Mood Riders

by Theresa Tomlinson

  “Yes,” Penthesilea agreed. “There is real danger of rebellion if this evil priest is disobeyed. The great mass of warriors are with him and demand the sacrifice.”

  Cassandra suddenly lurched forward, her lips twisted as though in pain. Myrina grabbed her and held her tight. “What is it?”

  “She knows,” Cassandra whispered. “Iphigenia knows what they plan; her mind has gone dark with fear.”

  They looked at one another for a moment, frozen as ice, trying to understand what the young princess must be feeling. It was too much—too bitter, too terrible to bear.

  Then Penthesilea shook herself back into being practical again. “We need to find out where this is to take place.”

  “I know that,” Cassandra told them. “An altar is being prepared in front of the temple in the grove of Artemis, on the hill above the palace.”

  “Well done.” Penthesilea would have no sorrow, only action. “Now we have all the information that we need and I know what we will do.”

  They spent a restless night, but on the following afternoon they stood together in a tiny circle, heads bent in prayer to Maa; beside them tethered and steadily cropping the grass was a small and perfect white deer. “If all moon goddesses are one,” Penthesilea whispered, “may the Lady Artemis and our own Moon Mother join together and help us this night!”

  Then slowly, very slowly they raised their arms to the sky, dancing to the right and then to the left, tiny shimmering movements flowing from their hands and feet. They performed the most magical dance known to them, an ancient dance of power. Somewhere far away to the north an Old Woman sat beside her camp watching them in her mirror, while the whole great company of Moon Riders performed the same sacred dance, sending to Aulis all the magical strength they possessed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Full of the Moon

  AS SOON AS the sun began to slip toward the horizon, the four women ceased their dancing. Penthesilea took hold of the young deer firmly. “Forgive me, little one,” she murmured. Then she brought the hard muscular heel of her hand down sharply on the back of its neck, dealing instant death.

  The others helped her to strap the carcass, still warm, onto her belly. They covered it carefully with her cloak, so that Penthesilea bore the unmistakable shape of a pregnant woman near to her time.

  They set off, leading their horses toward the public entrance to the place of sacrifice. Many people walked beside them, young and old, thronging the streets and heading up toward the hill to see the sacrifice performed. Some of their faces were blank, but some were lined with sorrow; a few of them wept.

  They passed by the palace and found a small group of bystanders gathered about the walls, pointing and distracted. They heard loud bangs and thumps coming from one of the high windows, and then the sound of splintering wood. The guards who stood by the gates ran back inside, leaving their posts unattended.

  “It’s Clytemnestra,” the whisper spread from person to person.

  Myrina stopped by the gates, hesitating. “No.” Penthesilea shook her head. “We must ignore it. Iphigenia must be our only concern if we are to succeed.”

  Myrina nodded; Penthesilea was right. They turned away and moved on toward the temple of Artemis.

  Centaurea stopped at the gates. She carefully gathered all the horses together, then wishing the other three well she turned away, leading the mares to a patch of fresh grass at the bottom of the sacred grove.

  Penthesilea led the way, followed by Myrina and Cassandra, who clung together, hand in hand. With steady determination, Penthesilea pushed to the front, the other two following in her wake.

  Whispers flew around the crowd. “Does the princess come willingly?”

  “Clytemnestra is locked up in her room, guards at her door. You can hear her screams of rage from outside the palace.”

  “Where’s Agamemnon?”

  “He will not come, but sends his brother in his place, while he calls for a pitcher of the strongest wine.”

  “His wife swears that she will bring the foulest revenge. Her curses are enough to frighten the strongest warrior.”

  A young woman with a baby in her arms shuddered. “I’m glad it’s not my child who must die.”

  Penthesilea could not contain herself. “Many a mother’s child shall die,” she told the woman fiercely, “before these kings are done with their war on Troy.”

  There was silence all about them for a moment and Myrina caught her breath. Those about them looked with suspicion on the two strange women with decorated cheeks. But then the woman who’d been speaking looked with pity on Penthesilea’s swollen stomach. “What you say is true,” she answered.

  “Aye . . . true.” Agreement came from all around.

  At last they stood before the stone altar and Cassandra saw with a gasp that the glittering gold knife of her dream lay upon it. Flames rose from a gilded fire-basin. Behind the altar stood the sacred grove with the statue of the goddess, forbidden to all but the high priest and priestess.

  “It is death to anyone who goes in there,” Myrina whispered.

  “It is death to anyone who does what we plan,” Penthesilea answered. Then she added with bitter humor, “If they are caught!”

  Myrina almost smiled, though her stomach churned fiercely.

  The crowd began to chant, swaying from side to side.

  “Where is he?” Penthesilea hissed. “Where is this bloody man that calls himself a priest?”

  Three notes were heard on a flute followed by the light tinkling of cymbals, then from down the steps of the temple a procession slowly came into view. “There he is.” Myrina nodded. “Ah—how can they?”

  Ten young girls led the procession. They were dressed in long tunics dyed in a rainbow of colors, the fine material swirling as they danced. Two clicked cymbals while the others began strewing flowers onto the ground. If the purpose of it all had not been so terrible, it would have been beautiful.

  Then at last they saw Iphigenia, a small figure dressed in a long white tunic that fell to the ground; about her neck was a single silver crescent moon. Her face was bloodless and blank; almost, Myrina thought, as though she were already dead. She walked forward as though in a dream, stumbling a little, but then somehow moving on.

  Staying calm for that moment was the hardest thing that Myrina had ever done; Penthesilea, too, had great difficulty holding back. For two pins she’d have leaped up, dagger at the ready, and killed the priest where he stood. Cassandra went very still and white, never taking her eyes from Iphigenia’s face.

  “You must make her see you,” Penthesilea whispered.

  It seemed that Iphigenia saw nobody: not the dancing girls or the crowd. The priest arrived at the altar and picked up the knife, turning to urge his victim forward. At that moment Cassandra let her veil slip from her face. It slid down her back and onto the floor; her blue and green eyes burning into the face of Iphigenia, slowly she touched her hand to her brow, in the priestess’s salute.

  At last Iphigenia seemed to look at her friend, though no sign of recognition crossed her face.

  “I think she has seen you,” Penthesilea whispered. Her hands moved inside her cloak to loosen the dead deer. “Whether she has understood I cannot tell. We must act, whether she understands or not. Are you ready, Myrina?”

  “Yes.”

  Myrina clutched in her hand the open bag of incense that Atisha had given them. Usually Atisha would use but one grain to give a strong scented smoke, but this time, as the priest Chalcis carelessly threw a small handful of incense grains into the fire-bowl, Myrina leaned forward and tipped the whole of Atisha’s bag into the flames. There was just one short moment of surprise when the few people who’d seen the gesture stared at her, puzzled and suspicious, but then immediately thick white clouds of powerful smoke billowed out of the dish.

  The women wasted no time, leaping forward at once. Cassandra and Myrina snatched Iphigenia, one on each side, while Penthesilea flung down upon the a
ltar the body of the slaughtered deer. Then they dashed straight ahead, into the forbidden grove, running past the statue and fast down the hill through the sacred olive trees, to where Centaurea was waiting at the bottom with the horses.

  Behind them smoke billowed thick as a cloud, making eyes run and throats gasp and cough. The Moon Riders didn’t stop to see it.

  Penthesilea was the first to leap onto her horse. “Give her to me,” she cried.

  They had half-dragged, half-carried Iphigenia, like a limp doll between them. Now they hauled her up into Penthesilea’s arms and without waiting for them to mount their steeds and follow, Fleetwind was off, heading north, out of the city and out of that land.

  Myrina and Cassandra could hear rising cries of anger and frustration behind them as the tightly packed crowd pushed and shoved in panic.

  “Don’t stop!” Centaurea shouted.

  Cassandra sprang onto Arian’s back.

  Myrina swung herself up onto Isatis. Within moments they were cantering after Penthesilea, urging their horses to a gallop as they reached the outskirts of Aulis. “If ever you ran like the wind, the time is now, my dear Isatis,” Myrina whispered. And the blue-black mare did not let her down.

  Back at their small camp by the stream, Penthesilea stopped for a moment so that the others could catch up with her. Cassandra was distraught when she saw the glazed look and still limp body of Iphigenia.

  “She’s drugged,” Penthesilea told them. “Don’t fear for her. She cannot seem to hear or speak, but she lives and breathes. Force a drop of water between her lips, then we must ride again.”

  Centaurea brought fresh water and they managed to get a few drops down Iphigenia’s throat, but then they re-mounted and rode north without stopping all through the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A New Recruit

  AS DAWN CAME, they began skirting the lower slopes of Mount Parnassus. Penthesilea insisted that they must stop and eat and drink at a clear spring.

  “Come here, Cassandra,” she called. “Here’s a sight will cheer your heart.” She swung down from her horse, Iphigenia still in her arms, but they could see at once that a faint rose blush had touched the young girl’s cheeks.

  Myrina took the rug from her horse’s back and spread it on some soft grass. “Lay her down here,” she said.

  They bent over her, full of concern, and Iphigenia moved her lips as though they were numb and stiff. “Moon-lady,” she murmured. “Moon-lady!”

  Penthesilea chuckled. “She seems to think that I am Artemis and I have spirited her away.”

  Then suddenly Iphigenia looked up at Cassandra, her eyes full of recognition. She lurched forward, stiffly holding out her arms. Cassandra scooped her up and they stood there hugging each other tightly, while the other three watched, huge smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes.

  “Dear little friend!” Cassandra murmured, gently rocking Iphigenia.

  “I knew that you were there with me,” Iphigenia whispered.

  “Did you see me there in front of the temple?”

  Iphigenia spoke solemnly. “You were there with me, long before that,” she said. “I was never really alone, just as you promised.”

  “Now we must eat.” Penthesilea insisted that they be practical. “We’ve bread, olives, and cheese from Aulis market stalls. We must all eat whether we feel like it or not, then quickly ride on and not stop for anything else.”

  Iphigenia clung to Cassandra and wouldn’t leave her side but she obediently ate what they gave her and smiled at Myrina. “You are the Snaky Horse-girl.” Her voice was croaky. She was still shivering from shock, but they were encouraged that she recognized Myrina, too.

  “Did somebody give you something to drink?” Centaurea asked.

  Iphigenia looked vague for a moment, then she spoke. “Mother,” she said. “My mother gave me strong wine to drink.”

  Centaurea nodded. “Poor woman,” she whispered. “What else could she do?”

  When they got up to remount, Cassandra led Iphigenia to ride on Fleetwind again. “Penthesilea is the best horsewoman of us all,” she told her. “We’ll all be able to move faster if you ride with her.”

  Penthesilea hauled the girl up in front of her. “Moon-lady,” Iphigenia murmured.

  “Ha!” Penthesilea laughed.

  They traveled on for four days, stopping only for the briefest rests. At times the horses carried them half-asleep on their backs. The beasts seemed to sense the importance of constantly moving on, and at last they began to travel more slowly again, with Centaurea happy to be back in her homeland of Thrace.

  “We must make camp and rest for a few days,” Penthesilea told them as they neared the familiar town of Abdera. “Our horses have carried us like magical steeds, but we must not push them further. Besides we’ve no food left and I think we are safe here.”

  They all agreed, glad to be among the friendly tribes again. They were welcomed and feasted, but decided that it was wise to keep Iphigenia’s identity secret for the time being.

  “This is my niece, Genia,” Penthesilea announced. “We take her north to join the Moon Riders; she is our new recruit.”

  “I would like to join the Moon Riders,” Iphigenia told them.

  Penthesilea held her as she spoke, whispering gently, “You know that you cannot go back?”

  Iphigenia nodded.

  “I know something of what that feels like, for I left my family when I was your age to travel with the Moon Riders and I have never been able to go back to them.”

  Iphigenia understood. “I’d rather be here with you and Cassandra and the Snake Lady,” she told them firmly. “It is just that—I wish my mother knew I am safe.”

  The weather was warm while they camped at Abdera. Iphigenia slept peacefully each night, snuggled up to Cassandra. Myrina was relieved to see that both the troubled princesses seemed to have found peace at last.

  A few days of rest and good food made them all feel stronger, and on the third day some Thracian horse traders passed through the town telling everyone of the miracle that had taken place at Aulis.

  The marketplace at Abdera was alive with gossip. “They say that Artemis herself appeared and snatched the little princess up into her arms! She flew away with her, high into the sky.”

  “I should think so, too,” was the general response. “Damned shame—the very idea of it—sacrificing a young girl like that!”

  “The goddess left a white deer in the princess’s place and the priest sacrificed that instead—now the wind has changed.”

  “Doesn’t the wind always change at this time of year?”

  The Moon Riders listened to it all with satisfaction. “We’ve gotten away with it.” Myrina laughed.

  “Yes. But we mustn’t let our guard drop,” Penthesilea insisted.

  The following morning brought sadness again when Cassandra told them that she must leave them and return to Troy.

  “Have you had another dream? Have you seen something in your mirror?” Myrina asked.

  “No.” Cassandra was very firm and clear about it. “This is no dream or vision; it is simply that I think of my family and I think of the city that I love. All those ships, that bronze weaponry, all those warriors, rank on rank of them; they carry their war to my city and I must be there.”

  “There’s nothing that you can do to help.” Penthesilea didn’t like the idea at all and Myrina even less.

  “Why should you go home to a family who’ve never believed a word you said, or ever given you much of their love?”

  But Cassandra wouldn’t give way. “I must be there with them,” she said.

  “Can I come with you to your city?” Iphigenia begged. The thought of being parted so soon from her dear friend was terrible to her.

  Cassandra took her hand. “You wouldn’t be safe there and I would worry about you all the time. You must travel on to the Moon Riders’ camp. Atisha, their chief, will take good care of you. I shall be happy knowing
that you are safe with them. Please try to understand. You and I will never be parted in our hearts.” Cassandra touched Iphigenia’s face.

  “Yes,” Iphigenia agreed. “As before. I will not be alone.”

  Tears sprang to Myrina’s eyes as Iphigenia took the pearly crescent moon from about her neck and slipped it over Cassandra’s head. It seemed this pampered child had grown up and lived a whole lifetime of experience in just one phase of the moon.

  Then Cassandra was fumbling at her belt with shaking fingers and suddenly Myrina knew what she would do. The Princess of Troy held out her precious obsidian mirror wrapped in its leather pouch.

  Iphigenia took the gift, a little puzzled as to what it was.

  “This is more than the dark shining stone that you will find inside,” Cassandra told her. “Its magic will give you power if you learn to use it well.”

  Iphigenia took out the gleaming, black mirror and smiled. “It is beautiful,” she whispered. “What will I do with it?”

  “I will teach you how to use it,” said Myrina.

  When they saw that Cassandra was determined to return to Troy, they set their minds to making plans. They would travel on through Thrace together, cross the Hellespont and see the princess safe inside the city walls. Then they would head north toward Elikmaa, where they’d wait for Atisha and the other Moon Riders.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Towers of Troy

  WHEN THE SMALL band of women reached the land they called the Thracian Chersonese, they found warriors camping by the riverside, their spears and weapons visible as they approached. Penthesilea slowed them all up, wondering whether to take a more westerly route. Though she’d willingly challenge any warrior, the safety of her two royal charges was uppermost in her mind.