Daughter of Chaos (Red Magic)

by Jen McConnel

  With her words echoing in my mind, I watched the farmers around us, and wondered what it would be like to stand in front of a goddess every season and ask for her assistance. The very idea fascinated me, and I gradually forgot to be nervous as I stood beside Demeter.

  Watching her bless the people and their goods, I felt a pang in my heart. I missed my own mother. Here I was, with her patron, and yet there was no way I could tell her. She would have been so happy to help Demeter dole out blessings and donations. Like her patron, my mom always takes care of everyone around her, strangers and family alike.

  I blinked back tears and turned to bless the farmer in front of me. He was a short man whose dark skin looked like a ripe grape in the sun. I smiled at him and held out my hands to take his token. He looked at me for a long moment, then shook his head and turned away. A few people in line behind him gasped, and I felt Demeter’s sharp eyes on my back.

  Had he seen through my disguise? Trying to ignore the way my stomach had started to churn, I focused on blessing the rest of the offerings, but it was impossible not to notice the cautious stares from the people in the field. And every time I looked up, Demeter was watching me, her expression unreadable.

  Long after the sun had set, Demeter and I picked our way over the fields to a small farmhouse. Persephone had told me that her mother lived simply, but I hadn’t been expecting the straw on the roof or the single lightbulb suspended from the ceiling in the large room. I guess I should have been thankful that she had electricity! Demeter flicked the switch, and the light buzzed to life. I crossed the room to the sink and began to pump water to wash my hands.

  “That was a good harvest festival, I thought.” I glanced over my shoulder when she spoke, but Demeter wasn’t looking at me. She had crossed to the far wall of the cottage and was stirring the coals on the hearth.

  I turned back to the sink, choosing my words carefully. “There were some lovely offerings. The children at the orphanage should eat well until spring.”

  She didn’t answer, but the flames roared to life. I stopped working the pump, and the water slowed to a thin stream. The crackle of the flames and the trickle of the water filled the uncomfortable silence.

  Finally, she asked, “Are you tired?” Demeter’s voice was soft and motherly, and I again felt a yearning to be at home with my own mother.

  I swallowed, and then nodded, trying to get a grip on the homesickness that threatened to overwhelm me. “It’s been a long day.” I crossed to the thin mattress under the window. Persephone had told me she liked to sleep where she could watch the stars in the night sky, so at least I knew which bed was mine. I yawned and knelt down on the bed.

  “Sleep well, daughter. But wake early; we do not have many more days left, and I want to get a head start on the work of the day.”

  I nodded. She turned off the single light and moved quietly to her bed, next to the hearth. I thought I would fall asleep immediately, but between jet lag and my experience at the harvest festival, I was twitchy and wide-awake. I flopped around on the mattress, trying to get comfortable, but when I heard light snoring from the hearth, I rose and walked out of the cottage.

  I wrapped the blanket from my bed around me and sat, shivering, on a large boulder not far from the cottage. I looked up, amazed by the dazzling display of stars. I had always lived in town, and even though we went camping every year, I’d never seen a night sky like this. There were three times as many stars as I was used to, and the sky looked like rich blue velvet. I drew a deep breath but started to cough when the cold air rushed into my lungs.

  Not wanting to draw Demeter’s attention by coughing near the open window, I began to wander aimlessly. I was too wound up to sleep, and there was something peaceful about being alone in the dark. I wasn’t worried about being attacked; after all, I was staying with a goddess. She and Persephone must have protected their home with spells, so I walked around without any of the concerns I would have felt at home. Durham was a pretty cool city, but like any city, it had its issues. I would never have wandered around in a neighborhood I didn’t know after dark, but it was different here.

  There was a path leading away from the house and farther down the hillside, and I followed it carefully, watching my feet to make sure I didn’t trip over any rocks or step into a thornbush. The path wound gently down the hill, past a slow stream before stopping at the mouth of a cave.

  The pure darkness of the cave opening was a shock, even after being out in the dark night. The stars didn’t seem to reach the cave, and it loomed up before me like monster. Everything around me was still; even the crickets had stopped their song. As I leaned forward, I thought I could hear something from deep within the cave, but I couldn’t identify the sound. Suddenly, a hand closed on my shoulder and I squealed in surprise.

  “Come back to the house.” Demeter’s voice was sharp, but her face was shadowed by her cloak and I couldn’t see her eyes. Nervously, I followed her back up the winding path. I glanced back at the cave once and paused, but Demeter kept striding ahead of me, and I rushed to keep up. What would she say about me wandering around? Had I blown my cover? I cursed my insomnia as I hurried back to the cottage in her wake.

  Once we were back inside, the stillness of the night dissolved.

  “How dare you taunt me like that?” Demeter flung her cloak in a heap on the floor and started to pace.

  “What do you mean?” Stunned, I couldn’t stop myself from speaking. The angry goddess spun on her heel and slapped me hard across the mouth. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I glared at her in shock. My parents had never hit me, and I was surprised at how much her hand stung.

  “It’s bad enough that you abandon me for half of every year. Did you ever think, just once, to pretend to want to stay here with me?”

  Still reeling from her slap, I stayed silent.

  “But no! Sneaking out at night to look at the cave, making me feel like a burden that you can’t wait to be rid of.”

  It was slowly dawning on me what that cave was. I couldn’t ask, since Persephone would have already known, but I felt sure it must be the entrance to the Underworld. Demeter’s next words confirmed that.

  “You think I don’t know that in just thirteen days you’ll walk into that cave and I won’t see you again until March? Why do you have to rush it?” Her anger gave way to tears, and she sank to her bed near the hearth, weeping. I crossed over to her and knelt by her side, even though I was still mad that she’d slapped me. Persephone wouldn’t fight with her mother, I was sure of that, and I had to keep reminding myself to act like her, not like me.

  “I don’t want to rush it. I’m sorry. You aren’t a burden.” I spoke softly, trying to heal a wound that was as old as the earth. I knew that Demeter had mourned the loss of her daughter when Hades first took her to the Underworld, but I hadn’t realized that she still felt the pain, year after year, when Persephone descended to be with her husband. I tried to imagine how my mom would feel if she had to lose me again and again, and I shuddered. Pushing my anger aside, I reached out my hands and the goddess enfolded me in a tight embrace.

  “I don’t have to leave yet,” I whispered, fervently praying that it would not be me who would make that journey this year.

  When Demeter finally let me go back to bed, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. My dreams were filled with whispers and cave openings, but even in my sleep, I never stepped inside. I had no desire to find out what waited for Persephone in the Underworld.

  Sunlight was streaming through the window when I woke, and I realized that Demeter had allowed me to sleep in. The house was empty, but the fire on the hearth crackled brightly and there were fresh yellow flowers in a mug on the table.

  I sniffed the flowers, smiling at the warm scent, and took a slice of the thick rye bread that had been left out. I figured Demeter hadn’t stayed angry for long, or she wouldn’t have left me breakfast. Munching thoughtfully, I looked around the simple room.

  The two mattress
es were against opposite walls, leaving the space free in front of the large stone fireplace. The floor of the cottage was unstained wood, swept clean by the broom that leaned against the doorframe. A round hunk of cheese sat next to the loaf of bread on the table, and I broke off a piece. It was salty and sharp, and better than anything I had ever tasted at home.

  There was a shelf of old books near Demeter’s bed, and I crossed the room to take a closer look. Leather-bound volumes of Homer, Ovid, and Apuleius took up most of the top shelf. I picked up a copy of the Iliad and flipped through it, but the text was strange; I wondered if it was printed in Greek.

  The second shelf held rolls of parchment, and gingerly I unrolled one. The parchment was brittle and old, but the scroll didn’t crumble in my hands, and in a moment I was looking at an old map. It looked hand-painted, and it was probably at least four hundred years old, because there was only a vague lump on the left side of the map to represent North and South America. I pulled it closer to see if I could make out any of the tiny writing that covered the continents.

  “I’m glad you are awake.” I spun around, terrified that Demeter had caught me hunting through her things, but instead of a goddess, a young boy with dark, curly hair stood in the doorway, smiling at me. His grin was infectious, and I smiled back at him as I replaced the scroll.

  “What would you like to do today, m’lady?” His words surprised me; clearly this boy knew Persephone, but she hadn’t mentioned any kids to me. For a moment, I was at a loss.

  Before I could speak, however, the boy had crossed the room and taken me by the hand. As he pulled me out of the cottage, he rattled off suggestions for the day. “We could watch the men thresh the grain, or we could walk to the orphanage and bless their gardens. Or maybe we could go into the city, and pretend to be rich mortals with bags of money, and then laugh when the shopkeepers try to charge us!” He giggled impishly, but then looked quickly up at me. “Of course,” he intoned solemnly, “I would never do anything dishonest. I serve the ladies of the harvest, and they want me to be good and kind.” The words sounded like he’d repeated them many times, but his broad grin hindered the seriousness of his words, and I laughed.

  “Isn’t there some way we can go into town and still do good?” I asked him, liking the idea of seeing more of Greece than the airport and the fields around Demeter’s house.

  He thought for a moment. “I suppose we could go to the farmers’ market, and bless the wares there.”

  “Weren’t all the farmers here last night to receive a blessing?”

  He looked at me strangely, and I felt foolish and exposed. “You know they weren’t. Every year, fewer and fewer folk bring their harvest to you and your mother. You told me so yourself, just last week.”

  I thought quickly. “So I did. I just wanted to see if you remembered what I had said.”

  He nodded eagerly. “You said that the old ways are not remembered because people think they can survive without magic.”

  I looked at him sternly. “And do you think we can survive without magic?”

  The boy shook his head vigorously. “Never! Without magic, how could I do this?” He conjured up a toy, a small wooden frog. It sat on his palm and he tapped it solemnly with his index finger three times. The frog blinked its eyes, and croaked.

  I laughed and clapped, impressed. The boy hadn’t brought the toy to life, but he’d used a trick I hadn’t seen before to animate the wooden figure. I leaned forward, curious, and the frog froze.

  “You’re very good at that.”

  “I’ve been practicing since you showed me last fall. I finally got it right!” He beamed up at me proudly, and I felt a twinge of guilt for taking this moment away from Persephone. My guilt was quickly replaced with joy that I was here, in Greece, watching a child do magic when I could have been in North Carolina, fighting Rochelle for my life. I drew a deep breath and sighed happily.

  “We don’t have to go to town,” the boy said. “If you are tired, mistress, we could just walk in the field.”

  We headed away from the house, leaving it and the cave behind. “No, I’m not tired. Why don’t you tell me a story?” An idea had formed in my mind, and I hoped I would be able to figure out who the boy was without asking.

  He skipped eagerly beside me. “What kind of story? One about the gods?”

  I laughed. “No, tell me a story about you. Tell it to me like it is about somebody else, like a great storyteller.” Maybe he would tell me his name, at the very least.

  “Well,” he began thoughtfully, “once there was a boy named Dennis. He was a naughty little boy; his mother was always telling him so.” I laughed, and Dennis frowned at me sternly. “Please don’t interrupt, m’lady.”

  “I’m sorry. Go on, Dennis. Tell your story.”

  At least I knew his name. We were passing through the vineyard, and the morning sun was already baking the earth. I felt warm and content as I listened to Dennis talk.

  Dennis continued, “His mother was a Witch-woman, and she learned her magic from Dionysus. She named her son after her patron.”

  I glanced down at the boy beside me. If his mother was a Witch, that might explain his magical abilities. But what was a devotee of Dionysus doing running around the fields with Demeter and Persephone?

  Dennis looked up at me and winked. “But the boy grew up with a liking for other types of magic, and it wasn’t long before a great lady found him outside her window.”

  “Which great lady found the boy, Dennis?”

  He looked up at me and smiled. “It was your mother. I was listening to her cry after you had journeyed back to the Underworld—” He broke off and frowned. “You made me mess up the story!”

  My heart contracted with grief for Demeter, but I ruffled his hair playfully. “But you know the best storytellers make their audience wait to hear the end of the tale. I will wait, and when you are ready, you can finish the story.”

  He smiled up at me, and for the first time I realized what it might have been like to grow up with a younger brother. I grinned at him.

  “I’ll race you to the hill.” The words had barely left my mouth before he was off like a shot, running up the hill. I started to run after him, calling, “Dennis! That’s not fair! Don’t cheat!”

  He laughed and slowed down, letting me reach the hill at the same moment.

  “It’s a tie!” I called jubilantly.

  He shook his head. “No, m’lady. There cannot be ties between gods and men. You win, again.”

  Dennis and I spent the morning in the farmers’ market, where I tried to summon up the same magic I had used in the field the night before. I managed to bless a couple of the farmers, but the Red sparks weren’t very bright, and after a few minutes, I felt the energy drain out of me. Maybe I had been using too much magic lately, between the glamour and the spell in the field. I tried not to let it bother me, and I focused on enjoying the market and Dennis’s company. At noon, we shared a meal of bread, olives, and goat cheese, sitting on the fountain in the middle of the market.

  I sent Dennis home after lunch and returned to the cottage. I hoped Demeter wouldn’t be back yet; there were some things I wanted to try out, but I needed to be alone. Luckily, the cottage was empty when I walked in. I shut the door firmly behind me and considered setting up a ward. Instead, I cast a spell around the cottage that would let me know if anyone was approaching. It wouldn’t protect me the way a ward would, but it also wouldn’t make Demeter suspicious if she came back to the house early.

  Persephone had sent me to Greece to escape from Rochelle and Hecate, but she’d also wanted me to learn more about my power. “It’s hard to learn when you are afraid,” she’d pointed out. “In Greece, you will have nothing to fear.”

  I wasn’t sure I agreed with her—I was terrified that someone would figure out that I was a fraud and alert Hecate—but I had to admit that for the moment, I wasn’t in as much danger as I would have been at home. Ever since I’d declared to Red magic, I’d
been too busy running and trying to defend myself to really figure anything out. I intended to change that, starting now. It was time I understood more about Red magic, and I wanted to start by determining the boundaries of my own power.

  I fiddled with a small, pointed stone I had picked up on my walk back to the house. It was almost prism-shaped, and it felt evenly balanced. It would do nicely for the work I had in mind. I removed my bag from my waist and pulled out a thin piece of red string. I tied the string around the rock and let it dangle between my first two fingers. The rock spun until the thread hung straight, and then it stopped moving. Perfect. I should be able to use it as a pendulum.

  I crossed the room to the bookshelf and removed the old map. Sitting down at the edge of the hearth, I spread the map out on the floor in front of me. Justin and I had tried to figure out which region I controlled, and because I’d successfully averted the hurricane, I thought the Caribbean must be part of my territory. I wasn’t sure where else, though, and before I could start working to balance chaos, I had to know where to concentrate my energies. I just hoped that my idea would work; I couldn’t afford to waste an afternoon playing around.

  Lifting the stone, I leaned forward and held my arm stiff. Once the stone hung still on the thread, I shifted my weight and gently began to move the pendulum over the spot that should have been the Caribbean islands. The stone started swinging in small, clockwise circles. I paused for a moment, and the circles became more precise. Good. It was working.

  Trying to be patient, I moved south on the map, pausing every few inches. The stone kept swinging. As I circled the continent of South America, the stone slowed. I moved my hand back and cut across the land instead of going over the water, and the stone began swaying again. Meticulously, I traced the map. I was surprised that the stone didn’t respond when I hugged the western border of South America. I moved my hand slowly out over the water, but the stone didn’t start swaying again until I came close to the eastern border of Australia.