Dominion of the Moon

by Kostas Krommydas

  “Thank you for your visit. We hope you will come again. If you change your mind, you are welcome tomorrow at the same time,” Varvis said coldly.

  I took Elizabeth’s hand and turned toward the exit, casting a quick look at the Latin inscription on the marble slab above the arch.

  «Deorum sacra qui non acceperunt non intrant »

  Still shaky, we descended the cobbled path away from the tower, hand in hand. I did not look behind me until we reached the dirt path that led to the village. On the tower ramparts, a large fire burned brightly, the tongues of the flames appearing to lick the moon from this distance. On either side of the bonfire, Varvis and his wife stood still as statues, looking in our direction. Not wanting to alarm Elizabeth further, I picked up the pace and pulled her away as fast as I could.

  I never managed to find out what had actually happened to Elizabeth that evening. All she said was that she had a bit too much to drink, stumbled, and cut herself on a sharp wall stone. I did not believe her, but I could tell she did not want to talk about it. Her injury was superficial, anyway, and she decided to resume work as normal.

  She seemed embarrassed by her tipsiness and momentary loss of self-control. Despite burning with curiosity, I waited for her to reveal what had happened when she had been alone with Marika, if she wished to do so. I could not fault her reluctance; I had kept Varvis’s threats to myself as well. I intended to send a report to our headquarters in Thessaloniki, explaining the situation so that we could decide how to handle the matter.

  I did not manage to sleep for more than a couple of hours that night. My anger had abated, but I kept tossing and turning, trying to make sense of the evening’s events. What did the red belt Elizabeth had been wearing mean? Why had she flung it away like that?

  The inscription above the arch still played in my mind. In 1938, the Millers had discovered a column at the entrance of the Anaktoron, the House of the Lords. It bore the exact same inscription. The uninitiate may not enter. Was the marble slab at the Varvis home an archaeological artifact, or had someone just etched that phrase, a prohibition linked to the initiation rites that took place at the Sanctuary in ancient times? I thought it unlikely that a second such inscription existed. Its discovery before the outbreak of the war had caused a stir and changed much of what we knew about the Sanctuary of the Great Gods.

  Although systematic excavations at the site of the Sanctuary had begun as early as 1873 by an Austrian group of archaeologists, the most significant finds were made after Karl and Phyllis began excavating in 1938. The American couple had already discovered many buildings, statues, and part of the Temple Complex. Piece by piece, they reconstructed the history and rituals of this ancient religion and tried to solve the mystery shrouding the Sanctuary of the Great Gods. It was now clear it was the site of a complex myesis, an initiation of many stages. We were still unable to determine the order or nature of those rituals.

  Sleep deprived and exhausted by the din of thoughts churning in my mind, I decided to take a rare day off. I planned to walk to Gria Vathra, one of the most beautiful fresh water pools on the island. Then, I would hike as far as my legs could carry me.

  I left the two teams excavating close to the temple behind and, after a long walk, reached the mouth of a small stream. I bent down like a thirsty animal and plunged my face in the water, taking large gulps. I resurfaced to catch my breath and slowly started walking upstream toward the mountain. I had not been here since the beginning of summer, when the water current was twice as strong. I walked on, through the arbutus shrubs and beneath the tall plane trees, whose roots played hide and seek, spreading on the ground and burrowing under the soil and beneath the large stones.

  It was a land sculpted of wood and rock. A cormorant suddenly sprung from the foliage and I felt the flap of its wings ruffle my hair as it headed out to sea. So many memories linked to this spot, moments shared with old friends, long departed.

  I reached Gria Vathra a few minutes later. A large bowl, as if scooped out of the mountain by a mystical hand, it loomed in the middle of the forest. The flowing, crystal waters of the stream pooled there before continuing their course down a small waterfall. Legend had it that it was named after an old woman, a gria, who had drowned as she bent down to drink. Her flock of goats dispersed the moment they saw her fall in the water. Days later, people discovered her body on the shore, where the torrent joined the sea. That was how the locals realized that the river continued its course underground and underwater all the way to the sea. The island’s waterways were treacherous beasts, flowing with strong currents and littered with rocks like sharpened knives. Some said that the woods were haunted with lost souls seeking redemption; others said they were full of nymphs and sprites.

  The trees were already shedding their leaves, dropping them in the water like missives to the sea. Although I wanted to dive into the cool lagoon, I decided to keep walking. The route upstream was dotted with other water pools. I walked on, trying to put the previous evening’s events out of my mind. The landscape helped, soaking up all my negative thoughts and soothing my senses: the sound of flowing water and the scent of the old trees. Their rotting trunks resisted the passage of time and made me long for my childhood, for the times we spent hiding in tree trunks and jumping out to scare each other.

  Steaming embers in a circle of stones caught my eye, remnants of a fire that had been lit there recently. The trampled ground beneath the large rocks showed that a group of people had spent the night here, possibly the visitors Varvis had mentioned the other evening.

  As I stood observing their tracks, I thought I heard the sound of splashing water further up, carried by the soft breeze stirring the branches as it blew down the mountain slope. I sprang up the rocks and held my breath, ears pricked to every sound. Silence.

  It must have been a trick of the wind, creating otherworldly, indefinable sounds as it whistled though the rocks. Many of the locals believed it was the sound of sprites and nymphs, lurking in the woods and trying to chase intruders away. I shrugged and carefully walked further up. Winter and the torrents reshaped the way of the land, so that every new trek felt like a foray onto virgin ground. Nature on this island was an incomparable artist whose creations overflowed with generosity. I had decided to spend the rest of my life here. Whatever travels came up, my base would be Samothrace, and I intended to request that my post here be made permanent.

  An elderly plane tree, uprooted by the torrential waters, lay across the ground, barring my way. I could either slither like a snake through the small opening, or walk along the trunk to reach the other side. I opted for the latter, and slowly edged along the tree trunk, like a novice tightrope walker. It had fallen in such a way as to create a natural shortcut. If I managed to walk to the other end, I would save myself a circuitous climb and reach a small clearing offering a magnificent view.

  I was almost halfway along the trunk, walking among the tree’s foliage, when I spotted another, smaller water pool beneath me. I had forgotten all about it. Its surface rippled, a sign that someone or something was swimming in it. It must be the visitors, I thought, and hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether I should walk on or make my presence known in some way. I could not see anyone from where I stood, so I took a hesitant step forward. Suddenly, I had a clear view of the entire pool.

  At the center of the pool, as if she had been patiently waiting under the water’s surface all this time, a woman with long black hair rose like a dolphin cresting the water’s surface. Before I could see her face, she turned around and started swimming toward a large flat rock that stood on the edge of the pool like a diving board. I looked around but could not see anybody else. Her white arms split the water in ever-wider circles as she reached the pool’s edge. She reached the ledge and tilted her face toward the small flowing stream that poured fresh water into the small lagoon. She then gripped the rock and pulled herself out. The cool water had been her only garment. It dripped away, revealing her naked form.
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br />   I felt myself blush with embarrassment, but I could not pull my eyes away from the milky figure thrown into sharp relief against the craggy grey rocks. She looked more like an elf than a creature born of man. My eyes were drawn to her only flaw, the scar of an old wound that started at her shoulder and faded between her shoulder blades. The spark of an old memory stirred inside me.

  As if sensing my stealthy presence, she suddenly turned and looked at me, standing still. She did nothing to hide her statuesque perfection; she simply raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, to see me more clearly. I could not believe what the voice in my head was now screaming at me. Even when she slowly pulled away the wet strand of hair that partially hid her features, I refused to believe that standing before me was the same woman for whom I had gone from executioner to savior a few years ago.

  Varvis nervously paced up and down beneath the vines in the tower’s garden. On a nearby chaise longue, Marika lay holding their son in her arms. Lulled by the tranquil garden and his mother’s voice, the boy lay on her bosom, eyes heavy with sleep. She half-whispered, half-sang a melody that sounded like a lullaby, and stroked his blond hair, gently playing with his curls and trying to untangle them with her caresses.

  It was nearly noon, and the sun snuck through openings in the vine’s thick foliage to warm the cobblestones. Simon pulled up a bucket of water from the stone well and emptied it into a clay jug, the overflow cooling down the stone slabs. He then brought it to the table and filled their glasses.

  Varvis interrupted his nervous pacing and thirstily emptied his glass. He put it back on the table with a sharp thud and turned to his steward, who had remained by the table, silently watching him. His voice was tense but low, so as not to wake his precious son. “Stais does not seem to heed any warnings. I want you to teach him a lesson tonight.”

  His wife raised her voice and sang more loudly, to cover the sound of his voice. Unperturbed, he spoke on, swept up by the vision his words were painting. “The flames will reach the sky. He must understand that if he fails to dissuade the Americans from digging on our land, he is doomed. Do what you must. Just make sure you are not seen.”

  The silent nod from Simon was enough to show his acquiescence, and his master dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Varvis slowly walked to the edge of the chaise longue, where his wife sang on, seemingly indifferent to everything around her. Her chant rose like a low murmur from her chest, like an Orphic hymn. Soothed by her voice, Nicholas stretched out his hand and touched his son’s head, gently running his fingers through the child’s soft hair.

  “No one will set foot on our land. Our child’s child will be the one to pull from the bowels of this land that which awaits its master to reveal it. It will all come to pass when and how it should. Tonight is significant,” he said, tenderly looking at Alexandros.

  Marika fell silent and looked at him intently. She untangled her fingers from the boy’s hair and tenderly placed them around her husband’s temples, like a wreath. Murmuring something under her breath, she drew him near and kissed his forehead. Steely determination etched on his face, Varvis stood and picked his son up carefully as not to wake him. He slowly moved inside the tower, Marika by his side, the sleeping boy in his arms.

  Like a startled hare, Elizabeth sprinted through the archaeological site, hastily skirting around the marble column fragments that dotted her path, risking a bad fall in her excitement. As she ran, she looked around, anxiously searching for someone. As soon as she spotted Vasilis in the distance, she loudly called out his name. Startled, Vasilis lost his footing and dropped a wooden beam he had been hoisting on his shoulder.

  “Where is Andreas?” she asked. “Have you seen him? I’ve been looking for him everywhere; do you know where he’s gone?” She peered at Vasilis from under her wide brimmed hat, hands on her knees, her breath coming short and fast.

  Puzzled at her unusual deportment, he pointed in the direction Andreas had taken. “I think he’s gone to Gria Vathra … He’ll be back in the afternoon, though.”

  Pulling herself upright, she gripped his arm and spoke intently. “Run and fetch him. Find him and tell him to get here as fast as he can. Please, hurry!”

  “Miss Elizabeth, what’s wrong? What shall I tell him?” Vasilis asked, as he prepared to go in search of Andreas.

  Mixing English and Greek in her agitated state, Elizabeth settled for a few scattered phrases. “Tell him we found a woman … the goddess … marble … buried … pieces. He must come now. Run!”

  Vasilis somehow managed to make sense of what she said, his eyes widening in surprise. Then he ran, skipping over the scattered marble pieces and stones and clearing the makeshift enclosure in a single, easy leap. He could still hear her voice shouting, and he picked up speed, like an experienced athlete.

  He climbed up the slope with the ease of a mountain goat, lightly crossing even the most arduous parts. It did not take him more than an hour to reach Gria Vathra. He stopped, needed to catch his breath for a moment. He leaned against a tree trunk and, as soon as his heart stopped beating like a wild drum, he pushed himself off and started walking upstream, convinced that Andreas must have done the same.

  Walking carefully, he moved between the trees, agilely stepping on the stones that were firm enough to allow him to move fast. A short while later, he arrived at the first large pool and looked carefully around him, without spotting Andreas. He rested for another moment and then resumed his search, still walking against the flow.

  A triumphant smile crossed his lips when he spotted the man he was looking for standing on a fallen plane tree. Without wasting a moment, he called out at the top of his lungs. Like a sudden clap of thunder, his cry pierced the forest and did more than catch just Andreas’s attention.

  We both stood transfixed, unable to make the slightest move, like statues facing each other across a wooded garden. A few moments later, I hesitantly decided to approach her, spurred on by the need to make sure that the woman before me was real, not a figment of my imagination.

  A scream pierced the air behind me, startling me. Turning sharply to see who it was, my foot slipped on the mossy trunk of the old tree.

  I flung my arms wildly, trying to grab onto a branch and keep my balance. I caught a fleeting glimpse of Vasilis’s frightened face before plunging backward into the cold stream. Thankfully, it was not a long drop, and I fell in with a quick, clumsy splash. I felt the icy water soak my clothes and, at the sight of the large stones menacingly protruding on the stream’s banks, realized I’d had a lucky break. A few inches to the left or right and it would have been a much more painful drop.

  In the blink of an eye, Vasilis was wading through the water and helping me stand up. He started talking, but I ignored him and hurriedly started to clamber up the rocks, trying to return to my previous vantage point. As if in a trance, driven by some mystical impulse, I ignored his cries to turn back and quickly reached the top of the rocks, from where I could see the water pool and the area surrounding it.

  All was calm and still, as if no one had been swimming there minutes ago. Deathly silence, interrupted only by the trickling of the water and the splattering sounds it made as it wove through the rocks. The shouting must have startled her, but she should still be around. Maybe she had hidden somewhere to get dressed. But I had a panoramic view from where I was standing—she should still be visible.

  I climbed back down and took the small path circling the lagoon all the way to the other side. Countless thoughts crossed my mind as I tried to understand how she could have disappeared during the brief moments it took me to climb up the rocks. I was at a loss as to what to do. I wanted to call her, but what could I possibly tell a woman I had just seen naked, who had most likely been frightened by my presence? Call her by what name? I could not rationalize what had just happened.

  I felt Vasilis tug my sleeve, shouting out my name, and I snapped out of my trance. He was the reason I had lost her. With rising anger, I abruptly asked him what
he meant by screaming in the forest like that.

  “Miss Elizabeth sent me. She wants you to get back immediately …” he said, eyes bulging and out of breath.

  His words worried me. I gave a last, fleeting look around me, should that strange creature reappear, and then grabbed Vasilis by the shoulders. Water still dripped from my hands. “What happened? Why should I go back? What’s the matter?”

  In the jumble of sentences that tumbled out of his mouth, I seized on the words he kept repeating. “They found a woman … buried … Marble, pieces …”

  I felt the water become one with my sweat and freeze down my back. Buried? Pieces? What did he mean?

  “Speak clearly, man. What woman? Murdered how? Where did they find her? Who is it? Calm down and tell me, slowly.”

  “I told you, Andreas. She told me to run and find you. You need to go there right now. She also said ‘goddess’. I think.”

  He was making no sense. They had clearly just unearthed something, but what? A person, or a statue? Whatever had happened, it must be serious or Elizabeth would not have sent Vasilis to find me.

  At the same time, what had become of the woman I had just seen with my own two eyes? I wondered whether the creature I had just encountered had never really existed, whether it was just my imagination playing tricks. All the island lore that had colored my childhood came flooding back, stories of people seeing or hearing things in the woods that were not really there. Was that what had happened to me?

  I took a couple of steps forward, hoping that even at this last moment she would reveal herself. But nothing happened. Whoever or whatever she was, she had disappeared as if a magic hand had lifted her from the water to the sky, from one expanse of blue to another.

  “What are you looking for, Andreas? Is anyone else around?” Vasilis whispered, sensing my agitation.