Amber and Clay

by Laura Amy Schlitz

  Melisto shook her head in confusion; she looked like the bear cub when a yellow jacket stung its nose. “What is Oropos?”

  Korinna frowned at the fresh interruption. “There is an oracle at Oropos, with a famous seer. When the hunters brought the bear, they gave it to us for sacrifice, but I wasn’t sure what should be done.” A faint flush rose in her cheeks. “You raised the question yourself — that Artemis might be angered, not pleased, by such a sacrifice. No cub has ever been sacrificed at Brauron. I spoke of my misgivings to the other priestesses, and they agreed to consult the oracle. The seer at Oropos is descended from Melampos of Pylos. He will know.”

  Melisto knew the story of Melampos of Pylos. He had lived hundreds of years ago and spoken the language of animals. “Then the bear might not be sacrificed!”

  “It might not. But I think it will be.”

  “Can’t you — ?” Melisto swallowed. She wished she had not spoken so rashly before. “You’re the priestess of Artemis. If it’s up to you — ”

  “It isn’t! What power do I have? Are you fool enough to think I rule Brauron?”

  It was exactly what Melisto had thought. “You’re the priestess.”

  Korinna gave a short laugh. “Oh, Melisto! I am priestess — but only for a time. In due course, I’ll go home and be married, like any other girl. The elders will choose another girl to personify the goddess. Perhaps Elpis, when she is older — she’s of good family and graceful. But if she is chosen, she won’t be in charge, any more than I am. It’s the old women, and the old men who come for the banquets; they rule Brauron.”

  “The grandmothers?” Melisto used the nickname the girls had for the older women at the sanctuary. “The old women who welcomed us the first night?” She had scarcely noticed the oldest priestesses. They were as invisible as slaves, seeing to the domestic work at Brauron: overseeing the kitchens and the looms, greeting visitors, tending the shrines.

  “The older priestesses; yes. They have more power. I’m the goddess’s mask.” Korinna tapped her cheekbones with her fingertips. “Her face, if you like. Artemis is a young goddess, so a girl must impersonate her. I always knew I might be chosen, because my grandmother served in her day, and my great-grandmother. I have a gift for animals. And of course, I am beautiful; that’s necessary.” She spoke of her beauty without conceit; it was as if she said, And I’m right-handed.

  “I lead the processions, and I wear the fawn skin and carry the goddess’s bow. I assist at the sacrifice, and I tame the stags. And the little girls fall in love with me, because they think I’m Artemis, but I am not holy; it is Artemis who is holy. The grandmothers tell me how to behave. They’re the ones who make the decisions. They sent to consult the oracle, and they’ll decide what’s to become of the bear cub. Melisto, I tell you this out of kindness: I think the bear will be sacrificed, and it will be soon, perhaps the next full moon. You must prepare yourself to assist with the sacrifice, and not break your heart when the bear is given to Artemis.”

  “But what if Artemis doesn’t want it?” Melisto’s voice shook. At that moment, she saw that she didn’t care whether Artemis wanted the bear or not. Artemis was less to her than the bear.

  Korinna rose to her feet in one fluid movement. Her whole body spoke: she had tolerated Melisto’s bad manners long enough. Swiftly she picked up her sandals and crossed the bridge barefoot. She was no longer a girl, but an offended goddess: haughty and sublime.

  Melisto watched her go, but with blind eyes. She was thinking of the bear: of the harness embedded in the bear’s fur, of the stout post and the heavy chain.

  7. THE KNIFE

  “Melisto, are you awake?”

  Melisto uttered a moan of protest. She wished Elpis would leave her alone. Now that the nights were warm, they no longer slept curled up together, but head to foot. Elpis’s feet smelled like grass and sweat and dirty little girl; Melisto stank of bear. Often, they kicked each other in their sleep.

  “I forgot to tell you. They’re going to sacrifice the bear.”

  Melisto’s eyes opened. She sat up in bed. “Who told you so?”

  “You know how Tanis hasn’t been here?”

  “No.” The handmaid Tanis taught hunting, and Melisto was not interested in hunting. She had no use for Tanis and hadn’t noticed her absence.

  “She left, but she came back. Today, when you were at the stable. Korinna met her at the bridge. Maia and I were wading, so we heard. Tanis came back from a place called Oporos — ”

  “Oropos.”

  “That’s what I said, almost. There’s a seer there, and he told Tanis that the bear cub should be given to Artemis on one of her holy days. He said if Artemis didn’t want it, the hunters wouldn’t have been able to trap it. Korinna says you ought to be prepared, only she tried to prepare you and you wouldn’t listen. I don’t like it.” Elpis spoke decisively. “I feel sorry for the bear, but I feel sorrier for you, because you like the bear so much.”

  “Did they say which holy day?”

  “No. But Korinna said it had better be soon. She said the bear’s getting stronger all the time, and it won’t be easy to cut its throat. They might have to club it to death. Are you crying?” Elpis edged closer, peering through the dark.

  “No.” Melisto aimed a light kick at Elpis. She didn’t want Elpis’s sympathy, or her body heat. Incensed, Elpis kicked back. Melisto retreated to the foot of the bed, as far away from Elpis as she could get. She wrapped her arms around her knees, tying herself in a knot.

  A white flash lit the room, and Melisto tensed, expecting thunder. There was none. The weather had been sultry: there had been heat lightning for six nights running, but no thunder and no rain.

  Elpis gave an irritable sigh and stretched out to sleep. Melisto clutched her knees and tried to think what to do. Her mind flew to the bear, chained to its post in the barn. She had left her bed before to visit it at night, and Elpis had never told on her. If she went now, she might be able to untie the knot that connected the chain to the harness.

  She slid sideways, moving stealthily so as not to wake Elpis. Her toes touched the cold floor before she remembered. Untying the knot would not be enough. She needed to free the bear from the harness. If she didn’t, the rope around its neck would contract as the bear grew, tormenting it and dooming it to starvation.

  What she needed was a knife. Perhaps it would be better to wait until morning, when she visited the kitchens. She would steal a knife from the kitchen: a strong knife, not too large, but sharp and stout enough to saw through rope —

  She heard the sound of sandals against stone. Torchlight brought the shadows to life. One of the grandmothers spoke. Her voice was hoarse and commanding. “Girls. Get up. Go to the altar. It’s time.”

  The girls swarmed from their beds. Those who slept naked found their chitons and tugged them over their heads. Breathless but staunch in their devotion to Artemis, they raced out of the dormitory and into the humid night.

  Melisto’s heart hammered. What if Elpis were mistaken, and the bear were to be sacrificed tonight? She had wasted time lying in bed, fretting and planning. Now, perhaps, she was too late.

  A low growl of thunder: the girl ahead of Melisto jumped straight up into the air. A small child squealed. Heat lightning was one thing, but thunder presaged a storm. Always before, the night ceremonies had been held when the sky was clear and the moonlight was strong. Melisto raised her face to the sky. Gray clouds were billowing, casting migrant shadows on the earth. The ground looked watery and uneven.

  The flock of girls reached the open space around the altar. Melisto forced herself to look in all directions. Tethered in front of the temple was a goat.

  A goat. Melisto’s knees sagged with relief. One of the priestesses began to play the double flute, and Melisto fumbled for the hands of the girls next to her. The children formed a ring around the altar. They looked to Korinna to see if they should dance. Korinna’s hair was wind-tossed, and she wore a white himation. She stepped
to one side, beginning a counterclockwise circle. Her voice rose in a song of praise, a hymn to Artemis.

  The girls chimed in, taking up the melody one by one. Melisto felt her skin turn to gooseflesh. Under that troubled sky, the music was eerie as well as beautiful. The air was freshening. Melisto filled her lungs and sang louder. When the last phrase died away, Korinna nodded to one of the older children, who went to untie the nanny goat.

  The girl led the goat toward the altar, tempting her by scooping out handfuls of grain from a basket. Suddenly the goat balked. Perhaps the wind made her skittish. She shook her horns and backed up, haunches shivering. Then she plunged forward, horns lowered, butting the girl and knocking her basket to the ground.

  At that moment, there was a white glare of lightning. The sky split open and the rain poured down.

  It quenched the priestesses’ torches and made the children shriek. The goat bleated and scampered away, rope dangling. One of the priestesses shouted, “Girls! Inside!” The sacrifice would have to be abandoned. The goat was unwilling: a bad omen.

  The shivering girls did not wait to be told twice. They broke their circle and streamed toward the building. Only Melisto did not go. She dashed for the portico of the temple and hid behind a stone column. As soon as the others had gone, she ran toward the altar. The sacrificial knife was concealed in the basket of grain. She found the fallen basket, raked through the grain, and found it.

  A thrill of fear ran through her. The knife was sacred. It was also the tool she needed. The blade was curved close to the handle, designed to cut through an animal’s windpipe. The knife was so sharp that when she tested it with her forefinger, it sliced the outer layer of skin before she knew it. She made a fist around the handle and began to run.

  By the time she reached the stable, her chiton was sodden and her hair hung straight with water. She darted under the overhang and wiped her face with her wet hands. As soon as she climbed into the stall, the bear trotted up to her. It wrapped its paws around her waist and pressed its face against her, a child hiding in its mother’s skirts. Melisto stroked it, grateful for its warmth. Loose hair and grit stuck to her hands.

  When the bear loosened its grip, she sank down in the straw. The bear circled her and tramped into her lap. Still standing, it began to suckle her neck. Melisto tensed against the pain. She stuck a finger in the corner of its mouth to break the suction.

  The bear made a sound of infant satisfaction. It was glad she had come through the storm. It hummed like a hive of bees and settled down close to her. The rain was falling more gently now. Melisto was tempted to let the bear suckle until it was sleepy. Then they could curl up together, and she would be warm. She wanted one more night with the bear.

  But the risk was too great. Usually the girls put themselves to bed, but on a night like this one, the priestesses might take a head count. Korinna would guess where she was, if Elpis did not tell. Melisto steadied the knife in her hand. She gripped the harness and slid the knife under it, flat against the bear’s fur.

  The bear squirmed. It never liked being interrupted when it was suckling, and its skin under the harness was tender. It understood that Melisto was not playing, but trying to interfere with it. It twisted free with such force that the rope skinned Melisto’s fingertips. She yelped and stuck her hand in her mouth. When she pursued the bear, it swiped at her with its left front paw, leaving a row of bleeding scratches on her leg.

  The stable filled with white light. Melisto jumped when the thunder crackled. The bear ran and scurried up the post. Again the air glared white, and Melisto saw everything: the silver waterfall that rimmed the stable roof, the dark gleam of the iron chain, the bear’s panic-stricken eyes.

  She hunkered down next to the stable wall. She wished she had thought to bring food for the bear. She might have distracted it, as the sacrificial animals were distracted. She banked the straw around her naked legs and waited, shivering and listening to the storm.

  Time passed. The sound of the rain on the roof was no longer deafening. When Melisto heard the bear scrape-sliding down the post, she made herself keep still. She whispered, “Artemis.” Now that she was here, in the stable, she had no doubt what the goddess wanted. Patiently she waited for the bear to come.

  It padded across the stable floor. First it checked its dish, flipping it with one paw and huffing with disappointment. Then it wandered over to sniff her. Melisto murmured love words and extended her arm, fingers drawn together. The bear licked her and fitted its mouth around her hand. She allowed it to suckle until it was almost asleep.

  She meant to attack suddenly, taking the bear by surprise, but the bear sensed her decision even as it dozed. She attacked; it revolted; the two things happened simultaneously. She grabbed the harness and threw herself over the bear, straddling it, using her whole weight to hold it still. It screamed with outrage as she shoved the knife under the harness and sawed with all her might.

  She could not hold the bear. It hauled itself out from under her, dragging her several feet across the stable floor. She could not hold the bear, but she kept her grip on the harness and the knife. She had gained an advantage: the bear was not only pulling against her, it was forcing the knife through the rope. As the bear writhed and fumed, the blade bit through the last strands.

  The harness was cut, but the rope was still embedded in the bear’s fur. Melisto snatched at it. There was a noise like cloth tearing as the bear scrambled to its feet and yanked free.

  Melisto stood up. She felt as if her whole body had been skinned raw. She flung down the knife. It hadn’t been an hour since she was afraid to touch it. Now she didn’t care what happened to it.

  She stumbled to the stall door. The rain was falling lightly: a steady patter. “Come on!” she urged the bear. She shoved the stall door open, dragging it over the muddy ground. She flew straight ahead, into the rain, and the bear followed — whether because it viewed her as a mother or because it tracked her as a fleeing quarry, she did not know. She only knew that it was close behind her. Now she must lead it away from Brauron, beyond the boundaries of the sanctuary.

  She ran. She, who had never liked running, who had always hated her clumsy slowness, ran as if her feet were winged. Her limbs were as tireless as a god’s; the blood rushed under her skin and she glowed. The bear, confined for months, ran alongside her. It bounced and curvetted, the hind paws overtaking the front paws with every stride. Melisto sketched a wide loop around the dormitories. When she crossed the bridge, she stopped and looked over her shoulder, not knowing if the bear could swim. The bear splashed into the spring and clambered up the bank. She shouted, “Bear!” and sprinted onward, leading it farther afield.

  She dodged around trees and through the grassland. All at once she glimpsed the bay in the distance. Without thinking about it, she had brought the bear to her favorite place. She looked behind her and saw it was sniffing the roots of a tree. Soon it would begin a new life and find its own food. She called, “αρκτσς!” and it raised itself up and looked for her.

  An idea stirred within her. She dragged her chiton over her head and stood naked and tingling in the rain. She raised her hands as if they were paws adorned with needle-sharp claws. Tipping her head back, she let the rain wash her: arms and nipples, neck and belly and thigh. A tension gathered in her throat and emerged as a growl; she bared her teeth and felt the hair on her arms spring erect.

  She pounded the wet ground with her muddy feet and shook her arms, swaying. She was dancing, and she was a Bear, one of the goddess’s own. She had no need to stop and think what step came next. She could not make a mistake. She was aware that the bear was watching her, and the rain had intensified. The storm was strengthening around her.

  Then the sky split, like a thin plate shattering: each fragment edged with white fire. The thunder that followed was earsplitting. Melisto sprang straight up in the air. She rushed downhill, heading for the strand, where the salt water seethed against the pebbles. She had a wild idea that
the bay might shelter her; she would wade out and crouch down in the water, where the raindrops would not strike so hard against her skin.

  She never reached the water. Another bolt of lightning cracked the sky, but she had no time to see it. Only the bear saw the strike, and it was terrified; the afterimage burned on its retina. Melisto felt a blazing and unnatural heat. Her last thought was rebellious: nothing should feel like that. She glowed, lit up like a shooting star, and like a star, she fell.

  What? Are you shocked?

  A ten-year-old girl

  is struck by lightning. A moment of feeling wholly alive

  — and then her death. Did the gods take her?

  and if they did, why?

  Who had it in for her?

  Did Zeus, mightiest of gods,

  decide he was weary

  of this harmless girl? All right: she was a brat,

  and a wild girl, but did Zeus,

  almighty Zeus,

  waste a thunderbolt on her?

  Or was it Artemis?

  She’s a terror, with her arrows —

  was she craving the amber sphinx?

  Was she mad enough for a trinket,

  a glob of tree sap

  and a few gold beads,

  to kill a girl she liked?

  Are the gods like that? And if so —

  if the gods aren’t good

  what good are the gods?

  Or are there no gods?

  does it all mean nothing?

  Don’t ask me. I’m the Sphinx.

  I ask riddles. I don’t answer them.

  I can tell you this:

  sooner or later

  you’ll find yourself here:

  the place where nothing makes sense,

  the place where you ask What does life mean?

  You’ll be shocked,

  or suffering,

  and you’ll want to know why

  . . . and then life will go on

  not answering,

  and the wheel will turn, till there comes a time

  when you look on the world

  and feel such wonder,