Now the wind scatters, p.14
Now The Wind Scatters, page 14
Then her balance failed her as her sandal slipped against the needle strewn ground. The bear turned, its eyes locking onto her as it gave a low growl before rearing back on its hind legs and roaring. It was all Iphigenia could do to scramble to her feet and run as it dropped back onto all fours and thundered towards her. She crashed through the underbrush as the bear effortlessly gained on her. The lessons Artemis had taught her about the creatures of the forest had slipped her mind, replaced by pure panic.
Hot breath was on her neck. She was going to die, and there would be no miraculous rescue this time, no god descending from the sky to scoop her from the arms of her would be murderer.
Then she was muttering in that strange language so unfamiliar to her ears, the same as that day on the altar. White hot dizzying pain assaulted her senses. The sound of howling voices rang in her head, rising and rising in volume until it was as if they waged battle inside of her own skull; she crashed to the ground with her hands over her ears, but no amount of trying to block out the noise could cease the clamor of clanging swords and desperate war cries.
It was a long time before she came back to reality. The forest was silent, save for her own ragged breaths. The first thing she noticed was the fact that she had not been ripped apart. The second, which was almost more distressing, was that the bear had. All around her was bright red gore — the creature’s flesh had been sundered into chunks of sinew and pulp. If she didn’t already know what it had been, she never could’ve narrowed it down to having been a bear. Iphigenia raised a trembling hand to her face. It came back painted in red that almost certainly wasn’t hers. She tried to rise to her feet, but a great hot weight bound her to the ground.
And then, a strangled noise. Iphigenia looked over her shoulder, to see Artemis staring at her, body rigid and a hand against her mouth.
Neither of them spoke. The forest seemed to stretch between them as they held each other in a wordless stare. Iphigenia felt a chill at her knees, cutting through the heat on her back. She looked down to see that she’d collapsed onto the bank of a trickling stream. Rippling in the water was her reflection, and she leaned into get a closer look. The same face that had stared at her in the blade met her gaze, but as beads of red dripped into and distorted the image, she realized she had far more to contend with than dark circles. Shrouded on her shoulders was the stinking pelt of the bear, her head safely encased in its maw.
***
Iphigenia scrubbed furiously at her hair, but no matter how many times she dunked her head into the cool stream’s water, the water refused to run away clean. As the little pink trails rushed away from her spot on the bank, she inspected her hands. Her nails were still caked with gore underneath and around their edges.
She wished the water was deep enough for her to disappear beneath. Instead, it was barely knee height. Across from her on the bank were her clothes, stained beyond repair, and the bear skin itself, strung up between two trees. From where she was standing, she could see the heavy damage that had been inflicted on the pelt. Score marks and slashes littered it, as if swords had been plunged deep. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the chill of the stream.
Iphigenia got down to her knees, ignoring the way the rocks of the stream bed scraped against them, and plunged her face into the water and screamed. The beast could have killed her — she should be the one in pieces across the forest floor, not the bear. And yet, here she was, healthy and whole. That awful power, the one she’d felt when the spirit came, the stirrings of which she felt when she was being dragged to the altar before she was gagged — it had been what had saved her. But why couldn’t she control it?
Something in the air behind her changed; someone was here. Iphigenia wrenched her head from the water, sucking in a breath so deep it made her chest ache. She’d been under for longer than she thought. When she saw the way Artemis was looking down at her with her arms crossed, she almost dived right back in.
“We need to talk. Now.”
“Here? Like this?” Iphigenia’s face reddened as she mirrored the goddess’ pose to cover her chest.
“It's nothing I haven’t seen before.” Artemis kept her gaze locked on Iphigenia. “But I will wait for you. Be swift.” She turned on her heel, stalking back towards camp just beyond the dense thicket of bushes and trees.
Iphigenia wanted to scream again, but her embarrassment at her nudity was overshadowed by unease at the expression Artemis had held during their brief conversation. The goddess’ eyes had been streaked with red — she’d been crying. The thought of the goddess of the moon weeping like a common maiden made something in Iphigenia’s chest ache.
Iphigenia rose out of the water, abandoning her efforts to clean her hair. She threw on the pale blue chlamys Artemis had left for her — the short garment would have to do until something better could be fashioned. It was breezy, but the day was steadily growing warmer as morning rolled into afternoon.
She came upon Artemis just off the narrow trail. She was seated on a fallen tree, body poised in the lotus position and eyes closed as if she were meditating. Iphigenia approached, and when the goddess did not look up, she gingerly took a seat on the same log a few spaces down. She was still dripping, and getting her wet would probably provoke Artemis’ ire to a tipping point, judging by the deep breaths she was taking with balled fists.
“Do you have any idea of what you did on that mountain today, Iphigenia?” Artemis’ voice was terse. Iphigenia knew she’d have to choose her next words carefully. For whatever reason, she held great favor with Artemis, but this was still an ancient and nigh primordial deity she was dealing with; at this point, Iphigenia knew better than anybody that Artemis would have no qualms about expressing her wrath.
“No,” she replied softly.
Artemis’ eyes remained closed. “Has it happened before?”
“The sensation? Yes. The bear—” at the mention of the bear, Artemis flinched, “no.”
“A sensation? I see.”
The flinch did not go unnoticed by Iphigenia, and guilt tugged at her. Despite being the goddess of the hunt, Artemis had made it very clear that she never wanted any of the creatures of the forest to suffer needlessly. She was positive that the bear’s death had been anything but painless.
“Listen, I didn’t mean for it to face any harm—”
“I think I understand why what happened at Aulis did not kill you. This magic that you speak of is more than a simple party trick. Something far older protected you, and is with you even now.”
“What are you saying?” Iphigenia breathed.
“What happened today has almost certainly confirmed it for me; Iphigenia, the stirrings of divinity are within you.”
Iphigenia felt a strike of adrenaline in her chest, but not surprise. The specter at the gorge, the blackouts, the dreams where she couldn’t tell past from future and fiction from reality? All that dabbling in Egyptian magic had consequences, as Iset had warned her time and time again, and now they’d finally come to roost. At the same time however, she was confused. As far as she knew, both her parents were mortal — how on Earth could she be even close to divine?
“Explain,” she whispered, thoughts racing.
“I would if I could,” Artemis replied, “but it makes little sense to me. Do you remember just after I rescued you? What happened at that moment?”
Iphigenia looked away. Every time she thought back to the sacrifice, when harsh metal had plunged into her skin, cold terror flooded every part of her. What had happened afterward was a haze of pain and fogginess. All she could recall was the taste of something finer than the sweetest honeyed wine on her lips, and a soft embrace.
“I remember drinking that drink.”
“I fed you ambrosia, a small amount, just enough to keep you alive through the trauma — I’ve done it a hundred times before with my other girls— but you were different. What was a normal medicinal dose resulted in your skin taking on a glow like none I’d ever seen before, and I had to wrench the cup away from you. You’ve been begging for it ever since — that’s normal. What isn’t normal is the fact you haven’t burned your mind to ash from its effects.”
Artemis came closer, placing one hand on Iphigenia’s cheek and another on her waist, her touch akin to that of a lover. Iphigenia’s eyebrows raised in shock.
“There’s something strange about you, Iphigenia of Mycenae, stranger than I originally realized. You remind me of a woman I once knew…”
Iphigenia’s heart raced. Artemis’s hand, touching her — it was electric. And yet…
Niobe. Broteas. Images of the goddesses cruelty flashed in cruel juxtaposition with the tenderness she was expressing.
She pushed her hand down, gentle but firm. “That’s not enough. I need answers.”
“You will have them.” Instantly, Artemis separated from her. Gone was the warmth in her gaze and the gentleness of her touch. Now, her movements were defined by a sort of cold detachment. Iphigenia was reminded of the attitude her mother would take on when arranging negotiations in her father’s absence.
“Who was she, this woman that I remind you of?” It would be best to start simple. Bringing up the gory interactions the goddess had had with her family might not be for the best, considering how close she was to being allowed to go to Troy.
“I…made a mistake, once. I’ve realized today that I’m dangerously close to repeating that recklessness. I won’t allow you to suffer the same fate.”
The sharp screech of a bird broke the moment. Iphigenia looked up to see an eagle flying in a lazy circle overhead. Its sole visible eye seemed to peer down at her hungrily.
“And there’s your evidence,” Artemis said coldly, rising to her feet. She didn’t bother extending a hand to help Iphigenia up as she glared at the sky. “You may not be ready for war, but your safety among my huntresses is guaranteed. It’s time to go.”
xiii
now rose the moon, full and argentine, While round stood the maidens, as at a shrine
The chariot landed with a jarring bounce. As far as Iphigenia was concerned, the harsh jolt against her spine was the best feeling in the world. Her teeth were clattering fiercely in her skull as she pulled at the damp chlamys clinging to her skin; the clouds had been as cold as they were wet. Her stomach roiled with queasiness; hurling over the side of the chariot was looking like a very attractive prospect at the moment. Soaring in the sky was strictly for the birds, she decided.
“I don’t see how you do it,” she murmured, giving the goddess at the reins a sidelong glance. Artemis was beaming, dark hair windswept over her face. There was a rosiness to her cheeks that hadn’t been present during their time in the grove, and Iphigenia swore that the woman in front of her had been laughing the whole way, inaudible over the roar of the wind.
Artemis flashed her a radiant smile. “One only has to look over the edge to understand. Arcadia is beautiful this time of year.”
She’s beautiful, Iphigenia briefly thought before mentally kicking herself. This woman was her captor, and above that, an actual goddess, not some object to idolize. That didn’t even take Iset into account. Guilt bled anew from within her as she descended from the chariot onto firm ground. She’d treated Iset as less than her equal, denied her full autonomy, used her, and even kissed her against her will. After all she’d done, her friend had still stood by her, and what had it gotten her but a severed throat? So no, she had no right to indulge in the same ruinous desires that had led her to disrespecting her only friend so badly.
If Artemis noticed Iphigenia’s mood suddenly souring even further, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she gestured ahead.
They had landed in a wildflower meadow. Despite the overcast sky above, bright violets and yellow daisies danced in vivid hues. A few olive trees sprouted up from the sea of flowers. Just beyond the thickest copse of flowers rose a hill, and Iphigenia could see tendrils of smoke curling in the air.
“Ah, it's more conspicuous than I would have chosen, but at least the air is sweet,” Artemis said as she gave the deer at the head of the pack pulling the chariot a firm pat on the rump. The deer dipped its head in a pantomime of a bow before leading its brethren back into the sky with a leap.
Before Iphigenia knew it, the goddess was halfway up the hill. She fumbled to catch up, still half paying attention to the chariot’s flight. Guilt was rapidly being replaced by trepidation as they walked. Who stood at the top of that hill? She thought of the images of the huntresses carved onto the temple back home, one’s she’d never paid much attention to. Were they already up there, throwing their heads back and singing boldly to the sky? Images of twirling nude women danced in her mind. The idea of joining a group like that — one where she’d be expected to shed her clothes in front of her — had her picking at her hands in anxiety.
When they crested the hill, she was surprised to find her fantasies were just that. Instead of a cohort of nimble young maidens, a gang of gruff looking girls was loosely gathered amongst a collection of tents. They were far from what Iphigenia had imagined; yes, they were still very obviously somewhere around her age, but instead of outright nudity, they were clothed in an assortment of animal pelts and rough spun tunics. Instead of supple limbs, their arms were well toned, muscular even — she could sense the strength in them as one of the girls swung an axe against a stump. A pair of women were up to their elbows in gore as they gutted a freshly slain deer, while another couple were busy stringing up a skinned boar over the fire. The ones who weren’t actively working were clearly engaging in leisure; instead of hymnals, bawdy songs coasted across the air while a particularly rowdy group had set to holding a wrestling match on the grass. Several of them were passing around a heavy looking amphora, each taking long draughts out of it.
Iphigenia stood stock still. These women were the retinue of huntresses praised in temples the world over? Could they even be considered women?
“If you think they’re bad, you should see the maenads,” Artemis said, taking Iphigenia by the arm and moving forward.
Iphigenia didn’t even have time to ask just what a maenad was before she was thrust into full view of the women gathered there. The chatter and singing died down the instant the women saw who had stepped into their throng. The drink was quickly stashed away as the women sheepishly stood in greeting.
One by one, the women paused in their activities to face Artemis, and Iphigenia felt their eyes scrutinizing her by association. As they’d boarded the chariot, Artemis had said she’d informed them of her impending arrival, but she hadn’t said anything about how the huntresses actually felt about it. Then the murmurs began.
“This is her?”
“She seems a bit scrawny.”
“How long has she been asleep again? Because we get up before dawn — you know we don’t do wake up calls.”
“If you would all please calm down,” Artemis interrupted, dragging Iphigenia in front of her. Iphigenia couldn’t help the tremble as the goddess’ fingers lightly gripped her shoulders. “This is Iphigenia, Princess of Mycenae and the newest addition to our band. She’s already proven herself twice over. Treat her as you would treat each other.”
The women were skeptical, looking at each other with raised eyebrows. Then Artemis flung her arms wide, a broad grin splashed across her face. “Why do you all look so glum? Let’s celebrate both my return and our new addition. I can update you all on what goes on at Troy while we drink.”
That worked. A roar rose up among the women and they crowded around Artemis, lifting the goddess onto their shoulders. Iphigenia struggled to keep her footing as she was jostled by the throng.
“Yeah!”
“A round all around!”
As the women carted Artemis off into the center of the campsite, Iphigenia found herself alone for the first time in weeks. Instead of relief, she felt more like a boat without an oar, left to float aimlessly on a windless sea.
✽✽✽
Iphigenia pushed away the amphora offered to her. “No, thank you,” she said softly. She was sandwiched uncomfortably between two strange girls on a log. The revelry had gone on into the night, the gray pallor of the sky having been replaced by dark mist.
“What? Too stuck up to try a little drink?”
Iphigenia said nothing, and the girl who’d been trying to get her to drink scoffed as she stood to leave. “I wouldn’t want to sit with me, either,” she murmured.
There’s a snicker next to her, and Iphigenia looked up from her knees. The other girl is still there, a lopsided grin plastered across her face. She was probably around Iphigenia’s age, if not a bit older. Dark eyes and skin and even darker hair all done up in intricate little braids shone against the brightness of the campfire. She’s pretty, Iphigenia thought.
The girl laughed again, this one a full on guffaw.
“Did I say that aloud?”
“I’ll let you figure that one out,” the girl said. “Our lady sent word ahead about you. Said you’d be, ah, unaccustomed to our ways.”
Iphigenia looked out again at the campsite. Two women were quickly draining large amphorae while surrounded by a cheering and increasingly inebriated crowd. “Aw, come on, Zoe, grow a pair of tits and drink,” someone yelled as one of the women wobbled dangerously, amphora clutched tight. There was a roar of laughter as she stuck her head inside the large pot and heaved.
“You could say that,” Iphigenia said, careful to keep her tone neutral.
The girl laughed again before clapping a hand on Iphigenia’s shoulder.
She shrank back, but the girl just shrugged and removed her hand.
“No touching, got it. I’m Beroe.”
“Beroe,” Iphigenia repeated, feeling the name around in her mouth. The simplicity with which Beroe had retracted her touch had made her feel warm, almost trusting. Was it really that easy to respect someone’s boundaries? She didn’t know whether to thank Beroe or curse at her for making her feel even more ashamed of her earlier actions.
