Shadows on the Aegean (51 page)

“I
HAVE A TALE FOR YOU
, Phoebus.”

The voice rose out of the darkness, out of Phoebus’ thrashing, sweat-filled dreams.

“Once lived a woman so beauteous that even her brothers loved her. One became her husband, another her lover. Her husband
was unfaithful—he found new women endlessly appealing. He could not have enough of them. This burned into his wife’s heart.
She vowed her children would never know this grief.”

The voice, low and melodic, continued. “When her oldest daughter was yet a babe, merely three summers, the mother took her
to an exiled priestess who lived in the mainland forest. There, for a price of precious stones, she had the girl’s sex cut.”

Phoebus jerked on his couch, cupping himself in sleepy protection.

“It was a tiny cut, but the mother knew it would forever rob the girl of her desire for men.”

He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn’t. His limbs felt weighted, and he was condemned to listen to a story whose end he
did not want to hear.

“The youngest was not so fortunate. By the time the girl was five summers, the mother’s fears had grown larger; her ability
to reason had fled. The girl had caught her husband’s eye, and rather than attributing his attention to paternal affection,
the wife imagined he lusted after his child. The woman feared her daughter would rise up and take the mother’s role. The priestess
in the forest had long since died, yet she had to do something, strip the girl of her desires. The mother waited, planning
carefully, for the child’s clan brother, the heir, was the girl’s constant companion. He could prevent this deed from being
done.

“Then one week, her prayers were answered. The boy was gone.

“So the wife got out her own blades and she cut the girl. It didn’t seem enough, however. She cut more, then more, then stitched
where she could. The child bled badly and only intervention by a Kela-Tenata protected the girl from dying of poisoned blood.

“Then the mother killed the priestess to protect her actions.”

Phoebus felt tears burning down his face, a welling of pain in his chest. Please don’t let it be who he thought it was! Please,
please, for the love of Kela—

“Irmentis was the girl; she is condemned to live her life beyond pleasure’s touch. Slowly she kills herself in the arms of
a green, insidious lover who fills her veins and twists her mind. Ileana did this; she murdered, she mutilated, she robbed
you of your heartlove.”

He was shaking with rage, with fear, with revulsion. Irmentis had never disrobed before him. Never had he seen her without
her tunic. Could this be true? Could this be why she’d lain still in his arms a dozen times?

“Revenge, Phoebus. Revenge. You will be
Hreesos
, the time for your revenge is dawning.”

He hissed as he felt something across his palm. His hand was wet, then his lips were wet, coated with blood. “Swear vengeance,
Phoebus. Speak now.”

The constraints on his movement and speech were gone. He muttered his vow of vengeance, then felt his sticky fingers wrapped
around the haft of a blade. The vow kiss made him moan—such passion, such love, such lust! He could not kiss deeply enough.

Then he was kissing only air. Tears, semen, and blood mingled in his linens.

S
ELENA FELT HER SPIRIT RETURN
to the cavern of her body. In the flickering light, she could see Sibylla’s features masked in horror. “How could you do
that? Now that he knows the truth, he will never forgive her. You promised Ileana sanctuary; it was your duty. What is your
purpose with revealing this story?” Sibylla protested.

“Phoebus will destroy Ileana now. It will be justice,” Selena said.

“Do you seek to take her place?”

“Do not we all seek it? We all run the race.”

“He loves Irmentis.”

“Aye. She loves him, but she doesn’t feel
eros
for him. Irmentis’ greatest love is for the wilds. And her potion.”

“Potion?”

“Okh
, Sibylla! For an oracle you can be so blind! The drink Phoebus concocted for her. It eases the pain she lives with in the
darkness.”

Sibylla looked at the elaborate patterns of colored sand on the floor. Her eyes were growing paler as the poppy burned and
her pupils contracted. “Ileana is the mother-goddess; you are sworn to protect her.”

“Aye.”

“But—doesn’t this undermine your promise?”

“She should die,” Selena snarled.

“I would have thought death too easy an answer,” Sibylla said.

“She will die unbathed. Forever she will wander, a
skia.”
Selena leaned over the poppy and inhaled deeply. “Death is but the beginning of her harvest in this life,” were her last
coherent words.

U
TTER DARKNESS CLOAKED THE NIGHT OF THE RACE
. Kela was now the hag, newly deceased, waited to be reborn. In this blackness the race would be run, over the rough hills,
through the winding passages, and finally across the bridge onto Aztlan Island.

It’s dark, I’m barefoot, with decidedly aggressive women on my heels, Chloe thought. These people could really use an Olympics
committee. Observation was forbidden; lamps and direction were not allowed, violators were punishable by banishment. It was
not only a test of the body, skill, temperament, and endurance, the race was a search of the
psyche
through the shadows of night.

They would run from almost midnight until dawn. Fortunately it was summer, so night was only six hours.

Six hours; don’t think of it like that, Chloe. You can do this. You know how. You can do this
. She repeated the words continuously to herself as she stretched. The cooler night breeze ruffled the skirt of her shift
and tossed tendrils of hair into her eyes and mouth.

A final strip of cloth around her forehead, a test of her “bra” bandage, and Chloe was ready. It had come down to a four-way
battle: Selena, Vena, Sibylla, and Ileana. Just as long as one of the challengers, though preferably not Vena, won, it would
be okay. Ileana would be deposed.

The Minos had his bull head on and sprinkled scented water on them. “By the serpent of Kela, may the vessel of the goddess
be revealed.” He extinguished the torch, and they started.

Though Chloe had to fight her desire to use her energy now and whip in front, she remembered Atenis’ words. Pace, conserve,
relax, look up. The night began to reveal itself in the silhouettes of ink black trees against blue-black sky. No stars, no
moon … just silence and darkness and her own body.

She was so aware of her blood pumping, her muscles stretching and moving, her bound hair as it slapped her back, the slight
jog of her breasts … Chloe allowed her mind to quiet, listening to her rhythm, resting and preparing for the mental side of
the race.

Her shift was soaked; before her to the left she could almost make out the shape of Vena, her milky skin more visible in the
darkness. Selena was ahead of them both, Ileana far ahead.

The aching had begun, and Chloe realized it was like sex in that aspect. Sometimes you had to strive, even suffer a little,
until the pleasure began. They were going downhill, and Chloe kicked back with her stride, letting the pull of gravity do
most of the work. She passed Vena in a burst of momentum and was in a copse of trees when the earthwave hit.

Chloe banged against an olive tree, slicing her shin as the ground continued to fibrillate. Swearing at the pain, the loss
of her pacing, she waited until the earth stopped moving and limped back onto the path. Slowly she started again, her shin
throbbing with every step.

Damn, damn, damn! She was still swearing when the next wave hit, throwing her to the ground, where she clung, sweating and
nauseated, until it stopped. Hesitantly now, she got to her feet. Her shin was slick with blood, and she ripped a strip from
her tunic and tied it over the gash.

She couldn’t see or hear any other women. Chloe began to run again, starting slow, then picking up speed as her heartbeat
easily leapt back to where it had been. More hills, more valleys:
Keep going, keep going
. She didn’t think of the others, or how far she had run, or the distance to the finish line; there was only her body, the
wind, and the earth.

Forward, keep going
.

Blood was streaming freely down her shin. Finally she couldn’t take it and slowed to a stop, looking for some way to stem
the bleeding.

The quake hit violently, bouncing her around like a body surfer on a wave.
Thank God I wasn’t running
. The two minutes of the quake were two of the longest minutes in her life. After coughing up the pomegranate juice she’d
had hours ago, Chloe began to walk, then jog, then run—again.

She didn’t care about the race anymore, she just wanted to get back! To Cheftu, to safe ground, to light! Following a sharp
curve, she caught sight of the land bridge and, across it, Aztlan. No signs of anyone else.

At least I’ll finish the race, she thought, encouraged by the sight. It was a straight shot from here to the island, mostly
downhill to boot!
This will be the easiest part of the night!
She was flying down the hill when she passed Selena.

“Win, Sibylla!” the priestess cried after her.
“Yazzo!”

Gaze fastened on the ground as she negotiated the uneven rise, Chloe almost ran over Ileana. With a yelp she sidestepped,
wincing as her ankle turned a little. Ileana didn’t waste a second, she put on a burst of speed as Chloe hobbled a few steps.

The vicious witch who’d kept her up half the night with dry heaves was not going to win.

Her shoulders as relaxed and motionless as she could make them, her hands pumping from her face to her derriere, Chloe kicked
back all the way down the hill, propelled halfway across the bridge. She was catching up!

Ten steps behind Ileana when they crossed onto the island, Chloe knew she had minutes to overtake the older woman or she would
lose. Extra energy, she told her body. More! Give me more!

Flick your feet, she remembered Atenis telling her.