Voyage of the Snake Lady

by Theresa Tomlinson

  “Yes!” Akasya cried. “I will support that!”

  “Yes!” they all shouted.

  “That’s agreed then.” Myrina grinned wickedly. “The daughters of Maa welcome you to their ranks, Kora!”

  “Me—an honored Moon Rider!”

  “The honor is ours.” Myrina opened her arms to hug her.

  There were wild, ululating joy cries—they leaped to their feet, twirling around, as the tense atmosphere that had hung over the camp exploded into one of delight. This was more like the old, crafty Snake Lady they’d known; the resilient one who’d led them out through the gates of Troy and given them their freedom.

  But as they settled down again, Fara remained on her feet, her brow drawn into a frown, her jaw set in determination. “But what of the young men who bring us gifts?” she insisted. “I have spoken out with honesty. I swear by Maa that we owe these warriors our lives and I for one will not agree to give up my meetings. I am glad they are secret no longer!”

  Myrina smiled at her courage. “Sit down, Fara,” she said. “You speak like a true Moon Rider and I have come to see that you are right. We should treat these people who have helped us with more respect and courtesy. Ask your young man to come to see me; we will invite them to eat with us.”

  “What?” It was Fara’s turn to be surprised, her face flushed with pleasure.

  “There is much that I would like to know about them,” Myrina said. “Where are their women? Where did they gain such wealth? We are not likely to find the answers to these and many other questions unless we change our ways and greet them as friends.”

  Fara nodded. “I . . . I will do my best to invite them, but their tongue is difficult and I struggle to make him understand me.”

  Myrina grinned. “Bring him to me.”

  That evening, after they had eaten, Fara went off to her usual meeting place, hidden among the rocks, but this time she quickly emerged from the stony cover with Turxu following sheepishly behind her.

  Myrina beckoned him toward her. “Hosu Gelden!” She spoke warmly the only Scythian words of welcome known to her.

  “Aah! Hosu Boldum!” he answered, giving her the polite reply that would be expected, surprise and relief on his face.

  Fara looked quite taken aback, but then she smiled, too, wagging a finger at Myrina. “Snake Lady!” she murmured reprovingly. “I should have known! You can speak their language.”

  “No.” Myrina shook her head. “I recognize some of the words. They speak a Scythian tongue, but I do not know it well.”

  The Moon Riders crowded around the young man, full of curiosity to see one of their benefactors close up. They smiled approval of his dark, weather-beaten skin, his long black hair, and deep-set brown eyes. They stretched out their fingers to touch the muscular arms that gleamed with gold. Tamsin settled herself at his feet, smiling admiringly into his face. Only Phoebe hovered outside the circle, looking out toward Eagle Rocks, as though she hoped that more of them would come.

  One or two more tentative hands strayed out to touch Turxu’s hair and pat his hands, but they pulled back quickly as Fara gave them a sharp warning look. Myrina tolerated this curiosity for a few moments, but then she sent them away to their tents, keeping back only Coronilla, Kora, and Akasya. Fara remained determinedly at Turxu’s side, for he clung tightly to her hand. The others went reluctantly, but Myrina insisted. “Poor boy!” she said. “This must be more of a trial to him than having to face a pack of wolves.”

  She knew that their conversation would be difficult enough without such a huge admiring audience. As soon as they had gone, Myrina struggled to ask Turxu about his people. For a moment he looked puzzled, but then he replied, “Sinta!”

  “Aah”—Myrina was pleased with both his understanding and his response—“Sinta; the people of the river. His tribe call themselves Sinta, the River People.”

  The long-forgotten words that she’d heard spoken in Troy came back to her with halting slowness, but with enthusiastic signing and many encouraging smiles, at last she thought she’d made Turxu understand that he should bring the other men and eat with the Moon Riders the following night. The young man kept glancing across at the beautiful body painting of a snake that rippled down Myrina’s forearm.

  Fara noticed this and pointed to Myrina. “Snake Lady,” she told him. “Like my gazelle,” she said, referring to the delicate leaping gazelle on her own forearm.

  As the fires burned low, Turxu got to his feet to leave, glad that nothing too terrible had happened to him while in the Moon Riders’ camp. “Kuspada?” he said as he turned to go.

  Myrina frowned for a moment, unsure. “Kuspada?” Then she nodded in agreement. “Yes, Kuspada!”

  Turxu smiled, held out his open palm to her, and after a moment of hesitation she pressed her own against it in a hand-to-hand salute.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kuspada

  FARA WENT WITH Turxu to retrieve his horse; then she sent him on his way, kissing him as they parted. She stood watching him ride away toward the glimmer of the fire in the distance by Eagle Rocks. A huge smile lit her face.

  Back in Myrina’s tent her friends could not contain their curiosity. “What does it all mean? What is this Kuspada he’s so concerned about?”

  Myrina shook her head and frowned. “Pada means leader and I think kus is the Scythian word for iron. Kuspada seems to mean Iron Leader.”

  “Ha!” Kora smiled knowingly. “Top dog! He means to bring their leader to meet you.”

  “Iron Leader.” Coronilla laughed. “If we have the meaning right, he sounds like a tough fellow!”

  Myrina’s confidence waned. “I hope we have done right in giving this invitation.”

  “Of course we have!” Kora told her warmly. “Get to bed now. You have done very well, Snake Lady, but you must organize a hunting party early in the morning; then I will make ready a fine feast. Get to bed! Now that I am a Moon Rider I shall tell you what to do!”

  “Didn’t you always?” Myrina laughed.

  As she drew back the tent flap, she smiled to herself at the low, excited whispers she heard.

  “A feast,” Tamsin murmured.

  “Young men and a feast!” Phoebe replied. “They must bring the one I like!”

  “If they don’t, I’ll go and get him for you,” Tamsin told her sleepily.

  Myrina woke up full of doubts again, but the pleasure and excitement on all the women’s faces as they danced to greet the morning sun told her that there could be no going back.

  The best hunters rode all morning and returned to the camp with an ibex, a pair of hares, a fallow deer, and a wild boar. Kora worked hard grinding grain and pounding dough to make her delicious flat bread. Water was carried up from the river, and a good smell of roasting meat drifted into all the tents. They saw no sign of the young men all day; for once they seemed to have deserted their camp beneath Eagle Rocks and Myrina could not help but be anxious again. Had she given the wrong impression? Had she given offense?

  As darkness began to fall the excitement grew. Animal bones were hastily cut and used as combs, clothing was brushed down and straightened, herbs were chewed to freshen the breath. The few late flowers that could be found were picked carefully and plaited into hair. Cushions and rugs, nearly all of them gifts from their Sinta guests, were dragged out from the tents and arranged in a circle around the fire.

  Then a tense quietness fell and for a while the women sat very still, waiting and watching.

  Myrina was filled with self-doubt. Had Turxu understood her? Would they come? The meat would be burned if they didn’t come soon, but worse than that, they would feel foolish and disappointed.

  Then in the distance they picked out tiny, starry glimmers of light that moved toward them. While they watched and waited the lights grew, and they could see that the men carried brushwood torches as they rode toward them.

  “Here they come! Look at them!” the whisper went around.

  There were many i
mpressed gasps as the Sinta men approached, for in the light of the torches their gold bangles and neck torques gleamed. They came to the feast decked in gold and beads, their hair combed, their beards neat, and their skin clean and glossy. It seemed that they, too, had prepared very carefully for this meeting. They wore clean trousers and smocks, not the strong and rugged horsehide hunting gear that they rode in every day. As they moved closer, the Moon Riders saw that even the horses were adorned with gleaming gold bits and harnesses, delicately crafted into intricate coils, whirls, and animal patterns.

  Turxu led the train, along with an older man with a full neat beard. He was not as richly adorned as the younger men; but something about the confident ease with which he controlled his huge black stallion told them that this must be the Kuspada that Turxu had spoken of.

  Kora stared in admiration. “Now that’s what I call a man,” she whispered.

  Myrina watched with interest as he leaped lightly down from his horse; he was well muscled and strong, not the aged chieftain she’d somehow expected.

  Turxu brought him straight to Myrina. The man bowed, then looked directly at her, as though calmly sizing her up.

  “Kuspada,” Turxu introduced him. “S-snake Lady!”

  She took a deep breath and held out her palm to him, inviting a hand-to-hand salute. He pressed his own palm firmly on hers, looking sharply at the snake picture on her extended forearm. He gave a sudden warm smile of approval. “Snake Lady!” he said in the Luvvian language. “Now I understand. Turxu told us, ‘The Snake Lady has come.’”

  “You speak Luvvian!” Myrina gasped.

  He bowed his head. “I do!”

  Myrina was hugely relieved to find that she could talk to him in the language that her grandmother had taught her as a child. Many of the Moon Riders who’d once been slaves in the city of Troy could also speak and understand the language.

  “Welcome,” she told him. “Please come and sit down.”

  But Kuspada hesitated. “First, there is something that I must say.”

  There was silence then as both men and women held their breath.

  “We beg forgiveness for the death we caused. We had no idea that you were . . . women. Such riders and horse tamers as you are we believed must be warriors, come to steal our horses and our river lands.”

  “You . . . you thought us men?” Myrina allowed herself a little smile.

  He nodded. “We have never seen women who ride and shoot like you.”

  Myrina felt a little uncomfortable. Though the strangers were mistaken in thinking them men, it was true that they had come looking for land, and perhaps it would be true to say that they had stolen the horses.

  “We are Moon Riders,” she told him. “Warrior priestesses from the far side of the Inhospitable Sea. Our ship was washed into the Little Sea and we were shipwrecked on your shore. We came here seeking refuge and new lands. In a way you were right, we did come to steal horses . . . but you have treated us with great generosity. We forgive you for the death of our friend Leti, but we, too, must beg forgiveness of you for our intrusion into your lands.”

  Kuspada bowed his head in agreement. “All is forgiven.”

  “Now please sit down and eat with us,” Myrina begged.

  The Sinta men had brought fermented mare’s milk, which they shared around. The camp was soon full of young people smiling and nodding at each other. As bellies grew full, they began to look and touch with shy interest. Phoebe crept around the circle to sit close to the brave rider she admired.

  “His name is Leni,” Tamsin bent to whisper in her ear. “I found it out for you.” Then she went around asking them all their names.

  Myrina felt strangely awkward and shy but couldn’t hold back her curiosity. She hoped that her questions wouldn’t give offense. “Kuspada . . . does that mean chief?”

  Kuspada gave a hearty laugh and shook his head. “Chief—no, no. We Sinta people do not have a chief. Kuspada means Iron Man. I smelt iron, bronze, and gold.”

  “Aah.” Coronilla spoke with frank approval. “You are the blacksmith.”

  “I believe that is the name some give for the hot and sooty work that I do.”

  “Important work,” Coronilla insisted.

  Myrina looked around at the beautiful gold jewelery that adorned the arms and necks of all the young men. “Is this your work?” she asked.

  He bowed his head modestly. “Much of it is mine.”

  “And you adorn your horses with the precious stuff!” Myrina was fascinated. “Though we Moon Riders value our steeds above gold, we have never managed to make such wonderful trappings for them.”

  Kuspada looked thoughtful then. “There is much that we could do to help each other.”

  “You have already helped us beyond any of our expectations,” Myrina said.

  “Well . . .” The blacksmith hesitated. “We wish very much to know the magic of your horse taming. We Sinta can ride like the wind and rope a wild horse and force it to obey us, but you women from the sea . . . you walk among the wild mares and set them following in your wake. This is priestesses’ magic, isn’t it?”

  Myrina laughed and took another sip of fermented milk. “I was born a Mazagardi,” she said with pride, then her face clouded over with sadness. “The Mazagardi are no more, but their horse-training secrets live on with the Moon Riders.”

  Kuspada was solemn now and respectful. “Such magic would be very precious to us.”

  Myrina smiled. “The magic is not mine alone to give,” she told him. “I will speak with the women and see what they think. Maybe there are skills that we may exchange, for the women admire the light metal bits and harnesses that you use to direct your steeds.”

  “The exchange of these skills would be our pleasure,” he said.

  “Now”—Myrina wanted time to think—“you are our guests and we wish to entertain you. Would you like to see dancing? We Moon Riders are trained to perform sacred dances in honor of Mother Maa, but sometimes we dance simply to celebrate.”

  Kuspada did not have to give a reply; his smile told her that such a thing would be a delight.

  Myrina called the Moon Riders together and set them dancing. They did not perform the sacred dances of the moon but instead threw themselves into the cheerful, swinging dances in which they flung their sticks high into the air, catching them again as though a tiny thread tied hand and stick together. These dances were full of glee, but they also demonstrated the strength of these young women: they could turn a simple stick into a weapon with a flick of their fingers.

  The young Sinta warriors clapped and cheered, and as the fermented milk was passed around again, the dancing grew faster and wilder and the men got up to perform a powerful horse-roping dance.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Argimpasa

  AT LAST, AS the fires burned low, Fara led Big Chief up from the waterside and begged Myrina to perform the special dance that only she had perfected.

  “But I haven’t taught Big Chief to do it properly,” she protested. “He’s not quite ready yet.”

  “That beast will do anything for you.” Coronilla would not tolerate her excuses.

  “Come on,” Kora bullied. “It will honor our guests.”

  Myrina felt that she couldn’t refuse, so at last she got up and leaped onto Big Chief’s back. She set him pacing steadily around the fire while both Moon Riders and their guests shuffled hastily back, sensing that this performance might be safer watched from a distance. Once she felt that the horse was giving her his trust, Myrina rose gracefully to her feet and with perfect balance began to turn and twist in time to the beating of Coronilla’s drum. The Moon Riders clapped lightly to the rhythm, and as Myrina’s confidence grew, she sprang up and down on Big Chief’s back. She was applauded with wild cheers, but then she seemed to sense a new hush in her audience.

  “Argimpasa!” The mysterious word passed from mouth to mouth, whispered by the Sinta men. “Just like Argimpasa!”

  Myrina s
lowed Big Chief, fearful that the performance had somehow given offense. As she slipped down from the horse’s back, new applause greeted her, but the atmosphere had changed. The Sinta men were quieter and watched her with a look of wonder.

  The Moon Riders looked at one another, puzzled. Myrina turned to catch Kuspada’s reaction and was a little shaken to see that he watched her with intense joy, as though he’d glimpsed a vision. She went to him, concerned.

  “Argimpasa,” he murmured. “You are Argimpasa, our snake lady.”

  Myrina smiled uncertainly. “I am just a very tired Moon Rider who fled across the sea to find freedom, and I am very glad to have made new friends.”

  The strange expression of rapture quickly left him and Kuspada rose to his feet, holding out his palm. “We will be friends,” he agreed.

  The other Sinta men took his lead, getting up from their cushions, bowing and smiling, courteously taking their leave. Myrina realized that they were going and she still hadn’t asked the question that she really wanted to ask.

  She pressed her palm firmly against Kuspada’s and asked it. “Will you bring your women to visit us? We would like to meet them, too.”

  A fleeting expression of anxiety seemed to touch his eyes, but it passed quickly and he smiled again. “Will you come with us to visit our home camp? That way you will meet the women of our tribe.”

  Slightly puzzled, Myrina glanced without thinking over at the dark silhouette of Eagle Rocks in the distance, black against the starry sky.

  “No, no.” Kuspada put the misunderstanding right at once. “Our home camp is half a day’s journey to the west, but it will seem nothing to a fine horsewoman like you.”

  The thought flitted through Myrina’s mind that this might be some kind of a trap. Kuspada waited patiently for her reply, not trying to persuade or rush her judgment, and a deep instinct told her that this was a man whom she could trust.

  “We will come,” she agreed.

  “At sunrise?”

  She was a little startled at his urgency, but she could not think of a good reason to refuse. “Yes. I will bring a few of my friends along with me,” she agreed.