Voyage of the Snake Lady

by Theresa Tomlinson

  Phoebe and Tamsin both caught their breath, turning to Myrina, eyes shining. They could not answer the salute for fear they’d raise suspicion, but the message was clear.

  “She knows,” Phoebe whispered. “She knows that we are here!”

  “Yes,” Myrina agreed, smiling at them with satisfaction. “She knows!”

  They watched as Iphigenia took the trembling boy by the hand and led him back inside the temple. The other victim followed, his hands still tied—nobody had suggested that he be released. The glance of grim fury that he bore was explanation enough, but Myrina’s heart went out to him, too, as she watched him stumble after his companion.

  The people sang out their support, chanting “Hepsuash” over and over again. King Thoas bowed awkwardly to the crowd and then followed Iphigenia into the temple. Myrina could not see clearly how it would help or hinder them, but one thing she had learned today: the people of Tauris loved Hepsuash and respected her; she was indeed their chosen priestess.

  Once the king had vanished inside the temple, his guards took their place again at the top of the steps. The show was over—for today at least—and the audience began to move away.

  “Now what do we do?” Tamsin looked lost. “How are we going to get Iphigenia back?”

  “Our Snake Lady will think of a way.” Phoebe spoke with confidence.

  But the Snake Lady had no immediate answer to give and shook her head uncertainly. “We’ve learned a lot,” she said. “Now there’s a lot of thinking to be done.”

  They followed the crowd back down through the steep streets of Tauris.

  “Where is Katya?” Tamsin wondered.

  Myrina frowned at the question, unsure whether they should search for Katya, when the rhythmic clatter of finger cymbals made them look sharply up at each other.

  “Could that be . . . ?” Phoebe asked.

  They turned a corner into a small square and saw that it was indeed Katya. She’d made the raised portico of a stately town house her stage and clattered her cymbals while she danced in front of it. A small crowd watched her tolerantly, still cheerful from the procession and the holiday atmosphere.

  Myrina smiled; it seemed that they would not need to struggle back to their camp alone after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A Little of the Truth

  MYRINA LEANED AGAINST a wall to watch Katya’s performance for a while, content to let Tamsin and Phoebe make their way to the front of the crowd.

  As people still flooded past them, away from the temple, some stopped to watch the young dancer; others pushed past, eager to get home. Then one old woman stopped and pointed at Katya, frowning and straining to see her clearly. “Is that the outcast’s granddaughter? The little witch?” she cried.

  Those who’d been watching shrugged, ignoring the question.

  “No,” her son answered. “The outcast’s granddaughter is a filthy ragged thing! This is a Sinta girl!”

  “It is the outcast’s girl.” The woman was adamant, her voice ripe with resentment. “I’d know her anywhere.” She stooped to pick up a stone.

  Myrina sensed danger and took a step toward the woman. Tamsin and Phoebe turned around at the disturbance. They saw trouble brewing and both bravely leaped to their feet to join Katya in her dance, ready to protect her.

  There was a gasp of pleasure and a ripple of applause from the audience when they saw that two more Sinta girls had joined the dance. The old woman’s son caught hold of her arm to prevent her throwing the stone. “No—see, there are three of them, Mother; Sinta girls! Put down your stone!”

  Myrina’s watchfulness was noted by another bystander. “They’re Sinta girls—there’s their mother keeping her eye on them! How well they dance!”

  The audience began to clap their encouragement in time to the rhythm of the cymbals, while the old woman was pulled away and led home.

  Myrina had been a little shaken by the girls’ quick action, but it seemed to have soothed the crowd’s suspicions, and now the three of them filled their audience with delight. She settled back to watch again. There was no melody to accompany the dance, only the steady rhythm of the clattering cymbals, but the girls danced with the bubbling energy of youth, huge smiles of enjoyment on their faces. Now Phoebe took the lead, imitating the delicate grace of a young foal. Katya and Tamsin watched and followed, their own movements harmonizing with hers as though they’d been dancing together all their lives.

  “They prance like Sinta foals!” the audience murmured.

  “Half girls, half horses!”

  The watchers were entranced, and soon coins rained down at the dancers’ feet.

  Myrina smiled with a touch of regret. What a fine Moon Rider Katya might have been.

  At last people started to wander away and the girls stopped dancing, scrambling to pick up the coins.

  “I’ve never been paid as much as this.” Katya spoke with breathless delight. She searched the pavement eagle-eyed, to make sure that every last coin was found.

  Tamsin and Phoebe handed the money they’d collected over to Katya, who took it eagerly at first; but then she paused, her brow wrinkled with uncertainty. “No—you should have some!”

  Myrina watched with a quiet smile as Katya snatched up a handful of coins and held them out to Tamsin and Phoebe.

  Tamsin’s hand went out eagerly, but then she looked at her mother, doubtful for a moment.

  “Yes,” Myrina said. “You should all take your share of the earnings—that is very fair of Katya!”

  On the way back they stopped to buy fresh white barley bread, goat’s cheese, and dates. “Wait till Grandmother sees this feast,” Katya crowed.

  Myrina smiled again. Disguised as a Sinta girl, Katya looked as though she might well be able to earn her own way again.

  When they returned to their camp, they were greeted by cheerful whickers of welcome from Big Chief and the mares. Katya’s grandmother was still sitting there on her rock, grim faced as ever, but it seemed that she’d kept a good watch on their tents and belongings. Myrina bowed her thanks from a distance and was answered with a curt nod. Katya ran up to the cave to display her earnings and the food she’d bought.

  Myrina was not surprised when the girl came striding back to them through the grass. “Grandmother says will you come and eat with us?”

  “Of course we will,” Myrina replied.

  Somehow, without ever meaning to, they seemed to have thrown in their lot with these two strange women.

  They washed in the stream and then wandered over to the cave. Nonya solemnly directed them to sit on comfortable rocks while they ate; then she brought out from the cave an astonishing, beautifully decorated golden cup, which she filled with stream water and offered to her guests.

  Myrina was so surprised at the sight of such a precious object appearing from the rugged interior of the cave that she struggled for words, uncertain whether to admire its beauty or just drink from it as though it were a plain Sinta beaker.

  Nonya watched her for a moment, then opened her mouth and gave a sudden burst of wild throaty laughter. Myrina smiled, still unsure how best to react.

  Nonya’s laughter fled as quickly as it had come. “Eat!” she directed them in the Scythian language.

  They ate the bread and cheese in silence, but as they progressed to the dates the girls began to grin at each other and exchange words of appreciation at the sweetness and succulence of the fruit. When they’d finished, Katya got up with a touch of delicacy and went to the stream to wash her hands.

  Tamsin followed her. “Teach us to clatter the cymbals as you did today,” she begged.

  “If Phoebe will show me the horse dance.” Katya glanced hopefully back at Phoebe, who rose willingly to her feet and went to join them.

  As the girls wandered away there was a moment of silence, then Nonya turned to Myrina with curiosity. “Why . . . you come here?” she asked.

  Myrina smiled; she was ready for this one. “I come to sell horses,�
�� she told her. “I am a widow and must earn my bread, so I deal in horses.”

  “Sinta horses.”

  “Yes,” Myrina agreed.

  Nonya gave her a crafty look. “But . . . you are not a Sinta woman!”

  Myrina looked up sharply and again Nonya gave her throaty laugh. This old woman was no fool, and she must be careful.

  The laugh stopped as suddenly as before. “Where . . . you come from?” Nonya asked.

  Myrina frowned; she sensed that Nonya would know if she lied. Perhaps it would be best to give away a little of the truth and try to gauge the old woman’s attitude.

  “I hear that strangers are not welcome here,” she said, hoping that she sounded like a woman who would frankly speak her mind. “So, knowing that, I fear to tell you where I come from.”

  “Huh!” Nonya gave a short and bitter laugh. “You are wise to be careful, but these people are stupid—they do not understand their own traditions. It’s only the ones that are washed into the harbor by the goddess that must be returned to her.”

  “Well . . .” Myrina took her courage in both hands. “I will tell you then that we crossed the Inhospitable Sea and we were shipwrecked and washed ashore, far away to the east, in the Sinta lands.”

  Nonya’s eyes were wide. “You crossed the Inhospitable Sea? Foolish ones! Don’t you know what lies at the bottom of that sea?”

  Myrina shook her head, wondering if she’d said too much.

  “Every Taurian knows the story from childhood,” Nonya explained. “That’s why we do not often venture out onto the sea ourselves. The Bogatyr was the first man who ever lived and he possessed a magical arrow, a most fearsome weapon that would destroy the whole world if it was ever used. Have you never heard of this?”

  “No,” Myrina admitted, but she could not hide her curiosity. Nonya’s words had brought to mind the Old Woman Atisha and the fascinating stories she used to tell.

  “Well . . .” Nonya continued, pleased with the respectful attention she was now being given, “the Bogatyr was both wise and strong and while he lived he could trust himself never to use this terrible weapon, but as he grew older he was troubled by the sight of his three sons fighting and quarreling among themselves. He realized that he couldn’t trust any of them to shoulder the responsibility of possessing the magical arrow . . . so . . . one day he took up his bow and he shot his magical arrow right out into the middle of the dark Inhospitable Sea.”

  “Aah.” Myrina sighed, recognizing the deep wisdom that was hidden in the story. “It would be safe there and nobody could find it.”

  Nonya nodded. “But now . . . do you understand why we do not venture across the water?”

  “I think I do.” Myrina paused for thought. “The sea . . . has its own dark secret.”

  Nonya smiled fiercely. “It has! The arrow lies there on the seabed in the deepest depths, but sometimes the sea rises up and boils and thrashes, for that fearful weapon still burns with anger and tries to surface and kill us all. The fishermen who dabble at the edges of the sea live with this danger every day; they accept that the goddess takes one or two of them as they struggle to feed their families. But ignorant strangers come sailing far across the sea, with no respect at all for what lies hidden beneath it. If the goddess sees them she washes them into Tauris harbor and there they must answer for their ignorance—they are the Chosen Ones.”

  Myrina sat very still, wondering if she had admitted to transgressing the strange rules of this place or not. “And we . . . ?”

  “The goddess would have no claim on you,” Nonya told her gruffly.

  “I am glad to hear it,” she said with relief.

  She relaxed a little, feeling that she was slowly winning some approval from the old priestess, but what came next shocked her again and made both her mind and her body quail.

  “It is Hepsuash,” Nonya snarled, and the bitter resentment that she felt was evident in her voice. “It is Hepsuash whom the goddess demands! She was washed ashore and she should have been sacrificed, with her sweet face and her gentle voice.”

  Myrina pressed her lips tightly together, not trusting herself to speak.

  The sneer in Nonya’s voice turned to anger. “But what do the stupid Taurians do? They claim her as their chosen priestess, just because they found her clinging to the goddess’s image. I know the real reason behind it—that fool Thoas drools over her wan white face. As soon as he set eyes on her I saw it and I had been hoping . . . bah!” Her mouth twisted with bitter disappointment and she turned her head for a moment to gaze out of the cave toward her granddaughter, dancing outside on the grass with Phoebe and Tamsin.

  Myrina’s mind buzzed with questions she dared not ask.

  But Nonya was speaking angrily again. “The people would follow me if I just had the chance to speak to them and be listened to as I once was. Thoas is so bewitched with Hepsuash that he would make her his queen, so now the people dare not insist upon her sacrifice for fear of upsetting their king.”

  Myrina had seen for herself that this was far from the truth, but silence seemed the least dangerous route to take. Her stomach churned as she listened to the poison in Nonya’s words. She must somehow manage to squeeze out a little judicious sympathy for the woman.

  “Katya told me what happened and I understand your anger. I know a little of what you feel, for I, too, was once a respected priestess, a Moon Rider, a follower of Earth Mother Maa. I traveled with my sister priestesses about the southern shore of the Inhospitable Sea, bringing the Earth Mother’s blessings with our dances and songs. We fought to defend Troy, and after the city fell we made our homeland beside the River Thermodon, until we were captured by slavers. To lose respect and power when it is not your fault is a hard and bitter thing indeed!”

  A flicker of interest crossed the old woman’s face, but then the wicked laugh bubbled up from her throat again and her words left Myrina cold with fear. “Don’t you worry; I have the means to see off Miss Milk face!”

  Myrina looked up at her sharply and could not stop herself from demanding, “How?”

  But Nonya only smiled nastily in answer and shook her head. “The goddess will get her sacrifice; Hepsuash will fly into the sea, and I shall be Priestess of Artemis once again.”

  The girls twirled and leaped together in the distance, happy and laughing, their faces and arms colored pink and gold with the warmth of the sinking sun, but in the shade of the cave Myrina shivered. She forced herself to sit quietly for a while, giving a nod of acknowledgment to show that she’d heard Nonya’s words and understood them.

  How could she hope to shift the old woman’s bitter hatred of Iphigenia? How could she bridge the huge gap in their understanding? She must get away from this terrifying old woman and think.

  She yawned. “I am weary,” she murmured, rising to her feet. “Tomorrow I take one of my mares into the city to sell. I must rise early to brush her coat and make her look her best. I thank you for your company.”

  Nonya nodded, accepting the excuse. “You come and eat here tomorrow night?”

  It was the last thing that Myrina felt like doing, but she reminded herself that staying close to the enemy meant knowing when they’d make their move. “Thank you,” she agreed.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Nonya’s Secret

  MYRINA LEFT TAMSIN and Phoebe dancing with Katya, for she needed to be alone. She went into her tent and searched out her mirror. She knew that it would take time to bring her visions; her head buzzed and her heart was full of dread.

  At first she tried to mirror gaze in the safety and privacy of the tent, but nothing came to her, not even a glimpse. So she went outside and wandered away from the laughing girls and the cropping horses, heading toward the stream. She found a spot where blue iris flowers bloomed in the marshy ground. She flung herself down on a rock, grateful that there was nobody about. The water rushed past her feet, soothing her spirits a little.

  “Iphigenia first,” she murmured; she must se
e that her friend was still safe.

  It took a while, but at last the sound of the stream made her eyes droop, so that the sight of her own face faded and she focused on the gentle sway of the flowers in the fading sun. The blue of the irises darkened to purple and then black, and at last they merged with the heavy, curling tresses of Iphigenia’s hair. The priestess sat by an open window overlooking the sea, high above the terrifying drop, but Iphigenia seemed unaware of the view; she was intent on pounding herbs in a small bowl and mixing in a little wine.

  “She prepares a soothing potion for the mad boy,” Myrina whispered.

  That was enough; it was all she needed to know. Iphigenia was safe and her own fears had fled with her concern for another.

  She let the vision fade and caught a glimpse of Cassandra, who was sitting beside a bed, stroking the curly hair of the Mouse Boy. It seemed the princess’s unexpected role as a mother suited her well.

  Then with a lurch of apprehension Myrina let her thoughts wander to the camp of the Moon Riders and Kuspada. What would she see there? Would the blacksmith have a young woman at his side? Might Kora have won him with her warmth and good humor? The camp seemed still and peaceful, but one man still sat huddled by the embers of the fire; he was wrapped in his cloak, a spear in his hand, keeping watch. It was Kuspada, his face tranquil but unsmiling; he was alone. She longed to call to him, to tell him how much she missed him and how lonely she felt. If only she’d allowed him to come along, she’d not be feeling so helpless and desolate now.

  But then she forced herself to recognize that it was her very vulnerability that had helped her to gather so much information so quickly. It was almost as though a woman traveling with two children were invisible. Had Kuspada ridden here with her, she never would have spent the evening sitting in Nonya’s cave, learning so much as she listened to her terrible plans.