The Lost Sisterhood (14 page)

He merely snapped his fingers to let me know he was still waiting. The gesture made my cheeks flood with fury. “What is this? A gulag?”

“With one exception. You are free to leave anytime you want.”

There was something about the way he said it that made me realize he secretly wished I would. Despite his halfhearted efforts to make up and move on, it was not Nick who had offered me ten thousand dollars to stay the week. It was someone else. But who? And why?

I placed my phone in the palm of his hand with as much dignity as the situation deserved. “Thank you,” he said, slipping it into his pocket. “You know what is down there. You know why I have to do this.”

“Quite frankly”—I rolled up the wire from the phone charger with angry fingers and stuffed it into my own pocket—”I’m having some difficulty understanding why your Mr. Skolsky”—I resisted the urge to grimace at the fallacious name—”believes this temple belongs to him personally.”

“Is that what you think is going on?”

“What other conclusion can I possibly draw?” I looked at him as earnestly as I could, but the small window of synergy he had just opened was, once again, hermetically sealed.

All he said was, “That is precisely why I have to take your phone.”

L
ATER THAT NIGHT, CRAIG
took me out for an evening walk under the stars. Although he did not mention anything about it, I suspected he knew about the phone incident and was trying to cheer me up.

As we walked, I was sorely tempted to confront him with questions about the Aqrab Foundation, but knew it would be a mistake to let on that I had discovered the truth. Even if Craig was not on the Aqrab
payroll, he was on their team. Why else had he alerted them—and them alone—when his drilling crew found the temple?

“So, what company do you work for?” I eventually asked, endeavoring to sound as if I were merely making conversation. “And what about Nick? Are you two working for the same people?”

Craig drew on the pipe a few times. “Better ask someone else. I’m just a grease monkey.” When he saw my disappointment, his smile turned wry. “Look, I don’t know what they’ve been telling you. I prefer to stay out of it.”

“Here’s what they’ve been telling me,” I said, a little irked by his cowardice. “They told me this was about the Amazons. That somehow”—I threw a hand in the direction of the buried temple—”this place was proof they really existed. But as you heard this morning, Nick didn’t get that memo.” I looked at Craig with whatever hope I had left. “What about you? Have you heard any mention of the Amazons? By anyone? At all?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “Sorry, lass. I’m not the one to ask.”

We walked on in silence and ended up by a plain metal gate. Because of the darkness it took me a moment to realize we had arrived at an enclosure, and that there were other people there, too, leaning silently on the fence posts.

Craig nodded without a word, and I looked into the paddock to see two forms moving about slowly—a black horse on a rope and a man dressed in nothing but a pair of white trousers. It took me a moment to recognize the man as Nick, and despite my growing cynicism with regards to his person there was something about this slow, moonlit dance that was utterly mesmerizing. “Look,” mouthed Craig, without a sound.

Inside the enclosure, Nick knelt down in the sand. The black horse moved around a bit, then came closer, and eventually stretched its neck to rest its head on his naked shoulder.

A collective hum went through the men gathered at the fence, and Craig beamed at me, the pipe bobbing delightedly at the corner of his mouth. “I put my money on ten days. He did it in five. It’s in their bloody genes.”

“What is?” I asked, barely able to wrest my eyes from Nick.

Craig gestured with his pipe, a private smile playing in his eyes. “Arabian horses are very clever. They second-guess you. You don’t break them; you wait for them to adopt you. Look!”

“Well—” I turned away from the spectacle, the events of the day dragging at my every limb. “I’m afraid I’m more than a five-day job.”

Craig’s smile disappeared. “If you want my advice—”

“Please!”

“Take the money, do your job, and go. Don’t look back. And no matter what happens”—he looked deeply into my eyes, making sure I heard him—”don’t mess with these people. They wouldn’t be nice about it.”

TEMPLE OF THE MOON GODDESS

T
HE ATTACK CAME AT NIGHT.

Under cover of a cloudy sky, five foreign ships forced their way through the great marsh and drew up on the shore near the Temple of the Moon Goddess. Had they come three months earlier, they would never have made it across the shallow water; they owed their success to a particularly wet rainy season, which had ever so briefly restored the old coastline.

Even as the tarred keels plowed into the sand, no dogs barked, no geese stirred. All sounds were dimmed by the heavy dampness of the air, so characteristic of that time of year, when heaven and earth were at last saturated with moisture. Into this treacherous mist did the five ships disgorge their lethal load: men armed with refined weapons and brute desires, men whose needs had been whetted by long weeks at sea.

So silent was the invasion that Myrina did not apprehend the danger until she was woken up by a small elbow wedged in her ribs. “Did you hear that?” hissed Lilli, sitting up abruptly. “Listen.”

Completely against the temple rules—but with the secret blessing of the High Priestess, who appreciated the idea of Myrina keeping watch—the two sisters spent most nights on the roof, preferring the open air to the vaulted safety of the dormitory. Lilli had been hesitant at first, naturally afraid of the perilous climb up the rope ladder. But once she had learned where to put her hands and feet, and with Myrina right behind her, she soon grew to like the nightly escape. For up here,
alone on the roof, the sisters could speak privately about the events of the day.

Even during the rainy season they continued to sleep in their high perch, huddled under a small tarp and wrapped in the same blanket. As the much-longed-for water kept rising, the shoreline crept so far inland as to make the vast, green swamp of the ocean visible from the temple roof. Occasionally, in the early morning, Myrina would sit and enjoy the sunrise over the water, trying to describe the changing colors to Lilli, and they would remember their friends the fishermen and speculate about whether their catch had been improved by the weather.

But the rising sea had inspired more than just memories.

As of late, Lilli had been having nightmares about foreign ships, and had woken up crying more than once, convinced the temple was about to be attacked. “It is not a dream!” she kept insisting, whenever Myrina tried to calm her down. “It is a vision. A warning.”

The Moon Goddess had given Lilli the gift of prophecy in return for her lost eyesight. At least, that was what the High Priestess had maintained ever since it became apparent that the girl would never see again. Lilli, blind to all things material, could see the future. And in that future she saw blood.

Whenever these nightmares occurred, Myrina simply enfolded her sister in a silent embrace and rocked her back to sleep, just the way their mother used to do. Lilli had always had vivid dreams, and for as long as Myrina could remember the girl had woken up at least every second night, trembling with fear. It was therefore no great surprise to her when Lilli suddenly, on this particular night, sat up on her knees on the temple roof and hissed, “What was that? Do you hear voices?”

Myrina dutifully sat up, too, and looked around. “It is probably—”

She was silenced by a frightened hand on her shoulder. “Men. Weapons.” Lilli listened intently. “They are here. The black ships. I have felt it all day.”

Still half-asleep, Myrina stood up and squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the coastline. Only when the clouds parted, allowing the moon a brief burst of warning, did Myrina see them—the contours
of vessels pulled ashore and the shadows creeping up the bank toward the temple entrance.

“Do you not hear that?” urged Lilli, mistaking Myrina’s horrified silence for disbelief. “It is them!”

“Quiet!” Myrina sat her sister down and out of sight. “I must go and warn the others. Stay here and be quiet! Understood?”

As soon as Lilli nodded her frightened assent, Myrina darted off across the roof tiles. There was no time for the rope ladder; instead she jumped down into the courtyard the way she had done on that first day, six months ago.

How sinister the courtyard looked tonight, shrouded in shadows … and this time it was she who came for the eunuchs, not the other way around. “Get up!” she cried, banging on their closed shutters as she ran by. “Get up and guard the front door!”

As she passed the tiled basin, Myrina was puzzled to glimpse a series of rhythmic ripples on the water. Stopping to listen, she heard distant thuds of wood against wood, and although she did not know what caused the sound, she understood that its aim was destruction.

When she finally arrived at the dormitory it was completely empty, with sheets and clothes scattered everywhere. Relieved to see that the priestesses had been so swift to perceive the danger and take up their positions, Myrina ran over to check the secret box … only to groan with defeat.

There they were, all the weapons, precisely where she had put them after the last training session, four days earlier. Wherever her fellow priestesses had disappeared to, they were as unarmed and defenseless as ever.

Picking up as many spears and bows as she could carry, Myrina continued apace down the corridor to the main temple, pausing now and then to get a better grip. Not until she reached the inner sanctum was she finally met by a squall of shrieks and tearful pleas. Stretching to see, she caught sight of the High Priestess behind the altar, arms crossed in defiance, surrounded by a cluster of wailing women.

“What goes on here?” Myrina dropped the weapons in a pile on the floor. “Make haste and arm yourselves!”

All heads turned at the clatter, but no one motioned to heed her demand.

“She says the Moon Goddess commands her to stay,” cried Pitana, towering over the others and waving her long arms fretfully at the High Priestess. “And
they
will not abandon her. Oh, Myrina, do talk to her and change her mind!”

“We have no time for this!” Myrina tore around the altar to seize the High Priestess by the sleeve. “Come! We must position ourselves—”

“Go! Away with you!” The High Priestess brushed off Myrina’s hands and reached out for the sacrificial crown sitting on the altar—a massive diadem adorned with a halo of bronze serpents. “I shall stay here. It is my holy duty to protect the Goddess—”

Myrina gritted her teeth. “The Goddess can protect herself. You taught us so, remember?” She took the crown with impatient hands and put it back on the altar. “Now come! You were the one who told me to train everyone and prepare for the worst.”

Her bold manner brought nothing but defiance. Without another word, the High Priestess reclaimed the crown and placed it firmly upon her own head, swaying briefly under its weight.

Ducking to avoid the protruding serpents, Myrina seized the High Priestess by the hands. “Why are you so determined to slow us down?” she demanded. “Our hope is dying with every thud on that door. Do you not see that?”

There was a brief silence, in which Myrina could almost convince herself the High Priestess had begun to realize her own tragic mistake, but the sound of splintering wood rendered all such speculation meaningless.

Within the blink of an eye the temple was taken over by hordes of howling demons. Pale, apelike creatures with mangy beards and wild faces hurdled to and fro with their shields and swords, searching for bodies to pierce and treasures to steal. Their presence was so terrifying Myrina made no other attempt at arming her sisters, nor did she even dare to search for her own weapons in the pile on the floor. Trapped as she was in the inner sanctum, faint with fear, there was nothing to do but wait and pray.

For a while the invaders were preoccupied with the riches of the main temple. One by one the votives were pulled from the walls and tossed into a growing pile on the stone floor. Next, the leader turned his eye on the open door to the shrine and the frightened women assembled there. Barking something in a language too guttural to be understood, he made his way through the tumult, kicked aside Myrina’s pile of bows and spears, and stepped right over the threshold into the holy room.

And there he stood for a breath or two, staring at them all. Then his eyes settled on the High Priestess.

“Come, I beg you!” Myrina tried once more to pull the older woman into the anonymity of the crowd, but again she was met with fierce resistance.

“No!” The High Priestess put her hands against Myrina’s chest and pushed her away with all her might. “Leave me, Myrina, I command you!”

Held back by Animone and Pitana, Myrina could do nothing but stand by miserably as the man crossed the floor, jumped up onto the altar, and—without the slightest show of respect or regret—swung his blade at the High Priestess.

Impervious to the screaming women, he picked up the terrible, dismembered head and held it high in the air, as if it were a prize and he a deserving victor.

Then came his comrades, pouring into the room like vermin, and before she was able to act, a blow to her head made everything go dark for Myrina.

W
HEN SHE CAME TO,
she found herself sliding across the floor of the main temple, her body convulsing with shock. Someone was pulling her along by the hair as if she were nothing but dead prey, and she cried out with pain when he continued down the stone steps and right through the dregs of the abandoned pilgrim village.

The man left her in a heap of loot on the beach, and Myrina lay moaning for a while, certain she had broken every bone in her body.
Around her in the gray mist of dawn lay other priestesses, their clothing ripped and smeared with crimson, and whenever any one of them would come to and attempt to sit up, a hairy arm or a leather boot would immediately strike them down. Seeing this, Myrina did not even try to move; she stayed where she was, struggling against the steady trickle of blood and vomit in her throat, listening to the cries from the temple.

Lilli.

She prayed Lilli was still safe on the roof where she had left her. More than ever, Myrina wished she had her weapons. Her hunting knife … her bow and quiver … but then, what could she possibly have done? What use was a single bow against an army of evil?

A
S THE DARKNESS OF
a woeful night yielded to the merciless morning sun, the invaders began loading their five ships with the objects they considered most valuable. At one point, an argument broke out between the leader and the rest, clearly to do with the Moon Goddess, whom they had managed to remove from her pedestal in the inner sanctum and lug all the way down to the beach by aid of ropes and lifting poles.

Judging from the men’s grunts and gritted teeth, the Goddess was forbiddingly heavy and would undoubtedly compromise the stability of the ship carrying her. But the leader was determined, and on his bidding the unwieldy deity was laboriously hauled onto his personal vessel together with other sacred objects, including, Myrina feared, a bloody sack containing the head of the High Priestess.

Afterward came the division and loading on the ships of other spoils. When all five crews seemed satisfied with their stash, they began filling the remaining space with women. Some priestesses—the beautiful Klito among them—were carried on board immediately; others were stripped naked and inspected, only to be discarded with a sneer.

Myrina was one of the discarded. The sailors took one look at her robust frame and small breasts, and laughed. One of them did seem to make a case for her youthful strength, but he was quickly overruled.

Just as she dared to crawl away, thinking they had finished with her,
Myrina felt a searing pain in her back. Twisting to see what had happened, she caught sight of one of the raiders yanking his spear out of her body. Instead of panic, however, all she felt was a strange sensation of relief as she collapsed in the sand.

T
HE GODS OF THE
underworld received her in their dark halls, cut out her heart, and put it on their scales … but found it wanting. Something was missing. Only when they sent her to the chamber of truth, where jackal-headed demons tore at her flesh, did she finally remember.

Lilli.

Clawing her way out of the caverns of death, Myrina returned to the light above and was sprawled once again on the bank of the lake, beneath the ever-hungry sun. When she finally opened her eyes, the world was veiled in a golden mist, and she felt weightless. Standing up, she walked about in wonder, feeling no pain at all. The sky spun around her once or twice, and the beach tried to swallow her as if she were in the sandy funnel of a draining hourglass … but she was unafraid.

Seeing that she was completely alone on the bank of the lake, Myrina walked back up the stairs to the temple, wondering if the raid had been nothing but a fantastic dream brought about by sunstroke. But as soon as she entered the building and saw the destruction inside, she understood that it had all been real, and that, for some reason she might never grasp, the gods had held a protective hand over her.

Everywhere around her lay broken pottery and torn garments, and now, at last, Myrina felt the golden mist clearing and her senses returning as she realized that some of those bloody garments were still draped around bodies. Anxious to see who had been so brutally slaughtered, yet fearful of recognizing anyone, she felt a groundswell of despair and kept walking.