Mood Riders

by Theresa Tomlinson

  The atmosphere changed from celebration to concentration for the serious work of the evening. The priestesses took up their positions for the ritual rain-bringing dance. The movements were wild and fast, the young women rushing back and forth, throwing their silver dancing sticks toward the sky, then catching them deftly while the tribesmen and -women clapped and stamped their feet. The lively sun dance followed, while the watchers sang enthusiastically, dipping their heads up and down in time with the music. As the sun dance came to an end, all went quiet. There was no applause; these dances were a solemn duty not an entertainment.

  Atisha rose from her chair and walked slowly into the center of the ring of dancers. She turned, seeking Hati, and beckoned her into the ring. Hati came, swaying gracefully, aware of the distinction meted out to her. She joined Atisha in the most sacred dance of all, performed to honor the moon-aspect of the Great Mother, Maa. For how could the tribes live without the moon’s waxing and waning as the year turned, regulating their fertility and child bearing, year in, year out?

  The two old women moved slowly, twisting and turning their arms, following the ancient intricate pattern of the dance. Even the Moon Riders were still and quiet now. Myrina stood watching, entranced; a shiver ran down her spine as a breeze sprang up, turning her hands and face cool. The dance was not long, but the atmosphere changed swiftly, bringing to everyone present a gentle desire for sleep and rest. The Moon Riders rang light-toned silver bells as the two old women took their final pose.

  “And now to sleep,” Atisha announced.

  Obediently everyone turned and quietly headed back toward their tents. Myrina floated along in a dream, but something made her turn to look toward King Priam’s pavilion. Bright eyes gleamed in the moonlight and she saw Cassandra. The princess looked longingly back at her, raising one hand in silent greeting, thick dark hair blowing back, making her face look thinner than ever, as Chryseis led her away.

  “King Priam’s daughter could not take her eyes from you tonight,” Reseda whispered as they settled down to sleep. “She’d change places with you if she could.”

  Myrina smiled. “I would not change places with her for all her wealth,” she murmured. “She will never be able to choose which man she wants.”

  “No.” Reseda shuddered at the thought.

  “So, who will you choose for husband?”

  Reseda shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

  “Beno grows very tall and good to look at,” Myrina insisted. “Don’t choose Tomi; he’s saving himself for me. Don’t let anyone else choose Tomi either!”

  Reseda laughed. “He’s far too young for me.”

  “Beno makes me laugh,” Myrina insisted. “If you chose Beno you’d never be miserable; I’m sure of that. Joda is Father’s favorite since he went riding off to sell the horses last summer and came back with more silver than we’ve ever seen.”

  Reseda smiled. “It seems you’ve been sizing up my prospects very well. Perhaps I should let you choose for me!”

  “I wouldn’t know which.” Myrina frowned. “I’d like them all for my brother-in-law. Just remember to save Tomi for me!”

  Reseda hugged her sister in the dark. “Your seven years as a dancer will soon slip by,” she whispered. “Then we’ll be together again and you shall make your choice.”

  Light fingers of dawn lifted darkness from the grassy plain, turning night shadows to delicate greens and golds. The Moon Riders were already up, feeding and watering their horses. Grandmother Hati shook Myrina awake, while Gul prepared fresh cakes of unleavened bread. “Open your eyes, child! The day has come. Atisha waits for you! But first you must eat.”

  Myrina growled and rubbed her eyes.

  “Open your eyes, Moon-maiden, and greet the sun.”

  Myrina suddenly woke with a jolt, remembering the importance of the day. “My smocks and mirror?”

  “All your finery is ready, my little cistus flower. Get up and dress, then you must eat something.”

  “I can’t possibly eat!”

  “Very well!” Hati clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Just get up then!”

  Atisha was impatient to be off, and none of the tribes wished to offend so important a servant of the goddess. Myrina was hurriedly dressed, her precious silver mirror in its patterned leather bag slotted securely onto her belt. The other Moon Riders were chattering and laughing, pushing and shoving, as they folded their tents and awnings and tied them up in woven baskets to fasten onto sleds.

  As Myrina swung herself up onto Isatis, she thought that she saw a young woman she knew staring at her from beside the baggage mules, but when she turned to look properly the girl had gone.

  “Who was that?” she muttered. It seemed to her that she’d caught sight of someone she should know well, but couldn’t even think of a name. She frowned for a moment but then became distracted by fears that she’d forgotten to bring out all of her traveling goods. “My bowls and table?”

  “All here, on Isatis’s back,” Gul soothed, pointing to the bags and belongings that swung from the hooks. “You have everything a priestess can need.”

  “Blessings on you, daughter!” Aben kissed her hand.

  “Are we off already?” Myrina panicked.

  “Yes.” Hati smiled and grabbed hold of her granddaughter’s foot for a moment. “Remember . . . never scratch, and ripple, ripple like a snake!”

  Gul covered up her mouth to hide the sudden trembling that came; she couldn’t manage to say good-bye.

  Tomi lifted his hand in salute. He also said nothing, but the intensity of his look told Myrina that he had not forgotten their agreement.

  “Forward, my Moon Riders,” Atisha ordered, and the startling caravan of tattooed young women moved off, heads held high, strung bows with full quivers strapped to their thighs. Myrina glanced back just once, as their pace quickened, but then she turned her face determinedly forward, toward the high plateau that lay ahead.

  “Don’t look back, never look back,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Away with the Moon Riders

  THE MOON RIDERS rode all through the morning. They passed the lofty towers of Troy in the distance and kept to the faster high ground north of the city. As the sun rose to the highest point in the sky, they reached a group of tall cedars by a stream and Atisha called a halt. The young women dismounted and fastened their horses to the lower branches of the trees. Each priestess seemed to be skillfully performing tasks, knowing exactly what to do, laughing and shouting at one another all the time. Some made a fire, others fed the horses and rubbed them down; Myrina walked among them, feeling uncertain.

  “Don’t stand there like a lost dog,” Atisha told her. “Take the fresh bread your mother gave us and hand it around. We’ll have an awning for shade. Penthesilea, can you see to it?”

  One of the tallest young women, with a leaping panther as her body picture, strode over to the baggage mules. She began pulling apart the laced woven containers for the awnings, but though she was strongly built and looked quite fearless, she suddenly sprang back from the baggage, pulling a sharp knife from her belt.

  At once the others sensed her disquiet.

  “What is it?” Atisha asked.

  Penthesilea looked closely at the baggage again, poking at it with her knife.

  The baggage moved and a small voice cried, “No . . . no!”

  “Ha!” Penthesilea laughed. “Come, see for yourself,” she insisted, lowering her knife.

  Atisha moved swiftly toward the sled and everyone gasped for they could all see that it moved again as she approached.

  “Snake?” a young priestess warned.

  Penthesilea shook her head. “Too big for a snake, more a stowaway,” she said.

  With one fast movement Atisha ripped open the roll of tent felt, and out of the pack tumbled the girl that Myrina thought she had recognized just before they’d set off. Myrina knew her now, even though she was dressed in the rough trousers and tunic of a no
madic daughter of the tribes; this was Priam’s daughter.

  “Cassandra!” Myrina cried. “Princess!”

  “Is this right?” Atisha asked.

  Cassandra scrambled to her feet, looking very miserable, but she nodded. Some of the Moon Riders laughed with relief and some even clapped, but then they fell silent as they saw that Atisha’s face was grim.

  “Why have you done this, Princess?” the Old Woman asked quietly.

  Cassandra’s usually pale face flushed but she answered with determination, her fists clenched tightly. “Because I wish to join your band of Moon-maidens. I never saw anything so beautiful as the dances you performed last night!”

  The watching young women looked at one another with a touch of surprise and pleasure.

  Atisha sighed and shook her head. “That sounds very fine, but what does your father say? You creep away with us like a thief! Does your father know?”

  Cassandra flinched. She looked very young in the rough dress and all the quiet confidence that she’d shown as her father’s hostess seemed to have seeped away. “He knows nothing,” she said.

  Atisha cleared her throat and spat while all the watching Moon Riders stood still and tense, understanding now that perhaps the princess had placed them in danger. Though none were more capable of defending themselves than these warrior-trained priestesses, still, if Priam followed with his heavily armed guards, nobody would come out of the struggle well.

  At last Atisha spoke. “Can you dance?”

  Cassandra shook her head.

  “Can you ride or hunt?”

  There came no reply at all.

  “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen,” she whispered.

  “Old enough for a Trojan princess to be married. Your father will wish to see you wed.”

  “No.” Cassandra spoke out firmly at this, some of her royal confidence returning. “I was promised to Apollo as a tiny child. I was to be his priestess and live in the temple and never be a wife. They fear me in Troy or think me mad—nobody will miss me there. Well, nobody but my friend Chryseis.”

  Atisha was silenced for a moment; she scrutinized the young girl’s face with intensity. “Such eyes,” she muttered.

  Cassandra seized her chance. “I turn away from the sun god, aye and all the other Trojan gods. I wish to honor the Great Mother, like you! This is right for me—I know it is!”

  Though she was so small and slender, still her voice was full of passion. At last Atisha’s sharp expression softened. She stepped forward and kissed Cassandra’s brow so that the girl’s face brightened with hope.

  “Wait here a moment,” the Old Woman ordered, then she walked away from them to the shade of the cedar trees, pulling out her mirror as she went. The Moon Riders stood still in silent respect while their leader seemed to study herself in her mirror.

  After a few moments Atisha came striding back. “You must return with me, Princess, but I shall speak to your father on your behalf.”

  Cassandra nodded obediently, glad at least that she was not simply to be returned.

  “We’ll meet him on the way, for news of your disappearance has reached him as I feared.” Atisha spoke quickly, beckoning Penthesilea to bring her horse. “He follows fast, his chariot pulled by silver-maned horses!”

  Myrina frowned. How could the Old Woman know such a thing?

  “Must we return at once?” Penthesilea asked, her voice full of resentment.

  “Yes, at once,” Atisha insisted. “No time for food or rest.”

  The priestesses swore and cursed as they turned to remount their steeds, and Myrina’s heart sank. The last thing she wanted to do was turn back the way she’d come.

  “You ride with me,” Atisha told Cassandra sharply. “Give me your foot! Now, swing yourself up!” As the princess obeyed, flinging her leg awkwardly across the tall stallion’s back, the Old Woman pushed her into place, then sprang up quickly behind her. “I pray that Maa will smile on us and our explanations,” she said.

  Myrina wearily climbed back onto Isatis, feeling nothing but irritation for the pathetic Princess of Troy. She’d been working all her life to learn the skills needed to become a Moon Rider. Why should this princess think she could join the priestesses without either work or skills? And now if they were forced to return she must risk seeing her family or Tomi again: a second leave-taking would be just too much to bear.

  She couldn’t quite understand how, but Atisha’s prediction proved to be exactly right. They’d not ridden far before a cloud of dust in the distance warned of the approach of fast-running horses. Priam’s party was small but Myrina recognized at once the six fleet-footed mares that her father had sold to the Trojan king, pulling three light battle chariots.

  As soon as the Moon Riders were sighted the sound of Trojan horns rang out and both parties slowed their pace, meeting with some semblance of dignity. Priam rode with his eldest son, Hector, driving his chariot and four other armed warriors in attendance, speed their priority. The sight of his daughter returning to him on the Old Woman’s horse clearly brought some reassurance and the king greeted Atisha with a quick nod of the head. He gestured to one of the warriors, who leaped from his chariot to lift Cassandra down.

  “Leave me!” Cassandra said. “I shall get down myself when I am ready!”

  Priam dismounted and approached Atisha. “I assume that you did not knowingly take my daughter,” he blustered.

  “I did not,” she agreed calmly. “But you and I must talk, for the princess wishes to come with us.”

  “I’ll not hear of such a thing.” Priam clenched his fist.

  “Let us set up an awning and rest and take a drink together.” Atisha’s steady courtesy was determined.

  “I have no time for tea parties!” Priam shouted. “I shall take my daughter and go!”

  A moment of tension followed, as Penthesilea and many of the women let their hands creep onto the handles of the sharp knives they kept sheathed in their belts, while the Trojan warriors gripped their sword pommels.

  “Are we to battle to the death over a wayward child?” Atisha asked.

  Priam hesitated, then bowed in agreement. Though the Moon Riders’ strange barbarian religion meant little to him, he knew that Atisha was held in great respect by the nomadic tribes of the north and he did not wish to make more enemies for himself. Acting as host to Menelaus had been a most nerve-racking experience. “We shall talk!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Time for Weeping

  PENTHESILEA QUICKLY FIXED up an awning and the Moon Riders put away their weapons and offered figs and wine instead, which the Trojan warriors gladly accepted. Priam and Atisha talked together, first with anger, then with more calm. Cassandra wandered a little way off, looking very unhappy. Myrina watched her, seeing that her clasped hands would not stop trembling, though her face bore a brave scowl.

  Myrina’s own confidence in this new way of life was waning fast and the princess’s actions were making it worse. At the same time she knew that Cassandra had risked much to reject her luxurious palace life. A touch of respect came with that recognition. She must be the only person there whom Cassandra knew, so she took her own drinking beaker from her baggage, filled it with wine and went after the princess. “Here, drink this,” she commanded.

  Cassandra looked at her with gratitude. She obediently took the beaker and sipped the spiced wine, though her hands still shook.

  “If they force me to return I shall kill myself,” Cassandra said quietly.

  “If you come back with me,” Myrina told her, “then maybe you will hear what’s being said.”

  They both went back and sat as close as they dared to Atisha. Priam acknowledged his daughter only with an angry glance, but he did not seem to be quite as furious as they might have feared. He and the Old Woman were deep in conversation, though the king now shook his head.

  “It is for seven years,” Atisha explained patiently. “Seven years and then my dancers return to their ho
mes, full of strength and wisdom.”

  “They all return?”

  Atisha looked across at the girl with the leaping panther on her arm. “Except for Penthesilea,” she said. “Her courage is great and though she’s still young she grows in wisdom, but—Penthesilea cannot return to her own people. Each leader must choose a young priestess to train to take her place eventually and I have chosen Penthesilea to follow me.”

  A touch of curiosity lit the old king’s eyes for a moment but then the immediate problem of his daughter overwhelmed him. He shook his head. “Seven years . . . I cannot spare my daughter for seven years—besides she’s promised to Apollo,” he muttered. “Those who honor the sun god will whisper that Priam is disloyal to the Trojan gods.”

  Atisha bowed her head in understanding. “But should the princess ride with us, then you would have our loyalty,” she assured him. “We would bring sun and rain for your crops, or rally fierce riders from the tribes, willing to come to your defense, should ever need arise.”

  Priam’s lifted his eyes with new interest. Perhaps his daughter’s rebellion could bring him new and different allies. He’d never looked for support from this strange source, never even thought of it, but he knew that the Moon Riders had fought many battles in the past. They were feared by the Achaeans who called them Amazon Warriors.

  Prince Hector sat dutifully beside his father, waiting patiently for his decision. He glanced over at Cassandra now and then, smiling sadly at her and shaking his head.

  “Your elder brother is not like Prince Paris,” Myrina whispered.

  “No indeed,” Cassandra agreed. “He is a fierce warrior and a strict brother but still, he’s always kind to me.”

  “Won’t you be sorry to leave your family and your lovely palace?”

  Cassandra looked at her with the touch of a smile. “You have left your family and your tribe.”

  “Yes,” Myrina had to agree. “But not a palace! And what about your friend Chryseis? Will she not miss you? Will your father punish her for returning to Troy without you?”