Shadows on the Aegean (23 page)

CAPHTOR

C
HLOE WAS BEYOND REGRETTING
that she had agreed to be the “driver” for all of the race-related activities. Her legs hurt, her arms hurt, her breasts
really hurt, and her feet were covered in bruises and blisters.

Sibylla reclined on the edge of her consciousness, like Jeannie in her pink velvet bottle. While I am busting my keister for
a race I don’t want to run, Chloe thought with a sigh.

Today was the first of a series of qualifying races. If she lost here, Sibylla wouldn’t have to continue racing.
Which means
I
wouldn’t have to continue racing
. She winced as Sibylla, previously silent, began to accuse her of having no honor, no integrity … Yadda, yadda yadda, Chloe
thought.

She began her stretches, exchanging small talk with the other women. Twenty-five contenders were in this competition. Chloe
scrutinized them and realized that, like Cinderella’s slipper, most weren’t going to fit. Three were lean and muscled; those
three she’d have to keep an eye on.

The runners moved into their starting positions, and Chloe furtively tied her breasts into a halter with the sash from her
skirt. It was hardly a sport bra, but it worked and it wasn’t visible beneath the thin woolen shift the racers wore.

“Yazzo!”
the timekeeper cried. They were off.

The Aztlantu hadn’t quite grasped the concept of distance vs. sprint, so the race was in fact a long-distance sprint. About
four miles’ worth. I hate running, pounded through Chloe’s mind in time to her footsteps.

She focused on breathing and not wrenching her ankle as she began to break from the pack. As expected, two of the lean, fit
women were leading. Chloe and the other lean woman were edging their way through the mass of huffing and puffing women. Chloe
veered slightly, avoiding an overzealous elbow in her gut.

The path turned, narrowed, and Chloe put on an extra burst of energy, leaving the pack and the third runner behind.

At least she thought they were behind. It was surprisingly quiet, only the sound of the wind and her breathing. Dappled sunlight
fell on her, and Chloe watched her legs, in Sibylla’s skin, pump and step through the leaf-covered path.

Then she was in a clearing, gaining on the other two runners. One was hobbling, losing ground rapidly, and Chloe realized
she must have twisted her ankle. She focused on the ground again, wary of small depressions and stones. The woman finally
gave up, falling to the ground. Chloe slowed. “Are you well?”

“My ankle, mistress,” the girl said, panting. “Run on, I will be well.”

Chloe was past, the words floating after her like a benediction. One more runner, she thought. Sibylla was growing excited,
and Chloe glared at her. Sweat matted her hair, trickled between her bound breasts, and soaked her woolen shift. She kept
running.

Ahead she saw the lead runner. How close were they to the finish line? Chloe wondered. Photo finishes might be fun and glamorous
looking, but she wanted to win, no question, leaving the contender in her dust.

You are quite competitive
, Sibylla observed.

Ignoring the oracle, Chloe commanded her legs to move faster, her strides to lengthen, her blood to pump more. The first runner
was a blonde, a tiny thing, but light and fast. Chloe gritted her teeth and ran faster. Her body ached, but now there was
an edge, an exhilaration, she’d not felt before. She pounded up behind the blonde, who turned her head just a little.

Seeing the finish line, Chloe felt adrenaline surge through her. This one is for the USAF, she thought. The small grouping
of people grew more distinct, then closer to life size, and then she was across the burn mark in the grass, her ears ringing,
sweat pouring off her body.

The blonde was two steps behind, two steps too few. Chloe submitted to a crown of bay leaves thrust on her head, and her hot,
shaky body was doused with wine.

We won!
Sibylla cried inside.

One down, a dozen more to go.

AZTLAN

“I
THOUGHT I’D FIND YOU HERE
,” Phoebus said. Niko looked up from the stack of scrolls and tablets. Dust and dirt marked his face, and a dustball clung
to the side of his head. Phoebus smiled. “How does your search go?”

With a sly grin, Niko held up a rectangle of leather. Aztlantu had kept their legends pressed into folded leather tablets
since time before mind. The leather was hard, cracked, and brittle, a hundred tiny lines obscuring the text. Niko handed him
a vial of oil. “I am down to two tablets; be useful.”

Phoebus threw his cloak to the floor and sat on it, smearing the oil on the leather to reveal the image. Because the writing
tiles cut into the leather, or impressed into the gold, there was no fear of water damage. A useful feature when one lived
on an island, Phoebus thought.

“Do you know how Aztlan was founded?” Niko asked.

Phoebus shrugged. He knew Aztlan was older than the reign of the Clan Olimpi, but he’d never learned the earlier history.
It wasn’t taught, it wasn’t mentioned. How could anything surpass the glories of the clan? I will, he thought. “I know what
we were taught. Judging from your question, I would guess there is more?” He continued to rub oil into the hide. Thus far
there seemed to be nothing on it.

“What a reasoned response,” Niko said. “Now listen to this.” He opened a newly oiled scroll. “ ‘Time before mind, a man and
his wife were shipwrecked on this island. Though they were alone, they walked with a great God. He gave them secrets in the
stones. There were only two laws: A life must be given for a life taken in violence; the energy of life was in the blood and
must not be consumed in any form.”

Phoebus interrupted. “Those cannot have been the laws! That must be a myth!”

“I am not finished. The writings claim that this couple begat a numerous people. They began to move to the other islands,
spreading their name and skills across the sea. This people walked with a great, unknown god, and he communicated to them
through some stones. Then, the patriarch Iavan was lost at sea. The people turned from the god. The challenge to worship what
they could not see was too great.”

“Do you think Apis is this god?”

Niko folded the tablet to the next partition. “You do not believe that any more than I do. Worshiping a bull is but a symbol
for worshiping the strength of nature. Someone
does
shake the earth, but it is not a giant bull on whose back we rest. A bull did not settle this land, teach us how to farm
or sail.”

Reading from the page, Niko quoted, “ ‘The people said, “Look at the sky! Listen to the hills, how they roar! Hear the sea,
how she sings! How can this be only one god? There are many!” So they took the knowledge the great God had taught them and
turned from him. They refused to listen to him, and finally destruction ripped the land apart, separating it into vast islands,
filling it with snaking streams.’ Phoebus, that is what we have now.”

Phoebus continued to massage the oil into the leather. A line finally appeared along the right-hand side of the page. As the
oil was absorbed, all but the deepest marks were smoothed away. He opened the next section, poured more oil on it, and wiped
away the grime. There were a lot of markings here, but not letters. “Continue.”

“After the destruction, the people were invaded and they absorbed the invaders. Civil war ensued. That was when the Council
rose. People fled the Council’s rulings, the new laws. In our history classes we were told colonists left Aztlan to establish
outposts. This document denies they were colonists. Phoebus, it claims they were outlaws.”

The Rising Golden stopped, listening to his friend, comparing what he said to the legends on which they’d been reared. “We
were told they were colonists, going north, south, east, and west. They brought back the secrets of two growing seasons, how
to form stone and the tides.” Phoebus looked up. “Why would they flee?”

“They rejected the Council’s ruling about families. They wanted their blood relation to stay with them. They resisted becoming
clans.”

“But the clan structure is what makes Aztlan work,” Phoebus said, fingering the gold medallion around his neck. “It grants
equality and balance among citizens. It maintains a stable economy. Marriages are strong, as are children, for their blood
is varied.” He shrugged. “Why would anyone oppose that? We have peace and plenty. Clans
are
Aztlan.” He watched Niko in silence. “What is it, my friend?” he whispered. “Your thoughts are like smoke in the air.”

“Spiralmaster wants these stones.”

“What stones?”

“The stones that allowed our forebears an audience with this god.”

Phoebus looked up. “He believes these tales?”

“Apparently the stones were lost with the man Iavan, the patriarch. He died on a small island. Some of the followers of the
god went after him and built a tomb for him. They left the communication stones there.”

“But no one knows where they are or has used them since?”

He nodded his head. “I think Spiralmaster is purely hoping now, though. I’ve been through all of these. There is not one map.”

Phoebus unfolded the next page of the tablet. Impatiently, he rubbed the oil into the brittle leather, then stopped. Finally,
some letters. Letters marking an island in a massive sea. “You said we were working on the last two? What was yours?”

Niko picked up the oil-slick leather. “Recipes for childbirth.”

Phoebus winced. “What would be the reward for finding your tablet?”

“A night with that red-haired Coil Da—” Niko leaped over a stack of papyri and leather to crouch by Phoebus.

Phoebus handed the tablet to him. “Aye. You pay for the dancer. That is the map!”

Light flickered around the edges of Phoebus’ eyes, and he winced. “Was she worth my humble, hard-earned pay?” Niko asked.

“Okh!
By the horns of Apis, what are you doing here?” Phoebus groaned, rolling over onto his stomach.

Niko sat on the couch. “Spiralmaster has chosen to send me,” he said.