Abi of Cyrene

The guard blocked their exit from the gate. “Go back where you belong.”

“We go to worship.”

Without another word, he stepped back.

The girls snickered. No doubt the warrior maidens could defend themselves against anything, including the guard.

Holding hands in groups of threes and fours, they followed the path, now nothing more than a muddy rut, to the open field, where a flat embankment the size of the space occupied by the Candace’s mansion stood in the center. Tall as a man, the mound had slanted sides reinforced by stones.

One at a time they climbed the steps on the south side and formed a line near the edge until every girl was on the mound.

“Listen,” Leah said.

With their weapons and skill, they could fight off anything that dared come near. The Nubian archers didn’t fret about the wild creatures of the night, but as intelligent warriors, they practiced discretion.

After lingering several moments in the night with no sounds except those of peaceful birds, insects, and frogs, each girl called out her own name.

“Thirty-seven.” Esther, who had counted, announced.

“Thirty-seven,” the others said.

The pomegranate moon, which was the fourth full moon to pass over Meroe since the commencement of the rainy season, filled the sky on the clear night. Soon they were dancing in a circle and weaving among themselves.