Artemis Rising

by Cheri Lasota

  Diogo’s smile was cold. “I have no intention of mentioning this sordid detail to anyone. Unless, of course, my fiancée refuses me.” He gave her a mock bow.

  Tristan pulled Arethusa behind him. “You defile our father’s memory by coming here today. Leave.”

  Diogo cocked his head as if pondering the consequences of refusal. Then he bowed again to Arethusa.

  “Out of deference to my future wife I leave you to your funeral rites, but I will come to collect her soon. Not even death can alter the bargain she struck the night she promised herself to me,” he said.

  “Arethusa is to be my future wife—not yours,” Tristan called after Diogo as he strode away. “She is vowed to me.”

  Diogo stopped mid-stride, but he did not look back. He hesitated only a moment. Then he rounded the corner of the church and disappeared.

  THE FUNERAL MASS HAD BEEN OVER FOR hours, but Arethusa had come back alone to the church to think. Now, more than at any time in her life, she loathed to leave the bounds of its hallowed walls. All her old fears lingered near, waiting to devour her: Diogo’s malice, the loss of her parents, Artemis’s anger. And before all, her fate lay across her path like an immovable stone.

  She wished she could talk to her father about Mãe. She wanted to know everything about them. The first time they met, and the last time. The moment when the myths became truth. The day when they first fell in love. Arethusa wanted to know her mother through his eyes, through his memories. She wanted what she could not have.

  She stared at the altar strewn with baskets of asters and lilies and hydrangea blooms. She was surprised to feel safe here, if only for a little while. She’d been hiding from Diogo—from Alpheus—for so long that it seemed natural that she would always feel that fear. Even with Tristan’s protection, she knew in her heart that she must fight this battle on her own. Yet she had no idea of winning. How could she fight a God? How could she even hope to fight Diogo as a man?

  If Pai were still here with her, he might have known a way to break her vow. Beside her mother, he was the one person who knew how it all began. Where could she turn for answers now? Her knees hit the kneeler, yet no prayers found their way to her lips.

  She didn’t hear the main door of the church open, but she felt the sunlight warm her back as the door swung open. A familiar voice reverberated through the empty pews.

  “Arethusa?”

  Turning, she saw Padre Salvador walking up the aisle. “Tristan told me where to find you.”

  As she pulled back from the kneeler, he sat beside her. “I have spent the last hour praying for you, Arethusa, and I must tell you something. I may be a priest, but I am also your uncle. I love you more than you can know, and when I see you going down this path... Do you understand that I cannot quietly stand by and watch?”

  Arethusa’s hands grew clammy with anxiety. Did he know now that she was a pagan? What would he do to her?

  “It is said, ‘Soft water dripping on a hard stone eventually makes a hole.’ Tell me, during difficult times, do you sometimes feel yourself harden against the world as if you were a stone?”

  Arethusa felt her secrets spilling from her eyes. With a word, her uncle had pierced right through to the heart of her oldest grief. Thinking back to the shipwreck and the stoning as well as her parents’ deaths, she nodded, feeling the stone burrowing inside her even now.

  “I fear a kind of curse has come over you, Arethusa, and its consequences drive deep. I know only what you’ve told me about your mother, but I understand it began with her beliefs and continued on with Fernando and the story of Tristan and Isolde.”

  Arethusa cocked her head to the side, troubled by the things that he knew.

  “Because you believe the myths hold power over your life they rule your every step. As this curse’s venom works itself into your mind, every hardship you encounter makes it that much easier to believe these stories are true.

  “The beliefs of your mother and father have dictated your choices for far too many years. Given your love for them, it is understandable that you adopted these beliefs as your own. But now it is time to choose for yourself what you believe. This curse began with your parents. Let it end with them.”

  Her thoughts turned toward Tristan, and she had to take hold of the pew backing in order to steady her hands and heart. If I reject the myths, it will destroy our vow.

  “The moment you changed your name, you gave up God’s most priceless gift of all: free will. And you would continue to sacrifice such a gift, even for love?”

  Reeling from her uncle’s words, Arethusa looked up into the gilded sanctuary, her gaze resting on a statue of the Cristo. He carried the cross on his shoulder, and painted blood streamed down his forehead from the crown of thorns on his head. She thought of the crown she herself had worn at the Festa do Espírito Santo. She had not forgotten how unworthy she felt to wear such a symbol.

  Padre touched her arm. “Querida, it is just a name. Give yourself another one.”

  She glared at him, then, willing her eyes to pierce him through. She yanked the notepad from around her neck and wrote, Isolde!

  Her uncle frowned and shook his head. “Take the name of a saint. Is not your baptismal name Sabina, after St. Sabina?”

  That I might martyr myself like her? I won’t! Arethusa’s anger swelled, her words falling onto the paper. My name is the one part of me that connects me to Tristan, and I won’t give it up.

  Padre Salvador’s voice softened. “That is not true. Love connects you. You need no more than that.”

  If not for the myths, we would not have met.

  “The Sea Nymph would have foundered in the storm regardless.”

  Too many elements of the myths had come to pass. They were real, as Alpheus was real in the form of Diogo, as Isolde of the White Hands was real in the form of Isabel, as her love for Tristan was real. No, she would not give him up.

  “Arethusa, I know you are rejecting my words right now, but if ever you have need, call out to Cristo and he will answer.” Her uncle raised his hand toward the statue.

  Arethusa nodded slowly. She knew he loved her, that he was only saying what he thought was good for her. But Pai had been right all along. She would find no escape from the myths. And even if she could, she wouldn’t try. Her love for Tristan held her suspended between them, and somewhere between the fates of Isolde and Arethusa, she hoped to find herself once more.

  *

  “I will not leave!” the condessa yelled. Arethusa looked on with Tristan, wondering which of them, the padre or the condessa, would win out the argument.

  “Condessa, as executor of your husband’s estate, I must follow his wishes, and his alone. During this portion of the reading of the will, I must ask you to leave as these next directives concern only your children.”

  “They are not my children. And my husband can have nothing to say in life or death that I cannot hear.”

  Padre Salvador coaxed her with appeasing tones. “Though I would wish it, I cannot oblige your request, Condessa. As your brother-in-law, as your priest, and as the executor of the will, I am asking you to leave the library so this sad business can be completed.”

  The condessa’s face flushed a deep red as she fretted and clucked and muttered unintelligible nonsense. When her eyes caught Arethusa’s gaze, her demeanor grew cold.

  “Perhaps it is best, since after this day, these children will get nothing from me.”

  Padre Salvador gave her a look of exasperation. “Condessa Estrela, as stated in my brother’s will, you are entitled to such wealth as you brought into the marriage from your dowry. It is a sizable sum. You will want for nothing for the rest of your life.”

  The condessa opened her mouth to protest, but the padre waved Teresa over to escort her from the room, saying, “We will move to Fernando’s study now. See that we are not disturbed under any circumstances and that no one lingers in this hallway, Teresa.”

  When Arethusa entered Pai’s study, it was e
xactly as she had pictured it. Books were scattered in every corner, papers littered the desk, and curious trinkets from far countries took up what little room she saw left on the bookshelves. Padre waved them into the chairs he had already set out for them.

  “I must follow my brother’s wishes,” he said almost apologetically, as if the condessa were still there. When he turned to them, Arethusa watched a slow resignation smooth the lines in his forehead. “Your father asked that this section of the will be kept secret, and when I have explained it in full, you will understand why. I do not approve of my brother’s plans concerning you both, but circumstances may turn against you...” He could not finish.

  Tristan shifted in his chair. Arethusa motioned for her uncle to continue.

  “What I have in my hands are several documents regarding your roles as beneficiaries of my brother’s properties and fortune. I shall give you these documents to look over in detail later. Right now, I want to explain to you in simple terms what provisions my brother left for you both... concerning your relationship.

  “You know now, Arethusa, that my brother was your father, but what you have yet to understand is that he never adopted you as you were led to believe.” He paused, letting his words sink in.

  “But why? How...?” Tristan’s questions echoed her own shock.

  “He wanted you to marry Tristan, but canon law forbids marriages of children adopted into the same family by impediment of affinity. In an attempt to circumvent this law, he became your legal guardian only, Arethusa. But he adopted Tristan so that your inheritance of my brother’s fortune and property could not be entailed to anyone but family.”

  A shiver ran through Arethusa. Pai has made a way for us. She met Tristan’s gaze and his eyes glowed.

  “To protect you, he made sure the world would never know he is your true father, but you will still inherit his fortune through marriage to Tristan. Until you marry, your guardianship will pass to him.” Padre Salvador ran a hand through his hair. “I do not approve of my brother’s methods, just as I do not approve of this myth business. From the beginning, my brother believed you were fated for each other, and I... I would have done anything to remove you from the orphanage, Arethusa. You were not safe there.”

  “It was good that you did so, Padre. Arethusa was in grave danger, and I’m afraid she still is.”

  “You speak of Marquês Cheia?”

  “Yes. He has been the mastermind behind everything. He instigated the stoning, he almost strangled her to death aboard the Sea Nymph, and he tried to blackmail Pai into giving him Arethusa’s hand in marriage.”

  Padre Salvador said nothing at first. Perhaps it was the long years of listening to confessions that made his reaction slow and measured. “Those marks on your neck,” he said simply. “And the stones in the courtyard.” Padre closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. “Child, I am sorry. How could we all have been so blind?”

  “Every one of us was deceived in him, Padre, save Arethusa. She knew him for what he was. For what he still is.”

  No, she thought, he has deceived me most of all. But no longer.

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know, but he is still after her. You know how powerful his connections are.”

  “Yes,” was all her uncle would say, but it sounded to Arethusa like he knew a great deal more than he let on. “However, though Fernando may not have counted on Marquês Cheia, I believe his provisions will keep Arethusa safe.”

  “I think it’s time you tell us what those provisions are.”

  “Yes,” her uncle said again. “In order to keep all this from the condessa, Fernando set up a trust in Tristan’s name, which is not subject to public record or perusal. It was done also to ensure that all properties in the trust fall to your sister—” He stopped himself, but Arethusa winced.

  “I’m sorry, but you must understand, the church and the people here would not accept a union between the two of you. The villagers will only ever see you as siblings, regardless of what the law states. My brother knew this, and so the properties in the trust are not here. They reside in America.”

  He would have us leave the Azores? He would bid me leave Terceira and the sea I love? Frantic, she mouthed, “Where?”

  “My brother purchased a house for you both in New Bedford, Massachusetts.” Her uncle peered at her. “Where you used to live, yes?”

  She nodded. Pai did what he thought was best, securing a home for them far away, where they could start fresh. But he didn’t know about the rumors of witchcraft she and her mother had left behind them.

  “He thought it might be easier for you if you returned to your birthplace and perhaps reacquaint yourself with old neighbors and friends.”

  But she hardly remembered New Bedford. Its colors and forms had faded for her, wholly replaced by the vibrant reds and greens and blues of the Azores Islands. Terceira was her home now. If she and Tristan left, would their love change? And the myths had originated in the Azores. Would their absence break the spell?

  “Fernando left you as much of his own fortune as he could, and it waits for you in New Bedford. He saw to your travel money as well, which is available in that trunk over there.” He pointed out a well-worn traveling trunk littered with nicks and cuts. “He has also bequeathed you everything in this room—all books, all documents concerning our family’s past... but he requested that you both keep such items secret from the condessa. His final wish was that his wife never knows of your mother.

  “I regret that I must be the one to reveal the secrets my brother was too ashamed to tell. But you are both old enough now to understand. Fernando was in love with Maria Maré, but she was a girl born into a family of Freemasons, men who sold their souls for power. Fernando went mad with grief at losing her, and he swore that he would do whatever was necessary to gain her back.

  “He joined the Freemasons against our family’s wishes and against his own conscience, for they have done evil things here in these islands, things no one has the courage to speak of. But Fernando would not listen to me. He built a small empire in the grand illusion that he was the knight Tristan of the myth and somehow he could win Maria back with wealth and power.

  “I loved my brother, but he was wrong. He lost his honor in pursuit of a lie. He let the myths destroy his life. I beg you both to reconsider the path you’ve taken before the myths destroy yours. It’s not too late.”

  Arethusa found Tristan’s pale eyes on her. “Padre,” he said, “we have already made our promises to each other.”

  She gave her uncle a look of defiance, willing him to understand that it truly was too late. Even if fate took her away from the island she loved and even if she must turn her back on God and the Goddess, she would never leave Tristan again. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it, giving him a smile of reassurance.

  “You have made your choice then.” Padre Salvador shook his head. “I cannot say if, in God’s eyes, you would be living in sin should you marry, but as my niece and my—indeed, as close to a son as I shall ever have—I wish you joy and peace in this life.”

  Tristan released Arethusa’s hand and stood to embrace her uncle. “Thank you, Padre. I’ve always thought of you as a father, and I wish we did not have to leave you. But for Arethusa’s safety, we must take advantage of Pai’s forethought and leave for America as soon as we are able.”

  “It grieves me to say so but I agree.” Padre Salvador looked around the room. “We must book you passage on the next ship heading west, and I will ship you these books at a later time.”

  “Thank you,” Tristan said.

  “I’d better see to the condessa, so I will leave you now. Take time to go over the trust documents. I will be here to answer any questions you have.”

  Arethusa caught her uncle’s hand before he left, embracing him.

  “Oh, child. I’m sorry we quarreled. But remember, as your priest, I have been charged with looking after your soul, and I am troubled that you are turning your
back on God to chase a dream that does not exist.” He gave her a smile of regret and then left them.

  Tristan ran a hand through his hair and paced the room. “So Pai would have us leave for America.”

  His pacing made Arethusa anxious. She couldn’t seem to get her mind around the plans her father had made. Pai’s foresight astounded her. What a scheme to plot in a few days’ time, for that was all he had from the moment they met at the festa until the paperwork for their discharge from the orphanage was complete.

  Tristan mumbled to himself, making plans, worrying over details, but Arethusa only wanted his arms around her, wanted to breathe him in for a moment, to make sure he still belonged to her.

  She moved into his embrace. She cleared her throat, stood on her tiptoes to reach his ear, and strained to speak. “I don’t want to leave.”

  He smiled to hear her voice, however toneless it might be. Then he grimaced suddenly.

  “I don’t either. But there is nothing for us here now but the sea.”

  She pulled back, giving him a scowl.

  “I’m sorry. I know what it means to you, but it cannot buy us the bread we need to live. And Padre’s right, we must go if we want to marry... and if I am to keep you safe.”

  She touched his chest with her hand, whispering, “You will keep me safe.”

  Tristan tilted her chin up and brushed a soft kiss across her lips. “I won’t let him hurt you again. Not while I still breathe.”

  He ran his thumb over her cheek. “Why did we wait so long? What fools we’ve been...” His voice trailed off, and then he peered quizzically at her. “You can whisper now, but can you truly speak aloud?”

  Arethusa frowned. She had no idea. She attempted to say as much to him, opening her mouth wide and taking a deep breath, but nothing more came out but a strong whisper. She looked down at the stone floor and shook her head.

  “It makes no matter,” he said, gathering her into his arms. “I was just curious. It’s possible the damage was so great that it may never come back.”

  Arethusa wasn’t sure how she knew, but she was quite certain she’d never regain the use of her voice again.