Dark of the Moon

chapter 15

THE FEW TIMES that I've been to sea, the bobbing waves, the sun beating down on my head, the stink of rotten fish and unwashed fishermen, have sent me to hang over the side, retching. But those were Troizenian fishing boats, and this Athenian ship is something else entirely. Its prow slices through the waves with great speed, whether under sail or powered by oars. The only smell is the clean, briny scent of the ocean, familiar to me since childhood, and awnings and sunshades keep the late-winter sun from being a bother.

I do spend a fair amount of time at the rail, but not in sickness. Instead, I search the horizon for a sign of land. As soon as we put into a port, I'll find some way to escape. The Kretans must think me dimwitted if they imagine that I'll calmly allow them to lead me through the twisting corridors of the maze to be tortured and devoured by that monster.

But we pass by the small islands without stopping.

The sea is so smooth that the children are allowed to play on deck, and I quickly become a favorite among them, as the sailors are uninterested in joining in their games. I knot a piece of rope into a rough ball and show the boys how to kick it into a bucket that has been tipped over onto its side. The game soon turns into one of trying to keep the ball away from Artemis, who romps and frisks on the deck like a puppy. I later find that one of the girls has rescued the rope and tied a piece of sailcloth around it, turning it into a makeshift doll that she sings to and tucks into her pallet next to her when they go to sleep.

The full horror of my situation returns to me at night. I lie awake, trying to imagine what the Minotauros must look like, but without success. I kept a brave face when I walked down to the harbor near Athens, dressed in the finest robe I had ever touched, and oiled and perfumed like a prince—or a sacrifice, I thought sourly as I climbed onto the ship. There was no honorable way to refuse to go, and even if there had been, the king's heavily armed soldiers never left me alone from the moment my father decreed my voyage.

My father stocked the vessel with experienced sailors and gave me a fat purse bulging with coins. He was determined to show King Minos that although the king of Athens was subject to the Kretan monarch, Aegeus was a man of wealth and power. He also provided an honor guard, supposedly to escort me, but I suspected that they were really there to make sure I didn't try to escape. Not much chance of that. Out in the sea, I had nowhere to escape to. I raised my hand to the people cheering me for my bravery even as I felt the cowardice in my heart.

Prokris and the six other girls of the tribute disappeared below as soon as they were rowed to the ship. I expected to see her often, but she doesn't show herself until the second evening. I hear that she is not handling the sea voyage well. I step out onto the deck after finishing a supper of fresh fish and dried fruit and see a shape against the rail. I hold back until I'm certain what it is; I've heard of sea nymphs who take human form and lure sailors over the sides of their ships to drown. Then I hear an all-too-human sigh, and so I approach to see that it is Prokris resting her elbows on the rail and her chin in her hands.

I've rehearsed over and over what I'll say when I see her. I plan to ask her what she was doing, interfering back there in Athens, interrupting my very first meeting with the father I'd never known. I mean to accuse her of murder, for suggesting to the king and queen that I be sent to the lair of the Minotauros in the place of their brat. I harden my heart at the memory of the little boy. Yes, he was a handsome child, and yes, he was so small that he would have stood no chance against the monster. Still, he's nothing to me, and I don't see why I should die in his place.

I might even push the treacherous girl into the sea. I feel some satisfaction at that thought, but my heart fails me as I approach, and instead I join her at the rail. Like her, I stare out at the gray-green expanse. The brilliant blue water of yesterday has disappeared along with the sun, and the low clouds allow barely a glimmer of yellow light through.

The girl doesn't look up right away, and when she does, I'm surprised. I expect her to be crying or at least to look sad, but instead her face wears a calculating expression. After a moment, she smiles.

I don't smile back. It was her idea, after all, to send me to the monster to be eaten. My hand strays to the sword that I wear hidden under my cloak. It's short, and nobody has noticed it. Weapons are forbidden on this ship, and I hold a thread of hope that it will give me a chance of survival when I face the monster.

At least she's not weeping. I don't know how to deal with a weeping woman. The silence between us grows uncomfortable, and I don't like the appraising way she's looking at me, or how she appears to have seen the hilt of my sword. I rearrange my cloak around it and cast about for something to say. All I can come up with is the conventional "Are you well?" I curse my stupidity while trying to keep my face expressionless.

"Quite well," she says in a conversational tone. "I've just had to leave my home and I'm crossing the sea to go to a strange place where I'll marry an old man who already has a dozen wives, so as junior wife I'll have to serve all of them as well as him. Oh yes, and this morning one of the girls was sick all over the bag containing my wedding robe, and when I come out here for some peace and fresh air I'm asked if I'm well."

"Sorry I said anything." I try to sound haughty, but I'm afraid it comes out whiny. I firm up my voice. "It's not like you're going to have to face a monster that eats people."

She doesn't answer, and I assume she either hasn't heard or doesn't think me worthy of a response. I'm about to leave, when she surprises me with a question. "What do you know of Krete?"

"Not much." I fumble for an answer. "It's an island, a very big island, and it's ruled by a king named Minos. Uh..." I think. "They grow saffron. And Zeus was born there."

"The Kretans call him Velchanos," she tells me, "but you're right, it's Zeus. Their Velchanos is also our Apollo and they call their goddess 'Karia.'" I can understand how one god would take the place of two—Apollo rules the sun, and Zeus the sky. But I've never been much interested in religious matters, and I don't know why this girl is telling me about Kretan customs.

It seems that one of Prokris's brothers married a Kretan woman, and Prokris has learned a great deal about the place. "The king's sister must have two children, a boy and a girl. The boy becomes the next king and the girl becomes the priestess."

"What? The son of the king doesn't take over after his father dies?"

She shakes her head.

I've heard of all sorts of ways of running things: rule by conquest, rule by inheritance, even rule by lot, but a leader coming through the female line—I don't like it.

Before I can say anything, Prokris leans close in. She speaks in a low voice, and her words bring me first a chill and then a tingle of excitement.

For Prokris has a plan. If her plan works, everything will change on Krete.

And everything will change for me, too.