Dark of the Moon

ARIADNE

chapter 42

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.

As I firmed up the last knot, there came the roar of something large tearing. The sailors stared at our mainsail; a gust had hit it, and a hidden flaw made the cloth split in two and flap uselessly. Theseus appeared from below and strode to where I stood, glared at the ruined sail, cursed, and told the sailors to man the oars. I hid the knotted rope behind me.

"Can we row all the way to Athens?" I was hesitant, since Theseus kept telling me that the smallest child in Troizena knew more about boats than I did.

"Of course not. Or we could, but it would take too long. We'll have to stop and have it fixed." We passed a fishing boat, whose occupants hailed us with friendly waves and directed us to Naxos. I maintained a calm demeanor, while all the time the beat of my heart shook me more than did the waves pounding our bow. I didn't know if my knots had caused the sail to rip or if a lucky gust had just happened to find its weak spot at that moment.

"I'd like to see the island," I told Theseus.

He appeared surprised. "It's smaller than Thera, and less grand." Looking pleased, he helped me into the boat. He rowed well, but still I clung to my seat as the small craft bucked and shook over the choppy waters.

My first steps onto the beach felt unsteady after the rolling of the ship. I was afraid I would drop the baby, so Theseus carried her. Everything looked strange. I knew, of course, that other places were different from Krete, but something about this island was unsettling. Then I realized. "Look, Theseus!" I pointed at the sand underfoot. "It's yellow!" He laughed and took my hand. We walked on the golden sand, Artemis leaving a neat line of rosette-shaped paw marks behind us.

Up in the town, local leaders, alerted to our arrival by the heralds along the shore, welcomed us with a ceremony and what passed for a feast among them. We sat outdoors, eating roasted fowl with herbs and bread dipped in honey. As the sun set, I glanced across the table at Theseus.

"What?" he said, but I shook my head. When the last red edge of the sun had disappeared, I took a huge breath of relief that escaped in a laugh which surprised me as much as him. Three days had passed, and yet he lived. I raised my cup to him, and he returned the salute with a grin, then turned back to the pretty serving girl who was finding the tenderest pieces of meat to put on his plate.

That night, I thought I would finally sleep well, with the worry of Theseus removed from my mind. Instead, I lay awake on a soft pallet on the floor of the king's tiny palace for a long, long time. What was preventing me from sleeping was that seed of an idea, and I felt it growing into something that would change my life yet again.

The seed grew to a green plant the next morning. Theseus slept late, and the wife of our host worried that I would be bored, so she took me on a tour. The town was small, but bright and clean, with cheerful inhabitants, and the queen was proud to show me their Goddess stone in the palace's tiny sanctuary.

"Dionysos is our most important god," she informed me as her hand stroked the gray lump that showed signs of years of anointing with oil. "But I've always loved Selene"—one of Goddess's many names—"I've always loved Selene best." The green plant grew a flower, and I told the queen who I was. Her kind eyes widened, and we conferred until the sun had risen fully and beat down on us as we walked back to town.

"I'm staying," I informed Theseus when he finally sat down to breakfast. He nearly choked on his bread.

"Staying? Here?"

I nodded and reached for a fig. They had been expertly dried, and even now, months after the harvest, they were moist and sweet. "Your Athens is no place for me. I can't go where the people don't know Goddess. Besides, you're unsure of how your father and stepmother will receive you. You don't need me there complicating things." I told him about the Goddess stone and how Her worship had fallen into decline here. "I'll always be a priestess, you know. Goddess's days may be numbered, but I can still venerate Her. Besides, I've always wanted to meet new people and see how they live, and now that I'm here, I want to stay for a while and learn from them. And they can learn from me. They have forgotten most of the ways of Goddess, and the queen is anxious to relearn them."

He looked doubtful, so I added, "If it turns out I don't like it here, I'll send word, and you can come back and take me away." He finally seemed convinced, and when the sail makers came and said with a thousand apologies that they couldn't fix his sail, that they could sell him another, one ready-made of just the correct size and dyed an elegant black, he purchased it for more than what they had been asking and went down to his ship to supervise its installation.

The next day, I accompanied him to the harbor to say farewell.

"I'll send back a boat to see how you're doing, after I'm settled in Athens," he told me. "I have some business to take care of first."

Tension in his voice made me look at him more closely. "What 'business'?"

He threw a stone into the harbor just as his men shouted that the sail had been hung properly and that the wind was freshening. If they wanted to make the tide, they would have to leave soon.

"What business?" I asked again.

He threw another stone. "My father. He won't like to see me return. And his wife—she'll think of me as a threat to both her husband and her son."

"Are you a threat?"

For the first time since that last, awful night in Knossos, he looked me in the eyes. "He's the king, and he's within his rights to order me to a certain death, but I don't like that way of ruling. Maybe it's because I grew up in the country, with a king who let people decide most things for themselves, but I want to do something about it. And I don't think he'll like it. I can't change anything while he's on the throne, and he knows that."

He kissed the top of Phaedra's little head and held me in a long embrace. In a way, we were married, so it was proper, and we were friends, so I allowed it. I remembered the first time I had seen him, his broad back to me as he watched the boys in the arena, and I remembered his kindness to my brother. He would always be dear to me, even if I never saw him again.

I watched the black sail until it dipped below the horizon, and then I went in search of twelve intelligent girls to train in the ways of Goddess.