Dancing in the Shadows of Love by Judy Croome

Author:Judy Croome [Croome, Judy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Spirituality
ISBN: 9780987009043
Publisher: Aztar Press
Published: 2011-05-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Lulu

“One that loved not wisely, but too well.”

From the day I witness Prior Ajani prepare for his ritual, the altar calls to me. I resist its lure but the wooden nova continues to beguile me. I stare at each leopard skin rosette in the coronet around the Spirit King’s forehead. Each rosette, carved as a hole into the hard olive wood, has a hollow wooden bell suspended from it, a symbol of the Spirit King’s spirit tempted by the Levid and saved by his love for his people.

I must wrench myself free from the sweet promise in his face as I ignore the supplication of the nova. But his wooden eyes burn into my back as, hearing the clink of the coffee percolator, I hurry through to the court office. I smile. That’s Jamila. She likes to make the dark, bitter brew the old Prior sweetens with six heaped spoons of sugar. She’ll take him his coffee; then she’ll fill my mug, before pouring her own.

We have become close, Jamila and I, since the day she told me about her father. The blossoming closeness reminds me of what I shared with Sub-Prioress Dalia before I grew to hate her for betraying my love. But Jamila is different from the quiet nun; she is a serene mix of strength and kindness. She is a true believer and she will not fail the tenets of her Spirit King.

With unspoken agreement, we both arrive half-an-hour earlier than we need to. I savour those thirty minutes of the day; suck every drop of enjoyment out of them as one sucks the rich, juicy marrow from a bone. Like the marrow, they’re gone too soon. I’m left hungry for more but, unused to such a feast of friendship, I hold back and wait for Jamila to make the next move.

‘Hi,’ I say as I enter the office.

Jamila is at the fridge, its doors covered in colourful magnets in the shape of the Spirit King-mask, left over from a long ago fund-raising drive. She pours milk into a jug. St Jerome’s lies in a wealthy neighbourhood, and receives generous stipends from its courtiers—Jamila’s fiancé Dawud is a big-hearted donor—but there’s never any money to waste. Prior Ajani uses most of it for his War Relief Fund.

The Fund doesn’t leave much for luxuries in the court, so Jamila measures out our day’s quota of milk. Today, she discards an empty carton as she greets me with a smile, asking ‘How was your weekend?’

If anyone else had asked me that question, their civility merely covering their fear of my pale skin so different from theirs, I would have mumbled a non-committal answer. Whose business is it but mine that I speak to no one from the time I leave the court on Fridays until I return on Mondays? But Jamila asks, so I tell the truth.

‘Dull.’

She blinks and half-laughs. ‘Just…dull?’

‘Duller than dull.’

She half-smiles. ‘What did you do?’

‘I read, watched TV. Not much else.’

‘And the sea? Didn’t you

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.