by Laura Powell
The flat showed no sign of the goddess or its owner’s former vocation. It was large and plush and covered in chintz. China figurines of cats, clowns and girls in ballgowns crammed every available surface. Leto set about giving the ornaments a disapproving dust.
Our former leader smiled at her weakly. ‘You’re so good to me.’
‘Hmph. It’s the extra channels on the telly I come for,’ said Leto. ‘And the interweb thingy. Poll’s downstairs neighbour is one of those technical types,’ she told me. ‘Used to work in IT. He set us up with all the right equipment, showed us how the buttons work.’
So this was how Leto got round the Sanctuary’s news censorship.
‘That was quite a speech you gave, missy,’ she continued. ‘Standing up on that hill, yelling at everyone to protest against the fake oracle and tell the committee where to shove it . . . Which is all well and good, except that it won’t be you shut up in the temple with a baying mob outside.’
I sat down on a floral-sprigged armchair and looked at them both. ‘If you saw my speech, then you must have seen my interview with Lindy Ryan.’
‘Yes, and it was most upsetting.’ Polly squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Oh, gracious. I wish we didn’t have to drag all this business up. Really, after all these years, what good can it possibly do?’
‘The truth has a way of coming out,’ Leto said grimly. ‘I said it then, and I say it now.’
I nodded encouragingly, even though I was burning with impatience. Here I was, finally about to learn the secret of my birth. The secret of my mother’s death. And maybe, just maybe, the secret of how to get rid of Artemis . . .
‘I tried my best,’ Polly mumbled. ‘I really did. But it was always drama, with those two girls.’
‘Which two? Opis and – and my mother?’
‘That’s right, dear. Opis and Carya.’
My mother’s name. A priestess’s name. Unmistakable yet anonymous.
‘Like chalk and cheese, they were. Came from such different backgrounds, you see. I always said it was a mistake, letting in charity cases. The cult has always been for the elite.’
Leto rolled her eyes as Polly rambled on. ‘Opis, of course, came from a very good family. One of our finest. Your mother, on the other hand, came to us from foster care at the age of nine, on the recommendation of her social worker. It seemed a good idea at the time. She was such a bright little thing. Do you remember, Leto?’
‘I do,’ she said shortly. ‘There was quite a mouth on her. Always coming up with some scheme or a fanciful notion. Whereas Opis stood on her dignity even as a girl. She took everything very seriously in those days.’
It was difficult to imagine Opis as a child. And strange, too, to find that my mother’s personality – mouthy, assertive – was so different to mine.
Polly plucked at her blanket. ‘The funny thing is, they were both popular, in their different ways. When I came to retire, and we held elections for my successor, I was surprised to find the votes were split. Of course the final decision was mine. I prayed to the goddess for guidance, but she was silent.’ She sighed. ‘Always silent . . . Anyway. It seemed clear that Opis would be the better ambassador for the cult. I was confident I made the right decision.’
Her eyes fluttered closed. I worried she was slipping into a dose. A delay would be unbearable. I leaned towards her. ‘So what happened next?’
‘Carya,’ said Leto, ‘claimed to have an oracle.’
It was what I expected, yet my heart still seemed to skip a beat. ‘What about?’
‘Oh, some nonsense about the temple being a nest of snakes,’ said Polly fretfully.
I closed my eyes, saw the Festival Day crowd in Temple Square, the knot of serpents wriggling on the ground.
Polly, however, was oblivious. ‘I’m sure, even now, that it was just to cause mischief. A bid for attention. There was only one witness: a young Trinovantum Councillor named Harry Soames. He was a family friend of Opis’s, in fact.’
Of course, I thought. That was why he knew her Christian name.
‘Three days before I was due to step down formally, Harry came to me and said he was going to call a meeting of the Trinovantum Council, to propose that Carya should replace Opis. He wanted to make the oracle public too.’
‘What did the council say?’
‘The meeting was never held. That same day, I discovered that Carya was pregnant. She’d managed to hide it for nearly six months, goodness knows how. But then she had some kind of fainting episode. It was Leto who found her, lying at the bottom of the stairs. I nearly collapsed myself – from the shock, you know. Dreadful, it was. Yet in some ways, it made everything simple. A fallen woman – a disgraced priestess – couldn’t possibly have been favoured with an oracle. It was confirmation she’d made it up.
‘Really, it was all so sordid.’ Polly reached out to stroke the skirts of a china shepherdess. ‘You can’t imagine. It was a horrible, horrible time. Mr Soames had the affront to tell me he’d marry the girl and the two of them would start a new life. Carya, however, wanted none of it. She was quite unhinged. She said her child was a child of the goddess alone and that both of them should continue to live in the cult. It was all we could do to persuade her to spend the rest of her pregnancy in a private clinic, away from prying eyes.’
‘How . . . how did she die?’ The words stuck in my throat.
Leto looked down at her hands. ‘An infection set in after the birth.’
‘We respected your mother’s wishes,’ Polly said feebly. ‘She wanted you brought up in the cult. So we told your father, and the rest, that her baby had died too. We said it was a boy. Opis put you in the care of a foster family for half a year before taking you back. That way, you came to us untainted by the circumstances of your conception.’
‘Untainted?’ It took all my strength to refrain from smashing one of the shiny pastel figurines on to the floor. ‘That’s a joke. I was robbed of a father, of the chance of a normal life, just so the cult could keep its precious reputation.’
‘We had to . . . we had to . . . protect the honour of the goddess.’
‘Who knew about this?’
Leto replied, her tone as brusque as ever. ‘A handful of people within the cult and council were aware of the circumstances of Carya’s death. However, the only ones who knew her child had survived were myself, Polly and Opis. After learning Carya was dead, Harry Soames had a breakdown. He disappeared. None of us saw or heard anything of him until his grand comeback at the festival.’
Polly blinked up at me. ‘You mustn’t be angry, dear. Your mother’s death was not in vain.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing,’ said Leto sharply. ‘It’s all nonsense.’
Polly beckoned me to come close. ‘People used to think that to renew the oracle – to strengthen the bond between human and divine – a blood sacrifice had to be made. That’s why we used to make offerings of wild animals in the temple. Back in the ancient times, though, it would have been a priestess.’
I sucked in my breath. ‘You mean the cult used to practise human sacrifice?’
‘Hogwash,’ said Leto.
Polly ignored her. She put her frail hands on mine. ‘Blood, especially the blood of a priestess, is a powerful thing. Sacrifice calls the goddess to us. It releases her too.’
Then she sat back and gave a tremulous smile. ‘Don’t be afraid, Aura. Artemis Theron chose you as a sign of her mercy. The sins of the mother, absolved by the daughter. That’s why she favours you with her oracles. Real oracles – not the rubbish that silly girl Callisto is spouting. You should be very proud.’
I shook my head. I didn’t trust myself to speak. I could hardly confess that I didn’t want to give oracles any more; it was supposed to be my sacred duty.
Sacrifice calls the goddess to us. It releases her too.
A shiver ran down my spine. Was that my only chance of escape? Death?
The ex-High Priestess gave a long and
wavering sigh. ‘I thought, once, that I had been Chosen too. So I waited and waited. Listening, always listening for a word . . . a sign . . . My whole life.’ She frowned. ‘But I did my best. I did my best by those girls. All my girls . . .’
Her voice was fading; her eyes closed. Leto shooed me into the hall.
‘Pay no attention to that sacrifice twaddle. Poll’s very ill and her mind wanders. She’s always been weak . . . in both senses of the word.’ The old priestess gave me an awkward pat. ‘Now then. You’re probably right to be angry, but it’s true that Carya wanted you to be raised in the cult. Of course, she didn’t know what a tyrant Opis would turn out to be. None of us did.’
‘I didn’t mind being an orphan,’ I said bitterly. ‘Somehow this is worse.’
Leto harrumphed. Clearly, her limited sympathy was already wearing thin. ‘Parents can be a mixed blessing, believe me. I joined the cult to escape mine. You’re your own person. No point dwelling on the might-have-beens.’
‘I can’t help it.’
She harrumphed again. ‘Have it your own way. He wants to meet you, for what it’s worth.’
‘Who?’
‘Harry Soames, of course.’
I stared at her. ‘You know where he is?’
‘He got in touch with me after you went AWOL. He’s been living abroad until recently. But somebody who’d worked at the private hospital when your mother was there finally decided to talk apparently. Now, because Mr Grease-Weasel is visiting the temple tomorrow –’
I blinked at the apparent change in subject. ‘What weasel?’
‘Chancellor Whatsit. The one who’s supposedly heading the Emergency Committee.’
‘Malcolm Greeve.’
‘Like I said. Anyway, he’s fixed up a private oracle from Callisto and, thanks to you, a lot of folk will be coming to the temple to protest against it. Harry’s going to be among them. He wants to meet you beforehand.’ Leto handed me a scrap of paper with directions. ‘Seems to me I’m turning into your PA. Carrying messages, arranging your schedule . . .’ She eyed me balefully. ‘It’ll be picking up your dry-cleaning next.’
I tried to stammer out my thanks.
‘Just don’t get too carried away,’ she warned, prodding me towards the door. ‘We don’t want things to get messy.’
I didn’t know whether she meant the meeting or the protest.
Chapter 19
Criminal gangs have been blamed for sabotaging the internet and telephone networks, resulting in extensive communication blackouts.
As a result, the Emergency Committee urges people not to attempt to attend demonstrations or any other large gatherings. For their own safety and security, citizens are advised to stay at home.
BBC News
It was time for me to make good on my promises.
I’d stood on top of a hill, decked out in silk and sparkles, and promised the people gathered to see me that I was on their side. No doubt the phone footage of my call to arms had already spread far and wide. By now, thousands of people would have heard me pledge that I would be with them, all the way. The world is watching, and so is the goddess, I’d said.
It was more true than they knew. Artemis was watching me, always, for signs of weakness or betrayal. Tomorrow I would confront my father. But whatever he told me, whatever fresh revelations he had, I wouldn’t waver from my duty. Tomorrow I would march on the temple. Tomorrow would be a true Festival of the Goddess.
I remembered a conversation I’d had with Aiden at Rick Moodie’s house. ‘If General Ferrer got his way from the start,’ Aiden had said, ‘I reckon he would have arrested all the MPs. They’d have closed the airports and shut down all satellite communications. Stopped foreign journalists from entering the country, rounded up the independent media. This here is a coup lite. It’s terribly British, really. So damn polite.’
Our new rulers evidently hoped that their subjects would be as polite about things as they were. But it was starting to look as if people weren’t going to sit back and hope for the best. There had been daily protests outside Parliament, and now the temple was a target too. Thanks to my oracles, and my speech at Rick Moodie’s party, I was partly responsible for the backlash.
And if the backlash ended in blood, I thought with a clutch of dread, I would be responsible for that too.
I was due to meet Harry – I couldn’t yet think of him as my father – in a café not far from Temple Tube station. Dressed in baggy clothes, my hair scraped back, cap pulled low, I could have passed for a twelve-year-old boy. I was a long way from the girl in the television interview, with her smoky eyes and glittering cheekbones, her seductive silk dress.
I came face to face with that girl only a few blocks away on a ‘wanted’ poster. I didn’t think it looked much like me. Further along, I saw several more graffiti tags with the bow and arrow and my name. A workman was already painting over them. Still, I supposed the omen was a good one.
Central London was closed to traffic, and public transport had been suspended due to so-called strike action, so I was in for a long walk. It was eerily quiet without the rumble of traffic or wail of sirens. My route took me through Hyde Park. The rubbish bins hadn’t been emptied for weeks, the grass wasn’t mown and the flower beds were overgrown with weeds. The wilderness was taking over. Yet the trees were lush and green, the sky a hopeful blue.
I’d imagined that the communication blackout, as well as the fear factor, would mean the protest was relatively small. But there was already a steady stream of people heading in the direction of the temple, many carrying home-made banners and placards. Like the streets, they were strangely quiet. No chanted slogans or songs, hardly any conversation. Their faces were silent and set.
As I pushed open the door to the café, my heart was beating so strongly I thought it would jump out of my chest. The place had only a handful of customers. I passed the tables in the main room and went, as instructed, to a small room at the back. The only person there was my father.
He was sitting at a table, nursing a mug of tea. The last time I’d seen him his eyes had been angry and staring, his hair wild. He looked thinner, greyer, than I’d remembered.
I stood in the doorway, waiting for him to look up. He lurched to his feet and the chair clattered to the floor. Without saying a word, he gripped me by the arms and looked me over intensely from top to toe.
Finally, with a sigh of disappointment, he released me. ‘You don’t look much like her.’
I didn’t look much like him either, I thought. But his abrupt manner suited me. I wasn’t ready for hugs of welcome. I picked up the fallen chair and sat down at the table. He sat down too. After a short pause, we tried to smile at each other.
‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘I don’t even know what my – what Carya looked like.’
Only the High Priestess gets her portrait painted, and since members of the cult are veiled in public and banned from taking pictures in the Sanctuary, they are never photographed barefaced. Harry Soames took out his wallet and very carefully passed me an old snapshot. It was taken at a party in the Trinovantum Council; I’d been for drinks there myself, in their wood-panelled clubroom. I thought I could see the council treasurer in the background, and the back of what might be Opis’s head. And a girl with light brown hair and a laughing mouth.
She was skinny and small, like me. We had the same wide brow, perhaps. Otherwise, she was a stranger. Just like the man before me now.
‘Lovely, isn’t she?’ he said, and there was an ache in his voice.
She looked ordinary, I thought. I didn’t want to give the photo back, but it wasn’t mine, and neither was she. Not really.
‘How did you get to know her?’ I asked as he tucked the photo carefully away.
‘We worked on some charitable projects together. It was something she thought the cult should do more of. She was proud of the cult, but there were things she wanted to change.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘That’s why I g
ot involved in the resistance. Carya would hate what’s happened to the country. If she’d been High Priestess, she’d have been out protesting in the streets too.’
He shifted awkwardly in his seat. ‘How . . . how’s it been? Your life in the cult, I mean?’
‘It’s been OK. Good, actually. Until suddenly it wasn’t.’ I gave a short, embarrassed laugh. ‘But I’m all right now.’
‘If I’d known, I’d have come and taken you. Looked after you. You believe that, don’t you? We’d have worked something out.’
‘I understand. It’s OK.’
He considered me again. ‘You might not look much like her. But you have her spirit. That’s why Artemis talks to you.’
‘You witnessed her oracle?’
‘I’ll never forget it. I was in the presence of something holy and inhuman. I don’t think I’ve ever been so frightened, or so exhilarated.’
I nodded. I understood.
‘Carya said there was a serpent in the temple. A serpent with a forked tongue. That’s why I threw the snakes at Opis, you see. She knew what they meant.’ He grimaced. ‘The woman’s poison. And as slippery as they come.’
‘Honoured Apollonia implied that my mother’s death was the reason I got the gift of prophecy. She said the power of the oracle is renewed by a blood sacrifice.’ And, I thought to myself, released by sacrifice too. But exactly how this worked was still a mystery.
Harry frowned. ‘Carya wouldn’t have sacrificed herself. She was a fighter. She’d have fought to live for your sake, if nothing else. She’d be fighting now – to save the name of the cult, the honour of the country. As you are. It will give people a huge boost to see you at the demonstration.’
I wasn’t sure yet if I should make myself known. I was waiting for a sign. But I nodded all the same.
‘Today’s protest will be a turning point,’ Harry said. ‘Especially now that the Houses of Parliament have been closed – for security reasons, allegedly. Did you know that a group of MPs is going to meet in Westminster Abbey instead? They’re gathering there this evening, to debate the latest Emergency Committee legislation. They – we – have to show the committee that civil resistance isn’t going to go away.’
