Artemis Rising

by Cheri Lasota

  With eyes glistening into a translucent blue from the sunlight streaming down, he took a deep breath and began. “Padre Salvador noticed how uncomfortable you were dancing with Diogo.” Tristão glanced nervously toward the dance area. “He asked me to dance with you instead.”

  Arethusa dropped her gaze to the cup in her hand, unsure of what she felt.

  “But I really come to you now because I want to apologize for what happened that day in the courtyard. I was afraid for the children, afraid you’d... And I was angry at you and Diogo. When I saw you with him... But then I remembered my promise to you on the beach—that I would never let anything hurt you again. I didn’t know it would be me who did the hurting.”

  She thought back to his old kindness, the way he had been careful of her injuries after the shipwreck. She knew now why he hadn’t stopped Isabel on the day of the stoning. It was weakness. Or perhaps even jealousy.

  But Tristão should have stopped them, was all she could think, if for no other reason than pity or compassion. And now she was to dance with him, with the padre looking on, as if he had done her a kindness.

  “I want to make amends if you’ll let me,” Tristão said. He held her gaze as he pressed something into her palm. She knew at once what it was.

  “You don’t want to know how I got it back, so don’t ask.”

  She nodded once, not wanting him to think she was forgiving him but merely thanking him for bringing the moonstone back to her. She slipped it around her neck and hid it under the lace at her neck. As soon as she was able, she would perform the moon rite, for protection... and to honor her mother.

  The familiar sadness tinged his smile. Despite her muddled feelings, it was beautiful to her eyes. For this moment in time, she wanted to bury her anger and swirl across the dance floor like a real queen. She would pretend that he was hers, and that he would protect her from Diogo. She would pretend that he saw her not for her faith but for herself alone.

  Irmã Fátima beckoned them for the São Macaio dance. Arethusa slipped the moonstone around her neck and tucked it under her bodice.

  With a smile, Tristão took her hand and they made their way over to the other orphans. She’d forgotten about Diogo until he grabbed her by the arm as they passed.

  “You’re to be Isabel’s partner now.” Tristão brushed him off. “I am dancing with Arethusa,” he said, his voice resolute and steady.

  He didn’t wait for Diogo’s reply before leading Arethusa toward the dance circle. Energy surged through her. She had to admit it was wonderful to have someone on her side again.

  The orphans of Santo Jerome Emiliani all rushed to take their places as the caller announced the São Macaio. The crowd gathered around, their mood somber now, for the São Macaio was a dance of sorrow. The sad strains of the guitars filled the room, and they all moved as one, flowing through ancient steps, their arms moving to the beat.

  The grace of the dance stirred Arethusa and when Tristão’s hands touched hers, his sadness moved through her like a river. The crowd blurred into one grand swirl of color, sound, and scent. The steps became second nature. She lost herself in Tristão’s nearness. The São Macaio ended much too soon, and Arethusa floated back to reality.

  “Thank you for the dance,” Tristão whispered.

  Arethusa returned his smile. Even if she could speak, she didn’t think it possible at that moment. Worthy or not, she felt like a queen.

  ARETHUSA HAD THE DISTINCT FEELING THAT SOMEONE was watching her. She was familiar with the sensation. Diogo’s eyes were her constant companion. Turning in a slow circle, she noticed Padre Salvador conversing with someone too far away to overhear. When she squinted into the sun’s setting rays to see the man he spoke to, it was unmistakable. These were the eyes that watched her.

  The man was younger than Padre Salvador and held himself apart, even from the priest, who leaned in close to bridge the gap between them. His stare surprised her, but it wasn’t a look of malice. Why would this man care to even look at her—an orphan, a nobody? Was it because of her queen’s dress? She thought perhaps Padre Salvador was telling the stranger her sad tale, but he seemed not to be listening to the priest at all.

  “I wonder who that man is,” Tristão said.

  She wanted to know more too. She studied the profile of Padre Salvador’s face in an attempt to read his lips. The padre’s countenance registered surprise when he turned to look at Arethusa again. He motioned for her and Tristão to join them. They hastened across the square, taking care not to bump into three young boys who were running through the crowd.

  “Come,” the padre said as they approached. “My brother wishes to meet you.”

  Padre Salvador’s brother? Arethusa studied their faces and the resemblance materialized. Their foreheads were wide, their noses long, and their faces smooth like those of rich men who did not have to work in the sun. But where the padre’s eyes spoke of life and promise, his brother’s were dark and grave.

  “Fernando, this is Senhorita Arethusa Maré. And this is my brother, Conde Fernando Estrela. He lives near Praia da Vitória, a town on the other side of the island.”

  “Arethusa is your given name?” Conde Estrela inquired, in a manner both urgent and genteel. He tilted his head toward her, but he did not come closer.

  She nodded, unsure of his intention.

  The conde looked away into the crowd and then rested his eyes on Tristão.

  “And this young man here,” Padre Salvador said, putting his hands on Tristão’s shoulders, “is Tristão Vazante. He’s been at the orphanage since he was a baby.”

  “Tristão, did you say?” Conde Estrela gave him the same kind of startled stare as he had given Arethusa.

  Arethusa and Tristão glanced at each other, puzzled. What is going on?

  “Yes. We know only that his mother named him this...” Padre Salvador’s voice trailed off, but he gave his brother a knowing look.

  “Forgive the question, Tristão, but did your mother die in childbirth?” Conde Estrela said.

  Tristão gave a hesitant nod. Conde Estrela nodded back, his distant eyes on Arethusa again. Something caught his attention, and he peered down at her dress. She followed his gaze and was shocked to see her moonstone dangling in plain sight. It must have slipped out from under her dress during the dancing. She tucked it into her bodice.

  “That’s a nice stone you have there,” Conde Estrela said. “May I see it?”

  She shook her head a little more violently than she had intended.

  “Arethusa, that is disrespectful.” Padre Salvador gave her a stern look. “Show him the necklace. My brother is merely curious. He will not take it from you.”

  Her mother’s words of warning rang in her ears. If she showed him the stone, would he know she was a pagan? Yet how could she refuse? Senhorita Jacinta wasn’t there to save her now. She tried to wait them out, but they stood watching her.

  “Come now,” the padre prodded.

  She couldn’t stall any longer. With a pounding heart, she pulled out the moonstone. Conde Estrela bent down to examine it, but the moment he touched it, a shudder of sadness darkened his face. He backed away as though afraid of her, his skin blanching, his hands clasped together. He glanced at the padre in alarm, and then, without another word, he strode off, leaving them all staring after him.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Tristão called, and then whispered to Padre Salvador, “Is he all right?”

  “I’m not sure, Tristão,” he replied, frowning at his brother’s back. “You two run along now. I have business to attend to,” he said in the same distracted manner as the conde. He stared after his brother as he waved them off.

  No, Arethusa wanted to tell Tristão, he isn’t all right. He’s just discovered what I am and wants nothing more to do with me.

  *

  After supper three days later, Padre Salvador took Tristão and Arethusa aside. Following him out into the corridor, Arethusa wondered if they were in trouble. Padre Salvad
or’s gaze wavered between them, as though he didn’t know where to begin.

  “Arethusa, Tristão, I have some exciting news for you. My brother, Conde Fernando Estrela, has decided to adopt you both.”

  Padre Salvador paused, obviously waiting for a favorable reaction. Arethusa’s mind went numb, thinking she hadn’t heard him right. Why would a stranger choose to adopt two orphans he’d just met, especially when they were both so old?

  “Adopt?” Tristão whispered, his mouth hanging open.

  “He believes that God has directed him and his wife to bring you into their home to stay. I know it’s sudden, but I know my brother will be good to you both.” The padre took Arethusa’s hands in his. “How do you feel about this news, Arethusa? Are there any questions you would like to ask me?”

  She shook her head. Tristão stared at Padre Salvador, dazed. Arethusa couldn’t read anything in his frozen expression. She, herself, was reeling from all the possibilities. She would never have to see Isabel or Diogo again. She would be in a real home with a real family. Though his manner was peculiar, Conde Estrela didn’t seem too frightening. Arethusa had never met the conde’s wife, but a question made its way through the fog of her thoughts to the tip of the slate pencil.

  Do the Estrelas have any children? she wrote on the slate.

  Padre Salvador didn’t seem surprised by the question. “No, they do not. His wife is unable to have children. It would be just the two of you. I believe that you and Tristão will fill a void for them and perhaps they for you.”

  Arethusa let out the breath she had held unknowingly.

  “I’m going to be adopted?” Tristão awoke from his daze. A wide smile spread across his face lighting his eyes with a pale radiance. “I can’t believe it. I have prayed for this every day.”

  Arethusa understood his joy and could not begrudge him this moment.

  “I know you have.” The priest smiled. “I pray this will be what you’ve been hoping for.”

  Arethusa’s face fell when the full realization hit her. She’d be living under the same roof with Tristão, the boy who had betrayed her, the one she swore never to forgive. She stared at Tristão, trying to imagine a future life with him in it. Without Isabel there to drive a wedge between them, would he at last be the friend he had promised to be? Won’t there always be another Isabel? And what of Alpheus?

  Tristão’s smile faded when he saw her face.

  The padre took notice. He grasped Tristão by the shoulders. “You must promise me now that you will take care of Arethusa.”

  She knew that such a promise could only be broken.

  “If Arethusa wishes it.” Tristão’s smile was forced and his voice flat. The padre’s gaze dug deep. Tristão shuddered beneath his hands.

  “I wish it,” he said, his voice stern. “And Arethusa, I know that what happened to you was appalling, but you must forgive. You have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t let that horrible day stop God—or Tristão—from loving you. He is to be your brother now, and he has paid his penance to God.”

  Tristão stood before her, tears in his glistening eyes. She hated him for it, condemned him for his weakness, his betrayal.

  Padre Salvador studied their faces. “You two need to talk about this before you leave the orphanage. I must complete the appropriate paperwork for your release. There is still much to be done.”

  The padre fixed his gaze on Tristão. “Talk,” he said, and then he left them.

  “This is going to be great, Arethusa.” Tristão forced a smile and feigned a boisterous enthusiasm. “It will be just the two of us. We’ll finally have a new family of our own.”

  I already have a mother who loves me, who doesn’t judge me as you did. She tightened her lips to a hard line, feeling the tension of her anger spreading across her shoulders. I don’t need family. And I don’t need you.

  As he watched her, his enthusiasm wavered. “I promise I will take care of you,” he whispered.

  Promise? She scowled at him. You don’t know the meaning of the word.

  “Arethusa, not a moment passes that I don’t think about that day. I wish I had done so many things differently.”

  You wish that, she thought, because your Catholic guilt condemns you.

  “I will do anything for you, Arethusa. God’s granted me a second chance to make this right. And I will.” Tristão took a step toward her and scuffed his shoe on the stone floor. “But I don’t think we should tell anyone we’re leaving yet, especially Isabel. Maybe then we’ll get out of here without a fight.”

  We? Coward! You just don’t want Isabel to reject you. You care nothing for me. She reached up and slapped him hard across the face. Then she turned and walked away.

  *

  “Children,” Padre Salvador said to the assembled orphans the next day, “I have an announcement.”

  Arethusa ignored Tristão as he sat by himself at the opposite side of the refeitório. She kept her attention on Diogo and Isabel, who sat next to each other at the supper table. The two had been spending much of their time together of late, and their whispered schemes seemed to grow more intense every day.

  “Two of our orphans have found a home and will leave us in the morning,” Padre Salvador continued. “Tristão Vazante and Arethusa Maré are to be adopted by my brother, Conde Fernando Estrela. Each of us should bid them a safe journey.”

  The moment the words rolled off the priest’s tongue, Diogo shot a look at Arethusa. A dagger of fear struck her heart. I still have tonight, his eyes seemed to say.

  Isabel sat stupefied. Her raised eyebrows, her dropped jaw—it was all that Arethusa had wished for. But Arethusa’s quiet revenge was not to last. Diogo leaned toward Isabel and whispered into her ear. When Isabel smiled, Arethusa knew it was for her benefit alone. She had been foolish to think she was already free.

  She risked a glance at Tristão. For a moment, she wanted to shed her fear, to lay the burden on someone else, a protector who would never leave her. She found herself staring at Tristão, thinking he could do this, should do this, and that he would if she asked him.

  Arethusa motioned to him, and he caught her gaze. With a blink, his eyes softened, and he was at her side in a moment.

  She grabbed the slate pencil and wrote, I think Isabel and Diogo will try something tonight. She slipped him the slate before anyone could see it.

  “I’ll watch over you.” His words tumbled fast into the space between them. “I’ll stay by the door of the girl’s dormitory all night if I have to. You have nothing to fear.”

  Later that evening, Arethusa hung back from the other girls, hesitating to enter the dormitory. Her nerves were raw, and Tristão was nowhere in sight. She didn’t know if his cowardice had made him change his mind, but the bitterness rose like bile in her throat.

  What did I expect? When has he ever kept a promise?

  Arethusa took a step inside the room. She didn’t look at anyone’s faces. She tiptoed to her bed and, neglecting her prayers, dove under the covers. She lay motionless for several minutes until the chatter around her quieted down. All the girls waited now for Irmã Rosa to come and say good night. Arethusa peeked out of her covers, then, at Isabel’s bunk across the room.

  When Isabel stared back at her, Arethusa’s heartbeat quickened.

  Irmã Rosa walked into the room and inspected all the beds with a loving eye. “Margarida, hurry up now and get into bed,” she said, as the girl finished her prayers. Rising from her knees, Margarida crawled under the covers and smiled at the nun. “Good girl.”

  “Boa-noite to all my little angels.” Irmã Rosa made the rounds and blew out the oil lamp. Arethusa longed to ask her to keep watch at her bedside all night, because she didn’t believe Tristão would do as he promised. But she kept her thoughts to herself while the nun smiled and closed the door behind her, leaving the darkness to blanket Arethusa like a shroud.

  She spent much of the night going over contingency plans for every possible scheme Diogo or Isabel m
ight invent, but after hours of lying awake, fretting and shaking, her exhausted body gave out, and she sank into a deep sleep clutching the moonstone at her neck, oblivious to all but a wild succession of dreams.

  Waking groggy and aching, Arethusa had no idea what had transpired while she slept. She squinted into the dim room. The sun had not yet risen. She sneaked a glance at Isabel’s bed and was stunned to find nothing amiss. Isabel slept tranquilly still. Glancing around, Arethusa frowned. Had she misjudged Diogo and Isabel’s furtive glances and whispered secrets?

  Rising from her bed, Arethusa stole soundless across the room to wash up. She hoped to be waiting for Tristão at the foyer before Isabel awoke. After she washed her face, Arethusa tiptoed back to her bed to dress. As she opened her worn trunk, it creaked. She whipped her head around to see if Isabel had awakened, but the girl lay still, eyes closed, her breathing even.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Arethusa turned back to her trunk. She put on her black mourning dress, gathered a small bundle of underclothes, and picked up Diogo’s stone, which she tucked inside her skirt pocket after she dressed.

  Arethusa closed her trunk for the last time, feeling a bit giddy at the prospect of surviving the night unscathed. She walked unafraid to the foot of Isabel’s bed. She stared at Isabel for a moment, watching her in her sleep. Isabel’s features revealed no malice in slumber. No cruelty marred her honey eyes and pretty mouth. She could have been an angel surrounded by white linen, the rising dawn’s light enveloping her like a halo.

  Reaching into her pocket, Arethusa took out Diogo’s stone, wishing she had the courage to throw it into Isabel’s perfect face. She cradled the stone in her hand, smoothing its dark surface with her fingertips.

  I wish I could throw this stone into your heart where it would hurt the most.

  But she slipped Diogo’s stone back into her pocket and turned away from Isabel, unable to look at the false angel any longer. Walking out the door of the dormitory, she almost tripped over a pair of legs.