Mood Riders (2 page)

Isatis had been hers from the day that she was born. Myrina was only five when she’d wandered away from the tents and found her father crouched with concern over his favorite horse, Midnight. The pregnant mare had moved away from the rest of the herd to the far edge of the camp. She lay very still beneath an olive tree, her lolling tongue turned gray and her swollen stomach drenched with cold sweat.

Myrina’s father had turned to his little daughter in desperation, for all the adults were out of calling distance. He made her help him with the difficult birth and at last a small, stick-legged creature was born into Myrina’s arms, half covered in wet membrane.

“If this foal lives, she shall be yours,” her father had promised.

Both Isatis and Midnight had lived and Myrina had loved the young blue-black mare ever since.

Seven days before they were to move on for the Spring Celebrations, Myrina sat outside the tent, trying to keep still while her grandmother pricked her skin with a sharp bone needle.

“Do not scratch!” Gul spoke sharply, slapping her daughter’s hand away from the nose ring that had also been snapped, red hot and searing, into place.

“It itches like a scorpion’s sting,” Myrina complained, “and so does this.”

“Keep still! Eyes shut!” Hati warned. “The more you wriggle the more it will hurt! Shut your eyes . . . think creature!”

Myrina squeezed her eyelids together, then slowly lowered her shoulders, trying to ease the clenched muscles and think creature. She must make herself believe that she was moving steadily through the grass on her belly, swaying from side to side, a warm wind blowing into her face. It was just possible, if she really relaxed, to lift her thoughts and send them far away from the sharp pricking of the needle.

Hati was skilled at making body pictures and she worked fast, rubbing soot mixed with herb juices and honey into the punctured skin, creating her marks. All young girls destined to become Moon Riders were decorated with body pictures; the work began on their eighth birthday. For the last five years, Hati had added a new picture each spring to Myrina’s fast-growing collection. A leaping deer with curling antlers stood out clear blue-black on each foot, bestowing on her the suppleness and grace of the animal. Leaves and flowers rained down from her shoulders, sprinkling the tops of her arms, symbolizing the energy of plant growth. A sharp arrowhead was etched on each cheekbone, warning anyone who came close of hidden strength. Hati herself had scorpions patterning her cheeks and arm, though the dyes were faded now and hidden away between wrinkles. Gul bore the rose flowers of her name—a gentler symbol for a gentle nature.

Now on this special day, Myrina was being decorated with the last and most important body picture of all, her own chosen symbol, covering her right forearm.

“Almost done,” Gul soothed, looking over her mother’s shoulder. “I will fetch the milk. The picture is so right; it’s you, Myrina.”

At last Hati put down her needle and picked up the bowl of precious mare’s milk mixed with honey that Gul had brought. She reverently poured a little of it onto the earth as an offering to Maa, then gave the rest to Myrina.

Eyes still closed, Myrina sipped the warm strong-tasting milk with relief. The sharp pains were over and her body picture had taken shape.

They took the bowl away from her, and both Gul and Hati one after the other took Myrina’s small hand, kissed it gently and pressed it to their cheeks. “May your picture-magic give you the strength and grace of its images,” they whispered. Then Hati sat back and stretched her spine. “Open your eyes,” she ordered.

Myrina opened them nervously, glancing down. The skin was red and swollen, but she could see the picture clearly. An undulating snake rippled down her forearm, resting its patterned head on her thumb. Its curling tail just touched her elbow.

“Thank you, Grandmother,” she said quietly. “I think it
is
me!”

Gul suddenly caught her breath and pointed beyond them to a pile of rocks.

“What is it?” Hati asked.

Gul still couldn’t speak, but only point.

Myrina turned to look toward the rocks, then she saw it, too. A golden brown viper was weaving its snaky way out into the sunshine, heading toward her feet.

All three women froze for a moment, then in a flash Hati snatched up her stick, raising it above her head.

“Do not strike!” Myrina whispered. “It will not harm me.”

The snake stopped and reared up, looking directly at Myrina, then it dipped its head gracefully and turned away. Hati laughed and lowered her stick. “No, I’m sure you are right, though it may not recognize us as friends of the young snake lady!”

The creature slunk smoothly away into the rock shadows once more.

Gul breathed freely again. “Is it a sign? It must be! What can it mean?”

“I don’t know.” Hati smiled with determination. “But it can only be good. I’m sure of that.”

O
VER THE NEXT
few days the swelling and soreness vanished from Myrina’s arm, so that her snake-symbol looked very lifelike. Among the Mazagardi there was much talk of the coming Celebrations at the Place of Flowing Waters. All the nomadic tribes who honored Earth Mother, Maa, would gather to rejoice in the coming of Spring; also, they would be presenting their daughters to Atisha, the leader of the Moon Riders, and hoping that she would accept them as priestesses. The Mazagardi tribe had a reputation for providing the best dancers and the best warrior women, too.

“I hear that King Priam wants to buy horses,” Gul told Aben. “They say he’s richer than ever, now that he’s taxing the trading boats that pass through the Hellespont. He makes Achaeans pay twice what he charges our tribes and his Hittite allies.”

Aben smiled. “This wealth may help in our dealings with him, but I swear the man’s hoarding trouble for himself!”

“What sort of trouble?” Myrina was curious.

Her father was thoughtful. “The Achaean kingdoms need tin to make their bronze weapons and this new metal they call iron. Their ships bring it from the north, passing through the Hellespont; there’s no other way. I’m sure Agamemnon of Mycenae and Menelaus of Sparta will not tolerate Priam’s soaring charges forever, and I fear for us all if those two brothers run out of patience.”

Myrina nodded. They all feared the fierce Achaean raiding gangs that came north from time to time, plundering gold, murdering the men, and taking women as slaves. She came from many generations of brave warrior women who were always ready to take up arms to defend those they loved. “I’ll fight Achaeans if they come raiding,” she insisted.

Both parents smiled at her fierceness.

“Well . . . Grandmother turned warrior! She rode with the Moon Riders through Thrace to challenge Theseus, didn’t she?”

Gul nodded. “Yes. Hippolyta led them to Athens to rescue Antiope whom Theseus had stolen away.”

“So brave of them.” Myrina sighed.

Gul’s face was full of doubt. “Brave but maybe foolish. The fight cost Hippolyta her life, along with many others. And as Hati will tell you, when it came to it Antiope didn’t wish to return home.”

Myrina frowned. “She wanted to stay with the Achaeans?”

“Not
wanted
, exactly, but that was what she chose. She’d just given birth to Theseus’s son.”

“I can’t believe it!” Myrina argued. “He forced her to be his slave! She can’t have wanted to stay with him!”

Gul shrugged her shoulders.

“War brings strange situations.” Aben spoke with his usual tolerance. “We can’t know the terrible misery there must be for such as Antiope.”

But Myrina was enthralled by the boldness of the adventure. “When the Moon Riders rode to Athens, the Achaeans feared them and called them Amazons!” she recalled, her voice shaking with pride.

Gul could only whisper her doubts. “So many died.”

“If Grandmother turned warrior, then so can I!” Myrina insisted.

“What’s that?” Hati demanded, dipping her head as she came in through the open tent flaps.

“We are just remembering some of your wilder adventures, Mother,” Gul said, smiling again.

As the moon waned, the tribe began to pack up their goods, ready to move on to Mount Ida and the Place of Flowing Waters. Myrina’s sister would return to the Mazagardi there and choose herself a husband.

The night before their move, Myrina sat on a cushion in the tent, fingering her new traveling goods. Tomi came to sit with her.

“I can’t wait to use them,” Myrina whispered.

There was a carved-horn drinking cup in a felt holder and a strong leather bag containing a flat round of polished wood with three separate wooden legs that would screw into place to make a small camp table. Supple deerskin riding boots stood side by side next to her lightweight bow made of horn and horse sinews, its quiver full of sharp new arrows.

Tomi stroked the polished leather quiver. “Think of me when you hunt with the magical Moon-maidens,” he whispered.

Myrina looked up at him, feeling very sad that they would not hunt together again. “When I return you’ll maybe have a wife,” she said.

“Maybe not.” Tomi stared down at the arrows.

“If you wait,” she told him, suddenly shy, “if you wait and refuse all offers, then I’ll choose you for my husband when I return in seven years’ time.”

He smiled at that and bent close so that their lips touched gently. They both laughed nervously as they heard Tomi’s father calling him to feed and water the horses.

He got up obediently. “Father always had good timing.” He raised his eyebrows. “But I think I can manage to wait for seven years to marry an honored and magical Moon Rider.”

He bowed formally and went outside.

Myrina smiled to herself and reached for the delicately wrought silver mirror, patterned about the edges with twisting snakes, two fork-tongued heads crossing at the top. The mirror was the most precious symbol of those who rode with the Old Woman; so Aben had worked long and hard to produce a fine, magical mirror for his youngest daughter. She’d carry it always, swinging from her belt. When her years as a Moon-maiden were over, the mirror would be melted down and shaped into a marriage bangle.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “But I’ve never been one for sitting admiring myself!”

Gul came in through the tent flaps, overhearing her daughter’s words. “There’s more to a Moon Rider’s mirror than pouting your lips at it,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Mother?”

“Oh yes.” Hati followed her daughter into the tent, smiling at her words.

“What more?” Myrina demanded.

Hati and Gul chuckled secretively, but they wouldn’t reply.

“Atisha will tell, when the time is right,” said Gul.

And though Myrina begged again, they clamped their lips tight and would say no more. She watched her mother rolling up the felt flooring, knowing somewhere deep down that a time would come for weeping, but the moment was not here yet: this moment contained nothing but burning eagerness.

“I wish I could see Reseda for longer,” she said, a touch of regret creeping into her voice.

“Seven days will have to be enough.”

“I want to dance at her wedding.”

Gul clicked her tongue. “An important woman like Atisha cannot be kept waiting while a girl makes up her mind which man she wants. Reseda must not be rushed in her choice, so you’ll go off with the Moon Riders, and you’ll be happy.”

“Yes I will.” Myrina was easily persuaded of that.

The Mazagardi were up before sunrise packing away their tents. All the tribe members performed their own tasks well, even the tiniest of children. They had done it so often that there were no arguments and little need to speak. The whole tribe mounted their steeds and moved off as they did at every new moon.

Myrina and Tomi rode in unusual silence side by side. The Mazagardi traveled fast, fording the River Scamander. The dreary days of the Snow Months were over and they were eager for the return of the sun.

Both warm and cold springs issued from high rocks at the Place of Flowing Waters. Tall shady trees grew alongside the riverbanks and fresh shooting grass provided rich grazing for goats and horses.

“Why do we not stay here forever?” Myrina had once asked her grandmother, when she’d been very young.