She hurried toward the ladder, gasped as a huge shadow lunged toward her. Had some of the attacking force come through the woods to seize the ship? But the shadow went right past her and charged after the other men and she heard wailing and cursing in a voice that could only be Hylas. Hanging the cithara on her own shoulder, she wondered about that as she struggled up the ladder. Hylas was young, but he was old enough to fight.
The wind caught the cithara, and Eurydice cried out with fear it would be damaged and grabbed for it with one hand, clinging desperately with the other. She heard some noise above her, but paid no mind until something thrown from above flew by her. She cried out again and shrank as close to the ladder as should get, again wondering if the enemies had somehow crept around and onto the ship.
“Get away! Get down! I will cut your head off if you come higher!”
No one could mistake Hylas’ voice. Eurydice suddenly realized that Heracles must have bidden the boy remain aboard to guard the ship—which he was sure would need no guarding—to keep him safe from the fighting. She felt a strong spurt of sympathy for Hylas and wondered if Heracles’ seeming kindness to him was not the greatest ill that could befall him. But she could not remain clinging to the ladder. Her strength would soon give out, and even the oiled leather case of the cithara could not be proof against the beating rain for long.
“It is I, Eurydice,” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Let me up!”
“Why should I?” he shrieked back, appearing by the rail at the top of the ladder, holding a sword quite competently, too competently for Eurydice to try to pass him. “You foul woman! You have brought this upon us—you and your visions. Heracles may be hurt! Get down! I hope you will be killed or seized.”
“I have Orpheus’ cithara,” Eurydice yelled. “If I am hurt or taken, or if I fall off this ladder, the cithara will be broken or lost. Do you want to explain that to Orpheus and to Jason? Perhaps even Heracles would fail to understand. Let me up, you fool!”
“No,” he shouted. “I do not care! I hate Orpheus and his sickly songs. I never wanted you aboard. I—”
And Eurydice lost her patience, and spat, “Anagkazo hypnos stigme! Tom!” Hylas disappeared.
She had been cold and was suddenly so frozen that her hand could barely grip the ladder rung above her. She had to let go of the cithara and add her other hand to keep her place. But she had expected that, and the draining was always worse if she cast a spell in anger, which did not accord with her Gift. At least the worst had not happened. Hylas could have been leaning forward at the moment the sleeping spell hit and have fallen off the ship on top of her. Wearily, breathing hard, she struggled up the rest of the way, managed not to step on Hylas as she got over the side, thrust the cithara under the deck, out of the worst of the rain, and rushed to the rail to look out.
Very faintly she could hear a sort of ringing, which must be the clang of metal on metal, and now and again she thought she heard a shout or scream, but she could see nothing no matter how she strained. There was not much open ground. Likely the men were fighting among the trees—and that meant that the crew of the Argo were the stronger. Had the attackers been prevailing, the battle would have been forced back toward the ship. But winning for a group was no assurance of safety for any one man.
A spell to sharpen her eyes? Even as she thought it she shuddered with cold, and she knew that her physical discomfort, her fear for Orpheus, her knowledge that there was great grief coming, would all interfere with her reaching for more Power. Did that matter? She was not empty. But she might need what she had for something more important—for Healing.
Staring into the pouring rain, Eurydice doubted that even spell-enhanced vision could bring any clear images. The darkness that obscured the shadows of the trees was not caused only by the storm. Night had fallen and no break in the clouds would bring light for many hours. And even if she could see, Eurydice thought, gnawing on her already sore lip, would she be able to pick out Orpheus from the crowd of struggling men? When he was nearer, yes. But at this distance? And she was also afraid that her meddling would do more harm than good. What if she struck down the man he was facing only to bring a fiercer, stronger enemy against him when she had no more Power to expend?
She took a deep breath, turned her back to the battle she could not see, and looked north. “Lady Goddess,” she breathed, “keep him safe for me. You are the Huntress, the warrior; I Heal the wounds so men can fight again. Defend the sweet-singer, or give me strength to Heal him.”
For one moment the clammy chill of her wet clothing, the cold fingers of rain that tapped on her head and slid down her cheeks, the bite of the wind were all gone. For one sweet moment she was wrapped in a scented warmth. She breathed a long sigh as the cold returned, but it was only the cold of the body now. Inside she was still warm, still full of the Goddess-given Power, and utterly content. Well, she thought, I had better get under the deck as Orpheus told me—not that he, or anyone else, could see even if I waved my arms and jumped up and down, but I will be out of the rain—
An odd gurgle interrupted her thought, and she froze, staring toward the ladder. It was dark, but not so dark she should not see a shadow rise above the bulkhead. Then she remembered Hylas. Oh, fool that I am, she thought. He must have fallen on his back and be sleeping with his mouth open. He would drown!
Even as she rushed over to turn him on his side, Eurydice wondered if it would not be best for everyone if she just let him drown himself. But no one would really believe he could have died choking and gasping without either waking or her hearing him. Nor, she realized, could she leave him lying in the rain. He would be sick, and that would distress Heracles—and the whole crew would have to listen to him whine and moan. She sighed, gestured, muttering “Aphupnizo.”
She began to turn away and slip quickly under the deck, leaving Hylas to find himself rousing from sleep. It would have saved her from his recriminations, but she could not do it. The boy hated himself enough; she did not need to add to that by making him think he had fallen asleep, in dereliction of duty and uncaring of what happened to his protector.
“What happened?” Hylas cried as his eyes opened. “Heracles! Where is Heracles? What happened to me?”
“I think you fainted,” Eurydice replied. “The fighting is still going on, but it seems to be getting farther and farther from the ship, so those who attacked us are being pushed back. We are quite safe.”
“I am no coward!” the boy screamed. “I wanted to go to fight with the others. Heracles would not let me.”
“I know that,” Eurydice said, feeling sorry for him again. “I heard you arguing. Perhaps your fear for him overcame you.” She hesitated, almost ready to tell the truth, but then said in a rush, “Have you ever thought you would be better off without his protection?”
“I love him!”
“He is lovable,” Eurydice agreed, conscious as she spoke that she no longer needed to shout to be heard. The wind was dying. “Nonetheless, you will never be a man while you are with him. He gives too much, too willingly.”
“You think I give nothing because you give nothing, you cold-hearted bitch. You take everything Orpheus gives, and do not care whether he lives or dies.”
Eurydice almost laughed and then, with a sense of shock, realized Hylas’ taunt did not hurt because it was not true. She stood up and turned toward the rail again. Over her shoulder she said, “Oh, I care, but his loss can only hurt me. It cannot diminish me. I have taken his gifts, as you say, but Orpheus does not make me what I am. I am myself, always, with Orpheus or without him.”
Chapter Nine
With the slackening of the storm, Eurydice hoped she would be able to judge the progress of the battle better, but she could see nothing at all and the sounds that drifted back were no louder than the few that had risen above the wind and rain earlier. Still she stood, straining eyes and ears, and Hylas stood beside her. How long a time passed, she could not say, but the rain fell more gently,
then stopped, and in no long time, a silvery light filled the cove in which the ship lay.
“Lady Huntress,” she breathed, “may I use Your light to seek the warriors who may need healing?” On the words, a cloud obscured the moon. Eurydice bowed her head. That was a clear refusal. “I obey,” she sighed.
She knew what she had asked was wrong, a lie. She would have been seeking Orpheus—and the Lady knew. It was not safe to lie to the Goddess. Nor was it safe to go onto a battlefield to Heal. Fight-crazed men could strike out at anything that moved, and men mad with pain could kill a healer when no comrade was by to constrain and reassure. There was no sound of metal on metal now, only a very dim murmur—perhaps voices calling far away or muted by the trees. She shivered suddenly and realized she was a fool to be standing there doing nothing. She must be ready to Heal when the men returned, and she would be far more effective if half her strength was not turned to resisting her own physical misery. Somewhere she must find something warm and dry to wear.
The storage areas were a disaster of tumbled chests and soaked bags and bales, but Eurydice eventually found a chest in which clothing was kept. She opened the hasp. The garments—whose, she had no idea—on top were wet, and she put those aside. The fourth tunic was dry. She threw off her sodden cloak and was just lifting her gown to remove that too, when Hylas cried out.
“What are you doing? Do you think you can steal someone’s clothes? Do you think I will not say who took them?”
“Oh, do not be such an idiot,” Eurydice snarled. “If you had the sense of a flea, you would be seeking out dry garments for yourself, so that you would not be shaking like a leaf and could help me bind up the wounded and warm them and feed them. There is much to do. Dry clothing must be found for the rest of the men. They will be soaked and frozen when they return. Dry wood is needed too, at least enough to start a fire at which more wood can be dried. If you will not help, get out of my way.”
He gaped at her, and she pulled off her gown and under-tunic with as little regard for him as if he were another pillar holding up the deck and yanked the dry tunic over her head. It was much too large, but she merely pulled the excess length up over the rope she had been using as a girdle on her gown. Then she turned to scrabble in the chest again, but there was no cloak and she hissed with impatience as she looked for another chest.
“Here,” Hylas said, thrusting a dry blanket at her. “Use this. Most of the cloaks were cast aside when the men were rowing so hard and are soaking wet.”
His voice was angry, but Eurydice thought not with her, and she replied, “Thank you.”
“I will go look for wood. I will be safer in the forest than you.”
Eurydice opened her mouth to say she doubted that, but instead she nodded and turned away, muttering the look-past-me spell. As Hylas moved, she stepped closer and touched him gently—as if she had brushed him by accident—and whispered, “stroumai.”
Hylas’ head snapped around toward her, but she had already drawn away, shrugged, and said, “Sorry.” She knew at once that the spell was working. Her eyes slid right past him and fixed on a post. Unfortunately, that had its drawbacks. She had no idea when he left the ship or where he went, and she realized a little too late that she was going to have a problem removing the spell if she could not find him and touch him.
Eurydice brought her teeth down on her lip and released it hastily; it was already sore from being gnawed on. Because these people were real to her, meant something to her—unlike those who came to the temple for help or those who came to buy her services in the towns and villages…before they turned on her—she was making stupid mistakes. Had she not learned among her earliest lessons that magic was a last resort? That nine times out often casting a spell caused more trouble than it saved?
She ran to the rail again, but the light of the moon did not pierce the forest. She heard nothing either, unless…faintly, shouting? screaming? She leaned so far forward that she almost fell over, then pulled herself back with an angry shake of the head. She was worse than Hylas. She knew what she should be doing and was wasting time. With set teeth, she turned back and gave her attention to sorting dry from wet clothing. But she soon discovered the excuse of finding places to hang the wet clothing to dry so that she could come out from under the upper deck and hang over the rail.
The second time she did so she saw a heap of wood. Hylas was safe and was doing something practical. The next time, she could not resist going to the rail, the heap was larger. She was just about to force herself to turn away again when, from the woods, she heard Hylas cry, “Heracles!”
Almost at the same moment she heard the pound of running feet and she dropped the clothing in her arms and rushed to the ladder. As she began to climb down, she heard Hylas cry, “Heracles!” again, his voice louder, more frantic, and Heracles shouted, “Let me be for now. Polyphemus is hurt,” as if Hylas was a considerable distance from him.
Eurydice was at the foot of the ladder when Heracles burst through the last of the trees into the little beach clearing where the ship lay. She ran to meet him, her heart sinking at the way Polyphemus’ head sagged limply over Heracles’s arm. If he were dead or near dead, he was beyond her Power.
“Put him down,” she shouted, pulling at Heracles’ arm.
“Let me go!” the big man roared, wrenching his arm free. “I must find Eurydice.”
“I am Eurydice!” she shrieked. “Put Polyphemus down so I can see his wound.”
“Eurydice?” Heracles gasped, then shook his head, as if he were surprised to see her, and laid his burden down. “He took the blow for me,” he said, shook his head again. “Have you been pulling at my arm in the woods?”
She did not reply to that, realizing she had made mischief by her stupidity. Hylas must have seen Heracles and been trying to draw his attention. She put that future source of trouble out of her mind as she unhooked Polyphemus’ belt and raised his bloodstained tunic. His whole side was black with blood in the moonlight and Eurydice muttered softly to summon a witch-light. She bitterly regretted the expenditure of Power for such a purpose and because Heracles winced aside from the glowing ball, clearly alarmed by it. She should have told Hylas to prepare torches. But she had not, and she had to see now! A man could die of a little wound if it bled too much.
Waving the light lower, she saw that the blood came from a long slash at Polyphemus’ waist, rum ting down toward the belly. She brought the light down even farther. Much as she liked the young man, if his gut was opened, she would not waste the Power to save him, since he would likely rot. She had not the time or the strength to sit by him day after day cooling his fever and cleaning each small spot of decay until he was strong.
No slimy whitish pink intestines showed, however. Below the welling blood was solid muscle, dark red and ridged, from the edges of the cut right down to the bottom. She pressed the edges together and Saw the flesh knitted, bonded, smooth. Warmth flowed up from her own gut, out and down through arms and hands. She Saw the pale blue water-like light seeping from her fingers into the cut, filling it. The blood stopped flowing.
Heracles, who had stayed on his knees beside her despite the witchlight, cried out, “No! He is not dead! He is not!”
“No, indeed,” Eurydice snapped. “Stop caterwauling in my ear.” She dismissed the witchlight For what she had left to do the moonlight would be sufficient.
“But his blood no longer flows—”
Then Heracles’ mind caught up with what his eyes were seeing. At first, only the cessation of bleeding—which to him had meant the heart had stopped beating—had any meaning. Now he saw that the wound was closed.
“What did you do?” he breathed. “The wound is gone.”
“Not gone.” Eurydice sighed. “I could not give so much of my strength to bind the flesh as if it had never been severed. He will need some days of rest to finish the healing. Where is Orpheus?”
“He was close by Jason, safe enough when I last saw him,” Heracles replied
. His arm jerked, and he looked at it, frowning.
“Why did you not let me come?” Hylas whined.
Heracles’ head lifted, turned this way and that. Eurydice leapt to her feet, reached blindly in the direction of the voice until her hand fell on flesh, and muttered, “Thialuo aorton.”
“Hylas!” Heracles exclaimed, also getting to his feet. “I did not see you. And that is a stupid question. I did not let you come because I did not want to see you in Polyphemus’ condition.”
“What do you mean you did not see me?” Hylas shrieked. “I have been pulling at you for I do not know how long.”
“I am sorry, my dear,” Heracles said, but his eyes had gone back to Eurydice, who was kneeling by Polyphemus again, examining him. “Polyphemus took the blow for me and I was…concerned.” He watched another moment in silence, then asked anxiously, “What is wrong, Eurydice?”
She did not answer, lifting Polyphemus’ lids to look in his eyes and feeling the back of his neck. Then he moved his head and groaned. She sat back with some satisfaction.
“Nothing is wrong. I was just making sure that he had no injury I had not noticed.” She looked around and found her object—with some relief. “Hylas, go get a dry blanket and a dry tunic for Polyphemus. After Heracles moves him, you can change him.”
“Fetch a blanket for Polyphemus?” Hylas cried. “I am no servant! Why—”
Eurydice did not even glance at him. Overriding his voice, she asked, “Are you hurt, Heracles?”
“Two scratches that are not even worth binding, certainly they need no Healing,” he said. “I will fetch the blanket.”
“No, you will not!” Eurydice exclaimed. “If you do not need my care, you had better go back, in case others need help to come to me.”
“I want to go with Heracles,” Hylas whined.
“He does not need you. I do,” Eurydice snapped. “Heracles, there may be others bleeding to death while you stand here.” He started, almost as if she had slapped him, and ran off into the woods. Eurydice turned to Hylas, repeating what she had said earlier, “Now do as I asked or get out of my way!”
Enchanted Fire Page 15
