Zanna 3

1479 - 5 - 1 Zanna 3

On the first of each month, Zanna’s ritual was the same.  She stood on board a wooden raft with a smooth.  She was thankful it was smooth, for her bare feet were not troubled by splinters.  She turned and looked east, then west, across the serene water.  She could see the distant wooden wall on the banks, which meant those on the wall could see her.  Her bare shoulders, her knotted up hair.

“Here?” croaked Pralla Maga-sha.  The wise woman sat on the raft deck on a wooden stool.  She wore a silk gown, heightened with a stiff blue collar that brushed the corners of her chin.

“Further,” Zanna said, eying those walls.  When she had first been coronated, she had feared this so much.  Even bathing in the middle of the lake, where the walls were not visible, she had been terrified.  By now, Zanna was uncomfortable, but not afraid.  It was her task, and that of Pralla, to divine the location of the healing waters that drifted throughout the Eye of Maga.  There was no skill in it, that Zanna had discovered, so she used it as an excuse to choose how far to leave the docks behind before wading in.

The wide raft was paddled by six, three on each side.  For the last King, they had been men.  For Zanna, they were women.  The movement was lurching, but Zanna didn’t lose balance or stagger.  Her feet were spread wide, and she held her position with ease and confidence.  She was a capable warrior, by training, and had spent many days on river boats before her ascendance of the throne.

“Here?” Pralla asked, impatient.

“Here,” Zanna said, quietly.  “How deep is it?”

One of the rowing woman lifted the wooden rod she oared at until she found a red mark etched in the grain.  “You’ll be able to wade, your highness.”

Zanna nodded.  She walked across the raft to its rear.  There were stairs, half submerged, set in place by a woman servant with muscular arms.  Zanna listened to Pralla’s prayer before proceeding.  The setting sun gleamed off the water, and the air was thick and hot.  Around them, golden reeds stuck out of the shallow holy lake.

“Goddess of the Day, see us this day.  We pray we have followed your energy on the water, felt your presence, and found the healing waters.  Our Queen, Zanna-sha the Just, enters your embrace. Make her stronger, make her cleaner, but also allow her to return from your embrace to lead us once more,” Pralla called.  Her voice echoed flatly off the waves.  She gave Zanna a nod.

Zanna disrobed.  Men and women bathed naked in the rivers in groups, and this should not be different.  But the ceremony of it, and her solitude, was something she might never become accustomed to.  Her simple linen robe settled on the deck of the raft and she stepped down onto the first step.  Her dark skin was quickly covered in goosebumps, though the water was not too cold.  She stepped deeper, and deeper again.  The water rose up her legs and covered her.  On the fifth step, she paused, waist deep.  She stepped off into the gentle water and sunk down to her chin before her feet touched the clay bottom.  Her bound purple hair got wet, of course, and would need to be re-dyed.

Was it healing water today?  Had she found it?  It felt the same as all the other water she’d dipped into.  Cool on the skin, fresh, and clear.  She took a sip of it and smiled with refreshment.  She could never say if she had found water of the Goddess Maga or just clear water, but it worked.  She bathed in the Eye of Maga each month.

She swam in a circle, while the priestess whispered more prayer.  Zanna returned to the boat and put her hands on the first step, under the water.  She lifted herself up, to the second and the third before her feet stood on the last.  She rose, shiny and naked, onto the raft once more.  The linen robe stuck to her as she lifted it over her hair and pulled it down her belly.

Zanna never grew ill.  She could remember once, coughing and heaving, as a child.  Since her coronation, no ailment had befallen her.  Even when the month took its toll, her head was never plagued by headaches or her muscles by weariness.  It was the waters of Maga that did this.

“Thank you for returning our Queen to us,” Pralla called across the waters.  “But keep her always in your sight.”

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