The Firebrand

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  The hand quickly moved from her breast to cover her mouth. “You are mine, Kassandra!” an all-too-familiar voice intoned. “Would you deny your God?”

  Kassandra bit the hand, which was removed with a most ungodlike cry, and sat up, pulling her tunic back into place. “I know the voice of the God, Khryse,” she snarled furiously at him, “and it is not your voice! Blasphemer, do you think that Apollo cannot protect His own?”

  Her voice had risen considerably on the last sentence, and she heard in the hallway the voices of the other priestesses coming to investigate the disturbance. She threw herself from the bed, trying to reach the door, but Khryse blocked her way and pushed her against the wall. His attempts to hold her there, while largely successful, were not silent, and the room quickly filled with a crowd of women, including Charis, Phyllida and Chryseis. Khryse turned his head so that the mask stared at the group of women.

  “Leave us.” His voice was deep and impressive. Phyllida first gasped, seeing the mask of the God, then, recognizing the man’s voice, regarded him and Kassandra with horrified comprehension. Chryseis giggled; the rest of the women looked uncertain.

  Kassandra hit him, hard, in the stomach and broke away from his grasping hands.

  “Vile priest!” she said in a gasp. “You dare use the semblance of the God to satisfy your lusts! You profane that which you do not understand!” She was shaking with a mixture of rage and horror. “By the Mother of All, I wouldn’t lie with you if you were truly possessed by Apollo!”

  “Would you not, Kassandra?” A shudder passed through Khryse’s body; and then, unexpectedly—and unmistakably—the voice was that of Apollo. You who are My chosen one—surely you cannot think I would fail to protect you from a vicious and foolish mortal?

  Kassandra heard Phyllida’s cry of recognition; but the dark tide flowed over her and filled her, and she felt the surge of the Goddess rising within her. The last thing she heard was the voice of the Goddess:

  Yours, Sun Lord? She was given to Me before ever she came to birth in this mortal world, or felt Your touch!

  Then she knew no more.

  HER BODY was propped against the wall, and every inch of her skin felt as though it had been burned. Nails clawed at her cheek and continued to rip her tunic at the shoulder.

  “Murderess!” Chryseis screamed in her ear. “You have killed my father! You think yourself too good for him—you think that because you’re a princess you’re better than the rest of us! You act as if you were not even human! Well, you’re not—you’re a beast and a filthy coward . . .”

  Kassandra opened her eyes. Khryse lay on the floor, dead white and very still. Phyllida was bending over him. “He’s going to be all right, Chryseis,” she said soothingly. “The God has taken him, no more.”

  But Chryseis was not listening. “She’s a witch! She cast an evil spell on him!”

  Charis pulled the hysterical girl away from Kassandra and thrust her into the arms of two of the other priestesses. “Get this senseless brat out of here!” Chryseis’ screams echoed as she was dragged down the hallway, then mercifully faded into the distance.

  Kassandra felt her body slide to the floor, but she could do nothing to stop it. Her eyes were open, but everything seemed far away and not quite real. Only a part of her self was in her body; the rest hovered over the scene, watching as Charis and the governess picked her up and laid her back in her bed. A novice brought a beaker of wine; Charis poured some of it down Kassandra’s throat. Briefly it warmed her, and pulled her a bit further back into her body, but she felt terribly, unendurably cold, as if most of her life force had fled. She could see that Charis was holding her hand, but she couldn’t feel the clasp of the woman’s fingers. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed by homesickness for the Amazon encampment, and for Penthesilea, who had been more of a mother to her than Hecuba ever had been or would be. Tears blurred her vision and dripped down the sides of her face.

  “Hush,” Charis soothed, drawing up the blanket and tucking it securely about her. “Rest now, and don’t trouble yourself. Time enough to sort things out in the morning.”

  Behind Charis, Kassandra could see Phyllida reverently pick up the mask of Apollo. Two of the priests came in quietly, conferred briefly with the governess, then carried Khryse out. His eyes were open, but he looked dazed and uncomprehending.

  The priests were talking to each other as they passed her bed; Kassandra caught the words “genuine possession.” But whose? Khryse’s, or her own?

  She woke just before sunrise, feeling as if every muscle and bone in her body had been beaten with cudgels; she lay motionless, thinking of what had happened.

  One thing was certain: Khryse had—unlawfully—worn the mask of the God and had attempted to seduce her. She was not quite sure what had happened after that; she remembered Chryseis tearing at her and screaming, and then she remembered the voice of Apollo, breaking through the noise and confusion in the room, and the ill-fated words she had flung at Khryse.

  “I wouldn’t lie with you if you were truly possessed by Apollo . . .”

  Had she truly said those words to her God? Khryse had deserved them; yet her whole body tightened in grief at the thought that Apollo Sun Lord might have taken them to Himself.

  Still, beyond fear or regret, she knew now the source of the dark waters: it was the Goddess who had claimed her. She had given herself to the God in all the sincerity of her first love; yet she had not been free.

  The door opened and Charis came in, bending over her with tenderness.

  “Will you get up, Kassandra? We are all summoned to the shrine, to discuss what truly happened here last night.”

  Charis brought her some wine, and bread and honey, but Kassandra could not swallow; her throat clamped shut, and she knew that if she tried to eat she would be sick.

  Charis helped her to draw on her dress and brush her hair. Kassandra pinned it loosely into a braid, and followed the older priestess to the shrine, where the priests and priestesses were assembled.

  One of the older priests, who had known Kassandra since her childhood, called them to order, saying, “We must find out the truth of this unfortunate incident. Daughter of Priam, will you tell us what happened?”

  “I was asleep and dreaming and woke to find a man in my room. He wore the mask of the God, but I recognized Khryse’s voice. He had asked me to yield to him before,” she said, “and I refused him.” She raised her head, looking into Khryse’s eyes. “Ask the lecherous blasphemer if he dares to deny it!”

  The priest asked, “Khryse, what have you to say?”

  Khryse looked straight at Kassandra. He said, “I remember nothing; only that I awakened in her room with this wildcat clawing at me!”

  “You did not deliberately put on the mask of the God in order to deceive the girl?”

  “Certainly not!” said Khryse indignantly. “I call Apollo’s self to witness—but I doubt He will come to accuse or defend me.”

  “He lies,” Phyllida cried out. “I know the voice of the God—and I will swear that it was the voice only of Khryse! Kassandra has complained to me before that he had asked of her what was not lawful to give any mortal man! Later I heard him speak in the voice of the Sun Lord—”

  “We all heard that,” said Charis. “The question now is which of them, or both, or neither, blasphemed.”

  “I say she was guilty of refusing the word of Apollo,” said Khryse. “She blasphemed; and in the name of the God we both serve—”

  “Certainly she invoked the Goddess in Apollo’s own Temple,” said Charis, “and that is forbidden.”

  “I think both of them should be sent away from here,” said the old priest, “for creating a scandal.”

  “I do not see why I should be punished,” Kassandra said, “for fighting a lecherous priest who would have ravished a woman who had given herself to the God he pretended to serve. As for the Goddess, I did not seek Her protection; She comes and goes as She will. I am not party to Her quarrel with Ap
ollo.”

  “I call Apollo to witness—” Khryse began hotly.

  Kassandra said sharply, “And what will you do, blasphemer, if He should come to answer you?”

  Arrogantly, Khryse said, “It is certain that He will not come. I sought Kassandra, yes; I serve the God, as she says she does—”

  “Take care,” said Charis sharply, but Khryse laughed.

  “I will take that chance!”

  Charis said, “We owe Kassandra protection; the maidens of the Temple are sworn to the God, and are not to be abused by a mere man, be he priest or otherwise; and certainly not by a trick of this kind.”

  There was murmuring in the room; Kassandra was grateful to Charis for speaking in her defense.

  “One thing I ask,” the old priest said. “Come here, daughter of Priam. You were heard to say to him that you would not give yourself to him even if he were possessed by Apollo in truth. Did you mean that, or did you speak in anger?”

  “Since the God did not come to me, I spoke only to reject one who would have raped me in Apollo’s name.”

  There was a blaze of light and Kassandra raised her eyes to see the brightness where Khryse had been standing.

  The deep familiar voice resonated to the corners of the room:

  Kassandra . . .

  Beyond all question it was the voice of the God. Kassandra felt her knees loosen, and she slid to the floor, not daring to raise her eyes or speak.

  This My servant did not believe I could use him this way; but now he knows better. He shall learn My power before he is much older. Leave him to Me; I shall deal with My own.

  The shining Form turned to Kassandra; she trembled and bowed her head.

  As for you, Kassandra, you whom I have loved: you have given yourself to My ancient enemy; yet I have claimed you and you are Mine. I will not release you; yet you have offended Me, and from you I withdraw My divine gift of prophecy. Hear My word!

  The voice was filled with throbbing sadness; Kassandra, kneeling with her head bowed, felt within herself a surge of protest and resentment.

  “Sun Lord, I only wish You could,” she said aloud. “I want nothing more than to be freed of that gift I did not seek!”

  She bowed as if buffeted with mighty winds; her body was a battleground, her eyes burning, the dark surging waters of the Goddess raging against the blasting heat of Apollo’s wrath.

  You too shall know My power!

  Abruptly the presence was gone; Kassandra, released from the grip of the warring Immortals, slumped to the floor. Dimly, she knew Charis bent to lift her. As if she were floating somewhere near the ceiling of the room, she saw Khryse fall, his body jerking wildly, heels drumming on the floor and teeth chattering. Blood-flecked foam burst from his lips, and an eerie cry emptied his lungs.

  And serves him right, she thought, who thought to speak with Apollo’s power to deceive one of His own . . .

  Like an echo of Apollo’s voice, she heard:

  I shall have use even for him in the days that will come. . . .

  Shuddering with cold, she felt the dark waters withdraw, and came back as if surfacing from a very deep dive. She still could not speak; the priests were ministering to Khryse, while her own head still lay in Charis’ lap.

  Charis rocked her gently and whispered, “Don’t cry; even if Apollo’s anger is terrible, it will be good for you to be free of this dreadful curse of foresight.”

  How could I tell her that I wept not for the loss of the gift of prophecy? Or that it was not Apollo’s anger I feared but for His love? I did not seek to be a battleground between the Immortals.

  4

  IF KASSANDRA had felt that the reprimand of Khryse would solve anything, she was mistaken; it seemed that her peace had been destroyed for nothing.

  Nor was she the only one to seem troubled; Khryse looked pale and exhausted. He was still needed in the shrine, for he had not yet managed to teach anyone except herself enough of his new method of tallying to take his place. He had already managed to make himself all but indispensable. Most of the priests were aging; no more than thirty, he was the only priest of the Sun Lord still in the prime of his strength.

  It was made no easier for Kassandra that every time she saw the sun glinting on that brilliantly gold hair, she remembered the moment when he had spoken to her in the voice of the Sun Lord. What a fool she had been, after all, she thought despondently. Surely he was capable of summoning Apollo . . . or was it she, by her appeal against the imposture, who had summoned the Sun Lord to protect her against this man she so despised? He would still have been Apollo, in whatever outer form, and had she not refused him, she might now have been carrying the child of the God. But was that what she wanted? Was that her destiny, and had she refused it?

  All the same, done was done, and she could only rejoice, although with a certain bitterness, over the punishment of Khryse’s presumption. The Immortals are not mocked, and now at least Khryse knew it.

  And so do I. The Sun Lord mocks me; I, who spoke in reverence against what I saw as blasphemy, infringing on Apollo’s chosen ones. It is I who have been punished, as much as the sinner.

  It was no comfort that Apollo had intervened; now it was said (and of course the story had spread, first through the Temple and then throughout the city) that she had refused the God Himself, and that in return Apollo had cursed her. The truth was known only to those who had been there that night, and, she thought almost in despair, not all the truth was known even to them.

  They believed Apollo had withdrawn His gift of prophecy from her. But foresight had been hers since her earliest childhood, and the Sun Lord could not withdraw it, for it was not His. He had only made it certain that her words would never be believed.

  It was no satisfaction, either, to see Khryse viewed with the same half-frightened reverence as herself. At least once every day, sometimes two or three times, he would be seized and fall to the ground in the terrifying clutch of the falling sickness, to lie there shaking with convulsions. She had (though rarely) seen men and women and even children taken this way; they were usually regarded as a victim or favorite of the God. Kassandra began to wonder if this were not a sickness like any other. But why, then, had Khryse shown no sign of it before?

  She took no satisfaction from these internal doubts and questions; if anything, she longed for her old childish belief. She was still constantly forced into Khryse’s company. After a time, she realized that the episode had connected them in the minds of most of the priests and priestesses—as if she had actually committed the misbehavior into which Khryse had sought to seduce her, instead of their being common victims of Apollo’s wrath. Or malice, she thought.

  What more can the Sun Lord do to me? I am assured of His love . . . but what of that? Is His love in any way better than His evil will? Am I to thank Him that He did not make me too a victim of the falling sickness?

  One day she was summoned to the court by Chryseis, who had been set to carrying messages within the shrine. “Kassandra, you have a visitor; I think it is the princess of Colchis.”

  She came to the court and looked around to see Andromache, her child on her shoulder, dressed in the clothing of a commoner. She hurried to embrace her.

  “What is happening?”

  “Oh, my dear, it is worse than you can imagine,” Andromache said. “Everyone is under the Spartan woman’s spell, even my own dear husband; I tried to repeat to him what you said about Helen, and he said that all women are jealous of a beautiful woman, that was all. I think you are prettier than this Helen,” Andromache added, “but no one agrees!”

  Kassandra said soberly, “It is as if she wore the girdle of Aphrodite—”

  “Which, as we all know, makes men capable of thinking only with their loins,” Andromache said with a sarcastic smile. “But women too? Do you think her so beautiful, Kassandra?”

  “Yes,” Kassandra blurted out, “she is as lovely as the Beautiful One Herself,” and then was shocked at herself. She murmured to
Andromache, almost in apology, “Since childhood I have seen through Paris’ eyes,” and stopped. She could say nothing about the curious intensity with which she had reacted to Oenone, or Helen, not even to Andromache, who had been brought up among Amazons and would probably understand. “Someday,” she said, “I will tell you all—but for now, tell me what is happening.”

  “You did not know Menelaus had come?”

  “No; what is he like?”

  “No more like his brother Agamemnon than I am like Aphrodite,” Andromache said. “He came, weak and stammering, and demanded that we render up Helen to him, and Priam said, laughing, that perhaps—perhaps, mind you—we would return Helen when he brought Hesione back to Troy with a dowry to pay for the years she remained unwed; and Menelaus said that Hesione had a husband, who had taken her with no dowry, perhaps impressed by the fact that she was the sister of the King of Troy, and he at least was no stealer of women from their husbands.”

  “That must have pleased Father,” Kassandra said, grimacing.

  “Then,” Andromache went on, “Menelaus told him Hesione would not return to Troy and suggested that Priam send an envoy and ask Hesione herself if she wished to return—without her child, of course, since the child was a good Spartan and belonged to Hesione’s husband.”

  “And what said my father to that?” Kassandra asked.

  “He said to Hecuba that Menelaus had played into his hands; and he sent for Helen and asked her in Menelaus’ presence, ‘Do you wish to return to your husband, my lady?’ ”

  “And what did she answer?”

  “She said, ‘No, my lord,’ and of course Menelaus just stood and looked at her as if she were cutting him to pieces.