The Year-god's Daughter: A Saga of Ancient Greece (The Child of the Erinyes Book 1)

by Rebecca Lochlann

  Chapter Twelve: Moon of White Light

  Aridela sat next to her sister at the queen’s table. Together they watched as people, garbed in their finest linen and jewels, gathered to feast and honor the bull-king.

  Themiste slipped in from a side passage and joined them. She looked pale, but then, she seldom set foot outside her mountain caverns. Selene lounged, deceptively at ease, on Aridela’s left, her white-blonde hair woven with tiny shells and gems in honor of the occasion. Only Aridela saw how closely her friend watched the visitors; only Aridela sensed how ready she was to seize, if the slightest need should arise, one of the swords in the stand by the doorway.

  The queen’s big noisy family entered, laughing among themselves. Sisters, brothers, nephews and nieces crowded their way to the tables. On Helice’s right sat the bull-king, a lithe, comely youth whose name was Xanthus before he won the Games and accepted the traditional title of ‘Zagreus.’ A usually happy, carefree man, he’d grown quieter through these last days of mead making. Now his fingertips whitened against the table’s edge and his restless gaze traveled over the hall without focus. Nor did he seem to pay attention to the amount of wine he swallowed.

  Aridela had seen this expression before on the faces of other bull-kings. She always tried to show them confidence and joy rather than selfish grief. Their heroism was an inspiration. She only wished there was a way to make their last days less terrifying.

  Arranged at tables across the open terrace sat artists, famous ladies, their husbands and lovers, teachers, bull leapers and hopeful competitors. The din of a hundred conversations and laughter rose into the sky, where the sun dropped behind the Ida mountain range, leaving a luscious purple glow in the heavens.

  Lycus sat at the table closest to the queen’s, in a spot that allowed him to send Aridela constant smoldering looks. He’d waylaid her earlier in the corridor, asking, “You’ll stay in your bedchamber tonight?”

  At that instant, inexplicably, Aridela’s ambivalence vanished. She nodded and lied. “Themiste commanded it. I can’t go against her.”

  “Then I won’t go out either,” he returned gallantly, and kissed her hand.

  Athene then, would make the choice. Tonight Aridela would learn if Potnia supported Minos Themiste’s wishes. If Velchanos didn’t come to her in the cave— for she was certain no mortal would find them— she would take it as a sign that she must obey Themiste’s edict and descend forever, untouched, into the shrines.

  She saw her mother unobtrusively yet carefully studying the guests too, but the queen’s face remained unreadable. She hadn’t drunk any wine nor chewed any visionary concoctions. She lightened into easy affection only when she caressed the arm of the Zagreus or fed him the finest morsels from the communal platter.

  Wine made the rounds, along with baked fish, grape leaves stuffed with diced octopus and spices, cheese, breads, and bowls of herb-infused olive oil. Dancers wove between the tables, faces hidden behind feathered masks and sheer veils. Any who wanted it was given a brew of barley water and the cara mushroom, to aid in their visions.

  As the evening progressed, Aridela watched faces flush and eyelids get heavy. Men leaned close to their female companions. One couple kissed in a shadowed corner, their hands wandering. She caught Lycus staring at her and struggled with her desires, but underneath lay the dream from Mount Juktas. She would never forget the god’s face, his mane of wild, honey-hued hair, or the words he’d spoken. If only, if only it could be real.

  Just before the offering, Helice was called away. As soon as she left, the foreigner she had earlier identified as Prince Harpalycus of Tiryns sauntered over and squatted in the narrow space between the two sisters. Warmth from his arm radiated into Aridela’s thigh. Iphiboë blushed. She acquired an expression that made Aridela think of her sister’s whispered nickname, ‘the petrified mouse.’

  He locked a piercing gaze on Iphiboë. “This night brings changes for you, my lady.” He pressed his fist to his chest.

  “I hope to honor those who have faith in me, my lord.” Her voice quivered, as did the hand she extended for a fig. She struck her aunt’s wine bowl, making it teeter.

  Harpalycus’s eyes never wavered. Quietly he asked, “Have you ever known a man?” and ran his index finger along her forearm.

  Aridela’s spine stiffened. “Your question is unfit,” she said, since Iphiboë seemed too choked to reply.

  Something glittered in his eyes as he turned toward her. Was it desire for Iphiboë, or the land, as her mother feared? He was handsome, in the fashion of the mainland barbarians. His thick brown beard and unoiled skin were intriguing. His eyes, a pale bluish-grey, were most compelling beneath heavy dark brows, and he possessed an attractive air of arrogant confidence. But something about him made her ill at ease. Her instincts warned her to flee; she gripped the edge of the table to ground herself, refusing to abandon Iphiboë to his attentions.

  Taking a quick gulp of wine, he glanced about the room. “I meant no affront.” His hawk-like gaze dropped to the silver amulet at Aridela’s throat. “It’s true that I….” He trailed off, frowning. “I meant no affront.”

  “I’m not angry, Prince Harpalycus,” Aridela replied. The man, barbarian though he was, possessed enough instinct to avoid offending even the younger daughter. This sense of power was pleasurable. Her skin tingled.

  “Where will Princess Iphiboë go tonight?” he murmured. “Tell me, and I swear neither of you will regret it. I’m the son of a king, and I know how to please a woman.”

  Aridela found herself considering his proposition, though the arrogant reminder of his standing made her want to laugh. If she also told Lycus, then both she and Iphiboë would be assured of handsome lovers. Yet, though the mushroom she’d chewed made everything but love seem unimportant, her ultimate goal remained clear. “That would be blasphemy,” she said, somewhat reluctantly. “It would dishonor Athene, who will make whatever choice is most satisfactory to her.”

  Impatience crossed his face. She felt sorry for him; he didn’t understand their ways. Reaching out boldly, she placed her palm on his cheek, intrigued by the wiriness of his beard. He stared, his mouth half-open. She smiled. He didn’t return it, but the coldness seemed to lessen.

  She said, “The men of Argolis are like the land from which they spring. Strong, tempered. Powerful, like the bulls of Kaphtor, yet disarmingly passionate. I knew one of you, once. He, too, was armored, and kept his true nature private.”

  Harpalycus’s expression of triumph disintegrated into a scowl.

  Fearful of the strength of her own half-forgotten memories and desires, Aridela stood. Motioning to Iphiboë, she turned away in time to catch Helice staring at them from across the room.

  What a strange expression the queen wore. Aridela hoped she hadn’t roused her mother’s dagger-edged suspicions. Her anxiety increased as Helice beckoned.

  “Is it time to go, Mother?” she asked.

  Helice drew her daughters away from prying ears. “You were talking to the barbarian prince,” she said. Her voice, low but sharp, demanded truth.

  Aridela answered easily. “He was currying favor. He is handsome, though, don’t you think?” She glanced back at Harpalycus. He’d returned to his own table, but continued to watch them. “Do you think so, Iphiboë?”

  Iphiboë shrugged and peered longingly at the doorway.

  Helice’s speculative frown didn’t diminish. “Where will you go?” she said, turning toward Iphiboë.

  “Selene will be with her,” Aridela said. “She won’t be alone.”

  Helice grabbed Iphiboë’s forearm. “Are you going to hinder the rite?”

  “Has someone accused me of such a thing?” Iphiboë asked, her voice trembling.

  “I have heard you intend to hide where no man can find you.”

  Aridela stepped in, giving Iphiboë no chance to dissolve into incriminating tears. “This was my idea, and it comes from Goddess Athene’s own direction. I’m convinced Iphiboë mus
t wait in a special place tonight. Three times in the last month I’ve dreamed of her going secretly in the dark to the Cave of Velchanos. Every time, I wake feeling content, as though something wondrous is achieved.”

  “It would take half the night to go so far. Is that your purpose, Iphiboë? I well know your fears. Long ago I decreed you need not do this. But you cannot continue declaring your intent to take part then causing an uproar with your refusal at the last moment.”

  “She isn’t doing that, Mother,” Aridela said. “Let me explain. When we were hunting in the mountains, I listened and watched for signs, like Themiste taught me. One afternoon, when I foraged ahead of the others, swallows rose in a cloud from the trees. I explored to see what frightened them, and came to a clearing.” Her mother made an impatient movement; Aridela took her hand. “Mother, listen to me. At the edge of the clearing was a cave. Exactly in the center of the cave’s mouth sat an owl, on a stone. It didn’t fly away but gave voice, as though to make certain I saw it. Then it did fly, but not into the forest. It flew into the cave. Athene has a plan for Iphiboë. It will unfold perfectly if we follow her instruction. All things are magnified in a cave. Iphiboë’s experience will be blessed beyond measure, I’m certain of it.”

  Helice paused. When she spoke, her voice was calmer. “Velchanos’s cave is powerful. Only the boldest of men would enter there. Still….” She scanned the crowded chamber. “Go into the corridor. I’ll be there in a moment. There’s something I must do.” She walked away, her stride purposeful.

  “I was so afraid, Aridela,” Iphiboë said. “I thought she knew everything and would force me to go without you. Then you told her. But you did it so skillfully you soothed her suspicions. I never knew you to be this accomplished at lying.”

  “I didn’t lie. I only left out one detail— that I will be with you.”

  “Why were you speaking to the prince of Tiryns that way? You wanted to tell him where we were going, too. Who did you mean, when you said you knew someone from there?”

  “Carmanor. Have you forgotten?”

  They left the chamber, stepping into the passage beyond. “Oh,” Iphiboë said. “I did forget. He and I barely spoke, after all.”

  “So much time has passed. Who knows where he is, or if he’s even still alive?”

  “This is the second time you’ve mentioned him today.”

  “I hadn’t thought of him in a long time until this morning. Perhaps all these foreigners who’ve come for the Games reminded me. Harpalycus especially. The citadel of Tiryns isn’t far from Mycenae.”

  “I can’t even remember what Carmanor looked like.”

  “His hair was like a fall of dark water, and his eyes the color of the heavens at the summit of Mount Ida.”

  “That sounds like a love song.”

  Laughing and blushing, Aridela waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t tease me. Perhaps, in truth, what I mark is the retreat of our childhoods into the past. Tonight, depending on what our Lady has planned, everything may change. Tomorrow could herald a completely new Aridela and Iphiboë.”

  “Yes.” Iphiboë’s eyes clouded and her shoulders slumped, the gesture so faint anyone else would miss it.

  Their cousins Neoma and twelve-year-old Phanaë, followed by the oracle Themiste, entered the passage from the feasting hall. They all lit torches and began the processional walk. Selene and about twenty priestesses converged with them. Dancing light brought the frescoes along the walls to life; the paintings of women and men seemed to join the line, their eyes brilliant with what could be anticipation. More priestesses, garbed in ceremonial white robes, waited at the north gate. Two held the traditional wine rhyton, as tall as they, its neck set with ivory and agates.

  Helice appeared from one of the side corridors, resplendent in her golden diadem and finery. The party moved northward, through Knossos, toward the port of Amnisos.

  Deep twilight offered cool air and the soothing hum of cicadas and cricket song. Helice led the procession along a narrow path laid with matched stones.

  The queen alone walked with her head uncovered. Her black hair, touched at the temples with fine strands of silver, fell loose to the small of her back. The priestesses who followed carried spindles and doves carved from ivory. One balanced a basket of live serpents on her hip and another led a small white calf.

  The procession came to Eleuthia’s Cave and entered the opening behind the ritual stone. Two priestesses lit lamps while the others formed a circle around Helice. The ceiling glistened with wet stalactites and light played between well-formed stalagmites. In Athene’s cave-womb, love of mating and fertility was clear to behold.

  The lamps were set into wall niches. All lifted their arms and chanted.

  “Alcmene, anathema,

  anemotis Cali-cabal Iakchos

  Calesienda.”

  A priestess led the bull calf to the altar and bound its legs with leather thongs. The singing, flicker of light, and close walls of stone added to the power of the libations. Aridela imagined their voices saturating the rocks, escaping through fissures, soaring to the heavens and merging with the stars.

  Spiritual ecstasy heated her blood, magnified by the fertility of the cave and the alchemy of the concoction.

  Iphiboë stepped forward and lifted a long dagger.

  “Anathema,” the women chanted as she approached the calf on the pyre.

  “Potnia, here is your daughter,” Helice intoned. “Come before you, ready to offer her womb. Fructify her as you do the harvest.”

  Nothing broke the silence now but the intermittent trickle of water. Even the calf lay still. Deep in the visionary spell, Aridela thought she could see Athene’s white hand covering Iphiboë’s, guiding the blade to the calf’s throat.

  Blood soaked into the hallowed ground, and “Calesienda!” burst from a dozen mouths.

  The rite finished, the night prepared, the women returned to Labyrinthos. At the north entrance, they circled Iphiboë.

  “Go with Laphria Athene,” Helice said, embracing her. “May Velchanos choose for you a youth pleasant of face and kind of heart.”

  Each of the women kissed the princess. Helice sounded the gong that allowed the palace and city-dwellers to roam freely. Phanaë, being too young to take part, was sent to her chamber with a handmaid; Neoma smugly waved as she ran off with a few of her friends.

  “Come, Aridela,” Helice said, clasping her daughter’s forearm. “Inside, with me.”

  Aridela risked a brief glance toward Selene before following her mother and Themiste.

  “I’ll pray for Iphiboë before I sleep, Mother,” she said.

  “I’ll never manage to sleep. I hope this night brings an end to her fear at last.”

  “Lock your door, Aridela,” Themiste said.

  Aridela kissed her mother then started down the corridor. “Wait,” Themiste said. “I’ll walk with you.” She joined Aridela, adding, “We must post a guard. Better to be safe on a night when men follow instinct rather than good sense.”

  Aridela silently cursed but continued on, setting her ingenuity to working out a different way of escape.

  Chapter Thirteen: Moon of White Light

  “What took so long?” Selene helped Aridela up the steep incline.

  “Themiste. She’s in my chamber. She wanted to give me her personal protection.”

  “How did you get away?” Iphiboë asked.

  “I gave her wine and played a long, soothing lullaby. Luckily, she hasn’t been sleeping well and was tired. It was a matter of waiting then climbing over the balcony and using the vines to climb down the wall.”

  “Aridela.” Iphiboë gasped. “You could have fallen.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “Cover your heads,” Selene said. Pulling hoods close around their faces so anyone who saw them would think them priestesses, the trio descended into the labyrinth, using lamps to guide their way. The meandering corridors beneath the palace were always eerie, but now, yawing black shadows
oozed from every angle, and the faint scuffling of rats and echoes of their footsteps made Aridela’s hair stand on end. Forever drawn to the scent of their own blood, the shades of kings watched from the depths. Iphiboë whimpered and kept an icy, pincer-like hold on her sister’s hand.

  They crept lower, edging past the enormous support pillars sprinkled with sacrificial blood to keep them strong during the Earth Bull’s angry pitching. From somewhere in the darkness came the soft regular sound of dripping water.

  “Are we lost?” Aridela fought off vertigo, both from the effects of the cara mushroom and the leaping shadows.

  Selene shook her head. “I marked the path earlier.” She pointed; crimson twine ran along the floor, stretching away into the dark.

  In time they came to a low-ceilinged narrow passage that slanted upward. This led to a chamber lined with clay jars, taller than men and as wide as the palace’s foundation pillars. At the far end they struggled to open a door sealed by dirt, cobwebs and age, and at last emerged into a cave.

  “The cart’s outside,” Selene said.

  They worked their way through a mere slit of an opening, hidden from the outside by stones and weeds. Cool night winds keened, bringing a sense of endless, refreshing space, welcome after the stuffy, clammy dark and twisting confinement of the underground.

  Over a slippery spill of scree and down a grassy slope lay the well-worn road, running north toward Eleuthia’s cave by the sea, and east, to the cave of Velchanos. Iphiboë pulled the cart from its hiding place behind some boulders; Selene untethered the goats and strapped them into the harness.

  Dizziness caused the star-spotted bowl above to swoop and spin. In the east, the half-moon smiled and winked.

  Befuddled with wine and cara, none could decide at first which direction they needed to travel, and fell into fits of giggles.

  Selene finally determined the way by examining the stars. The three climbed into the cart and sent the goats trotting along the road. Selene brought out a pouch of crushed cara and a wineskin she’d stashed in the cart.