Mood Riders (29 page)

M
YRINA COULD NOT
sleep that night. Her mind was full of pictures of Yildiz, first a tiny baby in her arms, then riding like a wild firefly and setting Achilles’ tents aflame. At last she got out of bed and went to look for water. Her stomach had recently been trained to accept only a small amount of food, and the unaccustomed feast and wine had left her feeling bloated. She wandered down the marble passageway to where the water ewer and its little beaker were kept, and saw that a torch still blazed in the chamber allotted to Penthesilea.

“Another one who cannot sleep?” she said as she saw her friend sitting on the balcony, looking down at the lights and fires of the distant Achaean camp.

Penthesilea turned to her and Myrina was shocked to see traces of tears on her cheeks. In all the years they had ridden together, she had never known Penthesilea to weep.

Myrina stood there uncertainly, feeling that she had intruded into something private, but Penthesilea held out her hand. “Come sit beside me, Snake Lady,” she begged. “I have need of one who can bolster my courage.”

“You?” Myrina was stunned. “Your courage has never failed.”

Penthesilea laughed low. “But tonight it fails me. I have been waiting all my life for this moment and tomorrow I must face Achilles, the dreaded Ant Man himself. His followers swear that he is immortal, you know. They say his mother was a magical sea nymph and that she made him invincible.”

Myrina went to sit close beside her. “But we do not believe in such a thing,” she insisted. “All of us must return to the womb of Mother Earth and Achilles will not escape that fate.”

“No, he will not,” Penthesilea agreed. “But how many more will he send before him?”

Myrina sat in silence, Yildiz in her thoughts as well. At last she spoke. “You do not have to face Achilles tomorrow. Your fate is in your own hands. You can decide against a battle charge and we may dig in our heels and wait till winter sends many of the Achaeans searching for more comfortable sleeping quarters.”

But Penthesilea shook her head sadly. “It is my fate to ride tomorrow. It is more than that, it is my penance.”

Myrina was puzzled but said nothing, sensing that she must be patient.

Penthesilea turned to her, smiling. “Did you know that I was once a princess—daughter of a king?”

“No!” Myrina tried to conceal her astonishment.

“Oh yes.” Penthesilea laughed, but the sound was mirthless. “I was as royal as your Cassandra, but I did something that was unforgivable.”

“I cannot believe that.” Myrina put out her hand and gently stroked the leaping panther that Penthesilea bore on her forearm, the symbol of her wild spirit, scratched in when she was a child.

“Oh yes,” Penthesilea insisted. “It was unforgivable. I had a young sister; her name was Hippolyta, after the famous Moon Rider. She rode like a centaur and we were inseparable; we wrestled and fought and hunted together.”

Penthesilea paused, and it seemed that she could not utter the words, but at last she swallowed hard and went on. “I killed her.”

“No!” Myrina cried involuntarily.

“Yes,” Penthesilea insisted. “One day when we were out hunting I threw my spear into some bushes and instead of the deer I thought we stalked . . . I killed my own sister.”

“But . . . that was an accident . . . a terrible accident,” Myrina told her at once.

“Yes . . . it was an accident, but that does not make it any less true or any less dreadful. I killed my own sister. Can you imagine how my parents felt? They—they could not even look at me.”

“How old were you?”

“I had seen eleven springs; the same as Yildiz. You see, when I saw your Little Star, so angry and vengeful, well . . . I knew what it was like to be so young and to feel such hurt inside.”

“But it was not your fault,” Myrina insisted, though she could imagine only too well the terrible guilt that must follow such a thing. “What happened to you?”

“My parents sent for Atisha and begged her to take me as a Moon Rider. It was agreed that the Old Woman would let me ride with her, but I was never to return to my home. I was banished.”

Myrina frowned. It seemed a terrible punishment for one so young. She offered what comfort she could: “Atisha loves you as her own child,” she said.

“Yes, and I love her as though she were both mother and father to me, but . . . I have always known that I must find the courage to do something great with my life—something that will atone.”

“You have done it already,” Myrina replied at once. “You rescued Iphigenia from the evil priest; we could never have succeeded without your daring. That is atonement enough for any wrong! There is a life that you have truly saved!”

“No.” Penthesilea shook her head. “That was not enough. What I do tomorrow . . . this is what matters. I have to face the warrior of warriors and bring him down.”

Myrina was full of sadness and fear, but she knew that all the arguments in the world would make no difference to Penthesilea’s resolve, so she simply wrapped her arms around her friend and they stayed like that, sitting close together, until the first glimmerings of light appeared in the east.

As dawn spread over the plain of Troy, Penthesilea stirred. She wiped all traces of tears from her cheeks, then turned to Myrina and planted a fierce kiss on her brow. “I have never told anyone else what I confided to you last night,” she said. “Only Atisha knows. Remember, Snake Lady, whenever I bawl and shout at you, that I love you still.”

Then suddenly she was her usual bossy, energetic self. She snatched up the torch and was soon striding about the citadel, ordering her disparate followers to feed and water the horses, then strap their armor on.

All was bustle and energy within the walls of Troy. Myrina could feel the tension thrumming through the streets. Every warrior was preparing meticulously for this fight, tempers drawn tight as bowstrings. If ever the tide could be turned against the Achaeans, it must be now.

Back in her chamber Myrina joined her gang and fastened on her horse-skin body armor. She tied across her chest the strong leather strap that protected the right breast, so flattening it and giving the impression of being one-breasted. She smiled, remembering how Atisha laughed when their enemies called them Amazons: “breastless ones.” “If they are stupid enough to think that we would do such a thing as cut off a breast—let them think it!” the Old Woman would say. “They may well fear us more if they think we are capable of such madness.”

Myrina picked up her leg leathers, but found that other deft fingers at once set about strapping them into place. “Akasya—you are here again.”

Akasya nodded and did the job with grim efficiency, while Myrina pulled the stiffened Phrygian cap over her ears, so that it protected her like a helmet. But then she suddenly stopped. Atisha’s scathing words about the straps reminded her of other matters that the Old Woman had been very clear about, and much more recently: “Do not go out and fight with Penthesilea,” she had warned. Myrina’s mind had been so full of Yildiz that she had forgotten all about Atisha’s last words to her.

After the closeness that she and Penthesilea had shared last night, such a thing was unthinkable. How could she refuse to follow Penthesilea onto the battlefield?

“What is it?” Bremusa asked, reaching over to help her fix the Moon Rider’s quiver to her thigh, so that arrows could be drawn at great speed. “You look troubled.”

Myrina shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “She cannot have meant now.”

“What is wrong?” Coronilla demanded.

Myrina struggled to explain, her face full of pain and shame that she should be voicing these words. “Atisha—” she said, “Atisha told me not to fight alongside Penthesilea—she made me swear it.”

Akasya stopped her work at once; there was stillness in the chamber. All three Moon Riders stared at her, shocked. Atisha had never told anyone not to fight before—it was unheard of.

“But . . . when the black ships came, we all turned warrior and we swore to defend the traveling lands of the tribes.” Alcibie spoke in a whisper.

“Yes,” Myrina agreed. “And Atisha cannot have known that we would be fighting for the honor of Yildiz. She could not have meant me to stand by and see my Little Star slaughtered and take no revenge.”

But Polymusa was troubled. “Atisha never speaks thoughtlessly.”

“No,” Coronilla agreed. “She does not.”

“But we cannot fight without Myrina to lead us.” Alcibie was distressed. “We are Myrina’s gang.”

They all stood there, looking uncertain, until Bremusa moved decisively. She reached out and pulled loose the straps of Myrina’s helmet. “We are still Myrina’s gang, whether Myrina fights or not.”

At once Akasya began to untie Myrina’s leg straps, a look of relief on her face.

Polymusa nodded. “Bremusa is right! You must not ignore Atisha’s orders,” she said.

Coronilla agreed. “The Old Woman has wisdom beyond our understanding.”

Alcibie still looked lost, but then her courage flooded back. “We are Myrina’s gang, with or without Myrina at our side,” she said.

Myrina tore off her helmet, her face flushed. “I will have to face Penthesilea and tell her,” she said. “Believe me, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Penthesilea was pacing impatiently back and forth on Fleetwind as the Thracians and the Phrygians assembled. She frowned and shook her head as Myrina shouted up at her that she wasn’t going to fight. Penthesilea dismounted at once, her face full of disbelief. “Not fight?” she growled.

“I forgot; I was so angry about Yildiz that I could think of nothing else . . . and then last night I was so very sad for you. But I remembered as I was dressing: Atisha told me not to fight alongside you.” Myrina felt that she sounded like a spoiled child.

Penthesilea’s eyes flashed flinty gray and her mouth curled in disdain. “What is this? I never took you to be a coward, Snake Lady! The Old Woman is going crazy in her head! A Moon Rider not fight?”

Myrina gritted her teeth and stood her ground in silence, Akasya at her side, staring defiantly up at the War God’s Daughter.

“Why? Did she say why? Tell me why!”

Myrina hung her head. It would only take a second to change her mind and fetch Isatis from the stable. It would be easier by far to do so. But suddenly Cassandra was there, facing Penthesilea with her. “Tell her why!” the princess urged quietly.

“Yes, tell me why!” Penthesilea looked from one to the other.

At last Myrina thrust up her chin, but it still trembled. “Because—if you are lost, there must be someone here to clear up the mess and lead the Moon Riders!”

Penthesilea’s eyes glistened for just a moment, then suddenly her shoulders dropped and she clasped Myrina tight in her arms. “Remember what I said last night, Snake Lady: though I growl at you, I still love you. The Old Woman is not so crazy after all. Good-bye! Ride well! Lead well!”

P
ENTHESILEA LEAPED ONTO
Fleetwind’s back and urged the powerful mare forward. “We ride,” she yelled, raising her bow in salute to the gathered warriors. “We ride for the honor of Maa and the city of Troy.”

A wild answering cheer went up from all the many gathered bands of allies.

Myrina’s gang moved in behind Penthesilea. “For Maa and Myrina!” they yelled.