Now the wind scatters, p.15
Now The Wind Scatters, page 15
“They say you’re a princess,” Beroe continues, her mouth still curled in a grin. “That you’re spoiled.”
Spoiled. More like spoiled goods, Iphigenia thought.
“I’m no one and nothing.”
“Then there’s plenty of room to be my friend. Here.” And instead of wine, Beroe was pressing a bit of dried meat and a water skin into Iphigenia’s hands. When Iphigenia looked up at her quizzically, she just smiled that dazzling smile once again.
“Eat well, and don’t let them get to your head, Princess of Nothing.”
Iphigenia watched as Beroe joined the throng, and as she nibbled at the food she’d been gifted, she realized she hadn’t even told the girl her name.
“Iphigenia!” She looked up. There was Artemis, hands on her hips and a flush on her cheeks. “Come — my huntresses want to meet the real you.”
“The real me?” It was a funny question, one she herself didn’t have the answer to. Girl or ghost? Witch or wraith, not worth the air she somehow breathed? Princess or pariah? Manipulator or victim?
“Yes,” Artemis said, swaying slightly.
“Are you drunk?”
“Probably.”
“Goddesses can get drunk?”
“If we couldn’t, do you think Dionysus would be anywhere near as popular?”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Come.” Artemis was walking away, towards the source of the most rambunctious noise. Even her stumbling is elegant, Iphigenia thought as she stood to follow.
As soon as Iphigenia stepped into their midst, the once wild party went silent. She felt eyes following her every motion as she gently lowered herself to sit by the fire. Artemis, for what it was worth, either didn’t notice or just didn’t care that her huntresses had suddenly lost all their previous mirth.
“Another drink, Crino,” she said, waving her hand at a girl holding a massive amphora. The girl wordlessly passed the container to Artemis, who brought it to her lips happily. Meanwhile, Crino only had eyes for Iphigenia, it seemed.
“How are you alive?”
Those four little words were all it took to open the floodgates.
“Where have you been?”
“I heard you killed ten men.”
“I heard fifteen!”
Iphigenia shrank back, even as the other women kept coming closer. She whipped her head around; Artemis was paying zero attention, her head almost entirely engulfed by the clay jar of wine.
“Help me,” Iphigenia hissed, tugging at Artemis’ chiton. She was shocked when her hand was swatted away.
“Help yourself.” Artemis’ voice was distorted by the echo of the amphora, but her words were unmistakable. “Huntresses hold their own. Unless you’re not a huntress?”
The subtext was plain — if she was not fit to be a huntress, how could she even entertain the thought of fighting in Troy? She took a deep breath.
“I’m only alive because of the actions of my friend. She taught me everything, and I never appreciated it. I’ve never taken a life aside from hers — she lived and died for my sake, and that is how I stand here before you all.” Iphigenia made no motions to wipe away the solitary tear sliding down her face. “Her name was Iset.”
The campfire had gone eerily silent. Iphigenia didn’t care. She’d said her piece; if they didn’t like it, there was nothing stopping her from going back to drinking ambrosia day in and day out.
There was a warm presence at her shoulder. Beroe had taken hold of her elbow, pulling her to sit down.
“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But if you do…we’re here to listen.”
The other huntresses nodded, settling down upon the ground in a half moon around her.
The tears fell in earnest now. “I — thank you. I guess I’ll start from the beginning.”
The tale came easy to her somehow. Iphigenia noticed that Artemis was conspicuously absent as she spilled her life story. Yet, surrounded by these women with concern in their eyes, she found herself uncaring.
xiv
a subtle fire races
Autumn froze into winter, and before she knew what had occurred, balmy spring had thawed both the frost from the trees and the ice from Iphigenia’s heart. Life among the huntresses, as spartan as it may have been, had seemed to have cleared the fog that had settled in Iphigenia’s mind since she had awoken in the lap of a goddess. Here, no one expected her to be perfectly polished from dawn to dusk, she never had to endure the pins and pricks of weaving, and certainly no one expected her to adorn herself with bridal veils, ruse or not. No, amongst Artemis’ divine huntresses, Iphigenia could wear her hair as wild as she willed, spend every waking moment mapping the forest, and learn whatever skill she wished, gender a non-factor. It was Mycenae’s foil in the truest sense; there, a woman had been restricted to the study of weaving, child rearing, and not much else. Free from those restrictions, acquisition of knowledge enamored her to her new comrades. Languages of far off peoples flowed from her tongue, she could filet a fish in under five minutes, and, at her own insistence, the other women had taught her the ways of battle with blades, bows, and playful grapples that had her bubbling forth with laughter even as they tossed her about like a child’s doll.
Her body had changed with her mood. Many afternoons spent chopping wood resulted in callouses dotting her once smooth palms. The muscles in her arms and legs had grown toned with well earned muscle. Even her height, once barely three wine casks tall, had increased, something she’d once considered out of the realm of possibility.
The longing for ambrosia had ceased, replaced by magic’s lure burning anew. She threw herself fully into studies of a different sort, using only what Iset had taught her and the sparse resources growing near their rotational campsites. By day, Iphigenia grew strong in body, and by night, with the light of the moon as her only instructor, she grew strong in witchcraft.
Though life had radically improved, confusion still plagued Iphigenia. How had she reduced that bear to little more than fleshy pulp? What had Artemis meant by stirrings of divinity? And why couldn’t she be sated with things as they were? Considering what had awaited her on that altar, Iphigenia had nothing to complain about. She should be happy, not still questioning things that she was still unsure if she even wanted the answers to.
She frowned as giggles cut through her brooding. Looking up from her mortar, she spotted the source: a pair of huntresses cuddled up against a tree not ten paces from her. Iphigenia blushed furiously as she tried (and failed) not to stare. How could they be so open about such a thing?
“Hey, Iphigenia!” One of the girls, Crino, waved her over. Zoe, another huntress, lay with her head in her lap. They both grinned up at her as she set her pestle down with cautious resignation.
Memories of a long ago afternoon came unbidden, of a time when her own head was cradled atop a goddess’ thighs. That goddess had been one and the same with the one who had saved her, nursed her back to health, and released her into this wild gang of unabashed girls. The very same goddess, who, moons and moons ago, had claimed the blood of the gods flowed through Iphigenia’s own veins. And yet, she hadn’t seen that goddess in weeks, let alone spoken to her. Iphigenia wanted nothing more than to show Artemis all the wondrous things she’d learned and done — perhaps they would be enough to convince her to train her, to make her worthy for combat at Troy. Iphigenia would even settle for a warm pat on the head at this point, no matter how patronizing it would be. Yet it was as if Artemis was smoke slipping between her fingers, dissipating every time she even got within earshot of her. Here in this divine sisterhood, she’d never felt more abandoned.
“I hope you’re proud of me,” Iphigenia whispered to herself as she glared down at the bowl of ground herbs in her hand.
“Uh, we’re plenty proud of your little hangover cure, but are you coming over here or not?”
Iphigenia jerked her head up, flush staining her cheeks anew. She’d forgotten where she was. Sheepishly, she made her way to the tree, trying to look anywhere but the scene in front of her.
“What?”
“Sit, sit,” Crino said, still grinning. “I want to tell you, not the whole forest.”
Iphigenia gingerly sat on the ground, a respectable distance from the couple.
“How good are you at making slippery things?”
“What?” Iphigenia repeated. They’d lost her.
“Maybe the consistency of olive oil but without an olive press since, you know, we’re kinda mobile?”
Scrunching her nose, Iphigenia considered the question. She certainly could make a little olive oil with just her mortar and pestle. “I can get started right now. How much do you need?”
Crino and Zoe looked from her to each other and back again. They then burst into raucous laughter.
“How much do you think we need?”
“I think,” Iphigenia began, standing, “that the two of you are playing a very annoying joke.”
“No,” Zoe moaned, rolling out of Crino’s lap. “We really do need your help.”
“Then what’s so funny about oil?”
Just as the two girls were descending into another fit of laughter, Beroe appeared from behind a tent.
“Oh, leave her alone, you two.”
Iphigenia sidled up to the newcomer, ecstatic at last to see someone with an iota of common sense. She found herself gravitating towards the pretty girl in times of uncertainty, and that was true even now.
“Beroe, what are they going on about?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s a sex thing.”
“Oh.”
Just as she was about to melt into the ground out of sheer embarrassment, there was a shout. Iphigenia looked to the sky to see Artemis’ silver chariot descending in tight circles. She drew even closer to Beroe as the source of her primary grievance slipped slowly down from the clouds.
The goddess hadn’t just made herself scarce to Iphigenia; the rest of the huntresses had seen very little of her as well. First, she’d claimed to have been spending time with the forest, unadulterated by the influence of humans. Iphigenia supposed that had been fair; the wilderness was the domain of the goddess of the hunt. That was before the excursions had begun. Artemis claimed that they were just flyovers to see how the war fared at Troy. However, what were overnight trips soon morphed into days, and before long, the days had stretched into weeks at time.
Each time Artemis returned, her irritability was that much more obvious. Gone were the days of dancing with everyone at their nightly revels, as she had done in the earliest days of Iphigenia’s stay with the huntresses. No, instead the goddess now preferred to watch in sullen silence as the group of women twirled half heartedly. When one of the huntresses, a former Thracian named Hyale, asked why Artemis neglected to join them, the goddess had simply stood, taken her bow in hand, and declared that she was going for a nocturnal hunt, and none were to join her. For one who delighted in bringing as many girls as possible on her hunts, that had been the utmost oddity.
That had all been a month ago, and this was the first time the goddess had walked among them since. Her herd of deer grazed silently as she leapt down from her chariot.
“I have an announcement to make.” Iphigenia’s heart beat in double time as she laid eyes on the source of her frustrations. Artemis was decked in that curious attire that Iphigenia had come to realize was distinctly Trojan; when she bothered to return to the huntresses, Artemis would arrive from the warfront arrayed in the furs of animals unrecognizable, and this time was no different. Today was a departure from the norm, however; she also wore a tasseled headdress. Iphigenia scowled. Hadn’t Artemis once told her, in the days before the bear, that crowns were the symbols of those in love with power for power’s sake? The glittering gold swayed with her head as she tilted it towards the chariot.
A brief pause, and then out of the chariot rose a young man, a full head taller than the tallest among them. His sable hair was cropped short, save for disgustingly long, skinny braid at the base of his skull. His dress was similar to that of Artemis, save for the addition of a bronze breastplate. He kept his gaze locked towards his own feet, and Iphigenia watched the slight tremble in the way he held his bow between his palms. A heavy murmur erupted as several of the huntresses not so subtly reached for their weapons.
Artemis raised her hand. “Calm yourselves. This is Skymandrios, and he is here for training to be my champion amongst the Trojans.”
There was a cough, and then Zoe stepped forward, her long tipped spear already in hand.
“Champion? Goddess, I mean no disrespect, but who is he compared to any of us?”
“There is no argument to be had,” Artemis responded. “Skymandrios is a guest, and he is to be treated as such.”
“But—”
“I’m well aware of the obvious,” Artemis said dryly. “He’ll go nowhere alone; I think he’ll be far too exhausted to even consider trying anything.” There was a dark edge in Artemis’ voice, and Skymandrios shuffled nervously in place. “You are all dismissed.”
✽✽✽
Over the next week, a dark pallor hung over the camp. There was heavy brooding amongst all the huntresses, and Skymandrios was the victim of many a glare as he sat apart from them at meal times. It didn’t alleviate even when Skymandrios disappeared with Artemis into the forests before dawn could alight upon the rocky crags that they had camped upon, nor when he returned far after the moon had risen in the sky, limping and covered in the gore of various animals. Artemis, for what it was worth, always returned with nary a hair out of place, and often with a boar slung across her shoulders. But not even this peace offering could appease the ire of the huntresses, who took the offering in cold silence. Iphigenia was still apprehensive of the goddess; she had intimate knowledge of the misfortune she was capable of bringing upon those who disrespected her, but all Artemis had done was shake her head at her followers before murmuring to Skymandrios as they passed morsels of meat around the circle.
Iphigenia was not unaffected by the sudden intrusion into their midst. Her stomach dropped like a sack of rocks cast into the sea every time she saw Artemis disappear into the tree line with that boy trailing at her heels. It should be me, she thought as she bitterly scrubbed the laundry in the creek, not some nobody from that godsforsaken plain. She may be just a girl, but the goddess clearly saw her as more than such; otherwise, she wouldn’t have rescued her from the pyre now, wouldn’t she? Iphigenia would give nearly anything to be fighting on that field on behalf of the goddess against the men who’d used her very blood to get there. She deserved to be racing through the fields at the goddess’ side, learning to loose arrows with the deadliest precision from one whose skill could only be compared to that of the sun god Apollo, her twin.
There was a cough as a weight settled next to her. She looked up, surprised to see Beroe; had she really been so deep in thought that she hadn’t heard her approach?
Her eyes shone with a twinkling glow that Iphigenia had only seen on Artemis herself, and the girl's limbs were as graceful as they were long. Even her skin was unmarred, bronze and shining as brightly as her ebony hair tied up in intricate braids. All the other huntresses were varying forms of dirty, exposed as they were to the elements, but the filth of the ground never seemed to touch Beroe as she went about doing her daily duties. Even Artemis emerged from the woods covered in dirt and blood from time to time, but Beroe remained uncorrupted. Still, none of the other girls treated her any differently to themselves, and Iphigenia had committed to do so as well. While the others treated Iphigenia well, Beroe had been the only one of them to treat her as if she’d joined them as naturally as anyone else.
“How are you feeling?” Beroe asked in that sweet low voice of hers, placing a hand on Iphigenia’s knee.
“How am I feeling?” Iphigenia felt a tingle up her spine at the contact, and she met Beroe’s eyes shyly. The older girl was smiling gently.
“Everyone else is so angry, so I assumed you must be—”
“I’m not mad,” Iphigenia quickly interrupted, shaking her head. Bitter, maybe, and lonely above all else, but anger? Anger to her was broken pottery and harsh words spat across empty halls, blackened eyes and bruised flesh. Skymandrios’ presence may have been upsetting, but she was the furthest thing from angry.
“Oh?” Beroe’s voice was soft, and Iphigenia could hear the smirk in it even if the girl’s lips did not betray her. “The fact that she spends all the hours of her days with him and not you doesn’t bother you?”
“I didn’t say that,” Iphigenia responded, feeling a strange sensation beginning in her chest.
“Then why do you brood so darkly, as if he’d snatched her out of your arms himself?”
“She was never in my arms, no matter how much I’d wanted her to be,” Iphigenia spat, glowering at the fire. The flames flickered and jumped, striking pieces of white hot wood with each crackle.
“Aha, there it is,” Beroe laughed, and Iphigenia whipped her head around to see the girl winking at her. “I see what your problem is now.”
“I don’t have a problem.”
“You’re jealous of him. You wish that were you she was teaching to string a bow, how to kill—”
“What do you care for?” Iphigenia snapped, beginning to grow cross. An interrogation on her feelings of all things was the last thing she wanted right now.
“Is it a crime to care for a friend?” Beroe laughed again, drawing closer. “You glare at the trees all day waiting for her to return and you stay up all night muttering to yourself.”
Iphigenia looked up sharply. None of the huntresses, not even Beroe, were supposed to know the true extent of her magic. She hardly understood it herself; she didn’t need to confuse the waters any further. As far as they knew, she was simply a talented healer who’d called upon the gods to rescue her.
