Soul in Darkness

by Wendy Higgins

  I made a face of disgust. “Are there any on the list who aren’t filled with greed or cursed with a wandering eye?”

  “Pshaw!” Mother waved a hand as if I’d made a joke. “No family is perfect. Don’t be so picky! If you’re not satisfied by gorgeous, powerful men, perhaps you’ll enjoy the company of Orrin Castellanos, the scholar.”

  I narrowed my eyes, remembering that name from Miracle’s wedding. “Didn’t he court Dawn? Didn’t she cry and beg Papa to turn down his offer because he was likely too old to sire children?”

  “He’s forty-three, not quite on his deathbed.”

  Actually, his age had been Dawn’s excuse. What she really didn’t like was that the scholar couldn’t see to his feet past his belly, and his bald head was covered in sun spots. I recalled feeling bad for him at Miracle’s wedding because he seemed jolly and kind, but Dawn wouldn’t dance with him. I’d been young. Only fifteen, and already a spectacle. But if I remembered it correctly, he was the only man who managed to carry on a semi-normal conversation with me, after a bumbling start with mottled cheeks.

  “What number is he on my list?”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, he’s not on your list!” She whapped my leg gently with the feather quill. “I was trying to put things in perspective. We’ve chosen the best for you, darling. Only the best.”

  “Mother…” I sat up straighter and braced myself. “Is there a rush for me to marry?” Her mouth bobbed open, and I hurried on. “I’m just saying, let’s not force it. I don’t need to marry.”

  “Psyche, really! Every woman needs to marry.”

  I sighed at the unfairness of it. “An extra year or two with you and Papa wouldn’t be too much of a scandal, would it? We can travel and meet people. A natural courtship progression would be more palatable than this.” I brushed a hand across her list of men.

  Mother tilted her head and smiled at me, then patted my cheek. “This is fun for me. Finding husbands for my daughters is my joy—my only true job, really.”

  “You’re a queen. You have many important jobs.”

  She waved that fact away. “None more important than this.”

  “Mother, please.” I took her hand and held it tightly until she looked at me again. “I don’t want to rush this. I want a husband who loves me, not a man who sees me as a prize of some sort.”

  “Okay, darling.” She patted the top of my hand with her free one. “I will make you a deal. Allow me to continue the courtship, asking men to visit and meet you, but I will speak with Papa about not rushing the actual wedding part.”

  “Thank you!” I beamed at her, but she shook her head.

  “This is not an endless agreement. By the age of twenty, we must choose, together, and you must marry. Preferably someone who can further Papa’s standing. You want that, don’t you?”

  I swallowed the bile rising up in my throat but nodded my agreement, and she kissed my head. One way or another, I’d become someone’s wife. There was no getting out of it.

  FAITHLESS

  “What did you say to him?” Mother asked, pulling her shawl closer against a blast of chilled wind as we walked the stone path from our living quarters to the dining area.

  “I said nothing that would cause such disinterest in me or turn his eye to his bath maid instead,” I assured her. My appeal to her to slow the process of my courtship period had gone unheeded. She’d rushed head-in, bombarding me with man after man, failure after awkward failure.

  The latest suitor had been one of mother’s last hopes for a suitable match. As a bonus he was a warrior of high ranking in the military with bloodlines that traced back to ancient Athens. I’d quite liked the look of his strong thighs. Our initial meeting had been positive, even hopeful—he’d only gawked at me two long minutes before gathering his wits and being able to carry on a conversation. But last night while everyone had slept, he found Boldar and explained he was leaving, hand in hand with the bath maid we’d assigned him. A girl even younger than me. Boldar said his eyes were crazed and he couldn’t stop proclaiming his love for the girl.

  If I wasn’t so scandalized and concerned for mother’s state of mind, I’d have laughed at the irony of one lost suitor after another, and me supposedly the “best catch” in all the lands.

  “How is it possible?” Mother exclaimed, raising her palms to the world in frustration. “To choose a plain-faced servant of the Metics class over a Princess!”

  “She was a kind soul. And I wouldn’t call her plain-faced,” I said in her defense, but Mother raged on.

  “The fool! And now I have to find a replacement maid!” Mother’s shouts were lost to the winds. A storm was blowing in, and from the churning, sooty look of the skies, we’d do well to stay inside the remainder of the afternoon. We rushed through the doors of the dining hall, held open by two soldiers, and exhaled loudly in the sudden quiet of the windless room.

  Both of us shook out our shawls and placed them across the backs of our chairs, joining Papa at the table. He sat heavily, elbows on the table, peering at us menacingly over his goblet of wine. From the droop of his eyes, I was certain it wasn’t his first drink.

  “What did you say to him, Psyche?” Papa accused.

  I turned to him as if my eyes could lash back. “I said nothing to turn him away! I was cordial and kind and, and—”

  Papa slammed a fist to the table, making Mother and I jump and his wine slosh up like a red wave on an angry sea.

  He pointed a finger at me. “You must be sabotaging our efforts in some way!”

  I trembled inside because Papa never spoke harshly to me. “I swear to you, Papa. I’m not.” But I understood his frustration. It had been nearly a year. Soon, rumors would start to spread.

  Mother took my hand and spoke gently to Papa. “Could it be they are too intimidated by such beauty?” He grunted, and Mother continued. “Ever since she’s grown breasts no man has been able to talk to her like a normal female.”

  I pressed a hand to my forehead and rubbed it down my face. “Every woman has breasts, Mother.”

  “It’s not just that, Psyche,” she told me. “It’s the entire package. The more you become a woman, the less men know how to behave around you!”

  “They treat you like a goddess,” Papa said quietly, almost reverently, but with a hint of regret, as if the thing that had always pleased him had turned to strike him with hidden fangs. Part of me rejoiced that they were finally beginning to see the burden of it.

  “Then perhaps we should make a special offering to the gods, something even more than usual, as a family,” I suggested.

  Mother’s eyes snapped to Papa’s and they appeared strangely hesitant.

  “An offering,” Mother said, as if it were an altogether new idea. “It couldn’t hurt.”

  Papa looked away, down at the table, around the room at the hanging rugs, then down to his cup. I couldn’t understand their odd reactions.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” Mother quickly responded. “There’s just been a bit of talk lately. People from the mainland coming over, spouting off about our ‘superstitions’ and the changing ways of the new world.”

  I glared now. “What superstitions? About the gods? That’s sacrilege, Mother! I hope you’re not paying them any mind.”

  I stared back and forth between my parents who shrugged and shook their heads, pulling their faces to the side. A horrible thought punched my innards as the walls shook with a bellow of thunder.

  “How long has it been since you gave an offering?” As a minor in the family, it was left to my parents to pay our debts to the gods and goddesses at the altar. I attended and participated in the festivals, but now that I was entering adulthood, I would soon go independently of them.

  Again, those gestures of nonchalance. Mother waved a hand. “The last festival, I suppose?”

  Shock razed my skin like I’d skidded across coals. “That was at the start of fall! It’s nearly spring!” T
hey should have been worshipping and giving gifts several times a month on behalf of our family! My last meal turned to rocks, and I grabbed my stomach.

  Mother sighed with exasperation, fiddling with her skirts. “Darling girl, things have been so busy with trying to find you a suitable match. I’ve never been so exhausted!”

  I gaped at her, then Papa, who nodded. My gods. They’d been faithless. A pit of dread opened inside me.

  “It’s no wonder our efforts have fallen flat.” I stood abruptly, my eyes scanning the room for something to give the gods before landing on the bejeweled gold cuff on Papa’s wrist. I held out my shaking hand.

  “Give me your cuff.”

  He reeled back. “Pardon?”

  “Papa! We need to make an offering—now!”

  “It can wait until after the storm.” And to back up his words a bolt of lightning filled the room with brightness before crashing in our ears seconds later, shaking the room.

  I reached down and wrestled the cuff from his wrist. He barely fought me, just laughed as if I was being ridiculous. Then I turned to Mother’s shocked face and pointed at the golden snake that wound around her upper arm. She placed a protective hand over it.

  “Are your treasures more precious to you than my life? Our future?”

  Now it was Mother’s turn to laugh at my dramatics. “Of course not. Please sit and relax and I swear to you we will gather a proper offering first thing in the morning.”

  I pressed a hand to my forehead and whispered, “It will be too late.” In truth, I believed it already was. My eyes burned with fear, filling with unshed tears, and Mother reached for her upper arm.

  “Please, Psyche, don’t cry. Here.” She placed the winding gold in my hand, folding my fingers around it and rubbing my skin with tender affection. Her eyes were soft and regretful. I had a feeling her regret had everything to do with my sadness and nothing to do with offending the gods. I would rather it have been the other way around.

  I swallowed hard and turned from them, forgoing my shawl. Both of my parents made sounds of despair as I ran for the doors, but neither stood to stop me. A guard opened the door for me, peering over at my father for instructions.

  “Accompany her to the altar,” Papa said, resigned.

  The winds hit me in a rush, rain pelting my skin with the sting of a hundred tiny daggers. I lifted an arm to shield my eyes and ran. Several times the winds blasted me, offsetting my balance momentarily, making me slip on slick stones. But I never stopped.

  At the altar, I climbed the wet steps then fell to my knees in the rounded center of pillars under a domed roof. I let out a small cry at the two measly piles of soggy offerings. This altar should have been filled with bounty.

  With trembling hands, I laid my two gifts in the center of the circular room, open to the elements, rain slashing sideways to smack at me.

  “Forgive us, please,” I shouted over the howling storm. “Please accept these offerings and know that there is more to come. We—” I had to stop and swallow. “We honor you. All we have is for your glory.”

  A gust of wind rocked me to my side, and over the din of noise I heard a sickening snap and whap, followed by the yelling of my guards. I lifted my head in time to see an unrooted palm tree fly against the outer pillars as if trying to fight its way into the altar area. A strong arm came around my midsection and lifted me from the ground.

  “We must go!” Boldar shouted.

  I didn’t argue. He and four other guards surrounded me, and we shuffled our way clumsily down the path back to the castle, my hair whipping all of us like a live, angry thing. We’d barely reached the stone entrance to our palace when my eyes filled with blinding light. An explosion loud enough to burst the insides of my ears lifted all five of us off our feet, throwing us through the castle doors. A shock of heat filled the area before dissolving into a chill again. But the rumble of crashing sounds continued, and even through the rain we nearly choked on ash and dirt. I waved a hand in front of my face, trying to see.

  What in the great name of Jupiter had happened?

  “Lightning strike!” Boldar yelled, on his feet, lifting me again. And as the dust finally began to settle, I squinted into the darkness. Through the sheet of rain, under the angry gray skies, our altar lay in crumbled ruin, smoke warring with the falling moisture. I smacked a hand over my mouth to hold back a cry of anguish. My parents could speak of superstition all they wanted, but I didn’t believe in coincidence. Our offerings had been denied in the most powerful of messages.

  And now I had no doubt. I was cursed.

  THE ORACLE

  The rain didn’t let up until early morning and sleep never found me. My only relief was that I didn’t have to beg or convince my parents—when they set eyes on the altar wreckage, they took one long look at one another and paled, realization dawning on their faces.

  “We travel to Miletus at first light,” Papa had said, his jaw set before stalking away from us.He never took defeat well. Even, apparently, against the immortal gods. And while I didn’t want him to suffer, I hoped he would be truly humbled. If he brought his mortal pride into that ancient temple tomorrow, it would further insult the gods. Even kings could be made into fools.

  I was ready to go. I’d been ready for hours, donning my most modest dress and plain shawl, my hair piled neatly atop my head in a way befitting of worship. And then I’d gone around my room and gathered every worthy item: jewels, a fine body wrap sewn with gold thread, dazzling hair pins, and hand carved boxes. These were all things meant to accompany me to my marital home someday. Things that would add to my worth and dowry. Without all of this, I could only hope my good name and my beauty would be enough to land a decent match. If the gods allowed.

  The muscles of my abdomen seized tightly at the thought of the gods and their wrath last night. Deep in my marrow I knew this was our last chance to please the gods. If they found our worship and offerings anything less than perfect, it wasn’t just me who would be cursed. I had no doubt our entire island kingdom would suffer. With a snap of their fingers the immortals could tell the waters to swallow our land and every being on it. No castle on a hill was too high for them to transform to rubble. Civilizations rose and fell at their whim. How my parents had forgotten that fact I had no idea.

  I jumped at the sound of a light tap on my door. Instead of calling out for them to enter, I opened the door myself. Boldar’s grim face greeted me, surveying me from top to bottom.

  “You are ready.”

  “I am,” I answered, bringing my basket of goods. He winced when he spied my offerings, regret in his eyes as he took the basket from my hands, but he said nothing as he led me to my parents in the courtyard. The dark crescents under their eyes were an indication they slept as little as me, and I was glad of it. Papa gave me a nod, and Mother tried to smile at me but failed horribly, her mouth only managing to quiver instead.

  Beside them was a cart covered in cloth. A shining hilt protruded from one corner and I covered my mouth against a gasp. The sword had been in our family for countless generations. Papa had won battles with that sword in his hand. As much as it pained me to think of giving it away, I was glad to see he was taking this seriously. Not a single material item was worth more than the lives, health, and happiness of our people and homeland.

  The walk to the barge was a somber event. Dark clouds still roiled in the skies above us, the grounds sodden with the aftereffects of the storm. Rivulets of water ran down the streets, and the morning was hazy gray. Guards pushed the cart and pulled our best animals behind us. Our finest steed. Our best milking cow. Fatted swine and the fluffiest of sheep. Our sweetest little lamb. I couldn’t allow myself to think of their sacrifice. For their sake, I was even more frustrated with my parents that it’d gotten to this point.

  The waters were rough. We normally wouldn’t venture out this soon after a storm, but we clung to the sides of the boat and gritted our teeth against the rolling waves, the smack of the boat up and dow
n, jarring my back. After a while I stood, finding my bent knees took the impact of the rough waters better than my spine. Mother had closed her eyes, prone to seasickness. Papa stared, stoic, out at the sea, his expression never changing as we sighted land.

  At the dock, I pulled a shawl around my face against the biting winds, hiding as much of myself as possible. The guards pressed back any locals who recognized us or wanted to greet us, but I felt their eyes watching as we boarded a large chariot pulled by two steeds. It would take several chariots and trips to get all of our party and offerings to the temple.

  We made our way down the bumpy lanes of the fish markets to the temple of Apollo, complex god of the sun, music, art, archery, plague, medicine, and most importantly for our family at the moment, prophecy. Today we sought the powerful and ancient oracle of Apollo for wisdom and knowledge about how to get back into the good graces of the gods, and what the future might hold for us. For me.

  I stood between my parents on the chariot, one hand holding the rail to keep myself steady, the other holding the shawl at my neck. The horses were swift, and I closed my eyes against the cool air hitting my face. Above us the clouds were still dark and angry. We rounded a corner and the large dome of Apollo’s temple came into view on the raised hill, strikingly light against the wrathful sky, held high by giant pillars in a circle. Our temple had been a smaller replica of this one, but it hadn’t come close to this majesty.

  I itched to fall on my knees and beg forgiveness. Peering at both of my parents, I daresay they were not eager for the same thing. Mother’s regal jaw was set with worry and displeasure. Papa wore the same unpleasant expression he did when he had to barter and deal with enemies-turned-allies after war. Their lack of reverence made my blood feel electric with nervous energy under my skin. This was not something they could fake.