Myrina closed her eyes, relishing the sweet image before it was swallowed once again by the all-consuming memory of Paris dead in her arms, his body still warm against the cold temple floor. “Perhaps.”
“Good.” Lady Otrera began scooping up water, splashing it against Myrina’s face. “Now come, and let us continue on our way. We will not be safe from the Greeks until we are in the land of the Kaskians.”
AS THEY CONTINUED EAST along the coast, it occurred to Myrina that Lilli had fallen unusually silent. Even after many tearful days of shared grief and tender words the girl continued uneasy, and when Myrina eventually questioned her about her concerns, it took much urging to make Lilli express them.
“We have seen so much sorrow and destruction,” she said reluctantly, as they lay awake one night, holding hands. “I am loath to predict more.”
“But you must!” Myrina put an arm around her sister. “I have long since learned to trust your misgivings. What do you see?”
“Darkness,” muttered Lilli. “The land of the Kaskians holds nothing but agony. We will prevail for a while, but after then … oblivion. The only light I see comes from the north. We must cross the waterway; I know we must.”
Myrina could not conceal her dismay. “You would have us fend our way through the wilderness of the northern lands? Go where no civilized person has ever set foot?”
Lilli nodded. “I see rivers and mountains and endless forests. And”—her voice quavered—”I see you smiling again, urging us on.”
When Myrina shared Lilli’s visions with Lady Otrera, however, the older woman would not even consider a change of plans. And when Myrina kept insisting on going north, Otrera finally looked at her with eyes full of bitterness and said, “Do you realize what this means?”
Myrina nodded heavily. “It seems Fate is determined to part our ways.”
THEY REACHED THE CROSSING after another three days of travel. It was a bustling place, full of sailors and fast-talking vendors, but the women rode their horses through the crowd in silence, glumly ignoring the raucous comments that followed them wherever they went. For this was where the group would have to separate; some to follow Lady Otrera and sail east into the Inhospitable Sea, the rest to cross with Myrina here, where the strait was narrow.
To most, the choice was simple. None of Lady Otrera’s daughters had any desire to extract themselves from the web of people they had known all their lives, and certainly not to venture into lands inhabited—as Otrera had phrased it when she presented the choice to them—by “blood-sucking witches and howling wolf men.”
But to the women who had come all the way from the Temple of the Moon Goddess on the banks of Lake Tritonis—and in particular those who had been rescued from Mycenae—it was an excruciating choice between comfort and loyalty. “How can you ask this of us now?” complained Klito, after Lady Otrera and Myrina had explained the situation to everyone the day before. “We have been delivered from the greatest calamity the world has ever seen, I am sure, and now”—Klito threw out her arms, one toward her holy sister, the other toward the woman she had come to think of as a mother—”you want to force us apart, just when salvation seems within reach.”
There was a mumble of agreement in the group. Breaking from their journey to water the horses and rest awhile, they had gathered on the banks of a large river, and Myrina and Lady Otrera had taken turns stepping up onto a large boulder to address the women seated on rocks around them.
“Let us not be fooled into thinking there is such a thing as salvation,” said Myrina, forcing herself to speak loudly although grief lay like a noose around her neck. “I am making no claims about the safety of the northern lands, but I would not have you run for the Kaskians only to be slaughtered like beasts. Even if you have no faith in my sister’s visions, at least consider the warnings of King Priam—”
“Listen to her!” exclaimed Egee, jumping to her feet in anger. “First she abandons us for a man … now she pretends to care for our safety. And look at her.” Egee pointed her hunting knife directly at Myrina—the hunting knife she had once sworn never to carry but which was now her dearest possession. “Does she inspire confidence? She is sick and beside herself; she hardly knows what she says or does. Clearly, the Goddess is taking her vengeance now. Suppose she dies? What would we do then? No.” Egee folded her arms, knife and all. “I say, she may go her own unlucky way, and we shall go ours.”
A loud discussion followed Egee’s unforgiving speech, but everyone—even the dissenters—fell silent when Kara stood up. Showing them all the scars on her wrists, as if they were an argument in themselves, she looked to Egee and said, “You speak of luck and vengeance as if you know what you are talking about. But you have no idea. You were never violated or taken away on the black ships. You never endured the slime of Mycenae.” Her face torn with fury, Kara pointed at Myrina. “She was the one who came for us. She put our happiness before her own. You think the Goddess hates her? Wrong! The Goddess loves her. Admires her. That is why she has made her an example to us all. That is why she has given her back to us. You think she walks an unlucky path? Perhaps. But I saw a princess of Troy with a crown on her head, and I was the one who—in my madness—threw her to the lions.” Kara clasped her own face, struggling once more against the demons within. “And therefore I must walk that unlucky path with her, wherever it leads. We may meet flying witches and half humans, but it cannot be worse than what we have already seen. And we are survivors, are we not?” She looked around at them all, hands raised in appeal. “Myrina could have died many times, and so could I, and so could you. But we didn’t. We are still alive because we have each other, and we have an obligation to fulfill.” She pointed at the packhorses King Priam had given them. “A man who ruled over one of the greatest cities on earth has asked us, with his last breath, to be the guardians of a treasure. I would choose that challenge over any comfort the world could offer. I, for one, have a great deal of shame to wash away, and can think of no better place to do so than in the wild rivers of the north, where I will never again hear Greek spoken.”
After Kara, no one else had dared to stand up, and the group had continued toward the coast in a hum of anger and indecision. Even as they approached the harbor, studying all the ships pulling up, Myrina still did not know if she would be crossing the strait with three or thirty.
King Priam’s treasure, however, would remain under her control. There had been some murmuring about the unjustness of her keeping it all to herself, but the jealousy had ceased as soon as Myrina disclosed the nature of the treasure and let women see for themselves.
“In truth we do not envy you this burden,” Lady Otrera had said, speaking on behalf of everyone. “We only pray that your labors will be rewarded.”
THEY STOPPED AT A beached ship that looked promisingly empty. A bulky bear of a man lay in the shade of the hull, chewing on a root. His only weapon appeared to be a wooden club, but Myrina did not doubt he could wield it to great effect. When he noticed the women, the man sat up with a wary nod.
“How much can your ship carry?” Lady Otrera asked him, using the language of Ephesus. “I assume you are for hire?”
The big man grinned, the root bobbing at the corner of his mouth. “All yours, luv, if the price is right. Where are you going?”
Lady Otrera frowned. The man was obviously a brute, dressed in a mangy lion skin and not much else, and yet he looked robust and willing, spoke their language, and his ship was clearly available. “Some of us are merely looking to cross to the other side,” she said, “while the rest will want to sail east until we reach the mouth of the Thermodon River. It is my understanding that there are few passable roads between here and there, and that sea passage is infinitely faster and more secure than land travel. Is that correct?”
“You’ve got it, luv.” Standing up at last, the man took a good look at the group. “That’s a lot of horses. I’m not a great horse lover. Produce a lot of dung. I’ve shoveled a lot of dung in m
y time.” He spat out the root and brushed off his hands. “But I have a couple buddies, and I’ve got Theseus and his rowers working for me now, so that makes four ships in total.” He smiled again, baring his teeth in an accommodating smile. “Let’s start with the easy trip. How many, altogether, are going across?”
It was the moment they had all dreaded—the moment they had postponed until it could be pushed out no further. “Well.” Lady Otrera turned to the group. “Speak up, girls. How many will go north with Myrina?”
Lilli and Kara put up their hands right away. Then came Klito, and Pitana, and half a dozen more. But that was it. Animone was not among them. Sitting on her horse with her head bent, she could not look at Myrina; had she been brave enough to do so, she would have seen forgiveness in her friend’s eyes.
“Right.” The man picked his nose, inspected his findings, and wiped the finger on his lion-skin tunic. “If that’s all, I can take the first group across right now, and then we’ll figure out the rest when my buddies come back.”
“How about payment?” said Lady Otrera.
“Well.” The man scratched his burly neck. “Why don’t we see what kind of rowers I can get and how long it takes us to get you ladies where you want to go?” He ran his eyes over Hippolyta, taking in her embroidered girdle and shapely thighs. “I’m sure you’ll turn out to have something I like.”
And then came the time for parting. Embracing everyone in turn, Myrina ended up in Lady Otrera’s arms, unable to put words on her emotions.
“There is no need to cry,” said Lady Otrera, half-laughing. “For I am sure we will see each other again soon. You will realize the northern lands are no place to be, and you will rejoin us well before the baby comes.”
Myrina stiffened, taken aback. “I do not understand—”
Lady Otrera smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “I may not know men, but I know women. You are carrying something far more precious than King Priam’s treasure. You are carrying his grandchild.”
STANDING IN THE STERN, Myrina saw her world, and most of the people she knew, shrink with every oar stroke until there was nothing left but the knowledge that her sisters were still there, waiting for the ships to return.
And yet her sadness was dulled by confusion after Lady Otrera’s parting words. Could it really be? Had a small, immortal part of Paris survived inside her? She barely dared hope it was so, lest she should discover it was not true and lose him once again.
Pushing aside the thought, Myrina looked at her wrist where the jackal used to be. When she gave it to Helena—poor, star-crossed Helena—she had never imagined wanting it back, but now she missed its reassuring presence. After everything that had happened, she craved forgiveness—forgiveness for loving Paris, for leaving the sisterhood, for bringing grief wherever she went. She just wasn’t sure whom to turn to. The Moon Goddess? Hardly. Even the jackals, surely, had long since lost all loyalty for their former mistress.
No, thought Myrina, she would have to find forgiveness in herself and in her ten faithful companions. They would have to reconfirm their sisterhood under new terms. Once they were safely settled somewhere, they would sit down and talk it all through, and maybe, if she was lucky, they would come across a coppersmith who would be able to fashion a new bracelet.
A gruff command interrupted her speculations. The man whose ship they were on—the brute who had been so jovial when they spoke with him on the shore—was walking up and down the deck with his giant club, urging on his rowers and looking as if he would have no qualms about crushing the skull of a slouch. “I don’t trust him,” muttered Pitana, coming up beside Myrina. “There is a cruel and calculating look in his eyes just now. I wonder if we should ask him to turn around.”
Myrina thought for a moment. “Lady Otrera is not naïve. And I am confident her daughters can hold their own. If you had seen what I saw at the Scamander River that day, you would agree with me they have as much will to kill as men do.”
And yet, when they had safely crossed the strait and landed on the northern shore, Myrina found herself lingering on the beach, looking to exchange a final word with their club-wielding captain. Feigning admiration, she asked him, “How did a man such as yourself end up in this desolate region?”
He shrugged, no longer too concerned about stoking her regard for him. “I killed someone. Figured I’d better leave town before his friends found out.”
Myrina smiled, carefully concealing her alarm. “Who was it?”
The man looked out over the water with narrow eyes. “A man I worked for. Cleaned his stables. Lots of dung. He wouldn’t pay me. So, I knocked his teeth out. Unfortunately, they were attached to his brain. Or … they were when I was done with him.” The man snorted with laughter, looking around to make sure the rowers were laughing right along.
“That’s good,” said Myrina, adjusting the ax in her belt. “Make sure you tell that story to my friends on the other side. They’ll like it. Now, before we part”—she held out her hand—”tell me your name, and I’ll tell you mine.”
The man threw her a sarcastic look, as if he suspected her of making fun of him. “You want my name? Why? Are you going to squeal on me? Me and the others”—he made a general gesture toward shore—”we’re not looking for any trouble. We’re just … staying away for a while.” He finally took her hand. “Nothing wrong with that. Name’s Hercules.”
Myrina nodded. “You and I have a lot in common, Hercules. We are both killers, and yet we both want peace. Here is some advice for you: Don’t touch my sisters. We are the Amazons, killers of men. Only the feeble-headed try their luck with us.”
“Killers of men?” Hercules looked at her with a capsized smile. “Say it again, and we may put you to the test.”
Myrina was only too aware of the sudden burst of energy among the rowers. She saw them eyeing her with apparent greed and elbowing one another with nods of agreement. “You want to test me?” she asked them, raising her voice. “Do you see that bird?” She pointed at a seagull perched atop a ship’s mast a bit farther down the beach. Then, without another word, she liberated her bow and sent off an arrow with such speed and precision the bird didn’t even squawk as it fell from the mast and dropped to the sand, pierced right through.
“We are the Amazons,” said Myrina again, more firmly, while the men gaped incredulously at the dead bird. “We are the killers of beasts and men. Wild ourselves, we inhabit the wild places. Freedom courses in our blood, and death whispers at the tip of our arrows. We fear nothing; fear runs from us. Try to stop us, and you will feel our rage.” With that she turned and walked away from the men, through the tall grasses, until all they could see was the tip of her bow.
And then, just as they remembered to breathe again, she was gone.
PART V
ECLIPSE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
It is well known that none of the German tribes live in cities, that even individually they do not permit houses to touch each other: they live separated and scattered, according as spring-water, meadow, or grove appeals to each man.
—TACITUS, Germania
OSNABRÜCK, GERMANY
THE DRIVE FROM THE MÜNSTER AIRPORT WAS BARELY THIRTY minutes—just long enough for me to come down with a case of second thoughts. “I blame you,” I told the jackal as we went through a flat dark-green landscape saturated with moisture. “You were the one who wanted to hide up here. Now what?”
It was a drab, rainy afternoon of the sort northern Europe does so well in November. Even though I had never been to this part of Germany before I felt instinctively at home in the chilly misery of it all, and it fit my current mood perfectly. With my panic behind me, I was left with a nagging feeling it might have been wiser of me to fly back to Oxford and simply go to the police. And yet … what would be gained by that? A temporary sense of security? Although I still felt doubt clawing at my resolve, I told myself I was doing the right thing in following Mr. Telemakhos’s lead on the bracelet in Kalkries
e. Both Reznik and al-Aqrab were hell-bent on finding the Amazons, and the only way I could escape them, it seemed, was to beat them to it.
I had spent the flight from Istanbul going through the rest of Nick’s top-secret documents. What I found had done quite a bit to clear up my confusion, but absolutely nothing to still my worry. Digging into the envelope with some apprehension, I had discovered yet another Arabic detective report, even thicker than the first. But this time it was not about me and my family; it was about me and Katherine Kent.
There were several grainy photos showing the two of us in her Oxford office, looking incredibly suspicious although the subject of our conversation was almost certainly some Greek historian who had been dead for two thousand years. But there were other photos of Katherine, far less innocuous. One had her in front of a punching bag, sweating and grimacing, boxing gloves on, and another was of her in a taxi, wearing a hat and a pair of large sunglasses that had “covert operation” written all over them. But the series of photos that nearly knocked the in-flight pretzels out of me showed her and someone else exchanging a small package at a crowded train station.
That someone was, without a doubt, my blond nemesis.
I am not sure how long I sat there, leafing back and forth through the photos, trying to come to terms with the truth. Here, surely, was the explanation for Katherine’s interest in my movements: She was connected to the people responsible for the attack in the labyrinth and the heist on the harbor in Nafplio. Did this mean she was an Amazon? I had never noticed a jackal bracelet on her wrist, and none showed in the photos.