Mood Riders

by Theresa Tomlinson

  Myrina just stared at her. “We are all rats,” she murmured.

  Helen shook her head vaguely and smiled. She looked serene and beautiful, despite her silver graying hair—more beautiful at that moment, thought Myrina, than at any time before. There was certainly strong metal hidden beneath all that softness and charm; Helen would survive. Myrina shook her head, remembering that she must hurry. She turned and ran after Cassandra and Tomi.

  There was wailing as they ran through the streets, and dust and disorder everywhere. In the slaves’ sleeping quarters, part of the roof of the shed where the children slept had come down. Myrina marched up to the gate and Cassandra drew herself up very tall and imperiously told the guards that all the women were to be put under her command to clear up the stones and bricks that had fallen in the night.

  They obeyed her willingly enough.

  Myrina made the agreed sign to Akasya, flicking out her fingers from a closed fist; it meant “freedom.” The sign spread like fire from woman to woman and from hand to hand, but never a word was spoken. The guards untied the ropes and the women marched out in an orderly way. Some had small babies strapped to their chests; others had the more difficult role of leading toddlers, but each child was quiet and obedient, glad to get away from the walls that had threatened to crush them in the night.

  Akasya whispered low that two children had died like Helen’s little ones and their mothers were refusing to leave. Myrina stooped to enter the low building that was now half filled with rubble. The mothers sat together, each with her own dead child in her arms. There was no keening from them, just a terrible, staring silence, as they rocked gently back and forth as though soothing their children to sleep. Myrina made the “freedom” sign to them, but both shook their heads. Myrina nodded.

  “We cannot make them come,” she said to Cassandra. “We all have our own choices to make.”

  “I will take them as my waiting women,” Cassandra told her. “Two I can try to save; all of them I cannot.”

  Myrina turned to her with the terrible realization that the time had come to say good-bye. Who could tell whether they would ever meet again? She could not make a display of this moment for fear that the guards would become suspicious. This leave-taking was more painful than she had ever imagined it could be. “I pray to Maa that you will save yourself,” she whispered.

  But Cassandra for once was fearless. “I will save myself,” she insisted. “Helen has her means and I have mine. Look in your mirror, Snake Lady, and you shall see!”

  “I will,” Myrina told her.

  “I go to the upper gate now,” Cassandra told her coolly. “I’ll make sure that it is open. Then, whatever happens, do not stop or turn back, just ride, ride, ride! Snake Lady . . . I will always think of you!”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Apples and Freedom

  AS CASSANDRA HAD promised, the upper gates were open, with only a small number of guards, who were distracted enough with all the difficulties that the earth tremor had brought. The slave women mounted the horses as they had planned, two to each mare. Each Moon Rider took a woman who had never ridden and many of those also had a child perched in front. Akasya and the other women who had recently had lessons from Myrina took a mare for themselves. Chryseis and Theano joined them, little Chryse strapped snugly to his mother’s back. The two priestesses gave the large party of riders even more of an air of authority. They ambled quietly through the upper streets with Myrina at their head. Tomi brought up the rear.

  Cassandra issued more orders to the guards as the horses began to pass steadily out through the hidden gateway. All seemed well, but as more and more rode through, the guards became suspicious.

  “What is this? Why so many?”

  “But the princess has ordered it!”

  “Never mind the princess—what of her father? We have never let so many out before!”

  “Why are these children going? These babies never go outside!”

  “You will do as you are told!” Cassandra ordered. “Do you wish the wrath of Trojan Apollo on your head? Has not the Earth Shaker shown enough anger to this city in the night?”

  The captain of the guard would have no more. “Stop them!” he bellowed.

  But by then every last woman was out and Tomi, bringing up the rear, wheeled his horse about. “Ride!” he bellowed, taking his bow from his shoulder. “Ride!”

  All the riders heard his cry—even Myrina on Isatis at the front. Instinctively she urged her mare onward, but at the same time her heart sank to her boots.

  “Ride!” Tomi cried, as he notched an arrow to his bow, and sent it flying toward the angry guards, who knew at once that they had been tricked.

  Tomi’s arrows flew fast and furious and he shot down each guard that came at him, trying to follow the women. It was a short but bitter battle and at the end of it every one of the small group of men lay dead, but so did Tomi.

  Myrina and the women galloped on and vanished over the hilltop.

  Cassandra stood by the gates, her hands trembling, but then she made herself walk quietly out to where Tomi lay, his horse still snuffling at his bloodstained cheek. “Ya, ya yush!” she whispered, tears flooding down her cheeks.

  Moon Silver reared his head. “Ya, ya yush!” Cassandra repeated.

  The silver stallion turned obediently and headed up the hillside, following in Myrina’s wake.

  Cassandra sat beside Tomi for a while, but then she got up and carefully pulled his body back inside the hidden gate. She closed the great wooden doors, knuckled the tears from her eyes and calmly called for a servant to see the bodies taken away. “A band of Achaean warriors have captured our slaves,” she announced.

  “All of them, Princess?”

  Cassandra looked at him sternly; her blue and green eyes did not waver.

  “Yes, Princess.” The man said no more; there was far too much else to concern both lords and servants in Troy than this.

  “Take the Mazagardi warrior to my chamber,” she ordered. “I myself will lay him out and prepare him for the pyre. He was a very brave man.”

  “Yes, Princess.” He did her bidding at once.

  As Myrina breasted the hilltop, an astonishing sight lay before her. There, crossing their pathway, was a great gang of Achaeans, led by Odysseus. They moved steadily toward the downward path leading to the plain below. They dragged and pushed a heavy wooden battle engine with a great pointed head, the whole thing on wheels. Ropes were fastened to it on all sides and those at the front hauled away, while others pushed from the back. Myrina thought at once of Cassandra’s words: “A horse that moves toward the walls.”

  The Achaeans were absorbed in their task, so that they did not immediately see the gang of women who appeared over the hilltop to the side of them. Myrina almost stopped at the sight of them, but Cassandra’s last words came to her: “Do not stop, or turn back, just ride, ride, ride!”

  She whipped her bow from her shoulder and had an arrow notched before any of the men had noticed. Then, as she rode on and more Moon Riders appeared over the hilltop with bows instantly at the ready, she knew that they must simply charge their way through.

  The Achaeans were not armed with bows, but some had spears and swords. As soon as they saw the Snake Lady charging toward them, they snatched up their weapons, but Myrina could see fear in their eyes as memories of Penthesilea came to their minds. Then suddenly there was a shout from their leader. “Hold!” Odysseus bellowed.

  Myrina slowed Isatis for just a moment, wondering if he would recognize her as the friend of Yildiz and Penthesilea.

  “Hold!” he repeated, his eyes wide with surprise as he looked at the strange mixture of women who followed Myrina: Moon Riders in full armor and helmets, weary ragged slaves with children in their arms, and even two priestesses.

  Then he spoke quietly. “Our quarrel is not with such as you. Do not interfere with us and you may ride on!”

  Myrina lowered her bow and gave a sharp little nod; sh
e rode on fast.

  All through the day she rode on and on. She remembered the words that Cassandra had used to describe her dream: “You were leading a great herd, and yet you were somehow terribly alone!” The words echoed through her head. No Yildiz! No Tomi! Gone . . . all gone. Alone.

  Then she forced those thoughts away. She was not alone, not on Isatis’s back. She could never be alone, not while she still had Isatis. She made herself chant under her breath, “Just ride, ride, ride! I am not alone!”

  She led the women through the high mountainous lands that she knew so well, heading north toward the coast of the Sea of Marmara. She did not stop for anything; she did not stop to look for Tomi or ask about him. She knew the price that she had paid for freedom—it was a high price indeed.

  Chryseis and Theano separated from them when the sun was high in the sky. They did not stop to say good-bye, just gave the priestess’s salute and turned their horses’ heads to the west. Myrina understood from their sorrowful looks that they understood only too well the sacrifice that had been made.

  As the sun sank, Myrina slowed her pace at last. They came to a stream with a dark silhouette of sheltering trees that she recognized would make a good resting place for the night. Coronilla and Akasya came to her at once, leading the riderless Moon Silver, their faces grim.

  Myrina slipped down from Isatis’s back, bone-weary and numb. “Do not say it!” she warned them angrily. “I do not want to hear the words!”

  They obeyed her and all the women moved quietly in sympathy, hushing their children in respect for her feelings. They lit a fire with flint and the dried fennel twigs that Coronilla had brought and drank the clean fresh water of the stream. Though there had been little time to think of food—and little food left in Troy to bring—Coronilla had managed to snatch up a bag of grain so that they could make flat bread cakes. The Moon Riders showed the children that many of the trees were apple trees and still bore fruit. Myrina heard small voices whispering joyfully in the Luvvian language, “We have apples and freedom!”

  “Tomorrow you will have fish from the Sea of Marmara,” she promised. “My friend the King of Marble Island will help us in every way he can.”

  Tears came at last to her and she wandered away from the others and sat down beside the stream. The women allowed her to weep in peace, but when at last she was so weary that no more tears would come, she began to dry her eyes, hearing a gentle rhythmical sound in the distance. She got up and wandered back toward the camp. All the women—Moon Riders, those who had once been slaves, and even their children—were dancing about the fire, arms linked, turning their heads to the north, to the south, and then up to the moon. There beneath the apple trees they moved together, singing the strange song that had sustained them through all their years of hardship in Troy.

  Myrina approached, but they still sang on, more gently than ever. A powerful wave of comfort flooded out to her from each and every one of them. As she came close they slowed and stopped, uncertain whether they caused more pain.

  “No,” she said. “Don’t stop. You must always do this dance. You must never forget it. It is a dance of great power and it will carry you through all you have to face.”

  “We won’t forget it.” Akasya held out her hand to Myrina. “Come and join us. Tonight we dance to honor Tomi and after this day, whenever we do this dance, we will always think of him.”

  Myrina went to her, smiling shakily. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  They made a space for her and then started to sing and move together again in harmony, turning their heads from side to side like rippling waves, and then up to the silver moon.

  It was the Month of New Leaves and five women, mounted on horseback, reined in their mares at the top of the highest hill above the thickly wooded valley of the River Thermodon. They looked confidently to the south, for six months had passed since the city of Troy had fallen and most of the raiding Achaeans had returned to their homes. The tribal traveling lands were slowly becoming safe again.

  Atisha and Hati were both very old and slow-moving, but they had insisted on riding out that afternoon. Iphigenia and Centaurea moved a little way ahead, but the most eager of all was four-year-old Phoebe, who rode her mare as confidently and straight-backed as the adults. “Snake Lady, Snake Lady, come to us!” she whispered impatiently.

  At last they thought they could see movement in the distance. They strained their eyes. “Is it them?” Phoebe shrilled.

  “Yes, my little cistus flower, I think so.” Atisha’s voice cracked with emotion.

  They urged their horses forward. Atisha and Hati slowed their mounts so that they could take in the sight and wonder at it. Myrina rode toward them on Isatis at the head of a huge party of horsewomen; Akasya and Coronilla galloped at her side. Behind them followed the great mass of riders, their steeds well fed, with gleaming coats. They rode as though they had spent their lives in the saddle and every one of them was equipped with leather body armor, strung bows and quivers full of arrows fastened to their thighs. Little children sat confidently in front of their mothers; the older children who rode with them managed their own mounts with confidence. The Moon Riders were a strong and potent force once again.

  “Snake Lady.” Hati’s voice broke. Tears spilled down her withered cheeks as she welcomed Myrina, hugging her tight. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “A whole new band of Moon Riders at your back.”

  “Grandmother,” Myrina scolded, “you never cry!”

  “On such a day as this I do.” Hati had no shame in the tears.

  “We have seen all your joys and sorrows,” Atisha told Myrina sadly. “We know the rash courage of Penthesilea, and those that you have had to leave behind.”

  Hati wiped her eyes. “I am so sorrowful that when I go there will be only you and little Phoebe left of our once great Mazagardi tribe.”

  “No, that is not quite true, Grandmother,” Myrina told her, smiling, “for I will be needing your help as a midwife soon.”

  Then Atisha and Hati laughed with joy as they saw that her hand rested protectively on her swollen belly.

  “It seems that Phoebe and I will not be the last of the Mazagardi after all!”

  Epilogue

  MYRINA AND IPHIGENIA sat together beside a waterfall on a hot day in the Month of Burning Heat. Myrina’s tiny daughter, Tamsin, lay beside them in the shade, kicking her legs, but for once both the women were ignoring her, each one gazing into her own mirror, but sharing the vision they saw.

  Suddenly Iphigenia cried out, shocked, “He is dead. My father is dead!”

  Myrina reached out and clasped her hand, but neither of them dared to take her eyes from her mirror, for Cassandra, the one they were most concerned about, stood face to face with Iphigenia’s mother, Clytemnestra. They could see the terrible anger that was written there in the aging queen’s face; she was a bitter, dark-haired version of her sister Helen.

  As they watched, Clytemnestra reached accusingly to Cassandra with a bloodstained hand, but the Princess of Troy did not flinch. She stood her ground and spoke. Though Myrina and Iphigenia could not hear the words clearly, they understood very well what was being said. Suddenly Clytemnestra put her head down and sobbed. It was Cassandra’s own arms that reached out to comfort the woman.

  “She knows,” Myrina said. “Your mother knows at last that you are safe.”

  Iphigenia heaved a great sigh. “Of this at least I am glad.”

  Then they watched as Clytemnestra led the way, hand in hand with Cassandra, down steep steps to a waiting boat. Hurriedly she ushered the princess on board and then stood back on the harborside, watching as the boat was rowed away and the sails were unfurled.

  Cassandra sat there on the deck as the wind caught the sails and the captain gave the order to draw in the oars. The watchers both smiled as they saw her expression; it was one of great peace.

  “She is safe.” Iphigenia breathed with relief. “But where will she go?”

  Myr
ina smiled and did not hesitate. “To the island of Sminthe,” she said. “Perhaps one day you and I will go there, too.”

  Cast of Characters

  Moon Riders:

  Myrina—the Snake Lady, daughter of Aben and Gul, granddaughter of Hati, sister of Reseda, member of the Mazagardi tribe; an imaginary character.

  Cassandra—Princess of Troy, daughter of Priam; a character from Greek mythology, portrayed in Homer’s Iliad.

  Atisha—Leader of the Moon Riders, old friend of Hati; an imaginary character.

  Penthesilea—Moon Rider, Atisha’s second-in-command; she is based on Penthesilea the Amazon Queen, a character from Greek mythology, portrayed in “The Fall of Troy,” a heroic poem by Quintus of Smyrna.

  Hati, Gul, and Reseda—female family members of Myrina who were Moon Riders before her; imaginary characters.

  Yildiz and Phoebe—daughters of Reseda; imaginary characters.

  Trojans:

  Priam—King of Troy; a character from Greek mythology, portrayed in Homer’s Iliad.

  Hecuba—Queen of Troy; a character from Greek mythology, portrayed in Homer’s Iliad.

  Paris—Prince of Troy, son of Priam, Helen’s lover; a character from Greek mythology, portrayed in Homer’s Iliad.

  Hector—Prince of Troy, eldest son of Priam; a character from Greek mythology, portrayed in Homer’s Iliad.

  Chryseis—friend of Cassandra, daughter of Chryse, priest of Apollo; based on a character from Greek mythology, portrayed in Homer’s Iliad.

  Achaeans:

  Agamemnon—King of Mycenae, powerful overlord of the Achaean lands; a character from Greek mythology, portrayed in Homer’s Iliad.

  Clytemnestra—Queen of Mycenae, wife of Agamemnon, mother of Iphigenia and also Helen’s sister; character from Greek mythology, portrayed in Homer’s Iliad.