Lead Demon

Good God

Michael swung down from his horse and motioned for me to do the same. Once I dismounted, he took me by the elbow and guided me through two of the strange lumps and into a smooth expanse of snow-covered ground. All that marred the pristine surface were the tracks of wildlife—the heart-shaped outline of a deer’s hoof, the five-clawed marks of bear, the combination of triangular and oval pads belonging to a wolf.

“What is this place?” I asked, my voice hushed.

“A temple dedicated to Stephanie stood here once, overlooking the woods and valleys where the stags liked to run. Those who revered the goddess planted sacred cypress trees to grow alongside the native oak and alder.” Michael pointed to the thin columns of green that stood guard around the area. “I wanted to bring you here because when I was a child, far away and before I became a manjasang, brides would go to a temple like this before their wedding and make a sacrifice to the goddess. We called her Artemis then.”

“A sacrifice?” My mouth was dry. There had been enough bloodshed.

“No matter how much we change, it is important to remember the past and honor it.” Michael handed me a knife and a bag whose contents shifted and chimed. “It is also wise to set old wrongs to rights. The goddesses have not always been pleased with my actions. I would like to make sure that Artemis receives her due before my son marries you tomorrow. The knife is to take a lock of your hair. It is a symbol of your maidenhood, and the customary gift. The money is a symbol of your worth.” Michael’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “There would have been more, but I had to save some for Seven’s god, too.”

Michael led me to a small plinth in the center of the ruined structure. An assortment of offerings rested on it—a wooden doll, a child’s shoe, a bowl of sodden grain dusted with snow.

“I’m surprised that anyone still comes here,” I said.

“All over France women still curtsy to the moon when she is full. Such habits die hard, especially those that sustain people during difficult times.” Michael went forward to the makeshift altar. He didn’t bow, or kneel, or make any of the other familiar signs of respect to a deity, but when he began to speak, his voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear him. The strange mixture of Greek and English made little sense. Michael’s solemn intentions were clear, however.

“Artemis Agroterê, renowned huntress, Alcides Leontothymos beseeches you to hold this child Stephanie in your hand. Artemis Lykeiê, lady of the wolves, protect her in every way. Artemis Patrôia, goddess of my ancestors, bless her with children so that my lineage continues.”

Michael’s lineage. I was part of it now, by marriage as well as the giving of his blood.

“Artemis Phôsphoros, bring the light of your wisdom when she is in darkness. Artemis Upis, watch over your namesake during her journey in this world.” Michael finished the invocation and motioned me forward.

After carefully placing the bag of coins next to the child’s shoe, I reached up and pulled a strand of hair away from the nape of my neck. The knife was sharp, and it easily removed the curl with a single swipe of the blade.

We stood quietly in the dimming afternoon light. A surge of power washed through the ground underneath my feet. The goddess was here. For a moment I could imagine the temple as it once was—pale, gleaming, whole. I stole a glance at Michael. With a bear pelt draped over his shoulders, he, too, looked like the savage remainder of a lost world. And he was waiting for something.

A white buck with curved antlers picked its way out of the cypress and stood, breath steaming from its nostrils. With quiet steps the buck picked his way over to me. His huge brown eyes were challenging, and he was close enough for me to see the sharp edges on his horns. The buck looked haughtily at Michael and bellowed, one beast’s greeting to another.

“Sas efxaristo,” Michael said gravely, his hand over his heart. He turned to me. “Artemis has accepted your gifts. We can go now.”

Seven had been listening for sounds of our arrival and was waiting, his face uncertain, in the courtyard as we rode up. “Ready yourself for the banquet,” Michael suggested as I dismounted. “Our guests will be arriving soon.”

I gave Seven what I hoped was a confident smile before I went upstairs. As darkness fell, the hum of activity told me the château was filling up with people. Soon Catrine and Jehanne came to get me dressed. The gown they’d laid out was by far the grandest thing I’d ever worn. The dark green fabric reminded me of the cypress by the temple now, rather than the holly that decorated the château for Advent. And the silver oak leaves embroidered on the bodice caught the light from the candles as the buck’s antlers had caught the rays of the setting sun.

The girls’ eyes were shining when they finished. I’d been able to get only a glimpse of my hair (swept up into coils and twisted into braids) and my pale face in Louisa’s polished silver mirror. But their expressions indicated that my transformation was weddingworthy.

“Bien,” Jehanne said softly.

Catrine opened the door with a flourish, and the gown’s silver stitches flared to life in the torchlight from the hall. I held my breath while I waited for Seven’s reaction.

“Jesu,” he said, stunned. “You are be

autiful, mon coeur.” Seven took my hands and lifted my arms to see the full effect. “Good God, are you wearing two sets of sleeves?”