The Gender Lie(92)

With a final look of longing, Viggo dropped my hand and disappeared into the throngs of people, mostly women, who were making their way into the Temple of the Moon. I watched him leave, heading for the line of men filed up on one side, and turned to Ms. Dale, who offered me a tight, nervous smile.

“Be careful, Violet,” she said and I nodded, pulling the hood of my stolen jacket up over my head.

“You too,” I murmured.

I watched as she too disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone by the temple steps. Our plan was crude, but we had no other options. Viggo would patrol the area where the men were, and I would be down in the main part of the temple, keeping an eye out for Owen as well. Our plan was to confront Owen and try to draw him outside. I had been adamant about not hurting him if we could avoid it, and everyone had agreed.

It went unspoken that if we couldn’t get him to see reason, we would have to kill him. It was a harsh reality, but as I stared at the undulating crowd of women and children, I realized it was the only way. I couldn’t let Owen kill all these people.

I went in with the crowd, keeping my pace moderate and my eyes moving. Most of the women were wearing ceremonial robes—pristine white gowns that were modestly pinned together at one shoulder. At the steps of the temple, there was a growing pile of trinkets that women were placing into a small natural pool of water that flowed from the cracks of the cliff face, collecting at the base.

The tradition had been started during the first ceremony of the moon, when Queen Natasha had pulled a beautiful blue stone out and called it her hopes for the future of Matrus. She had placed it in the waters, and asked that the waters that had sustained them thus far to also help sustain her dreams for the future.

Now, many women participated in the ritual, dropping items that they had carried with them throughout the year. According to tradition and belief, if their hearts were pure and intentions good, the waters would find their greatest hope and grant it to them.

I watched as a little barefoot girl stepped up to the fountain and kissed a small porcelain doll she was holding. She placed it in the waters, bowed at the pool, and then skipped back over to where her mother was waiting. The woman took the little girl’s hand and disappeared into the temple.

Steel slid into my spine as I continued through the crowd.

The mouth of the cave had been widened during the years, painstakingly chiseled out by hand. It was now wide enough to fit ten people standing side by side. I made my way up the steps, moving around women who were chatting or waiting for someone.

The cave mouth stretched inward for ten feet, the sunlight from outside illuminating the brown and black stones that glistened. I could see the line of men standing behind a cordon of rope, waiting to be led down to the balcony at the back of the chamber. I couldn’t see Viggo, but I knew he’d be able to make it down all right.

I followed a group of women down the natural spiraling staircase. The light from outside quickly disappeared as we made our way down, but torches had been lit and placed in sconces, which helped illuminate our way.

I gave a brief glance to each woman who was wearing a more modern outfit, just in case Owen had somehow managed to slip in on the women’s side, but he wasn’t among them. Still, I didn’t let go of my hope that we would find him. We had to. I couldn’t bring myself to consider the alternative.

The stairs went down forty feet before ending in a circular chamber. As I moved off the last step onto the landing, I stared. I had forgotten how beautiful this room was. A massive chandelier hung almost twenty feet overhead, with thousands of candles illuminating the ceiling above. The ceiling was photo-luminescent, so the light being generated by the candles caused the ceiling to glow in soft blues and purples. Alternating red and purple tiles cut in a hexagonal pattern circled the floor. Inside of it, smaller, multi-colored tiles had been cut in creams, whites, grays, and blues, forming a mosaic of the Mother.

The Mother was a symbolic image of femininity, one that encapsulated the ideals of what made women great. I remembered when my mom had taken me up to the highest gallery and had me look at it from above.

In one arm, the Mother cradled her infant, while in her opposite hand, she wielded a stone. She stood resolute, determined, ready to destroy anyone who harmed her baby. She was strong, feminine, brave, and wise.

I made my way to the center of the room, standing over the Mother’s heart, and looked around. Suddenly, three large thumps sounded, and a bell chimed. Immediately, everyone dropped to their knees. I knelt down a second later, keeping my eyes low as the queen descended the steps. Each step she took was sounded by a chime and I could hear the whisper of the fabric of her long train as she moved.