Dark of the Moon (27 page)

Two more figures join the crowd in the doorway. One is the Minos, or Minos-Who-Was, as Ariadne now calls him. His face is as impassive as the bull's mask that he wore a short time ago. With him is the bent-over old woman who brought us the drugged wine—and my sword.

The man glares at Enops. "You!" he spits. "Traitor! And to think that I thought you worthy of being Minos!"

Ariadne wheels on her uncle. "
He
was your chosen one? I thought that Simo—"

Enops thrusts his chin out at her. "No. He chose
me.
And now I'm going to be not only the Minos of Knossos, but its king as well." His voice is shaky. "I am Pasiphaë's son as much as
he
was." He glares at the motionless body inside the circle of white stone. "As much as
you
are her daughter. Why should I have to risk my life in the bullring? Why am I of no consequence, when a monster is called the son of the god, and Minos-Who-Will-Be?"

Ariadne stares at Enops before turning her back on him. She bundles the filthy yarn into a mass, which she carefully deposits on Asterion's chest. She crosses his hands over it and stands. She and her uncle lock gazes. I can't see her face, but something in it makes him bow his head in submission.

He is the first to speak. "Take the body and give the boy a decent burial."

"No!"

At Ariadne's voice, the guards look up. Gnipho glances at the man, then at Enops, and finally at the girl, who is still in her finery. He salutes Ariadne. "Mistress?"

Ariadne says, "Take the body of Minos-Who-Will-Be to the sacred valley. He did not live long enough to be made Minos, but is there any among you who will deny that he was the true son of Goddess and Velchanos?"

Apparently there isn't, and Gnipho signals to his men. They come forward and pick up the lifeless body. As they shuffle toward the door, one of the boy's hands drops off his chest and trails in the muck. Ariadne stops them and replaces it gently. She follows the group with her eyes as they ease their burden through the narrow door.

"And what of you?" The old woman's voice is thin but full of power, and everyone turns to look at her. She leans on a staff, addressing Ariadne.

"Of me?" Ariadne seems bewildered. "What do you mean, Damia?"

"What of Ariadne? Are you Goddess, or are you not?Were you born of Goddess and Velchanos, or of Pasiphaë and"—her voice cracks, and a tear running down one of the ridges in her face sparkles in the torchlight—"of Pasiphaë and Kilix?"

Ariadne appears unable to answer. Flies buzz as they congregate in the dark pool. I remember that it was meant to be
my
blood that was shed, and my stomach wrenches uneasily. If Ariadne is not who she has claimed to be, this might mean that I'm not the god they think I am. I don't know if that means they will let me go free or if they will kill me even more horribly than they would have on the altar, as punishment and to cleanse the sacrilege.

"You must go," Damia tells Ariadne. "You must leave Knossos. Goddess has lost six cities, and the rest are crumbling, even the holy island of Naxos. She will lose Knossos now. The people will still obey Minos-Who-Was, at least for a short time, and he will not allow anyone to harm you if you leave. But if you stay, they will kill you. They will kill you slowly to drive out anything of Goddess that found its way into you—or they will keep you down here, in your brother's chambers, to show everyone how strong they are and how debased Goddess is."

The cunning look on Enops's face tells me that what the old priestess predicts is accurate. I take a firmer grip on my sword in case he decides to put one of those plans into operation now.

"And, child"—the old woman raises her face, and even in its ancient decrepitude, something noble shines from it—"child, I couldn't stand to see that. I gave my son to Goddess; I cannot give Her my granddaughter."

I'm bewildered, but Ariadne looks as though she finally understands something. "Kilix was your son? The man my mother named as Velchanos the spring before I was born?" When Damia nods, her old face wrinkles even more, and Ariadne folds her in her arms. The two women stand there for a moment, breathing as one.

Ariadne steps back. She glances at me, and I think I see what it was that made her uncle submit to her will. She no longer looks like a frightened girl. Instead, she is a woman who wears a firm expression. "I'll go. Goddess may be finished here, but I'll find a place where she is still revered." The old woman wilts—with relief, it appears.

Enops stands in the doorway with the wooden shaft of his barbed weapon still clutched in his hand. Although the red glow has faded, I know that its tip is still painfully hot. I wonder what I will do if he tries to prevent us from leaving. Then he steps aside, and Ariadne, and then I, and then Artemis pass through the door.

WE WERE at the first turn when Minos-Who-Was caught up with us. "Don't go. Let
him
go, but you stay with me. I'll protect you. Somehow, I'll keep you safe. Don't leave me alone." His voice was so humble that it made me wince. This man had so recently worn the great bull's head; he had performed the ritual to make me Goddess; for a few hours, from the time when he put on the bull's hide until Velchanos revealed himself to me, he had been the god. And now he was begging.

I realized that my whole life had been preparing me for this. "This is something I must decide for myself, Uncle. I can't let anyone do it for me. Goddess's time here is over, and She-Who-Is-Goddess has no more place on Krete."

Minos-Who-Was let a sob escape. "I lost my sister—I lost myself as Minos. I can't lose you, too."

"You still have me," Prokris said. I hadn't noticed her approach us, and now I whirled to face her.

"You!" My voice shook with rage that temporarily chased away my wrenching grief. "You!"

"Yes, me." She tried to slide her hand into the crook of my uncle's elbow, but he kept his arm clamped to his side.

"You betrayed us." My throat felt thick. "You told Enops what we were planning. If it hadn't been for you, Asterion would be safely on the ship, instead of—" A sob wrenched itself from my core.

Theseus asked harshly, "Is this true?" For once, Prokris was speechless. Theseus went on. "When you saw that I wasn't going to become king, you found a replacement. Is that right?"

She raised her chin and glared at him. "That's right! I found a
real
man, someone who will take the throne—"

My uncle cut her off. "Enough." He turned to Enops, who glared at us from the doorway. "Remove her from my sight. I am no longer Minos, or I would order her walled up in the Goddess shrine, but I
am
still her husband, and if she shows herself in my presence again, I will sell her as a slave in the limestone mines." We watched in silence as Prokris fled. Enops pressed his lips together in a tight line, bowed curtly, and followed her.

Theseus shifted on his feet behind me. "We have to go," he said softly. But my uncle stretched his arms to me.

"I must," I said. "I must find a place where Goddess still lives."

Tears slid from his eyes as I entered his arms for one last, long embrace. He was the first to step away. He stared searchingly into my eyes, attempting to decipher something he saw there. "Child, during the ritual—did you? Did you become Goddess?"

I remembered the moon with the line of Goddesses dancing into it. I remembered, too, how I had been denied entrance. "I think I did," I said. I wanted to tell him that if I had truly become Goddess, it was only by my mother's grace and only for a short time, and that I was the last one. But I couldn't. I couldn't break my uncle's dear heart. I raised my hand over his head in blessing and then moved to where Artemis waited, the waving of her tail increasing in speed as I led her out of the basement.

My mother's tomb was broken open, all too soon after she had been placed in it. Ordinary people might be laid in caves, but only a chamber dug into the cleft between the two holy mountains would serve for one who was divinely born. The ceremony for the burial of Minos-Who-Will-Be was performed, but hastily. I tried not to worry about Enops and Prokris and whether they would gather their courage enough to defy the will of the people and attack me.

I made sure that all the rituals were performed meticulously. I could not permit my brother to leave his confinement only to face eternal imprisonment in a tiny grave, and I had to do what was necessary to ensure that his spirit would roam freely. I sacrificed thirteen white lambs, some so young that they tottered on their tiny legs, and a yearling bull that would otherwise have danced and died in the great palace arena the next spring. Minos-Who-Was and his men brought in vase after vase of wine and olive oil, adding them to the ones left for my mother, which had been deposited there so recently that hardly a whisper of dust lay on them.

At the last, I handed my uncle one more item to sweeten my brother's journey. He glanced at it, then smiled even as a tear trickled into the corner of his mouth: a small stone pot with a honeybee stamped into the wax that sealed it.

Asterion's bulky linen-wrapped body was showered with crocuses, and women wailed and screamed as it was closed in a heavy stone coffin. I had paid them for their mourning, but I knew that terror at their future, with no She-Who-Is-Goddess and no Minos, added to their cries.

I myself did not weep; I had no time. I returned to the palace to pack a few belongings for myself and my sister and to bid a hasty farewell to Athis and those among the priestesses and servants who had once been my friends.

Then, almost before I knew it, we were on board the long black ship that I had seen pull into the harbor bearing Theseus and Prokris and Artemis, and along with them, the beginning of the end of the life I knew. I held Phaedra close as Theseus struggled with the nanny goat that was to provide her milk during the voyage, and tried not to laugh as he cursed at the stubborn beast.

To my surprise (and I think to Theseus's as well), I took to the sea as easily as if I had been born the daughter of a fisherman. The salt spray on my skin made me feel more alive than I ever had before, and breathing the cold air that rose off the water at dawn made me realize why so many peoples of the lands of Hellas worship Poseidon, god of the ocean, above all others. Dolphins kept pace with us almost constantly, delighting me, as I had never seen them close up before. When the sailors threw fish guts into the water, the dolphins swallowed them and then rose upright and cackled at the ship as though asking for more. The contrast between their voices, so like Damia's that I expected them to tell me to behave myself, and their smooth, shiny skin and wide grins, so unlike her wrinkles and habitual scowl, made me burst out laughing. I held little Phaedra up to see them, but she was too small to notice.

It was exhilarating, to be sure, and I was finally fulfilling my longing for travel. Still, I felt empty. The knowledge that at the first oar stroke of our ship I had lost whatever divinity I had possessed mattered little to me now. I could not return to Krete, yet the thought of Athens was not appealing. I could never be subject to a king.

So I lay awake in my hammock most of that first night, with Phaedra in a smaller one within reach. I imagined my mother's arms encircling me, rocking me gently. I even thought of Asterion without pain. My life on Krete had belonged to another person, like someone whose story I had heard sung in tales. The girl who would be Goddess and who longed to see other lands and to have a friend was a stranger to me, and she had died down in a dark, smelly chamber, along with her beloved brother. I was still Ariadne, daughter of Pasiphaë, priestess of Karia, and sister of Phaedra, but I was no longer She-Who-Is-Goddess—if I ever had been—and no longer She-Who-Will-Be-Goddess.

A worry made my sleep restless. On the third day after the ritual, what would happen to Theseus? If he had become Velchanos during the ceremony, that meant Moera Krataia had measured out the thread of his life and would cut it on the appointed day. Or would she? If we were far away from any land where Goddess ruled, would Moera Krataia put down her scissors and measure another, longer lifeline for him?

And was Theseus still my husband? He had married Goddess, or I thought he had. If I was no longer Goddess, was I still his wife? When we met for meals, we were courteous with each other, but no more. I felt no special love for him; nor did I harbor ill feelings toward him. Theseus had done what he needed to do, as had I. What had happened was the will of Goddess, and perhaps of Theseus's gods, Erechtheus and Athena, as well.

On the second day, we moored in the harbor at the lovely island of Thera, where Theseus bought several barrels of water and enough food to last us the rest of the trip. Even though I longed to see the palace's famous wall frescoes and the hilltop city, I remained on board with Phaedra, too timid to meet so many strangers all at once. Theseus stayed on land overnight, and when he returned the next morning, he had a headache and was in a sour mood, so I avoided him. After that, things between us eased a bit, and we talked together like friends.

The next day, I woke early. I slipped from my hammock, checked that Phaedra was sleeping soundly, and tiptoed to where Theseus lay, his hammock swaying gently as the boat rocked. I laid a hand on his chest and felt a warm wave of relief wash over me as it moved up and down. The whole third day still lay ahead of us, but at least for now, he lived.

I went on deck. The sky was gray, and a cool wind blew spray on deck. The dolphins were absent and the screech of the gulls annoying, so I was about to go below, when a sailor in conversation with another said a familiar word: Naxos. I leaned in and listened attentively.

It appeared that we had sailed past the tiny island of Ios, and we were on track to skirt the islands of Paros and Naxos. Naxos—she was a famous She-Who-Is-Goddess, born on the island that was then named for her. A sudden longing to see the holy site flooded me like the waves washing over the prow of our ship, and a tiny seed of an idea was planted in my heart. I was still the daughter of Pasiphaë, and Phaedra and I would be honored at Naxos for our mother's sake, if even a tiny vestige of Goddess worship remained in that most holy spot. I picked up a length of rope lying on the deck. My fingers flew, making one knot after another.