“I trust they at least let the little ones sleep,” Tasia said wryly as they traversed a path already well worn by many feet.
“They do whatever it is they have always done. Perhaps routine reassures.”
“Very astute. Routine will be difficult, but we can aim for it. Soft beds and plentiful food will be a good start.”
“The men require wine,” Charis said cheerfully. “That one’s a little more difficult since we filled the barrels mostly with water.”
A problem for another day. Tasia had hoped to slip quietly into the clearing where her people congregated, but the captain had sharp eyes. His tall golden form unfolded from a rock to stand at attention the moment she left the shelter of the trees.
Following the captain’s gaze, his men also rose to their feet. And because they did, so did the women. Sirene broke out in song.
Embarrassed, uncertain how to handle such unwarranted attention, Tasia tried to gesture for them to sit, but her arm was bound tightly to her chest and one hand didn’t create an effective gesture.
“Please, honor the goddess who brought us to safety and not her humble priestess. It is good to see all of you together again. We have missed you. We’ll need to say prayers of gratitude for your safe return, but for now, sit, eat. In the morning, perhaps, we must make decisions.” Tasia settled on a rock far from the bonfire and let them do the same.
As they ate, the men told seafaring stories that held her maidens enthralled. The days aboard ship had eased some of their fears of the rough sailors. Tasia knew more hurdles waited ahead, but for now, she enjoyed the tranquility.
“Your arm?” The captain asked, coming to kneel on the sand beside her. “And the child?”
“Both are doing well, thanks to your quick thinking—and swimming, I hear.”
“I won’t always be here,” he pointed out carefully. “Until we’ve explored this land, we must keep the children in one place.”
Tasia sighed and sipped the juice that Charis handed her. It tasted of ambrosia, or how she imagined ambrosia must taste. Not until she’d finished her first leaf-wrapped fish did she reply.
“There are nearly two dozen children under the age of twelve. War and famine have caused many families to sacrifice their daughters of late. And apparently you have taken in many young apprentices for the same reason.”
He bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Once, a lad had to have a dozen years before he was brought to us. These times, they beg us to take their youngest in hopes they’ll be fed and cared for while they learn a trade that will provide in years to come.”
“This island is far, far larger than our previous home. There, we knew they could find little trouble without discovery. Here, it is impossible. We cannot tie them to trees.”
“And everyone is busy with chores, I understand.” He sat beside her, holding a plate of chopped fruits that Charis brought for him.
“Perhaps we should compile an agenda to discuss in the morning. I have never attended a council. Are there rules we should establish?”
“Councils don’t include women,” he reminded her.
He said that while wearing a twinkle in his eye. She didn’t hesitate to rise to the bait. “Then that is the first rule we will change.”
He apparently saved argument for the morning. For now, they settled in companionable silence while the women sang and the sailing stories grew bolder.
“It will not be so easy to keep my men from your women as they become more familiar,” Nautilus warned as the night waned and the children were taken to their separate shelters by their elders.
“The goddess has acknowledged that,” Tasia told him. “But I am too weary to understand how we change things. If some of my maidens decide they prefer earthly pleasures to godly ones, there must be some order, some ceremony, some recognition similar to marriage.”
“Not as easy as it sounds, my lady,” he warned. “You have not been raised in the world and do not understand the nature of men.”
“I’ll admit, I do not. And I assume your men do not understand the nature of my women. The children brought to us are the special ones, the ones blessed—or cursed—by the gods. I am their spiritual leader, but not a governing one. Our decisions are made by the eldest among us.”
“As my officers rule over the less experienced. Perhaps, if this must be our new life, the women can continue governing domestic affairs, while my officers deal with finding safe harbors for trade and protection as before. But we should not discuss this while you’re weary. Let us separate the idlers tonight and start fresh in the morning.”
A few of the younger man and women were reluctant to part from the fire and the company, but the habit of obedience won for the moment. Tasia knew that could not last, but difficulties always seemed more insurmountable at night.
In the morning, surely they would see solutions to the very human dilemmas ahead of them.
Chapter Six
Nautilus admired the work accomplished within a week—and the priestess currently giving thanks for it. So far, they had avoided the disruptive need for discussing laws in favor of tackling tasks that needed to be accomplished first.
While the others chanted and prayed in their daily ceremony, Nautilus turned his attention from admiring the lady’s beauty to the altar she stood in front of. Oddly, the hasty creation seemed to have grown to fit the bower.
The four stumps of trees from which they had carved the altar planks served as pedestals. The women had set their sacred chalice and bouquets of flowers on the high planks held by the pedestals. The stumps had begun to spring back to life with green sprouts and pink flowers. A mossy cover now enveloped the planks in a velvety emerald. If he believed in such things, Nautilus would call the altar—and perhaps the island—enchanted.
The priestess was another reason for amazement. Already, she’d removed the linen imprisoning her broken arm and seemed able to move it without pain. She held the chalice carefully, lifting it just enough for her acolytes to take a sip of whatever concoction they used for their ceremony.
Impatient for the council meeting they’d finally scheduled, he studied the hardened sailors and soldiers around him. They were all—men and boys alike—half infatuated with the fair priestess. They sat spell-bound, listening to her pray for wisdom, not grasping the lady’s underlying message.
“May Aelynn bless us with this land,” she recited as if in prayer, “and give us voices in our futures. We pray that we may be provided with the wisdom to seek the betterment of all. May she grant us the power to succeed at our chosen tasks.”
“Does that mean I could choose farming instead of fishing?” young Georgós asked with interest.
Nautilus hid his smile at the lady’s manipulative oration. In between the words of her prayers, she promised equality, fairness, and justice for all. Heady promises to people who expected a lifetime of servitude, even for his men, who didn’t realize she also meant for women. She’d almost convinced the younger crew that happiness began with listening to women.
Nautilus pondered the possibility of sailing away to bring back women less inclined to preach and hold themselves on virtuous pedestals. The notion made his shoulders twitch—he wasn’t prepared to pollute this perfect place just yet. He liked these knowledgeable women.
Instead, he was stupidly holding out hope that the priestess would repeat her promise of descendants. Once upon a time, he’d expected to raise strong sons to support him when he grew old and frail. He’d even negotiated with a merchant for marriage to his daughter to provide those sons. That time seemed distant now. A black-haired beauty could not compete with this vibrant priestess holding an entire population in thrall.
Marrying for wealth and position no longer held the same appeal as marrying a woman who was his match in wits. After spending the past days working in the company of these women, he’d realized just how different each one was. Women weren’t as interchangeable as he’d thought. Now he wanted a woman of his own choice, one with
the strength and intelligence to survive and protect his children when the earth quaked and mountains crumbled.
If he could, he would choose the intriguing priestess. A woman like that would make a good sailor’s wife—strong, independent . . .
But not available for slaking his lust or providing sons.
“You have chosen your council leaders,” the lady said, after setting aside the chalice. “If you will follow those leaders to the clearing set aside for our meeting, we will discuss our futures.”
The children, led by their younger teachers, raced for the freedom of the harbor and the beach. Only their elders solemnly proceeded toward the meeting, each with their own concerns.
Nautilus maneuvered his way to Lady Tasia’s side. “Shall I escort you, my lady? Your arm seems to have healed remarkably well. Is there no pain?” He boldly took her good elbow and led her down the path without waiting for permission. He reveled in her closeness, in the exotic flowery scent that seemed to be hers alone, in the sway of her hip brushing next to his. That she did not object swelled him with pride.
Except that she did not appear to notice his proprietary gesture much less object to it.
“I know you do not believe, Captain, but Aelynn seems to have given us an enchanted isle. Althaia is a good Healer, but even Khaos is recovering with amazing swiftness. Perhaps there is something in the water?” Big sea-blue eyes lifted to him as if he might actually know the answer.
“I thought the same thing, I’m afraid to admit,” he acknowledged. “I have never heard of water that heals, if that is what you’re asking. But I have only sailed this sea, and not the oceans beyond.”
“That’s far more experience than I possess,” she said, looking pleased that he’d understood her reason for asking him. “I am aware that we tend to apply superstitious reasoning to that which we cannot explain. I don’t wish to seem foolish if there are rational explanations.”
“I prefer to accept what can’t be explained and use it to my benefit when I can. You fooled no one with your oratory,” he told her with a smile. “Despite your lovely promises, women do not belong on councils. They are too emotional and irrational.”
“There speaks the ungodly male,” she replied in equal amusement. “I like that you are intelligent and honest. But you are also wrong. You need to start accepting what cannot be changed.”
“So must you, my lady. Women may pray and heal, but men will not be led by them.” Nautilus offered her a bench at the front of the clearing where the other chosen leaders gathered. Two more of the women came to stand beside the priestess—Gaia, the one who had seen the fire on the island before him, and Althaia, the Healer. Nautilus had learned that the tall, bronzed Gaia was a gardener, and the Healer was a sturdy lass with thick silken black tresses and an almost Asiatic appearance.
His men had chosen Styros and Demetri, along with their captain, to lead the discussion. Accustomed to command, Nautilus took his place in front of the others, gesturing for everyone to be seated and quiet.
* * *
Behind the domineering captain, Tasia smiled reassurance at her acolytes in the audience. Her women knew how to plan and debate among themselves. Uneasy at allowing common sailors into a discussion of their futures, they had gathered to one side of the clearing. The nights of sharing a meal had been pleasant, but not quite as momentous as deciding their fate.
Tasia sat quietly while the male council leaders lined up their agenda for exploration, returning to seek families and former homes, providing for those who remained here. These were important decisions, and the men knew the sea better than she did. That might change with time. The goddess seldom saw fit to show the distant future. Aelynn preferred to deal with more immediate needs and dangers.
When the men seemed intent on occupying the floor, Tasia gestured for Gaia and Althaia to step up. The captain politely brought his men into order. He stepped aside to let the ladies explain what they needed to begin farming the land for food, finding healing herbs, and teaching the children. The men instantly began to argue over the necessity of teaching the boys to sail versus classrooms.
As the clamor became more vociferous, Tasia pushed in front of Nautilus, who roared for quiet. She raised her hands, and out of respect, her women silenced. The sailors followed suit.
“We must change to survive,” she reminded them. “We no longer have our warm buildings, our access to larger markets. There are those of you with families who wish to go home. Others would like to return to the way things used to be, but that is not possible. Even those who go home will find that life has changed unbearably. But Aelynn has spoken. Only those who worship her will be allowed to return to the island.”
She sensed Nautilus’s jerk of surprise, but she did not release her audience by turning to him. “We cannot do everything at once. We cannot make every decision now. Food and shelter come first. Those who wish to return home should join the first exploratory venture. And that means women as well as men,” she warned.
“And in fairness,” she continued, “those men who no longer wish to sail the seas should be allowed to stay here and help us build a new community.”
Tasia was no fool. She knew the question uppermost among the minds of men, the question she and her women had carefully discussed among themselves these past days since Tasia had translated the goddess’s desire differently than Alexandria had.
The virgin life had been chosen for them by their families. Some of her maidens preferred it that way. Others were of a more earthy nature. All of them were curious and terrified. She did not know how to address the question.
“There are so very few of us,” she continued cautiously, “we must each do our parts and more, so it’s best to do what we enjoy most. I see no reason why men can’t farm and women can’t fish. We will help and teach each other.”
Tasia was not surprised when Nautilus gently elbowed her aside.
“We do not have separate shelters and villages as before,” he reminded her. “If we are to be a community that lives together, then my men need wives. Will the goddess provide?”
Tasia fought the amused twitch of her lips at the bold way he stated the question she hadn’t dared address. All the men sat up straighter, and Nautilus met her gaze defiantly. She knew little of men, but she was learning.
“Yes, I believe marriage is Aelynn’s intention, for those who so choose. I fear this means the number of potential priestesses will dwindle while we build this new world, but surely Aelynn has taken that into consideration. In the future, perhaps the numbers of vestals will increase again. But for now, Aelynn is most clear. She wants her worshippers to be fruitful and multiply. She has not provided instructions.”
Now, her women were clinging to her every word. She was about to release them from time-honored vows they had taken when they were too young to know what chastity meant. They had been as children then. Aelynn had said they need not be as children now.
“My ladies are very special in many ways,” Tasia continued, “but none of us are experienced. This is another project that cannot be accomplished overnight. So all of you must consider how best we should establish courtship and permanent unions. Permanent,” she insisted. “As in life-long commitment in order to raise new children and vestals in Aelynn’s name.”
Among the silent and stunned audience, only Charis raised her hand. Tasia nodded for her trusted maid to speak.
“There are nearly two dozen orphans under the age of twelve who deserve families of their own. If some of us . . .” she hesitated, unused to speaking in public. “If some of us choose to live without men, could we commit to other women in order to raise the orphans?”
Interesting notion. Tasia heard titters among the crowd that indicated Charis had either asked the question wrong or meant something Tasia did not understand. Her inexperience was a liability, but still, she saw no harm. Aelynn had not specified how children must be taught.
“I don’t see why not,” Tasia told Charis. “Aelynn’s w
omen have raised children through the ages as a group. This must change if we are to make room for men and bring more children into the world. Those of you who do not wish to commit to a man must decide for yourselves whether you wish to take orders pledging your lives to the goddess and remain unpaired as we have in the past, or if you’d prefer a more worldly partnership with another woman to help with the rearing of orphans. In either case, the goddess expects you to follow her precepts as always. We are still Aelynn’s children, and we worship her as always by living as she directs.”
Nautilus poked her in the side, and she realized a few of the men were still watching her in expectation. She floundered a moment until she applied her knowledge of her ladies to rough soldiers. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded acknowledgment.
“And of course, the same goes for the men. You have lived among yourselves for most of your lives. You may already have partners. We probably ought to find some way of formalizing all relationships so the rest of the community recognizes our choices. We must do what is best for the children, because they are our future, the ones who will care for us when we no longer can.”
“Women committed to a goddess won’t give us sons,” one of the council leaders objected.
Tasia smiled gently at him. “Then perhaps you need to convince some good woman that she would rather commit to you, Styros. Although if you go outside this island, then you must find a woman who will not only give up her home, but whatever gods she worships. Perhaps you could learn to be very charming.”
The men laughed. It was apparent that charm was not one of the sailor’s attributes.
On this note, Nautilus brought the meeting to an end. Before Tasia could escape for a moment of peaceful prayer, the captain grabbed her good elbow and steered her from the excited chatter following the meeting.
“We are the leaders here,” he reminded her. “We should show the others how it is best to establish courtships and commitments. There is no other man on this island better prepared to be your equal than I am.”
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