outlandish costumes. They were all shouting my name.
The two hooded figures shoved me against a carved teak desk and pushed my head toward a piece of parchment.
A man in a gold, jewel-encrusted robe put down wizened hands on either side of the page. His half mask had hexagonal eyeholes and was covered in real roses, and above it his hair was gray.
―Read it! Read it! Read it now, or look your last upon the Inner Temple!‖
This is the vow I took:
I, Amy Maureen Haskel, Barbarian-So-Called, do hereby most solemnly avow, within the Flame of Life and beneath the Shadow of Death, never to reveal, by commission or by omission, the existence of, the knowledge considered sacred by, or the names of the membership of the Order of Rose & Grave.
When I read it aloud, everyone cheered. They picked me up and whirled me around to face a tiny engraving of a woman in a Doric chiton, holding a skull in one hand and a flower in the other.
―Behold our goddess!‖ shouted one, and the others set up a chant.
“Persephone! Persephone! Persephone!”
Persephone, Goddess of Spring. Daughter of the Goddess of the Earth, Demeter, and wife of the King of the Underworld, Hades. According to what I remember from my World Mythology survey class, she was doomed to spend half of every year as the Queen of the Underworld—one month for each pomegranate seed she‘d eaten in his gloom-filled garden. The other six months of the year, she was able to return home to her mother, who was so happy to see her daughter that she brought life back to the earth. Suddenly, the ―rose‖ and ―grave‖ of Rose & Grave made perfect sense.
I was yanked back to the desk bearing the oath, with another injunction to ―Read! Read!‖
―I, Amy Maureen Haskel, Barbarian-So-Called, do hereby most solemnly avow, within the Flame of Life and beneath the Shadow of Death, never to reveal, by commission or by omission, the existence of, the knowledge considered sacred by, or the names of the membership of the Order of Rose & Grave!‖ When I read the oath of secrecy this time, I was louder, more sure of myself.
And then back to the engraving, which was set by itself on an altar in a little wooden cabinet.
The plaque shone with the patina of age and care.
“Persephone! Persephone! All hail Persephone!”
I pictured the scores of men who had come before me—raised in their fancy, rich boarding schools, destined to become captains of industry and leaders of nations. Good thing they took a vow of secrecy. Bunch of heathens. What would their constituents and boards of directors have thought had they known these guys had spent their senior year of college professing to worship a minor goddess of ancient Greece? Persephone? Please!
I read the oath one more time before they took me to another side of the room. On the wall hung a glorious oil painting of a nude with a come-hither look in her eye. A figure dressed as the pope and wearing a white bird‘s mask pumped his fist in the air. ―Behold, Connubial Bliss!‖
―Yeah, looks like it,‖ I said, noting the woman‘s ample curves. God bless 19th century ideals of feminine beauty. If the men of today had commissioned that portrait, she‘d have as much meat on her as one of the skeletons.
This time, when I was returned to the teak desk, there was a different parchment waiting for me.
―Read it! Read it! Read it! ‖ the crowd yelled.
I, Amy Maureen Haskel, Barbarian-So-Called, do hereby most solemnly avow, within the Flame of Life and beneath the Shadow of Death, to bear the confidence and the confessions of my brothers, to support them in all their endeavors, and to keep forever sacred whatsoever I may learn beneath the seal of the Order of Rose & Grave.
Aww, that‘s sweet.
The company cheered again after I read it, and they rushed me around the room three times. I began to feel dizzy and more than a little breathless, and they deposited me on the ground in front of another skull full of
The two hooded figures shoved me against a carved teak desk and pushed my head toward a piece of parchment.
A man in a gold, jewel-encrusted robe put down wizened hands on either side of the page. His half mask had hexagonal eyeholes and was covered in real roses, and above it his hair was gray.
―Read it! Read it! Read it now, or look your last upon the Inner Temple!‖
This is the vow I took:
I, Amy Maureen Haskel, Barbarian-So-Called, do hereby most solemnly avow, within the Flame of Life and beneath the Shadow of Death, never to reveal, by commission or by omission, the existence of, the knowledge considered sacred by, or the names of the membership of the Order of Rose & Grave.
When I read it aloud, everyone cheered. They picked me up and whirled me around to face a tiny engraving of a woman in a Doric chiton, holding a skull in one hand and a flower in the other.
―Behold our goddess!‖ shouted one, and the others set up a chant.
“Persephone! Persephone! Persephone!”
Persephone, Goddess of Spring. Daughter of the Goddess of the Earth, Demeter, and wife of the King of the Underworld, Hades. According to what I remember from my World Mythology survey class, she was doomed to spend half of every year as the Queen of the Underworld—one month for each pomegranate seed she‘d eaten in his gloom-filled garden. The other six months of the year, she was able to return home to her mother, who was so happy to see her daughter that she brought life back to the earth. Suddenly, the ―rose‖ and ―grave‖ of Rose & Grave made perfect sense.
I was yanked back to the desk bearing the oath, with another injunction to ―Read! Read!‖
―I, Amy Maureen Haskel, Barbarian-So-Called, do hereby most solemnly avow, within the Flame of Life and beneath the Shadow of Death, never to reveal, by commission or by omission, the existence of, the knowledge considered sacred by, or the names of the membership of the Order of Rose & Grave!‖ When I read the oath of secrecy this time, I was louder, more sure of myself.
And then back to the engraving, which was set by itself on an altar in a little wooden cabinet.
The plaque shone with the patina of age and care.
“Persephone! Persephone! All hail Persephone!”
I pictured the scores of men who had come before me—raised in their fancy, rich boarding schools, destined to become captains of industry and leaders of nations. Good thing they took a vow of secrecy. Bunch of heathens. What would their constituents and boards of directors have thought had they known these guys had spent their senior year of college professing to worship a minor goddess of ancient Greece? Persephone? Please!
I read the oath one more time before they took me to another side of the room. On the wall hung a glorious oil painting of a nude with a come-hither look in her eye. A figure dressed as the pope and wearing a white bird‘s mask pumped his fist in the air. ―Behold, Connubial Bliss!‖
―Yeah, looks like it,‖ I said, noting the woman‘s ample curves. God bless 19th century ideals of feminine beauty. If the men of today had commissioned that portrait, she‘d have as much meat on her as one of the skeletons.
This time, when I was returned to the teak desk, there was a different parchment waiting for me.
―Read it! Read it! Read it! ‖ the crowd yelled.
I, Amy Maureen Haskel, Barbarian-So-Called, do hereby most solemnly avow, within the Flame of Life and beneath the Shadow of Death, to bear the confidence and the confessions of my brothers, to support them in all their endeavors, and to keep forever sacred whatsoever I may learn beneath the seal of the Order of Rose & Grave.
Aww, that‘s sweet.
The company cheered again after I read it, and they rushed me around the room three times. I began to feel dizzy and more than a little breathless, and they deposited me on the ground in front of another skull full of
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