Mood Riders (8 page)

“We honor the moon and then we sleep,” Atisha announced.

The Old Woman took up a pipe and produced from it a slow throbbing melody while all the young women stood up, ready to dance. Myrina knew the movements so well that she did not even have to think about them, but Cassandra struggled, still determined to join in.

Myrina saw her difficulty and began a low whispered chant that gave instructions in time with the rise and fall of the pipe music.

“Bow to the moon
,

Dip to the earth
,

Turn to the mountain
,

Sway and sway.”

Cassandra quickly picked up the idea and found that she was moving in harmony with the others.

“Those two may do very well together,” Atisha whispered to Penthesilea.

Penthesilea sent the two new Moon Riders off to sleep in her own tent. As they lay there side by side on soft cushions Myrina whispered to Cassandra, “Do you regret . . . ?”

“No,” she answered firmly. “I lay myself down to sleep more happy than I can remember.”

Myrina hiccuped. “I still have a tight pain inside my chest.”

“Sleep now,” Cassandra told her calmly. “In the morning there will be joy!”

“Will there?” Myrina yawned and closed her eyes.

“Yes,” Cassandra said.

The next thing that Myrina remembered was hearing the sound of rustling in the darkness as Penthesilea shook her roughly. “Wake Cassandra!” she ordered.

Then quickly Myrina’s muddled thoughts cleared and she remembered that she was with the Moon-maidens and that to rise and dress before dawn was part of their duty. They must be there, outside their tents, ready to salute the sun.

“Cassandra!” she whispered. “Get up!”

They both got themselves dressed with as little fuss as they could manage in the dark. Penthesilea laughed as they bumped into each other. “You’ll learn,” she told them.

Then at last they were out in the cool darkness. A touch of moonlight helped them to find a place, but Atisha asked the newcomers to join her at the front. “You know the sun-welcoming dance?” she asked Myrina.

“Oh yes,” she replied, raising her arms above her head, ready to send them swaying from side to side as soon as the first rays of light appeared.

Cassandra immediately copied her. “Yes,” Atisha encouraged. “You are doing well.”

Penthesilea took up a drum, and then, as the first touch of pink lit the eastern horizon, she began a steady beat and all the Moon Riders swayed their raised arms from side to side in time with the rhythm. The beat grew faster as more and more golden pink fingers streaked across the sky. A tiny bud of joy began to grow there inside Myrina’s chest, chasing away the tight misery of last night. “I am here with the priestesses,” she told herself. “I am here and I am one of them.”

Then as the brightness grew the rhythm changed and suddenly the Moon Riders’ arms rippled up and down like living snakes. At last, as the whole of the sky lightened and gleaming sharp sun-rays appeared, they began twirling around faster and faster, until the drum rang out with a trembling thunder, then stopped. Suddenly they were whooping and clapping and smiling at one another. Cassandra stood gazing toward the rising sun, her face bathed in pink light, a quiet smile of satisfaction on her face.

The Moon Riders fed and watered their horses first then sat down to eat themselves. “When we’ve packed our tents, we practice,” Atisha told them. “Then we wash and dress ourselves for the evening rites, and ride on. You shall dance for the fisher-folk tonight, Myrina.”

Myrina gasped. “I . . . dance tonight?”

The others, sitting close by, laughed. “Oh yes,” Penthesilea insisted. “It is the tradition: the new priestess must dance at the evening’s celebration.”

“Do you mean me alone?”

“Yes!”

“But what shall I dance?”

“Whatever Atisha teaches you.”

“What about Cassandra?”

Atisha cackled. “I think our hosts would like a song from Priam’s daughter. They’d deem it a great honor.”

For a moment Cassandra sounded uncertain. “The songs I have learned are all to honor Apollo.”

“Sing whatever is there in your heart,” Atisha told her, serious now.

Cassandra’s unnerving eyes brightened. “I have songs in my heart that I’ve never sung out loud,” she whispered.

“You sing them tonight, for us,” Atisha told her firmly.

T
HE
M
OON
R
IDERS
rode west all through the afternoon, moving fast, still making up for lost time. Myrina could think of nothing but the set of new movements that Atisha had shown her. She didn’t care which direction they traveled in now, so long as she could remember what she’d been taught and not collapse in shameful tears again.

The Moon Riders were welcomed eagerly at the Place of High Cliffs, and provided with a feast of food and drink. Though both the dress and language of the tribe were strange to Myrina, there was no time to be bothered by such things. She worked through her new dance again and again.

“Let it flow.” Penthesilea laughed. “Stop being so fearful and let it flow.”

“How can I let it flow when I can’t even think what comes next?”

The Moon Riders sat down to eat, but Myrina couldn’t touch her food. Atisha looked in her direction and smiled. She put down her own food, then clapped her hands and picked up her drum. “Our performance shall begin at once,” she cried. “I present our new Moon-dancer Myrina, in her first performance. Come forward, Myrina, and entertain our friends while they eat.”

Myrina froze when she realized that Atisha was calling her forward. But Penthesilea was there behind, giving her a good shove, and suddenly she found herself in the midst of a crowd of strange faces, her mind gone quite blank.

Atisha set up a steady rhythm. Myrina missed the first movement but managed to jump in on the second.

“Yes!” Atisha cried.

Centaurea, a tall older girl with cornflower blue eyes, began a steady rhythmic clap of encouragement, soon picked up by the audience. Myrina grew in confidence and, though she missed another movement out, she smiled broadly at Atisha and carried on.

“Yes . . . yes!” The Old Woman nodded.

At last the dance built to a wild climax ending in warm applause and tongue-trilling cries of approval.

Myrina’s heart thundered, but her face glowed.

“You will never have anything more difficult to do than that,” Atisha told her. “Now you eat! Do you want to sing now and get it over with?” she asked Cassandra.

Cassandra shook her head. “I never eat,” she said, and from her stick-thin arms Myrina could believe that.

Atisha shook her head, speaking reprovingly. “You are a Moon-maiden now. We ride all day and dance all night: to do that we must have good food and plenty of it. Your life has changed by your own choice; now you eat!”

Cassandra stared at the Old Woman, puzzled. The harsh words were softened a little as Cassandra received offers of food from the other young women, accompanied by lip-smacking noises.

“Have some of this,” Centaurea offered. “Mackerel toasted in honey with sesame seeds: it’s delicious.” Cassandra stretched out her fingers for the tasty morsel and ate.

Later that evening Atisha called the princess to sing for them. The girl came hesitantly into the circle; her voice, a little shaky at first, soon grew in strength and at last the words seemed to come magically pouring forth from her throat. A song of the deep magic of the earth and the changing moon, of water and snow and bitter hail, and the joy of the returning spring.

Her voice was deep and pleasant. No wild whooping greeted her but a soft murmuring of approval, so that all were quiet and weary as the gentle moon-dance was performed.

The following morning the Moon Riders were up again before the sun, but then Atisha allowed them a little rest before they packed up their tents so that they’d have energy for the important fish-dances that were to be performed that evening. By noon many fishing boats were bobbing about beside the shore, ready to sail across. Each Moon-dancer led her steed aboard, two in each boat, for the restive horses might need the comfort of familiar voices.

When all the boats had safely reached the western side of the narrow sea, and women and beasts were helped ashore, then the dancers took their places for the watery rites.

“Blessings on our waters!” the fisher-tribe cried.

“Shoals of mackerel down from the Bosphorus!”

“Silver sardines, to light the night waters!”

As a steady drum beat began, half of the dancers took the role of swaying weeds, their hands drifting gently to right and left above their heads, while the others became fishes, weaving in and out, making wonderful finlike movements with their hands. When one round of the dance was completed, they swapped places, cheerfully doing the whole thing again to cheers and clapping.

Myrina slept soundly that night, with no sadness or thoughts of home.

The following morning the Moon Riders traveled on through Thrace.

There were no celebrations to perform for that night, so they made their camp by a cold clear stream, on a deserted grassy plain.

“Sleep well,” Atisha said as Myrina and Cassandra staggered stiff-legged toward Penthesilea’s tent. “I am very pleased with you both and in the morning I will share with you the greatest secret we possess.”

“The mirrors,” Myrina breathed. “At last.”

That night they lay side by side, drowsily whispering. “We’re to learn something wonderful,” Myrina insisted. “The magic of our mirrors.”

“Yes,” Cassandra replied.

“Aren’t you surprised at that?”

“No,” she murmured sleepily.

As soon as the sun greeting was over and horses and dancers fed, Atisha called her two new recruits over to her side. “Bring your mirror, Myrina,” she said. “I shall let you use mine, Cassandra, until we can have one made for you.”

“I have my own mirror,” Cassandra told her. “I couldn’t leave that behind in Troy.” She felt inside her tunic and brought out a bag, much smaller than the one that swung from Myrina’s belt. She pulled open the strings and held up a crudely cut mirror of shining black glassy stone.

Myrina was a little disappointed, thinking that some fantastically jeweled treasure was about to emerge, but Atisha gasped with delight. “Obsidian,” she breathed. “Magic stone from a fire-mountain. Where did you get it?”

Cassandra stroked the mirror’s polished surface. “I’ve had it for many years,” she said. “Once when I was very young I ran away from the palace. I went out through the lower town and on and on until I came to the mound that they call the Tomb of Dancing Myrina.”

“Yes?” Atisha listened with full attention.

“Well,” Cassandra whispered. “There was an old woman there, washing clothes in a pool. She gave me the mirror and told me not to be afraid of what I saw in it.”

“What did you see?” Myrina was as interested as Atisha now.

“I saw myself standing beside the pool but the water turned red as blood, and when I looked to ask her what it meant the woman had gone and guards were streaming out from the city calling my name.”

Atisha nodded. “And you have kept it ever since?”

Cassandra stroked the glassy black surface. “It is my treasure,” she said.

“And why do you treasure it so?” Atisha’s eyes narrowed.

Cassandra hesitated. “Because . . . I see things in it, things that my parents call imaginings, but I know them to be truth.”

“And what do you see now?” Atisha asked, while Myrina stood there quiet and awed.

Cassandra looked down at her night black mirror, then suddenly she smiled. “I see my friend Iphigenia, on the deck of a ship in the wide blue sea. She’s watching dolphins jump from the water and she’s happy. The creatures escort her safely home.”

Atisha kissed Cassandra on the forehead. “Now I know truly why you needed to come with us: you have been chosen. Go back to Penthesilea and ask her to teach you the moon-dance. I can teach you nothing about mirrors; you have that magic already.”