She spoke instead of what she had been thinking and then said, “But I will be safe enough in Salmydessus. The only thing is that I cannot think how to get there in the middle of the winter.”
“Salmydessus?” Orpheus echoed. “Whatever made you think we would go to Salmydessus?”
“Well, we know it better than Kyzikos, and I trust Phineas. He is Gifted, also. I do not think the new Kyzikos is as open-hearted as the old, and might—”
“We are not going to Salmydessus or Kyzikos. Why should you even think of them.”
“Because they are places that accept the Gifted even if they are not totally welcoming. Do you know of a better place?”
“Certainly,” he said. “My village.”
Eurydice simply sat staring at him. After awhile, she shook her head. “You want to take me back to the village?” she asked slowly. “You want to take me back to a place where the headman wanted to burn me alive after his son tried to rape me?”
“The headman is dead,” Orpheus said flatly. “And Aristaios is gelded and crippled. You do not need to fear them or anyone else in the village.”
Chapter Twenty-six
“Are you ready to go, Eurydice?”
The voice was sharp and loud, betraying both impatience and uneasiness. Eurydice started and realized that she was sitting and staring at her empty hands. There were crumbs around where she sat, indicating that she had eaten. Her stomach told her she had eaten, too, and that the food was sitting heavily in it.
“Yes,” she said, not knowing what else to say, remembering that the headman of the village was dead and his son crippled and gelded.
She rose automatically, rolled the blanket on which they had been sitting, lifted it to her shoulder, and followed Orpheus from the cave. She walked beside him mindlessly, the facts repeating themselves over and over. The headman was dead and Aristaios was gelded and crippled. But it made no sense to her at all.
When they came to the end of the tunnel, the “dead” guard stepped forward. “Lady Eurydice, King Hades gave you leave to go, but remember that what you take with you will be dross in the outerworld.”
Eurydice stopped and looked around. The world came into focus. They were at the far end of the cave to which sacrifices were brought, human and animal. Orpheus was behind her to the right, staring hard at her, his mouth tight with anxiety. Right before her was the trough into which blood was spilled.
When she crossed that, gold and gems would turn to rotten twigs and turds, cloth to blood-smattered rags. She had known it but had been in such a hurry to go to Orpheus that she had forgotten to ask the king or queen to break the spell on the dress she wore.
She looked again at Orpheus. He had dropped the torch—a dim light, enough to see by, came from the mouth of the cave—and his arms were a little outstretched, as if to catch her if she tried to turn back. She shook her head at him very slightly. He had killed the headman and gelded and crippled Aristaios for her sake. She would not run back. She dropped her blankets by the guard’s feet, undid her earrings and bracelets and left them too. She also removed the pouches from her belt, keeping nothing except what she was wearing and her cloak, which had come with her from the upperworld. There was nothing she could do about the tunic she was wearing, she thought as she turned and stepped across the trough.
As the handsome gown changed to filthy rags, she hesitated—and was immediately struck by a blow from behind. She staggered forward, felt Orpheus seize her shoulders in a grip that hurt cruelly and push her ahead.
“Orpheus!” she cried, but he only pushed her harder, forcing her to run and not permitting her to turn at all.
In another moment she realized that he was afraid this was the critical moment, that she would refuse to leave the cave and insist on going back and that the sunlight of the outer-world would break the spell. Briefly, Eurydice looked within herself, but there was no spell, no greater reluctance than she had ever felt over leaving Plutos. She began to cooperate, hurrying forward with him until they burst out of the cavemouth and into a sunlit meadow.
Eurydice let Orpheus take her about halfway across the open field and then stopped, pulled his hands from her shoulders, turned and kissed him. “This is far enough,” she said. “You know I came willingly across the blood trough and out of the cave. You can see my gown is bloodstained rags, but I am as I was, alive and well.”
“I thank all the gods for that,” Orpheus cried, embracing her and kissing her. “I could not believe it. I never really believed it, even when we lay together. I expected every moment to die, but I wanted to be with you.”
“And I want to be with you—but not in that village.” Eurydice shivered and pulled her cloak more tightly about her. It was cold, the winter sun weak, but it was not the outer cold that made her shiver.
“Beloved—” Orpheus sat down in the grass and pulled her down beside him. “You will be safe there now. No one will dare harm you or speak ill to you—”
“Or speak to me at all, you fool! Do you mean to tell me that you killed the headman and clipped and gelded his son just so we could live in that accursed village?”
“No, of course not,” he said, taking her hand. “That was when I learned what they had done to you. I came home full of joy with more than enough money to get us through the winter and perhaps even buy a cow and a few goats and sheep. The headman met me and told me you were gone. At first I did not understand. I thought you had…left me. I knew you were very angry when I went away to sing without you. I was so stunned, that I did not understand what he was saying.”
“No doubt he told you how I struck down his son.”
“No, not at first. What he was doing was offering me my choice of the girls of the village to take your place. I wept and said no one could ever take your place for me, and that I would go after you and find you and bring you home. It was then, he told me that you were an evil witch and that you had nearly killed his son just for offering his services as a man.”
“So he did,” Eurydice snapped. “But after I assured him that I did not want him in my bed—that was the man-service he was offering—he tried to take me by force in a field. I think now he did not even want me, that he was doing as his father suggested and trying to prove me a whore, so you would reject me. But what happened to him was an accident. Running away from him, I fell on an adder. In drawing Power to Heal myself, I drew from him as well as from everything else around me. Usually, I am more careful, but I was frightened.”
He nodded. “I did not know the truth, but I did not believe the headman. I do not like your Gifts, Eurydice—I wish you would rid yourself of them—but in all the years I have known you, even when we were in grave danger, you have never harmed any with them.”
“I cannot rid myself of my Gifts,” Eurydice cried. “They were born in me. But I tell you this. I would not if I could.”
As if she had not spoken, Orpheus went on, “Anyway, by then I was growing angry. I thought they had driven you out of the village, and I seized the headman by the throat and demanded to know where you had gone. The son meanwhile, had fetched his sword and tried to strike me from behind. I threw the father away and drew my blade to defend myself.”
“Was no one else there?” Eurydice cried. “Did no one of your precious villagers try to warn you or stop him?”
Color rose in Orpheus’ face and he did not meet her eyes. “Likely I would not have heard them. Aristaios was screaming that I was a fool to fight over a whore who had stared right into his eyes when he spoke to her. And why should anyone interfere? They all knew I was far more able with weapons than those two dolts. And so it was. In two strokes, I had hamstrung that lecher, and as he fell, I passed my sword between his legs and gelded him. I could think of no more fitting punishment for Aristaios, who, I think, has tupped every girl in the village and dared call you ‘whore’.”
Eurydice smiled. “I think so too.”
“It was then that the old man also came at me with a sword, and when he sa
w what I had done to his son, he screamed it was all for nothing. You were far beyond Aristaios’ reach in Plutos. I said, ‘Then you shall go to her and be her slave in the underworld.’ And I took off his head.” He hesitated a moment and then said harshly, “It is your fault too, Eurydice. I begged you not to use those foul Gifts and told you a thousand times to keep your eyes down when you speak to a man.”
“You mean I should have left Berenike’s child to die on the rocks?” Eurydice asked, her voice gone cold and hard. “And, in fact, I did keep my eyes down when I spoke to Aristaios. But I will do so no more.” Then she reached out and took his hand and spoke more gently. “Orpheus, my love, listen to me. I tried. I truly tried to be what you desired, what your village folk required, of a woman. It seems I failed. But that is not important. What is important is that I was miserably unhappy. I was bored and frightened all the time. I am not fit for village life.”
“You will become so,” Orpheus said, smiling and putting out a hand to draw her closer.
She jerked back. “No. No! I do not want to be a village drudge, doing nothing but women’s work, thinking of nothing beyond the next washing and the next pot of stew. I was born in a village, but even there I did little women’s work and before I first bled I was taken to the temple. There I learned to think, to use my Gifts, and to control and direct my Power. Do you think I will give that up to milk cows and reap corn?”
“In Greece, a woman—”
“Yes, I know. You have told me often enough. And I told you that I had tried and failed. That is clear enough by the fact that I have been once sacrificed.”
“That will not happen again,” Orpheus said.
“No, I agree. The next time someone will trip me into the well, or down a cliff, or set the house afire when you decide you must go away.”
“No,” Orpheus said. “It was all the headman’s doing. The others are not like him.”
Eurydice sighed. “You are mistaken, but it does not matter anyway. I tell you now, I cannot bear village life. I was not bred to it, and whatever evil befell me in my travels—and I was near to death more than once—at least it was not from boredom. That means I cannot live anywhere in Greece where women are mured up behind walls and show their virtue by being ignorant. We must go somewhere where I can use my Gifts and be free. I think Salmydessus would be best, but if you know a better place—”
“We will talk about that over the winter,” Orpheus said soothingly, gathering his feet under him to rise. “This is no time for traveling and I will not leave you alone this winter—”
“No,” Eurydice said, jumping to her feet before he could get up. “I left my own land, left a city where I was not unwelcome and was safe. I loved you enough to follow you to a place where I knew I would be hated and feared. They sacrificed me. Perhaps it was mostly the headman’s doing, but not one single person tried to save me. No, Orpheus, I will not go back to that village for longer than it takes to gather up our belongings, and I will not go at all unless you swear upon your precious honor—give oath to me as you gave it to Jason—that we will leave on the day after we arrive to go to Salmydessus or some other city not in Greece.”
“You are being unreasonable, Eurydice,” Orpheus said, rising also and putting out a hand. Instead of taking it she backed away. “Eurydice,” he said, almost singing, “I know you have had a very frightening experience—”
“My experience in Plutos was not frightening at all,” she snapped. “Unfortunately, I do not expect that to happen again. I am certain my next experience at the hands of your dear villagers will be fatal.”
“I will watch over you,” he promised.
She shook her head. “You brought me out of Plutos, which I love. I gave up my sweet life there gladly to be with you. Now you must give up something for me. You must give up this village. I do not care if you visit it and give them your earnings. I can earn enough to keep us myself, but I will not live there.”
Orpheus sighed. “Oh, beloved, do you not understand? It is not the village. Perhaps I do not love it or its people so much as I once did. If you hate them, we could seek another village, but a village it must be. I thought the terror of being sacrificed would prove to you that you must learn to suppress your Gifts, to deny them, so no one will hate you or fear you. Eurydice, the gods do not love the Gifted. I fear for you. I want you to be like other women.”
She listened to him in wide-eyed horror. For love of her, he would destroy her. He had killed one man and maimed another to make her safe, yet he would wrench out her whole inner being. He did not realize that would leave only an empty shell that would shear sheep and milk cows and spin and dig and harvest and likely bear one child after another until she bled to death during one birthing. But that empty shell would not be Eurydice, and he would very soon stop loving it.
“No,” she said. “It is you who do not understand. It is true I am not like other women, Greek or Thracian. I am me, myself. I do not wish to be like other women. I will never forsake my Goddess or give up my Power. If you love me, you must love me as I am—the witch Eurydice.”
“The gods will curse you,” he cried.
“Not Hades and Persephone,” she said. “They bless me, for my Gifts are what their people truly need.” Tears came into her eyes. “Orpheus, I love you. I was willing, am willing, to give up the many joys of living in Plutos just to be with you. I will travel with you anywhere. I will live anywhere except Greece. But no matter where we go, I will not try to suppress my Gifts. I will try to make them stronger, to learn to draw and hold more Power, to learn more spells. I am a witch! It is what I am. I cannot be other and still be Eurydice.”
“I outfaced the King of the Dead to have you back,” he shouted. “You are a woman. You will obey me. You are mine!”
“No! I am mine!” she screamed. He reached for her, and she leapt back. “Stand or I will freeze you,” she warned.
“Foul witch,” he snarled, but he did not grab at her again.
The tears that had stood in her eyes now rolled down her cheeks. “You do not love Eurydice. You love some Simulacrum that you have devised, some perfect Greek wife. You do not even understand that if I became that thing, you would soon no longer love it. It could not laugh with you or tease you or tell you strange tales to be made into songs.” She uttered a single sob and turned away, saying over her shoulder. “Fare well, my beloved, fare well. I love you and always will, but I must be Eurydice.”
“Wait!” he cried as she started to run, following, but not closely enough to touch her. “I did not mean it. I do love you. In the spring if you still feel the same, I will take you anywhere you wish to go.”
She stopped in the mouth of the cave. “By spring I would be dead—and you do not mean what you say. You think you can bend me to your will again, as you did so many times before. Never again. If ever you decide that you love the witch Eurydice enough to live in a place of her choosing—as she lived in a place of your choosing and nearly died of it—you will be welcome to me in Plutos. You will not lack for folk to sing to or wonders to see or dangers to brave. Hades and Persephone promised me that you would be among the first of their servants, given all honor—”
“You are still ensorcelled,” he gasped stepping back. “All this has been only to draw me down into the underworld.”
“You are wrong,” she sighed, “but it does not matter. If you want me, you must come to me—even believing that.”
And she turned and ran headlong into the dark. Orpheus uttered a cry of horror as he saw her leap the trough and fall into the arms of the guardian “dead,” who seemed to have emerged from the wall. In another instant, she was drawn through the stone, also.
* * *
Persephone received Eurydice back with open arms—quite literally, for she held her while she wept—and soothed her with smiling assurances that she had not lost Orpheus. “He came once,” she said. “He will come again.”
Eurydice shook her head. “No, he did not come for love bu
t to take back what he felt was his—a possession, a slave.”
At that, Persephone laughed aloud. “No man goes into the realm of the dead and dares beg favors from its king and queen to regain a bauble or a slave. No, whatever he pretends to himself or others, he loves you as dearly as you love him. It might take three moons, perhaps six, but he will come again. He is only stubborn because he is a man and of a tribe that believes the male superior to the female. He needs grief to make him understand that a man does not by his nature know best.”
“He will never understand that,” Eurydice sobbed.
Persephone laughed again. “Perhaps not, my love, perhaps not. Nonetheless, he will come. He is not a coward. He does not love his own life so much that he will forgo all joy to save it. Thus, because without you he will have no joy, he will come again. And now, I have another comfort to offer you. Come with me.”
Eurydice followed the queen through the great cavern and up the stairs. At first as the howling of souls in torment grew louder and louder, she was afraid that Persephone was going to show her that “elsewhere” from which she had been saved by being sacrificed. But as they climbed, wind began to tear at Eurydice’s hair and gown, and she needed to clutch the rope guides. And, when they were helped from the stairs by one of the guards, Eurydice realized there were no voices, only wind, pouring in and out through a cavemouth and through many openings higher in the cliff.
They emerged into a sunlit meadow, not large but thick with the stubble of a rich crop, and walked along a white gravel path toward the most beautiful temple Eurydice had ever seen. It was a pure white marble, and as they came closer Eurydice could see that it was carved in places into lacy fretwork, which reminded her of the crystal formations in the caves, and in other places into scenes of worship and fruitfulness of all kinds. The interior was lighted through the fretwork walls. Within was a clean altar on which it was clear no sacrifice had ever been burned. Only in a breathtakingly beautiful stone bowl was an exquisite arrangement of stalks of ripe wheat, barley, millet, and rye, of beans and peas and colored gourds.
Enchanted Fire Page 47