with them in the early morning mist that enclosed them. Winding their way back along the forest path, and eating their bread and cheese, kept them silent for a short while.

Floral broke the silence. You know, we can't go calling her Broom in public. The prince's agents will eventually make their way here and she must not be tied to her past.

How about Bloom? Starry suggested.

Too close to her old name, too obvious, Floral pointed out.

Then how about Rose?

Perfect! Floral agreed.

Broom-now-Rose looked closely at Starry. Was she blushing? There was no reason she should be; it must be the dawn light seeping through the forest leaves.

It was Starry who went off to look for a position for the new Rose in town. At the end of the day she returned with a triumphant smile. First thing the next morning Rose would be tried out as a maid in the home of the town mayor. Rose had no idea what such a position could be. The only knowledge she had of the word 'maid' was meaning a young woman who had yet to lose her virginity. Surely that could not be a job.

They went to dinner in the tavern downstairs. Although, through Estella's influence, they were granted a booth separated off from the main room by a curtain, it was still too public to freely talk in detail. The best that Estella could do was explain that it would have a lot to do with things liking cleaning and dusting. These, too, were ideas Rose was unclear on. Certainly she knew about cleaning clothes and her own body, but certainly she couldn't expected to do such things for someone else. And what was dusting? She knew what dust was, of course, it was everywhere back in the village. Somehow she knew that these were questions best asked back in their room.

Back in the room, Floral and Starry tried their best to explain, though neither of them had ever worked as a maid, either. Well, said Floral, see this layer of dust on our little table? Every now and then we take a rag to it and wipe the dust off it.

It's a form of cleaning, Starry helpfully tried to explain to the still-doubtful Rose.

She changed the subject instead. Is Rose also to be my Sisterhood name? she asked. Or will you continue to call me Broom in private?

Until you find your true calling, you will have no true name. We will call you Rose at all times, meanwhile, just so you get used to it, explained Floral.

Now listen, Rose, this is important, said Starry. The person you will be working for is the mayor's wife, who is a member of the Sisterhood. She is a very important person because, although her husband the mayor is a Christian, she has a lot of influence with him. Watch and listen, and you will learn much from her.

And what is a mayor? Rose wanted to know.

As the night fell, they lit a candle and talked for hours, trying to give young Rose some idea of what a town was all about. Finally the three went to bed. But Rose found she could not sleep. She had done basically nothing all day and so did not feel tired at all.

But mainly she couldn't sleep from all the thoughts running rampant through her mind. She did miss her parents, and realized that she could never