by Cheri Lasota
“Diogo!” Marquês Cheia’s voice echoed through the passageway.
Eva looked up the portico stairs to see the enraged faces of her father and the marquês towering over them.
Pai rushed down the steps, pulled her to her feet, and shook her so hard the ribbons in her hair loosened and floated to the deck. The waves of her thick black hair fell forward, hiding her fear and embarrassment.
“What are you doing with this boy?” he demanded.
She had no reply for her father, no haughty retort. A lump of lies caught in her throat and nothing came out but an inaudible squeak.
When she wouldn’t answer, he turned to Diogo, jabbing his finger at his chest. “Don’t go near my daughter again, boy.”
Diogo stood, glaring at Pai and adjusting his waistcoat with as much dignity as he could muster. “I was not with your daughter, First Mate Maré.” Diogo smugly emphasized her father’s title, and with that he had become again the highborn son of a marquês and she and her father were merely trash under his feet. “I saw Senhorita Maré in the passageway. I knew you would not approve.”
Eva’s face flushed at the lie, yet somehow it seemed less dangerous than the truth.
Pai turned back to her again, shouting, “I locked that door. How did you get out?”
“Perhaps she bribed one of the sailors—” Diogo interrupted.
Arethusa scowled at him, annoyed that he would place blame on someone else.
“Stay out of it, boy,” Marquês Cheia ordered, his raspy voice so cold that Eva shivered. Knowing what he had done and what he was capable of, she was afraid of what he might do to them all if he learned the truth.
“I have work to do.” Pai took her by the arm and hauled her down the hall. “You’ll go back to the stateroom and stay there. We will discuss your punishment later.”
Her body tensed and she nearly dug in her heels to try to stop him from going into the stateroom. If he found her mother engaged in the moon rite, there would be no escaping his rage. His hand touched the door handle, but then she heard Marquês Cheia stomping down the stairs. They both looked back.
“Tattling on girls?” the marquês said to Diogo. “You disgust me.” Without preamble, he struck Diogo’s face with the back of his hand. Blood streamed from the wound where his father’s ring gouged the corner of his mouth and sliced through his upper lip.
As much as she despised Diogo in that moment, she was still appalled at his father’s violence. Eyes wide in pain and surprise, Diogo pressed the back of his hand to his bloodied face.
The marquês motioned for her father to follow him, turned his back on his son, and marched up the darkened portico stairs. Pai shoved her toward the door. “Get in there and if I see you out here again...” He didn’t have to finish the warning. It was enough. She watched him disappear up the stairs, grateful that her mother was safe.
Before she went in, she glanced back at Diogo, wondering how she could have misjudged him so completely. For a long moment, he kept her eyes locked in a withering glare. When she could bear it no longer, she turned away. As her finger touched the stateroom latch, she listened to his footfalls echoing down the corridor behind her, and with every fading step his anger grew louder and louder.
THE MOMENT EVA FLUNG OPEN THE DOOR of the stateroom, she stopped. Mãe was motionless before the candle box that served as a tiny altar. A stick of incense, a single votive candle, and a cup of water lay on the altar, but each object had been moved clockwise one direction from where it should have been. Mãe had already begun the ceremony without her.
The candles burned precariously in a circle around the altar, wax dripping with every sway of the ship. The smoke clogged the oppressive air and Eva’s eyes burned. Her mother had a finger to her lips and vexation in her eyes as she rose.
In the semi-darkness, she felt Mãe’s quick hands about her, pulling at the buttons of her dress. Eva donned her nightgown, her hands still shaking from her encounter with Diogo. She left her long hair unbound.
“The bowl, the moonstone,” her mother whispered.
Eva had forgotten. She fished the hard-earned treasures out of her dress pockets and placed them in her mother’s waiting hands. Mãe hung the chain on its usual hook above the porthole and then poured the salt and set the bowl in its place.
They both paused when the bell was struck on deck, first two bells and then another two bells. Ten o’clock.
Mãe tilted her head up. “Artemis calls for you. Kneel before the altar.”
The moment Eva’s knees hit the deck, her eyes lit on Pai’s rosary beads rocking on a wall-hook above her. Her father had hung the beads there as an admonishment and a warning. Her gaze lingered on the image of the Cristo hanging on the cross, as if she hadn’t seen it a thousand times before at mass in New Bedford. But she had always followed her mother’s faith, even as she and Mãe played at church for Pai’s sake. It had not occurred to her until now that to practice them each in sight of the other was a kind of blasphemy to both.
“Wait,” she said, getting up to take down the rosary crucifix. For this ceremony, Eva wanted only Artemis’s eyes looking down on her as she took her vows. She felt her mother’s approving eyes on her as she unlatched the traveling trunk and laid the crucifix inside.
Mãe placed the crown of dried vervain and elecampane flowers atop Eva’s head when she again took her place at the altar. Her mother began to chant in words she did not recognize, invoking the Goddess to her rising.
Then, after a time, she spoke again in Portuguese. “Artemis, I surrender my daughter to your protective hand and service. I relinquish my name, so that she may come to bear her new destiny. She will no longer suffer the Catholic name of Eva. She will now bear the name of Arethusa.
“She will fulfill her vow with humble obedience. When she calls to you, as her fate decrees, I beg you now, Goddess, to hear and answer.”
The certainty in her mother’s voice scared her. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Now, at last, she would be inducted into Artemis’s circle of followers. Goddess worship was pagan, denounced as blasphemy the world over. But Mãe said there were others who worshipped Artemis in secret.
There can be no doubt, if I am to do this. Eva’s heart filled with the remembrance of all the moons she had ever seen and all the rituals she had taken part in as a child. She resolved to dive deep and true. Mãe is right. From this life of devotion will come a life of freedom. Her eyes did not waver from the votive candle, the light signifying her coming vow.
I am ready to bear your fate for me, Goddess, she prayed. But I beg you to heed my sacrifice. To accept you, I defy my father’s God.
Her heartbeat hovered like a quivering string in her chest as she spoke the words she had practiced so many times. “Moon Goddess, bearer of light, take me into your worship and willingly I shall serve you until death take me.”
“You are Arethusa now.” Mãe touched her shoulder, and the weight of her hand was like a wave, pressing her down, pressing her under. She felt the suffocating heaviness of water, as if she were caught in a drowning pool, unable to rise, unable to breathe—
Mãe pulled her hand away and the pressure suddenly lifted. Arethusa took a shallow breath and tried to shake the fear from her limbs. She had never felt anything like that before. Was that what Mãe would feel when she turned to water?
Her mother spoke again. “Artemis, bless my daughter with your power and your strength. And when it is time for her to fulfill her vow, bring her the man who will take on the spirit of Alpheus. Let her be bound to him forever without fail.”
Arethusa felt a chill inch up her back. She didn’t know who this man would be. How would she know him? Should she fear him?
“I go soon to join my own Alpheus for the last time, Goddess, as was my fate from the first. I will become one with Alpheus, and then it will be my daughter’s turn at the wheel of fate. This is as it should be.” Mãe’s voice tremored with uncharacteristic sadness. “There is no fear now, no sep
aration but the flesh. I am ready.”
“Who is your Alpheus, Mãe?” Arethusa couldn’t help but ask.
Mãe put a finger to her lips and shook her head. She clutched Arethusa’s hand so that they both would rise together from the altar. Careful not to knock over the candles, Mãe pulled Arethusa toward the porthole.
“I know you have many questions,” her mother said, “but you must go on faith, accepting all that will come to pass, no matter the consequence.”
“Your Alpheus—his intentions may not always seem clear. You may even fear him, but promise me that you will give yourself to the god when the time comes,” Mãe said. Arethusa opened her mouth to protest, but her mother drew down, eyes desperate. “Swear to me that you will love him.”
How can I promise to love someone I’ve never seen? But the moonstone dangled close, whispering of protection, and Artemis would rise soon, a symbol of sanctuary even in the darkest of night.
Though her heart still faltered, Arethusa whispered, “I promise.”
Mãe took a deep breath and nodded in satisfaction.
“But how will I know who he is?” Arethusa asked, trying to swallow her fear.
Her mother smiled. “We will scry now, into the sea, seeking answers to old questions and new fears. Perhaps he will reveal himself in the water.” Mãe laid a hand against the bulkhead to steady herself and focused a sharp gaze onto the black waters that rose and fell outside.
Arethusa closed her eyes to prepare herself for what she might see. She had scried before but saw nothing but colors. Mãe had a gift for it. She saw the strains of the future like ribbons of light. She had seen that they would come to the Azores, and that they would arrive on the night of a full moon.
Arethusa envisioned herself filling with the Goddess’s moonlight, felt herself glowing from within. She took a deep breath and let it out in bursts, releasing moonbeams into the air.
Open your eyes, Arethusa, Artemis commanded. Open your eyes to your fate.
When she opened her eyes to what she knew should be black seas, she saw a pair of brilliant eyes emerge before her, like two moonstones shining untouched in an ink-dark sea. At first, she thought they were her own eyes reflected in the porthole’s glass. But she realized she had never seen them before. They were wide-set and painted the barest shade of blue. How can I make amends? they seemed to say, and the agony in those pale eyes held her suspended in a grief she did not understand.
She didn’t know how long she stood there staring into those eyes, but Mãe suddenly grabbed her arm.
“Diogo Cheia,” she said, her voice flat, without emotion or fear.
Arethusa tried to turn, tried to focus her thoughts away from the eyes that seemed to fill the room with shocks of blue. What did she say?
“Diogo.” Mãe clutched her arms tighter. “Diogo is your Alpheus.”
This time, her mother’s words chased the eyes away, and Arethusa’s breath went still.
Mãe shook her head to clear away her vision. “So it is the Cheia boy for you then.” Mãe’s words were simple, her only emotion relief.
“No...” Arethusa felt the stateroom begin to shake, and her vision smeared into shapeless colors. It wasn’t until Mãe grabbed her arms that she realized she was the one shaking.
“Arethusa, stop. You know him. Is that not better than a stranger?”
She found her voice at last. “No, no, you are wrong.” Yes, her mother was deceived. A simple mistake, easily remedied.
“His face came to me, clear as the Goddess’s light.”
“No, Mãe. Artemis showed me blue eyes. Diogo’s eyes are black.” Now she was gripping her mother’s arms with just as much strength.
Mãe tilted her head, curious. “What else did you see?”
“Nothing. Nothing else but pleading eyes. But they were blue—a stranger’s eyes. Not Diogo!”
“Arethusa, you must calm down.” Mãe stroked her hair, damp though it was with fear and perspiration. “This is the Goddess’s plan for you.”
Arethusa shook her head in frustration. “You don’t understand. Diogo cannot be Alpheus. You don’t know—”
“I know enough. He is the handsome son of a powerful marquês. From this stateroom door, I saw him watching you. He looks at your uncommon blue eyes and black hair and thinks you a goddess.”
“No, he despises me now,” Arethusa said.
Mãe ignored her and went on. “We have awakened the God in him. When next you see Diogo again, he will be the god Alpheus.”
When next I see him? I hope never to see him again. The flutters in Arethusa’s stomach turned to jagged rocks.
“Remember that it will be in his nature to pursue you. He, too, is being pulled into this unstoppable tide. In the end, you will be joined. Nothing can change that now.”
What of the eyes I saw? Did my vision deceive me? No, Mãe has deceived herself.
She stared at her mother before burying her face in her hands. Please, Artemis, let it be someone else. A kind man, a gentle man. A man who takes only what is offered and asks for nothing more.
“Arethusa, look at me.”
Mãe pulled the moonstone from its hook. Its flashing blue depths reminded her of the eyes she had seen in the sea. Her mother held it out, sympathy catching at the corners of her mouth.
“The moonstone will protect you. Keep it close and it will someday show you who you truly are. This is the key, Arethusa.” Mãe touched the face of the pendant. “This stone holds the answer to all your riddles.”
A light caught Arethusa’s eye. She glanced out the porthole. The Goddess had fired the horizon’s edge a silver-gold. Goose bumps crept the length of her arms. Artemis was rising—she would soon break the waves. Here was the Goddess. Here was all she desired. Here was freedom and devotion in one.
“It’s yours now,” Mãe said, tears filling her eyes. Then she draped the chain around her neck.
Arethusa brought the moonstone up to better see her hard-won prize, but beyond it, she glimpsed the real reward. Newly burst from her seabed, her face not pale but glowing the color of saffron, Artemis revealed herself at last. She shone out as a great beacon, making the night seem as bright as day.
Arethusa’s smile faded. Artemis was vanquished by a rising wave growing vaster than the confines of the tiny porthole. A sailor shouted above. An instant later, the Sea Nymph shuddered and her masts shook. The clipper heeled hard over, her timbers keening against the crush of seawater.
The last thing Arethusa saw was the candle toppling over, its wick blown out.
ARETHUSA FELL TO A QUIET DARKNESS. IT seemed only a moment. Then a brilliant light materialized into a riot of cerulean blues and moss greens. She stood, surrounded by a forest at the brink of a shallow river. It burbled and sang and beckoned. The sun was setting but the day was still hot. Shafts of light filtered through the old grove of cedars.
She wore a rough tunic, cut very high on the leg. A bow and quiver of arrows lay beside her in the grasses that lined the banks. She strode forward, her step confident. She dipped her toes in the water. The river was cool, inviting. She glanced around, but no one lingered in this forgotten forest.
Just a short swim, she thought, to wash the heat from my skin. Her lack of modesty surprised her, but she didn’t give it another thought. She shed her tunic and boots, unbound her hair, and dove headlong into a pool at the base of a waterfall.
The very instant she crested the surface she felt a movement beneath her and around her. Shifting like a separate current, a powerful presence encircled her, and like a whirlpool, it dragged her down under the surface, into the shallower depths where her feet touched the algae-covered stones.
She blinked and when the sting of the water against her eyes cleared, she saw a face. The soft edges of jaw and nose and lip swelled and billowed in the currents like a translucent sketch, a colorless portrait.
He did not speak with a voice but his thoughts touched her mind, blending seamlessly with the babble of the rive
r. You disturb my waters, little nymph. But I am not displeased. Come into the depths with me and I will show you all that I command.
When she felt the God’s desire surrounding her, filling the pool with a heavy force, she grew afraid. She remembered the warning of the Moon Goddess: chastity above all. She did not hesitate but scrambled naked from the water.
Before her eyes, Alpheus’s limbs and body hardened, and the River God became a living, breathing man.
“Stay,” he cajoled.
Arethusa did not answer but ran on, over moss and stone, grass and stick.
“Come back!” he shouted.
He chased her deep into the forest. She hid where she could, behind trees and thickets. The day slipped into pale dusk, and the Moon Goddess rose in the east.
Alpheus chased her down to the sea. She ran down the abandoned beach, her bruised feet aching and her lungs burning with the fire of her breath. The moment she had given up thought of escape, the moment Alpheus touched the ends of her hair, Arethusa called out to the Goddess.
“Save me, Artemis. Have mercy.”
Artemis flashed bright orange, her rays reaching down to embrace Arethusa like a mother. An extraordinary sensation coursed through her veins. As she ran, her body became fluid and transparent. Unbidden tears streamed from her eyes. Her limbs turned to liquid pools. On her tongue, she tasted cool, brackish water. All at once, she collapsed into a deep river of herself, bleeding into the beach sands into the interminable darkness beneath.
But Alpheus was cunning. He shifted into his river form and dove after her, slipping with insidious silence behind her.
She felt Artemis’s anger rumbling through the earth. Her light grew strong, her heat burning into the ground. Arethusa felt herself fall.
Dive deep, Arethusa. I will make a way for you, she felt rather than heard the Goddess say.
Grateful, Arethusa plunged down and slipped her way under the seas, coming back up through a spring near the Rio de Antigos. There, the Moon Goddess gathered up Arethusa’s scattered drops and transformed her into a bubbling fountain.
