Voyage of the Snake Lady

by Theresa Tomlinson

  Myrina nodded at Tabi. “We would be honored.”

  The Sinta women were very excited at the idea, and at once they began to strip the felt from their tent frames and roll up their belongings.

  Myrina looked around and saw that Fara’s face was downcast. Turxu sat a little way off, his dark eyes full of concern, for Fara had moved away from him. What did this mean? Myrina thought that perhaps she understood and gently bent to touch Fara’s arm. “Why do you look so sad?” she asked, wanting to be sure that she had not misunderstood.

  Fara struggled to her feet and forced her shoulders back, reasserting the proud spirit of the warrior priestess. “It’s nothing,” she said, quickly knuckling tears from her cheeks. “It is just that I see now why he wanted me. What has happened to these people is more bitter than anything, but because of their need—any wife would do!”

  Myrina sighed; it was as she thought. But she remembered with a touch of guilt how she’d sat on Big Chief’s back, secretly watching the two young people in the moonlight. Their intimacy had touched her to her very core and forced her to acknowledge her own loneliness.

  She smiled and spoke again. “I understand your doubts,” she said. “And you will have time enough to make your final choice, but I can tell you this—the expression that I see in Turxu’s eyes when he looks at you is not just the admiration of a young man who needs a mate.”

  “Is it not?” Fara was listening.

  Myrina shook her head. “It took me a long time to recognize that look in my own young warrior’s eyes, and when at last I did, the time we had together was all too short. I would not want you to have so short a time. You must know that I would give anything now to see my Tomi ride over the hill. Do not let doubt and pride stand in the way. Look at Turxu and listen to what your heart tells you.”

  Just for a moment Fara glimpsed the pain that Myrina hid behind a burnished mask of courage, her fist clenched tightly to her chest. She looked from the Snake Lady to Turxu and saw that he followed her every move with his dark, worried gaze.

  She smiled and hugged Myrina tightly. “Thank you, Snake Lady,” she said. “Your words are as wise as an old woman’s, though you yourself are still young.”

  Myrina shook her head, feeling very old indeed, while Fara went at once to Turxu and took him by the hand.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Great Camp

  THAT NIGHT THE small group of Moon Riders danced by the Sinta campfire. They even performed the sacred moon dance, while their hosts watched in quiet awe. In the morning they set out on their return journey, Kuspada insisting on escorting them back.

  Myrina felt more comfortable than ever in his company and now, as they traveled, she told him much of the troubled history of the Moon Riders. His eyes gleamed with admiration as she recounted the escape from the city of Troy, for even as far north as the Sinta lands they knew much of that long and bitter fight. His mouth became a tight, grim line as she told of the battle of the Thermodon and their enslavement at the hands of Achilles’ son. There was just one thing that Myrina left out: she didn’t mention Tomi or his brave and tragic death; somehow the right words for that wouldn’t come to her.

  When at last they’d passed Eagle Rocks and were almost back at the Moon Riders’ camp, Tamsin and Phoebe came galloping bravely out to meet them.

  “Who is the mother of these lovely children?” Kuspada asked.

  Myrina smiled with pride. “Phoebe, the older one, is the child of my sister, who was killed by Achilles’ men. Tamsin is my own daughter.”

  “You have a husband?” Kuspada asked, with a touch of regret.

  “No!” Myrina shook her head. She still could not bring herself to tell him of Tomi’s death.

  But he was quick to understand the expression of pain that suddenly clouded her face. “You have lost your dearest one,” he said. “You are like me!”

  That night, as the Moon Riders sat around their fire, the dreadful story of the lost wives of the Sinta warriors was retold. Everyone listened in silence; some of the women were touched with excitement, others were uneasy.

  “We are wearing dead women’s clothes,” they said, pulling uncomfortably at the warm felt trousers and smocks the warriors had brought as gifts.

  “Better dead women’s clothes than freezing to death,” Kora told them roundly.

  “We cannot afford to fuss over that,” Myrina agreed.

  But then another concern was voiced. “Is this what we rode away from Troy to find?”

  “We were slaves, but then we found freedom and honor as warrior priestesses. Are we now to sit like tame cats at a man’s hearthside?”

  “And men who are careless with their wives by the sound of it!”

  Myrina told them all of the arrangement that she’d made with the Sintas. “In the Month of New Leaves you shall decide. I swear that none shall be forced—you shall all make your own free choice—but tomorrow we will move our tents and set up camp beneath Eagle Rocks, alongside them.”

  Those who were doubtful agreed reluctantly, and in the morning there was much grumbling at the extra work of having to move camp, but some of the young Sinta men arrived with horse-drawn sleds to help.

  Big Chief and his mares watched them nervously, flurries of skittish movement passing through their ranks, but when the women started to erect their tents on the other side of the river, they lowered their heads to search for fresh grass again.

  As soon as the Moon Riders arrived at Eagle Rocks, smiles of pleasure and understanding passed between them. “Warm!” they whispered. “So much warmer here.”

  Three camps were established side by side. There was shyness for a day or two, but it wasn’t long before barriers broke down, so that Tabi was soon to be found among the Moon Riders, while Tamsin and Phoebe sparred with the Sinta boys. Zimapo watched for a few days, then went to join them.

  The Sinta boys tried to shoo her away, but she stood her ground, swinging a strong, straight stick at them.

  “If they can fight you, so can I!”

  “Sinta women do not fight!” the young boys told her, their faces marked with disapproval. “Go back to the cooking pot!”

  Tamsin and Phoebe strode to Zimapo’s defense, setting themselves one on either side of her. “She fights with us!” they said.

  The Sinta boys gave in.

  Kora enjoyed herself, flirting with the men and bossing the cooks about. Myrina had a few moments of doubt when arguments broke out, but these were quickly dispelled when she realized that they had moved just in time. Within days of the establishment of the great camp, snow began to fall. Some of the Moon Riders had never seen snow before; none of them had ever seen snow like this. Large flat flakes fell steadily, carpeting the ground so that it was hard to tell where the rocks stood out from the grass.

  The hiss of bellows and the sound of hammering issued from Kuspada’s tent. Due to his hard work and generosity, the steeds of the warrior priestesses soon sported the dainty gold bits they’d admired so much. They set about learning this new way of steering their horses, skillfully directing their beasts by using gentle pressure on the sensitive parts of the mouth, rather than with the thighs as they had always done before.

  The young Sinta warriors were eager to learn Mazagardi horse skills and it wasn’t long before they walked among the skittish foals, stroking and touching their withers and flanks, just like the Moon Riders. They worked hard to master the clicks and cries, so that without ever using whips or ropes they could make a horse turn and follow them, obedient to their every command.

  There was much laughter as the two groups tried to learn each other’s way of speaking. The women swore that they were quicker to pick up the Scythian tongue.

  In the evenings the Moon Riders sang and danced, and at first the Sintas watched them respectfully, but gradually they found the confidence to get up and perform the ancient horse dances of their tribe. Men and women danced together, gaining warmth and strength from the vigorous exercise, and as fri
endships grew and flourished, many couples enjoyed the warmth and comfort of sharing their tents through the freezing nights. Fara and Turxu were never apart; it seemed there would be little doubt about the choice that Fara would make when the Month of New Leaves came.

  Sometimes Myrina would wrap herself up well and wander away from the camp, searching out a small pool of water to sit beside, letting her water visions bring her reassurance that her distant friends fared well. One freezing night she confided to Coronilla that though she had searched all evening, she couldn’t find a pool anywhere that wasn’t frozen solid.

  “We had to break the ice this morning to let the horses drink,” Coronilla told her. “You miss your mirror more than most, Snake Lady. Are we Moon Riders losing the skills that we had?”

  “I think we are gaining new ones,” Myrina said.

  “Mmm . . .” Coronilla acknowledged uncertainly.

  Coronilla and Akasya, who had always been close, now seemed to be inseparable. They gathered a little group around them who adhered strictly to the Moon Riders’ ways. They competed with the Sinta men at riding, shooting, and hunting and seemed to enjoy their company, but it was clear that they would not be looking for a mate in the spring. It did not go unnoticed by them that their Snake Lady sat with the blacksmith most nights, and they saw how content she was in his company.

  The Bitter Months came, and as the coldest days approached they planned a feast. “This is the Sinta way,” Kuspada told them. “The feast gives us strength, and after that our hearts lift, for we know that we will soon greet the returning spring.”

  Myrina smiled, again reminded of the old Mazagardi ways.

  At the winter feast small gifts changed hands and Myrina was a little disconcerted when Kuspada gave her a present wrapped in a scarf of soft felt, dyed purple.

  “What is this?” she asked, dismayed that she hadn’t thought to find a gift for him.

  He smiled shyly. “For our snake lady.”

  She opened the soft wrapping, and there inside lay a gleaming mirror of solid gold, a finely crafted snake coiled daintily around the edge. It was so beautifully wrought that every tiny scale on the snake’s skin was marked and the mirror shiny and polished so that she could see her reflection clearly.

  “Aah!” She snatched it up and, neglecting to say thank you, fled away from the feasting circle, clutching the mirror to her chest.

  Kuspada watched her go, dismayed, but Coronilla caught his sleeve. “No, no”—she wagged a finger in his face—“the gift is so wonderful that she cannot wait to use it. That mirror is perfect and in time you will understand why.”

  Just as Coronilla had promised, Myrina soon emerged from her tent, a huge smile on her face. She went straight to Kuspada. “Thank you, thank you,” she whispered. “You could not have given me anything more precious and beautiful.”

  Kuspada smiled, relieved. “Coronilla told me how the Ant Man’s warriors melted down your father’s careful work,” he said. “I hope I do not presume too much in making something to take its place.”

  Myrina reached up and kissed him on the lips. They stood there for a long while smiling at each other, and Kuspada had no more worries about his gift.

  At last the snow and ice began to retreat; the men and women who camped beneath Eagle Rocks were joyful with relief. A new energy seemed to buzz in the air. Lambs were born, and it was clear that many of the mares were pregnant. Fara also realized that she was pregnant and when she came to tell Myrina, the Snake Lady could not help but be happy for her.

  “You must know what my choice will be,” Fara whispered.

  “You will stay with Turxu?”

  Fara nodded.

  But when the girl had gone, a touch of sadness came to Myrina. The incident had been a sharp reminder that the Month of New Leaves was not very far away, and she must honor her promise to let each young woman make her choice freely. Fara had always been so brave and bold, she’d made the perfect Moon Rider. Must they lose her now?

  Kuspada came to her tent one cold bright day in the Month of Sheep’s Milk to tell her that he planned to take some of the young Sinta warriors with him and travel west to a city where neighboring tribes gathered for spring markets and horse dealing. “I still have a wealth of gold to sell,” he told her. “And we need more sheep and goats to provide for our great camp of people.”

  Myrina nodded. He seemed to be touched with renewed confidence and vigor; the old flinching look of shame was rarely to be seen in his eyes.

  “Will you come with us?” he asked.

  Myrina smiled. The thought of riding with him through the sun-wakening grasslands was very pleasant, but she shook her head.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Month of New Leaves

  KUSPADA LEFT THE next morning and Myrina followed his progress almost daily in her beautiful new mirror, missing his warmth and good-humored conversation by the fire each night. But while he was away she took the opportunity to spend each evening listening to the Moon Riders voicing their hopes and fears.

  Coronilla insisted that she would not be looking for a husband among the Sinta tribe. “They’re fine men, every one of them,” she said. “But I am far too old and wise to take pleasure in such a life.”

  Akasya agreed. “You’ll not catch me sitting in a home tent when I can be galloping through the sea of grass, a warm wind in my face.”

  The two women shared a tent and were rarely apart; Myrina could see that together they were complete and needed no husbands to make them happy, but the thought of evenings without Kuspada brought sadness to her heart.

  Her mirror told her that Iphigenia was still safe and living in comfort, waited on by servants and dressed in the finest gowns. Just once or twice she thought she saw a shadow of loneliness cross the young priestess’s face. As for Cassandra, the once sorrowful princess of Troy seemed to be always laughing and smiling, young Chryse at her side. Myrina could not help but smile when she glimpsed them. “You would almost think that she was his mother, rather than Chryseis,” she murmured.

  She watched them with love, longing to see them in the flesh once again. She had lost so many friends—was she soon to lose more? Could she not find a way to keep all the Moon Riders together and happy? She wandered back to the camp from her mirror gazing, deep in thought. A new idea was coming into her head.

  Kuspada returned with his men just as the Month of New Leaves began. His beautifully wrought gold work had bought them a fine collection of new stock. Myrina admired the healthy beasts and complimented him on choosing good breeding animals. If we Moon Riders ride away, we will leave all this behind, she thought.

  It was almost as though Kuspada saw her thoughtfulness and knew the way that her mind was working. “Whatever is decided,” he told her, “half this stock is yours!”

  Myrina smiled at him with gratitude; he was a very fair and decent man.

  Kuspada was welcomed back to the camp with a feast and dancing, but that night he whispered to Myrina that the Month of New Leaves was here and if they were to feed their new stock they must soon move north, looking for fresh pastures.

  “The grass grows fresh and lush to the north across the river,” he said. “We must move on and come south again to Eagle Rocks when the frosts return.”

  She looked at him seriously, understanding well what must come next.

  “The time has come for choices to be made,” he said. “Even the most slippery Snake Lady cannot slither out of this one.” Suddenly his teasing words turned solemn and he reached for her hand. “Will you stay with the Sinta tribe and be my Argimpasa?” he begged. “Argimpasa is the mother of our race. You and I can put our sadness behind us and start again. We can have fine children together and heal each other’s wounds.”

  Myrina wanted to put her arms about him and say, “Yes, yes, yes!” But there were others to whom she owed loyalty. She shook her head sadly, and he turned away.

  She could not go on like this—the decision could not be put off any lo
nger.

  That night, after they had eaten, Myrina rose to her feet and began to walk slowly around the fire with such an expression of solemn importance that it made the others quickly take notice and understand that she wished to speak. Silence fell, filled with anticipation—they all knew that this moment must come.

  “Now is the Month of New Leaves,” she said. “And I must keep my promises both to the River People and to the Moon Riders.”

  A rustle of uncertainty passed all around the camp; uncertain glances flew from person to person, woman to woman, and Sinta warrior to his loved one.

  “You all have the right to decide. But before you make your choices I want to put another possibility to you.”

  There were many glances of surprise, but Myrina continued quickly before she lost her nerve. “Why should we not all stay together, whether we wish to have Sinta husbands or not? We have weathered this winter in harmony, taking care of young and old. We have been hunters, men and women, riding out side by side to feed those who are too young or too sick.”

  There were frowns and glances of suspicion, but Kuspada looked up at her, his face touched once more with hope. Coronilla turned to Akasya and shrugged; they whispered together, concern on both their faces.

  Myrina went on. “There is something that I must say to the River People and they must try to understand. We Moon Riders are priestesses and wherever we are, whatever we do, we will dance for Maa and we will never cease to be warriors.”

  “More like it, Snake Lady!” Coronilla cheered.

  Myrina smiled, grateful for her support. “If you Sinta can accept wives who ride and fight, then why should we Moon Riders not live with you? We would hunt side by side as we have through the winter.”

  Uncomfortable looks and nudges passed among the young Sinta warriors. They clearly thought little of this idea. Turxu got to his feet, looking worried. “It is not the Sinta way to have a wife who rides and fights.”

  Fara was on her feet at once; the roundness of her belly did not impede her. She faced him angrily. “Why not?”