Mood Riders

by Theresa Tomlinson

  “I saw myself standing beside the pool but the water turned red as blood, and when I looked to ask her what it meant the woman had gone and guards were streaming out from the city calling my name.”

  Atisha nodded. “And you have kept it ever since?”

  Cassandra stroked the glassy black surface. “It is my treasure,” she said.

  “And why do you treasure it so?” Atisha’s eyes narrowed.

  Cassandra hesitated. “Because . . . I see things in it, things that my parents call imaginings, but I know them to be truth.”

  “And what do you see now?” Atisha asked, while Myrina stood there quiet and awed.

  Cassandra looked down at her night black mirror, then suddenly she smiled. “I see my friend Iphigenia, on the deck of a ship in the wide blue sea. She’s watching dolphins jump from the water and she’s happy. The creatures escort her safely home.”

  Atisha kissed Cassandra on the forehead. “Now I know truly why you needed to come with us: you have been chosen. Go back to Penthesilea and ask her to teach you the moon-dance. I can teach you nothing about mirrors; you have that magic already.”

  Myrina felt a little disconcerted as Atisha led her away from the camp and Cassandra wandered back to where Penthesilea was putting the dancers through their paces. Now that she was alone with her, Myrina felt a little afraid of the sharp-tongued Old Woman.

  “Right.” Atisha shaded her eyes from the sun. “Let’s find a pleasant shady spot. Over there by the stream; that will do well.”

  Myrina obeyed, wishing that Cassandra were coming, too.

  “Come sit beside me,” Atisha ordered. “Sit so that you can lean against the tree. May I see your mirror?”

  “It isn’t like Cassandra’s.” Myrina spoke hesitantly, pulling the snaky mirror from its bag.

  “No,” Atisha agreed, gently touching Aben’s delicate work. “But it is a very beautiful mirror, made with great love and care, and I think it is just the right mirror for you.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A Precious Secret

  ATISHA MADE MYRINA lean back against the tree holding the mirror in front of her. “Now,” she asked. “What do you see?”

  Myrina frowned, still puzzled. “My own face.”

  “Good. Now let your eyelids droop a little, let your shoulders sink, slow your breathing down, as though you’d like to sleep.”

  Myrina suddenly felt very tired.

  “Now tell me, what do you see behind your face?”

  “I see the strong tree’s bark, and green leaves dancing in the breeze, and a blue, blue sky,” Myrina murmured.

  “Forget yourself and gaze through the leaves into that sky.”

  Myrina felt as though she’d rather go to sleep but she tried to obey the Old Woman and soon she gasped.

  “What do you see?” Atisha asked. “What do you see out there in the sky?”

  “Clouds and swirling mist and shapes!”

  “What shapes, child?”

  But Myrina could only gasp again with delight as, through the swirling mist, familiar shapes emerged. There was Hati, holding a wreath of flowers, slipping them over Reseda’s head. Then Gul was hugging her older daughter and Aben was there, too, slipping a fine silver bangle carved in the shape of deer’s horns onto Reseda’s arm.

  “What do you see?” Atisha was smiling now.

  “I see those I love the best,” Myrina murmured contentedly; then suddenly she was alert with excitement. “Beno, my sister has chosen Beno for her husband; she’s chosen well.”

  “And you have done very well. Come back now, back through the sky and the leaves and the tree bark,” Atisha told her firmly.

  At once the misty pictures merged together and faded. Myrina was staring at her own face again, reluctant to let the vision go.

  “Now, just sit still for a moment,” Atisha told her. “The first time that you mirror-gaze and truly see may leave you drained of energy. Now then, how do you feel?”

  Myrina smiled and sighed. “Happy,” she said. “Just happy. Reseda knew about my golden brown viper and now I know how.”

  Atisha nodded. “If you long for your family and friends now you know what to do.”

  “But,” Myrina said, “will I be able to do such a thing myself, without you to guide me?”

  Atisha laughed. “You did well, Snaky Girl; some find it much more difficult than that. The more you practice, the stronger your magic will grow.”

  “I didn’t see Tomi,” she realized.

  “You will see whomever you want to see,” Atisha told her. “There will be plenty of time for keeping an eye on your sweetheart.”

  Myrina jumped. The Old Woman seemed to know everything about her.

  “Don’t look so fearful.” Atisha cackled crudely. “I didn’t need my magic mirror to tell me that; the boy couldn’t take his great calf eyes from you while you danced.”

  Myrina was pleased to hear that. “But what of Cassandra?” she asked. “Can she make this magic without being taught?”

  Atisha turned solemn. “That ancient mirror of hers has strong mystical powers. In Troy, they would say she was chosen by the god Apollo, but I think there’s a touch of Earth Mother, Maa, in the gift and maybe Dancing Myrina was her messenger.”

  This was deep magic that they talked of now, ancient magic that carried a great responsibility with it. Myrina could not help but feel a little resentful that the shade of the famous old warrior woman should visit Cassandra and not her who was her namesake.

  Atisha nodded. “I am coming to understand that we are honored to have Cassandra here with us, and yet . . .” The Old Woman stopped, her lined face full of pain.

  “Something troubles you about her?” Myrina whispered, hoping that she wasn’t being disrespectful.

  But Atisha smiled and patted her shoulder approvingly. “You are much like your grandmother,” she said. “Yes, something does trouble me. Cassandra’s gift will bring her sorrow. She doesn’t just see, as I do, as you did—she feels. She feels the emotions of those she sees. That can be too much for one person to bear, far too much. What that one needs is a true friend.”

  Myrina frowned. She could see that such a gift could bring suffering, but she couldn’t help but feel annoyed by the respect, almost reverence, that Atisha had so quickly given to Cassandra.

  “What that one needs is a loyal and stalwart companion,” Atisha repeated.

  Myrina shuffled uncomfortably. She felt sure that the Old Woman was suggesting that she be this stalwart one. Didn’t she have enough to do just keeping up with the other Moon Riders? Chryseis had seemed to be such a loyal companion but Cassandra had ruthlessly left her behind in Troy.

  She was relieved when Atisha got up briskly and said, “Well, well . . . we shall see. We must return to the others. We’ll cook and eat the fish that we’ve been given, then tomorrow we hunt. Are you good with the bow and arrow?”

  “Yes,” Myrina answered with confidence. “I can shoot from horseback in all directions, twisting north, south, east, and west, as Hati taught me.”

  “You are a born Moon Rider.” Atisha smiled.

  As the days lengthened and the bitter winter winds softened, the Moon Riders traveled on through Thrace. Everywhere they went they were welcomed and honored; their presence brought feasts and dancing.

  Myrina had little time to mirror-gaze, or even think about her family. Every day brought a new journey, new people, a babble of strange languages, and unfamiliar food that must be received with courtesy. Cassandra struggled through it all with grim determination.

  Atisha picked a steady mare called Arian for the Trojan princess, but even so, the first few weeks of riding alone brought her bruised thighs and an aching back. Myrina couldn’t help but notice the persistence with which Cassandra clambered onto Arian’s back each morning, gritting her teeth silently against the aches and pains. She readily joined the dancing each night, studiously copying Myrina’s every twist and turn, willingly raising her fine voice in son
g whenever it was requested, even though she might be dropping from exhaustion.

  As the two newcomers to the group they were often put together, and Myrina felt that she was being forced into the role of companion to Cassandra, whether she wished it or not. Atisha often spoke sharply to them both, but watched their struggles with approval.

  Their journey took them first along the western shore of Thrace, through the lands of the old king Peiroos and the warlike Ciconi tribes. Myrina stared in wonder at the strange way the men wore their long hair, tied up in topknots on the crowns of their heads. Before the Moon-maidens danced for them, the Ciconi men honored them by performing wild wrestling matches, making the young women cheer and swear that they were glad these people were their friends and not their enemies.

  Two young women from the Ciconis were presented to Atisha and accepted as new Moon-maidens. Suddenly Myrina and Cassandra were not the only new recruits.

  From there they traveled south to Abdera, and on to the lands of the Paionis, where the chieftain Pyraechmes ruled. Then they turned north to the lands of the great Thracian overlord Rhesus and the Edoni tribe, where two of the older Moon Riders would return to their families and two younger girls would be welcomed in their place.

  In Thrace the Moon Riders were welcomed just as they were by the Anatolian tribes, but here they were known as Wolf-maidens in honor of Harpalyce, daughter of the Great Thracian Mountain Mother. The stories that Atisha told were different and Myrina listened with rapt attention to the adventurous stories of Harpalyce’s childhood in the wilderness and mountains of Thrace.

  At last their journey took them in an easterly direction, through the mountainous lands of the Moesians, and through the Month of Flies they rode back along the southern shore of the Black Sea.

  Atisha brought her fine white stallion up beside Myrina and Cassandra. “Spring has come and gone,” she told them. “We ride fast toward our favorite camping ground, where we’ll stay and rest during the Month of Burning Heat. You have both worked hard and proved yourselves; now is the time for you to be happy and enjoy!”

  “We will!” Myrina agreed, smiling and acknowledging the compliment, but Cassandra looked a little puzzled; enjoyment would not come easily to her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sting like a Scorpion

  THE MOON RIDERS crossed the narrow Bosphorus Sea then rode south again, along the shore of the Sea of Marmara, to Elikmaa, where they made their summer camp each year. Though Myrina had traveled far and wide with her family she’d never before been to this lovely spot beside a huge lake. They set up their tents beside the water; lush fertile hills with clumps of cypress trees stretched out behind them. Myrina breathed in the scent of iris flowers, mint, and sage.

  A breeze from the water ruffled her hair. “A good cool place to be,” she murmured.

  “Yes,” Cassandra agreed, seeming a little more at ease in this beautiful place. “And see the fig trees heavy with fruit and ripe golden peaches growing all about us; nobody will go hungry here. We are like the fish.”

  Myrina frowned, puzzled. “Like the fish?”

  “Like the fish,” Cassandra insisted. “We go north in the summer for coolness, then turn south for the winter to find warmth.”

  Suddenly Myrina understood and laughed. “You’re mad,” she told Cassandra cheerfully, making her hands float like fins, and her mouth gulp, to imitate a fish swimming upstream.

  “Yes, that’s what they always said in Troy,” the princess answered, laughing back at her. “They called me mad!”

  “You look beautiful when you laugh,” Myrina told her truthfully.

  “No one in Troy ever said that,” Cassandra answered, happy for once.

  Myrina smiled back at her. Being Cassandra’s stalwart companion was not turning out to be so very difficult after all.

  The tribes who camped near Elikmaa welcomed the Moon Riders with goat’s milk cheese and delicious flat bread, rolled very thin and baked over fires glowing with charcoal. For once the only dance that was required of them was the gentle moon-dance that sent them all sleepy to their beds.

  Though there was no more traveling for a while, there was still work to do, making sure that the horses were well fed, watered, and exercised. The Month of Burning Heat went by all too soon and Atisha began to plan their next move south through the mountains. Bow practice was resumed, as soon as they’d saluted the morning sun.

  The Moon Riders’ tradition was always to shoot their arrows from horseback and in the old days, when they’d turned warrior, few enemies dared to face the formidable threat of charging Amazons.

  The Moon Riders laughed at the name of Amazon as they strapped on their strong leather body armor that flattened and protected the right breast as they drew their bows. The Achaeans had given them the name of Amazon, meaning “breastless ones,” and the story went about that the Moon-maidens were forced to burn or cut off their right breast.

  “As if we’d ever do such a ridiculous and dangerous thing.” Penthesilea shook her head, chuckling as she strung her curved bow.

  “Ah, but it does no harm to let them think it!” Centaurea insisted. “If we’d cut off a breast without fear, what else might we do? A frightening reputation can do much to protect us.”

  “Do we really need all this practice?” Myrina asked. “All we ever do is hunt rabbit or deer.”

  “Foolspeak!” Lycippe snapped. She was a young woman with a sharp pointed face, well-suited to the pictures of jackals that adorned her cheeks.

  “We must always be ready to fight!” Penthesilea waved her pointed spear in front of Myrina’s nose. “Who knows when we may need to defend ourselves? The journey south takes us through mountains where bears and robbers hide. We must always be ready.”

  “All right, all right!” Myrina backed away red-faced, wishing she’d not spoken. They’d answered her just as Hati might.

  Everyone knew that Penthesilea loved shooting with her curved bow; each morning she led the dancers in a mounted charge, astride her tireless mare, Fleetwind. They’d come and go in constant waves, never for one moment letting any direction go uncovered, aiming just as accurately behind them as in front. Back and forth they’d gallop at Penthesilea’s command, until every horse and rider was bathed in sweat.

  At last Atisha would call, “Enough!”

  After they’d rubbed the horses down, Atisha would call for dancing sticks. Though the short, light sticks were gaily painted, the stick dance that they performed also bore a serious purpose. A sharp iron point fixed to one end would instantly turn the sturdy stick into a spear. The Moon Riders’ sticks were free of pointed heads for the moment, but the way that Atisha made them train left no doubt in anyone’s mind that these cheerful baubles might be turned to death-dealing weapons in an instant.

  They advanced across the short-cropped grass, twirling their sticks steadily, then swung them fiercely above their heads. The clashing of wood on wood could be heard as the Moon Riders practiced with a partner—attack and defense, attack and defense. There were no holds barred and the dancers gathered many a bruised elbow and cracked ankle.

  Myrina swung her stick at Cassandra but then lightened her efforts a little as she saw the princess shrink away.

  “No! You’re not helping her,” Penthesilea cried. “Gentleness builds no strength. Sting like a scorpion, butt like a ram!”

  Myrina hesitated for a moment, recognizing the truth of this, but while she was distracted, Cassandra advanced, catching her off balance with a sharp whack!

  “Ha!” Penthesilea cried. “Well done! Strategy may win the day!”

  Myrina staggered to her feet and advanced toward Cassandra with furious eyes.

  “That’s better,” Penthesilea cried.

  As the Month of Burning Heat came to an end, the Moon Riders’ skills and strengths were honed. Cassandra grew dark-skinned and muscular, but at the same time a deep sense of contentment seemed to flow from her. Myrina grew stronger and more confident than ever.
The two were rarely separated now. They both found themselves a little time for mirror-gazing and were content with what they saw.

  Reseda seemed to be growing fatter and slower. “There may be a baby next spring,” Myrina told Cassandra. “I think I shall be an aunt. Is all well in Troy?”

  “I see that my friend Chryseis thrives, but I rarely look toward Troy,” Cassandra told her. “It is Iphigenia in Mycenae that I fear for, but each time I see her in my dark glass she looks well and pampered. It’s just that I feel she’s not happy.”

  The Moon Riders packed up their camp ready for the southward trek, to find their winter quarters in the warmer clime of Lesbos, the Sacred Isle.

  They set off riding south, but this time instead of returning to Troy, they skirted Mount Ida’s eastern slopes and headed onward through the mountain pass. The narrow rocky route was hard going, and though the horses were sure-footed, everyone seemed to heave a great sigh of relief as they came cantering down the southern slopes. The sea lay before them and the fertile green lands that bordered the shore. Their pace slowed as they came into sight of the Isle of Lesbos.

  “We’ll be making camp here,” Penthesilea told them.

  Myrina was surprised. “But the sun is high in the sky,” she said. “I thought we’d go on and look for boats. We’re so close to the island.”

  Penthesilea shook her head. “We camp here for two nights,” she told them. “Tomorrow is our gathering day. Surely you know about gathering day?”

  Myrina vaguely remembered Gul and Hati talking of such a thing but she’d never taken much notice of what it meant. “Who is it that we gather with?”

  Penthesilea laughed.

  “It is the plants that we gather,” Cassandra said solemnly. “Herbs and flowers for medicine and soothing potions.”

  “That’s right,” Penthesilea agreed.

  “How did you know?” Myrina snapped, suddenly annoyed. She was the one who knew about the Moon Riders, not Cassandra.