THE DREAMER'S LOOM

by Michelle L. Levigne

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  THE DREAMER'S LOOM

  by

  MICHELLE L. LEVIGNE

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

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  The Dreamer's Loom

  An Amber Quill Press Book

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2006 by Michelle L. Levigne

  ISBN 1-59279-490-4

  Cover Art © 2006 Trace Edward Zaber

  Layout and Formatting

  Provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

  Published in the United States of America

  Also by Michelle L. Levigne

  The Bainevah Series, Book I: 10,000 Suns

  The Bainevah Series, Book II: Fire Priestess

  The Bainevah Series, Book III: Song Weaver

  Picture This

  Chapter 1

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  An owl hooted at noon, reminding Penelope of last night's dream with a suddenness and intensity that tied knots in her belly. She stumbled and caught herself before she dropped the spear she carried.

  "What ails you, boy?" her grandfather, Dymis, muttered. The skeletal old man didn't turn to look at her, but continued shuffling down the dirt path that ran through the patchy forest between his run-down estate and the village of Alybas.

  "A stone moved under my foot." Penelope barely heard herself as her searching gaze found the two men walking down the path toward them, coming from Alybas.

  Just like in her dream last night.

  She shivered and thought a swift prayer to the Goddess in all her incarnations: Athena, Aphrodite, Hera, Artemis. Even as she worked through the litany, trying to ward off the tears she had cried in her dream, Penelope knew it was no use. Dreams were never given to allow her to change the future, only to prepare her to face it with strength and calm.

  "Greetings, strangers," Dymis called. He straightened from his usual hunched posture, raked his palsied hands through the white strings of his hair and tugged his wrinkled, food-stained tunic into a semblance of dignity.

  He invited the two men to his home, offering the traditional hospitality as if he were still a rich man with over one hundred slaves and the barren fields beyond the forest were rich with grain, flocks, herds, and vineyards. Penelope held herself still, as poised as if she stood before her uncle, the king of Sparta, and didn't flinch when Dymis introduced her as his grandson, Dyvis.

  Her Uncle Dyvis had died when he was only a boy. When Penelope came to live with her grandfather and aunt five years ago, the resemblance between her and the dead boy had prompted Dymis to see her as a boy and name her Dyvis in turn. He refused to acknowledge she was a girl.

  "Greetings, Dymis and Dyvis," the taller of the two men said. He gave them a nod of respect and didn't react at all to the strangeness of the old man's words.

  That meant the two strangers had stopped long enough in Alybas to hear about the harmless old madman who raised his granddaughter as if she were a boy.

  "I am Kratos, and this is my fellow-servant, Anthinos. We have been sent by King Tyndareos of Sparta. Helen has at long last been rescued from King Theseus...and the princess wishes to have the company of her beloved cousin." Kratos' blue eyes met Penelope's gaze and he smiled slightly.

  Helen had been rescued? Penelope kept her expression still, though her mind raced. Five years ago, Theseus had kidnapped her cousin. Tyndareos sent Penelope away to her mother's home in Alybas to protect her, though she couldn't imagine anyone wanting to kidnap her.

  Helen's safe return home was good news. Or was it? Princes and kings had come to Sparta seeking to arrange a marriage when Helen was still a child. Penelope could imagine the confusion that filled the palace of Sparta now, with a flood of hopeful suitors descending to boast about their wealth, their kingdoms, and their worthiness to take Helen to wife.

  Everyone wanted and loved and adored Helen. Penelope sighed as her cousin's perfect ivory and rose complexion, blue eyes and golden curls came to her mind's eye. Not that she resented Helen's beauty. She loved her cousin dearly, they two being closer in age than Penelope's older sister Iphthine, or Helen's sister Klytemaistra. But sometimes, even as a little child, Penelope had wearied of the world revolving around Helen.

  "Thank Zeus, the girl is safely home," Dymis said, nodding. His jaw continued moving, as if he chewed on the news. He clapped Penelope on the back, hard enough to make her stumble forward a step. "The king will find I have trained Dyvis well, so he will honor his family. But why does he need the boy?"

  "Helen is surrounded by suitors. Tyndareos needs the boy's presence to calm the disappointed princes," Kratos said after a moment. He nodded to Penelope. "Sparta needs more princesses, to give in marriage and make peace among the Achaians."

  Penelope choked back a cry of protest. Kratos had just warned her of her fate.

  Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world, reputed to be the daughter of Zeus, was safely home and now all the princes of all the kingdoms of Achaia wished to take her as bride. King Tyndareos feared the wrath of the disappointed suitors. Penelope could understand that. She also understood from Kratos' words that her uncle had sent for her to return to Sparta for one reason--she would be given in marriage as a peace offering, a sacrifice to soothe the anger of a disappointed prince and sway him to support Helen's husband.

  "I don't want to leave Alybas," she said, looking up at her grandfather. "You need me here. Who will hunt with you and help you tally your stores and command the slaves?"

  A chill ran through Penelope as those words left her lips. Most of the slaves left in her grandfather's household belonged to her. If she left Alybas, who would care for Dymis and her Aunt Bachan?

  "Don't be foolish, boy!" Dymis chortled. "It's an honor to be called to serve in Sparta. You are going. No argument."

  The old man softened a little as they hurried back to the household to warn her aunt and the slaves about their guests, who would follow them in another hour.

  "I know it's hard. Zeus bless you for your loyalty to an old man. The world is always changing, boy. Things aren't as easy as they used to be and that's good because it makes us strong. Women can't rule like in the old days, because death is stronger. They need men to protect them. Pity your aunt, though. She's not quite right in her mind." Dymis staggered and Penelope reached out to steady the old man. "See, boy, the women in our family come from a long line of priestesses. Your grandmother would have been a priestess, but she was never consecrated. She gave me two daughters and my son, who died young. I gave one daughter to Ikarios, brother to the king of Sparta--a proud day for me, that such a powerful man would want one of my daughters. But Bachan...your aunt drove away every man who asked and now she's a lonely, bitter old virgin, filling my grandson's head with nonsense about the Goddess." He guffawed and clapped Penelope on the shoulder.

  She nodded and smiled to placate the old man. Dymis thought his daughter insane. Bachan regarded her father with pity and sad amusement. The people of Alybas pitied Penelope of Sparta, living with the two strange old folks.

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  Penelope helped her aunt serve the guests, and listened as Kratos and Anthinos tol
d Dymis about the conflicts and rumors in the rest of the Achaian-ruled world. The people of Ilion, Troy in particular, again caused trouble for merchants going through the straits of the Dardanelles. The winter had been unusually harsh for many of the island kingdoms. Such tales and gossip didn't interest her much. Not when her entire life had been turned upside down and shaken.

  But other bits of news did interest her. In particular, King Agamemnon of Mycenae now had three daughters. That interested Penelope and gave her food for thought, because her cousin, Klytemaistra was Agamemnon's queen. She had been promised to another nobleman, Tantalos, but Agamemnon had been determined to have her. When gifts and bribery and cajolery hadn't worked, he had threatened the man. Klytemaistra believed Agamemnon had killed Tantalos, when the man died during a skirmish with raiders. When Tyndareos gave Klytemaistra to Agamemnon, she had vowed never to give him sons.

  Penelope wondered if three daughters was her cousin's means of revenge, or she had softened toward her husband in the last six years and was as frustrated as he by the lack of an heir.

  That reminded her of the reason for the visitors in the household. Tyndareos was elder brother to Penelope's dead father, Ikarios. He had sent for Penelope to use her as a peace offering and buy Helen's safety. She wondered if her uncle thought it was his only chance to get her married off. She had been referred to as the "little, dark one" all her childhood, so different from her golden sister and cousins--thin and small when they were tall and rounded and feminine even as children. Her brother, Ithios, had been especially adept at making her feel unlovely.

  Penelope vowed not to feel jealousy for Helen. After all, five years had brought changes in her body. She was no longer the thin little cousin who made the others late. Penelope had grown strong, swift and taller, and Helen had always been kind to her. They had been friends. It was not Helen's fault that she was from birth the most beautiful woman in the known world.

  Perhaps she should feel sorry for Helen, surrounded by dozens of warriors who wanted to own her like they owned their houses, their fields and flocks and herds. How much would her husband value Helen when she had given him a household full of children and had lost her youth and beauty and figure?

  That thought occupied Penelope while she refilled the cups of wine for her grandfather's guests and brought fresh bread to set on the low table between them.

  Thinking of childbearing, of enduring a man's touch and satisfying his hungers, made Penelope writhe inside. She didn't want to suffer through such indignity. Her aunt had taught her the marriage bed was meant to be enjoyed by both man and woman, but Penelope knew she never would find pleasure. Not when she went to her husband's bed and home against her will.

  Klytemaistra had vowed not to give Agamemnon a son. Penelope would do the same. If she couldn't defy her uncle, if she had to return to Sparta, if she would be given away like a horse or a jewel, she could at least take some power in her life. Bachan had taught Penelope all she knew of the old ways, when women led their households and served the Goddess. There were more than a dozen ways to prevent conception, to destroy a man's lust, even to influence the gender of the child. Sitting in the shadows of her grandfather's house and listening to the visitors talk, Penelope vowed she would not be bred like a cow, even if she couldn't avoid marriage.

  After Dymis and his guests had eaten, Bachan, Penelope, and the rest of the household sat down under a spreading tree behind the house to have their dinner. That was when Bachan gave the news to the slaves. After all, most of them were Penelope's property and would return to Sparta with her.

  First, there was Eurynome, her nurse, who fought fiercely for Penelope to be treated as a princess even here in rough, poor Alybas. One glimpse of Penelope hunting with her grandfather, carrying a spear, ruined weeks of hard-earned respect.

  After Eurynome was Dolios, the second slave assigned to Penelope at birth. The man had always been loyal, like a father to her. Aris, his wife, was a quiet, capable woman from Sikania. She could always be counted on for common sense when everyone else was frightened or furious and unable to think clearly in the middle of a crisis.

  Their sons either pretended Penelope didn't exist, or they teased her when adults weren't around. She believed the four boys were jealous. They spent their days plowing and tending animals, chopping wood, sweating while she learned hunting and other lessons reserved for high-born sons.

  Then there was their daughter, Melantho, two years older than Penelope. It was no secret Melantho crept away to the woods every other night to sleep with her sweethearts. No secret to anyone but Dolios and Aris.

  Penelope wondered what it was like to share a man's bed. Her loathing for the marriage soon to be forced on her did not dispel her curiosity. She couldn't imagine Melantho doing anything that didn't please her--she always came back rosy-cheeked and smiling from her trysts--so there had to be some good in letting a man take his pleasure with her body. If not for fear of Melantho's scorn, Penelope would have asked the older girl for details long ago.

  As expected, when she heard the news of their imminent departure, Melantho wailed, her eyes filled with tears and she jumped to her feet.

  "I'm not going! Menander wants to marry me. He's saving up to buy my freedom. You can't take me away now." She dropped to her knees next to Dolios. "Please, Father, tell her--" She cast a scowl over her shoulder at Penelope. "Make her leave me behind. She doesn't need me."

  "Dolios," Penelope began. Truthfully, she wouldn't mind if she never saw Melantho's face again. The older girl, rounded and lush, with golden curls and rosy cheeks, always made her feel tiny and unlovely.

  "We are going, Princess." Dolios nodded to her. "We are your household. Who will protect you and serve you in the palace of Sparta? It is our duty, and the gods will punish us if we neglect it."

  Melantho snarled and leaped to her feet and scurried away. Penelope didn't doubt the girl would run off to meet and cavort under the stars with a sweetheart or two. Or three. Perhaps one of them would be Menander. Perhaps she could persuade one or two of them to help her hide or run away. Penelope wished she could do the same.

  Why not? That thought returned to her several times while cleaning up the house for the evening and settling down to sleep on her pallet in her aunt's small weaving room. Why couldn't she pretend to be a boy and run away? She was good with spear and sling. She could cut her hair and bind her negligible breasts and pray no one noticed the new curves to her hips and bottom. Why couldn't her body have stayed thin like a stick? Why did it have to betray her and start to blossom into womanhood this winter past? If she ran away now, she wouldn't get very far before some discerning eye saw past her disguise.

  She might be even worse off than before, captured by a brute who wouldn't know she was a princess. She could be raped, beaten, sold as a slave. Dozens of dire fates awaited her.

  Still, the thought of taking her freedom and the attendant risks kept her far from sleep. Finally, Penelope had to get up and leave the little weaving room and slip outside with her lap loom, to try to weave by moonlight and calm herself.

  At least she wouldn't dream.

  Why couldn't her dreams have warned her how to escape this fate, instead of just showing her coming trouble?

  Wings fluttered, sounding close enough to be just above her head. Penelope slowly tipped her head back, expecting to look up into the huge, dark eyes of an owl. She saw nothing. A heartbeat later, an owl hooted, making her jump. She closed her eyes.

  "Athena, Aphrodite, Hera, Demeter...Goddess, whichever face and name you wear, help me. I do not wish to leave. Alybas is my home, not Sparta," Penelope whispered.

  "But there is nothing here for you, child," Bachan said, causing Penelope to jump again. She smiled sadly and stepped out into the night. The moonlight turned her silver-streaked black hair into a softly gleaming crown and hid her many wrinkles. "Sparta is your destiny."

  "This is my home."

  "This is a hiding place, nothing more. The Goddess speaks to
you in dreams. You have a destiny, a duty." She skimmed one finger across the top of the small ivory loom sitting neglected in the girl's lap. "You have your own special threads to put into the cloth of time. Who can tell what damage will be done to the entire weaving if you do not put those threads in, as the Goddess decrees?"

  "Who will take care of you when I am gone? There will only be the pig boy and old Bithia and Grandfather with you."

  "I will not need much. There are some who still worship the Goddess in the old ways. They will watch over me." Bachan paused to smooth stray strands of fine hair off the girl's high, wide forehead and smiled. "Ah, but who can I teach the old ways to, when you are gone? That is my only regret in sending you away to your destiny and glory."

  Penelope nodded, though she didn't want to ever leave Alybas, rough and isolated as it was. The old ways were still followed here; the rest of Achaia worshipped male gods, with the many faces of the Goddess subordinated to the roles of chattel and pleasure toy. Girls were discouraged from worshipping only the Goddess. When a girl became a bride, she left her mother's home instead of bringing her husband home. Fathers chose husbands and brides, and named their children. Mothers were the source of life, yet had no say in the lives they created.

  "Serve the Goddess wherever you go," Bachan whispered.

  "Under what name?" Penelope leaned forward, elbows on her knees, resting her chin on her folded hands.

  "You must decide. The Goddess is different to each woman who serves her, I think."

  The quiet changed. Penelope lifted her head and listened. She shivered and blamed the nightmares that kept her from sleep. For many nights now, she had awakened from scattered images of wars between kings who were now friends. She hated the dreams that seemed more real than the loom pressing into her lap.