by Aline deWinter

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“Oh, gatekeeper, open the gate! Open the gate so I may enter!” Salome cried.
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“Oh, no, Mistress!” cried Aaliyah. “Let us go back!”
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The Third gate opened, and the Gatekeeper, clad in robes of copper flame, reached forth and pulled off the Princess’s sparkling necklace.
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Salome cried out, for the necklace was fine and precious to her.
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“Oh Gatekeeper, why do you take my necklace?”
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“ Thus are the rules of the Mistress of the Abyss. Now you may enter.”
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Salome reeled. All the garden spun around her as she heard the voice of Aaliyah whisper, “…where they see no light…residing only in darkness…is it so?”
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“Shhh! Aaliyha! You tempt fate,” Etana whispered sharply.

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Darkness reached out and pulled them through the gate like a hand, bringing them onto a thread of white road. It wound through deep twilight over a low hill and then down to an oasis with a lake that opened up like a dull, watching eye. And on that lake, black swans floated, their sooty reflections like shadows cast upon the smooth surface of the water.
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The trees took notice of Salome and shivered, releasing flocks of black birds. Excited by the sight of so much water, for her desert home held nothing like this — not even the great gardens of the Herodium with all its wealth could supply such a wonder, Salome knelt down to plunge her hands into the lake.  It was as if she touched glass! The surface was solid, yet it was not ice, but rather a clear, hard, glass-like surface beneath which she saw large shapes moving slowly through the gloom.
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Salome turned to her serving maids who stood limp and apprehensive on the slope of the hill. The musicians watched her expectantly, waiting for her to direct them, as if they had lost all delight in playing on their own.
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“I shall dance upon this lake,” said the Princess, extending her delicate foot out to touch the water. “Yes, it will support me. I shall dance upon this lake,” she sighed.
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“Oh, no, Princess!” cried Aaliyah in alarm. “Surly you do not want to risk that! This is but an illusion. Surly you shall drown. No one can walk upon water, Princess, though she be the greatest dancer in the world.”
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“Yes, you must stop, Mistress Salome!  Perhaps we should turn back. Your wits are becoming confused,” cried Etana, “Stop!”
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“Do you doubt me?” said Salome. “I shall dance upon this lake. See how it bears me up so that I may walk over to those swans and dance among them. Music please! This will be a dance to defy the Gods of Death. Give me the head of Jokannaan. I want him to see how I dance upon the lake.”
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The music shrieked and wailed as if the whole of the world cried out in anguish while Salome took the glistening head from Aaliyah and turned with it toward the lake. She stepped upon it and it bore her up while , spinning, she gazed into the eyes of her beloved.
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“Dance with me Jokannaan. Dance with me on this lake of glass. See how our twin selves move below us; our reflected selves, our doubles are below us dancing in the mirror world of death, Jokannaan.  When the dance is over, you shall soon come back to life, and so shall I who have been as dead these many days.”
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Salome moved further onto the lake, sliding as she would across a shining floor. It was so smooth, her steps flew as if her heels bore wings. She watched her reflected shadow below, saw the vision of her self holding the severed head close to her heart, and in her delirium did not shrink away. Rather she grew ferocious in her dance so that the black swans scattered and dove at her before falling into a wide circle around her as if to hem her in.
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Slowly, as she danced, lost in the mirror world of her dark passion, Salome heard soft and distant voices rise up from under the lake, chanting in a slanting minor key.
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“Oh, they will drag me under; those voices overwhelm me like the sea, Jokannaan. Perhaps we shall fall into this mirror world forever, to dance with our feet upon the sky and our heads below the water….like these reflections here….unless I tear myself away and end this frenzy of love that holds me to you, for the blood that fell from you has entered into my heart, making us one, of one blood, cloven together like the sides of a healing wound. The sky grows deep and purple, Jokannaan, like the bruise that spread over my soul when I murdered you!”
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As if overcome by the song that grew louder and deeper with each passing moment, the musicians dropped their instruments and stood as stones on the silent hill. Aaliyah and Etana fell helpless on the ground. Soon, the only sound accompanying the Princess in her dancing was a terrible, echoing cry.

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To be continued…
photo: Mysterious Lake by Sara.K

Painting: Salome by Bussiere

by Aline deWinter

She-Who-Rode-The-Dragon seemed to be in conflict with herself. “We do not
like this Jokannaan. He has set armies against us unjustly. Not only human armies, but also of angels.
Why should I allow you to pass?”

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“The Great Mother prepared me to dance before Our Lady Ishtar,
Queen of Heaven and Earth, so that the Prophet may be brought back to
life…for the sake of my soul who had him killed wrongly.”

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“But you did well. Why should I help you to revive our enemy?”

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“Is not Herodias, Queen of Judea, your enemy, who put him to death?” Salome said. At that moment
she knew in her heart that her mother had never turned away
from the Goddess’s shrine, had always harbored in her soul a
treacherous worship for the Lustful One. This put a wrinkle in her plans, and she wondered about the Demoness with the faces of her mother on the dragon.

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She-Who-Rode-the-Dragon, scintillating with red and deep purple light,
rose up in anger, gazing all the while at Salome. “If I let you pass,
what shall you give us in return? You will bestow a gift worthy of the favor you seek — or you
shall not pass.”

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The maids whispered to each other, fretting that they had not known of this, but Salome hushed them.

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“I have scarlet roses nurtured in the gardens of Byzantium, their fragrance inspires months of amorous nights.  I give you crimson wine fermented from grapes grown in the slopes of Calabria. These I offer you, oh, Great Guardian of the Shrine of Ishtar, in hope that they will be pleasing. Will you accept these gifts?”

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Salome snapped her fingers and her serving maids suddenly came to their
senses and brought forth a cluster of fifteen armfuls of roses and nine casks of
wine. They crossed a little bridge that suddenly appeared across the
stream. And on the other side, they spilled and scattered the roses
upon the ground and poured wine at the feet of the Demoness. She
towered above them, smiling, so that they would know, deep in their
bellies, that roses and wine were substitutes for human blood. The
maids scurried backwards, bowing, unable to take their eyes off of the
messenger of the Great Whore of Babylon. They resumed their places
behind their Princess who stood within a scintillating light, like a
star, overcome with a rush of strange, feverish excitement.

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“Your serving girls know much, oh Princess of Judea. What will you give me in exchange for the Prophet’s life?”

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Trembling, Salome’s mind was blank, for she had not thought that the Demoness would demand more than what she had already given.

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“I bring the dance, oh, Queen-Whose-Mysteries-are-Great. Other than that and the
gifts of roses and red wine… I have only myself to give.” Salome said and
prostrated herself gracefully upon the ground.

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The dragon reared up and the beautiful Demoness smiled, turning her
seven-headed mount around as smoothly as it if were a single-headed
beast. Her circuit complete, the dragon’s seven heads on their seven
long necks swung around all at once, and Salome screamed at the sudden
sight of fourteen eyes and seven leering jaws lunged over the stream
at her as if to gobble her up. Again, in a flash of dull white light, Salome beheld the face of Herodias.

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“Go upon that hill,” the Demoness shouted, turning and pointing to the
hilltop that sloped up behind her. Some ruined towers stood at the top
behind an ancient gate that gleamed with the rays of the dying sun.
“That is the first gate. Enter therein. Find the way into the Garden of
Seven Terraces. You will know it by the fumes and the unearthly sounds
that issue from it. Sing praises to Our Lady of Eternal Life, and She
will open the way to you.”

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Suddenly there was shimmer of blinding light and the sound as of many
doves singing and the sound as of many wings fluttering, and the music
of rushing waters. The earth trembled so that Salome, and her maids, and
musicians fell to their knees, and the head of the Prophet opened his
eyes and opened his mouth as if to cry out in protest against Salome’s wicked plan.

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Salome placed the head of Jokannaan carefully back into the golden casquet and shut the lid as She-Who-Rode-the-Dragon vanished as if she had never been.