WARNER BOOKS EDITION
Copyright © 1999 by J. Suzanne Frank
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Cover design by Diane Luger
Cover illustration by Franco Accornero
WARNER BOOKS
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.
First eBook Edition: April 2009
ISBN: 978-0-446-56146-4
Contents
Copyright Page
FOREWORD
PART I
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
PART II
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
PART III
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
PART IV
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
PART V
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
PART VI
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
PART VII
CHAPTER 17
AFTERWORD
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
READING GROUP GUIDE
ACCLAIM FOR THE NOVELS OF
SUZANNE FRANK
SUNRISE ON THE MEDITERRANEAN
“Colorful … intriguing…. The juxtaposition of modern-day observations and expressions and archaic situations gives a good shot of humor to the clever, suspenseful narrative.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Suzanne Frank triumphs again with another mesmerizing tale of love and adventure in the ancient world….An exceptionally talented writer, Frank brings us one thrill after another as she allows us to view history in an amazingly fresh light without sacrificing one iota of reality.”
—Romantic Times
“A delightful twist on biblical history…. Not since Jean Auel’s Ayla has there been a heroine as resourceful as Chloe….Fast paced and wildly entertaining, this third book in the series stands alone but makes the reader want to hunt down [the first two books].”
—Booklist
“A compelling time-travel tale full of vivid characterizations, with historically accurate settings and a picturesque backdrop illuminating a bygone era …by far the best to date.”
—New-Age Bookshelf
“A perfect combination of fact and fantasy… . The author’s solid knowledge of the Old Testament mixed with her quirky humor will transport you.”
—Kerrville Daily Times (TX)
“Fans and newcomers alike should enjoy this… . Frank effectively uses her knowledge of the Old Testament in her re-creation of ancient Israel … recommended.”
—Library Journal
SHADOWS ON THE AEGEAN
“Imaginative. Creative. Ingenious. Engrossing. Suzanne Frank has given her readers a brilliantly written, magical story.”
—Clive Cussler, author of Atlantis Found and Valhalla Rising
“A top pick—4 1/2 stars! … Everything a romance fan would want and much, much more. A treasure indeed!”
—Romantic Times
“An exotic, erotic, breathtaking adventure … wondrously conceived, brilliantly executed. I look forward with great eagerness to Suzanne Frank’s next book!”
—Barbara Wood, author of The Prophetess
“Part Mary Renault, part Jacqueline Susann, Frank delights in re-imagining … lost rituals of love and religion, but she also finds moments of refreshing humor in the contrast between Chloe’s modern sensibility and ancient manners… . Fans will stay tuned.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A tour de force of imagination, Shadows on the Aegean brings a magical world to brilliant life. Masterfully told.”
—Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, authors of The Ice Limit and Riptide
“Suzanne Frank has absolutely surpassed her debut book with this second novel of rapturous romance and high adventure.”
—Bertrice Small, author of The Duchess
“Brings all the splendor and beauty known as Atlantis into our reading world… . If you loved Diana Gabaldon, then this author is not one to be missed. Ms. Frank is simply a gifted historical writer. Fantastic! 5 bells!”
—Bell, Book & Candle
REFLECTIONS IN THE NILE
“Good storytelling… . Ancient Egypt comes alive!”
—Diana Gabaldon, New York Times bestselling author of Voyager
“An adventure you won’t want to put down.”
—Detroit Free Press
“Totally engrossing … the characters are exceptional.”
—Midwest Book Review
Also by Suzanne Frank
Reflections in the Nile
Shadows on the Aegean
To Dan
GLOSSARY
adon/adoni (ad-o-nee)—man, sir, dear sir
akchav (ahk-shahv)—Hebrew for emphatic “now”
Ashdod (ash-dohd)—Philistine city
Ashqelon (ásh-ki-lawn)—Philistine city
Ashterty (ash-téar-tee)—consort of Ba’al and fertility goddess in the ancient Near East
avayra goreret avayra (áh-vay-rah gore-er-et áh-vay-rah)— transgression begets transgression
Ba’al (bah’ahl)—Near Eastern god of thunderstorms, among other things
bereshet (b’ray-shéet)—the first word in the Hebrew Bible, meaning “in the beginning”
b’rith (breet)—covenant
b’seder (bí-say-der)—Hebrew term of agreement
b’vakasha (bih-vak-ah-shah)—Hebrew for “please”
chalev v’d’vash (ha-lev-oo-di-vash)—milk and honey
chesed (hés-said)—lovingkindness
Dagon (day-gone)—fishtailed god of the Pelesti (Philistines)
Derkato (dér-kay-toe)—mythological consort of Dagon
echad (áy-had)—one
el—god
elohim (el-o-heém)—angelic warriors and divine courtiers
Gaza (gáh-zah)—Philistine city , also known as Aza
giborim (gíb-or-eem)—David’s private guards
guf— body/flesh
g’vret (give-rett)—lady
ha—the
hakol b’seder (há-coal bih-say-der)—“everything is all right”
hal (hall)—biblical term for devoting something to God through utter destruction
Hamishah (hám-i-shah)—term for the five Philistine cities of the plain
har—mountain
henti— an Egyptian measure of distance, similar to stadia
herim (háir -eem)—holy war
I AM—the name of God
isha (eé-shah)—woman
Keftiu (kéf-too)—Crete and the Cyclades islands Kemt—Egyptian for Egypt
ken—Hebrew for “yes”
kinor (kéen-or)—ten-stringed harp
laylah (lié-lah)—night
Levim (lév-eem)—the Tribes’ priests
lifnay (leáf-nay)—Hebrew for “before” in the chronological sense
lo—Hebrew for “no”
mah—what
melekh (meh-lehch)—king
Moshe—biblical Moses
nachon (náh-hohn)—enthusiastic Hebrew agreement
nasi (nah-sée)—prince
nefesh (néf-ish)—soul
nishmat ha hayyim (neesh-máht-ha-há-yeem)—the divine breath of God that starts life
Pelesti (páy-l
ee-stee)—ancient term for the Philistines
qiryat (kir-ee-yáht)—city
Qiselee (kí-see-lee)—Philistine city
Rosh Tsor haHagana (rosh tsore ha-hahg-ah-nah)—leader of the army
sela (sáy-lah)—amen
serenim (sáre-i-neem)—the Philistine leaders
Shabat—Hebrew for the Sabbath, sundown on Friday to sundown on Saturday
shalosh (shá-losh)—three
shtyme (shtai-yeem)—two
tani’n (tán-in)—pre-battle pep talk and dance
teraphim (téar-ah-feem)—totem statues Thummim (thóom-eem)—oracular stone
todah (tóe-dah)—thank you
tov (to-ev)—good
Tsidon (sí-don)—modern Sidon
Tsor (sore)—modern Tyre
tzadik (zá-dick)—holy man/prophet Urim (érr-eem)—oracular stone Yaffa (yah-fah)—ancient Jaffa
yam (yahm)—Hebrew for “sea”
yelad/im (yéll-ah-deem)—child/children
Zakar Ba’al—the official title of the ruler of Tsor
zekenim (z’káy-neem)—the seventy leaders of the Tribes
FOREWORD
History is known, illuminated. Details that elude the
historical record sculpt it from the shadows.
How does this darkness shade what we already know?
What of things that aren’t documented?
What of wars that aren’t fought? What of plagues that are
conquered before they become epidemics?
What of leaders who escape assassination?
Are the things that are not transcribed, the truths that are
never told, the events, good and bad, whose potential is
never realized, equally vital?
As negative space in art delineates the structure of a
shape, does what has not happened
lend line, form, and credence to that which has?
Ultimately, the truths on which we base our lives are half-
known, because we see only what we are told exists.
PART I
CHAPTER 1
IWAS DROWNING IN SPACE; then space became water.
Okay, at least drowning in water was logical.
Of course, logical wouldn’t matter much if I were dead. Dead?
I opened my mouth to scream in protest, only to gag on the aforementioned water. Light surrounded me, blue to one side, pink from the other. Which direction was up? I kicked reflexively, propelling myself toward the pink, away from the blue.
I broke through a salmon-tinted glass ceiling, gasping for air, swallowing huge lungfuls of it. All around I saw rosy water, ruddy sky. What on earth? Then I felt it, throbbing through my bones and blood: recognition.
There are few places one knows instinctively; this was one of mine. I had played in these waters on almost every coast: Turkey, Greece, Italy, Israel, Lebanon, Morocco. The colors were unmistakable, the taste unforgettable.
I was in the Mediterranean. Sunrise was embracing the now blue black sea with fingers of rose, gold, and lavender.
I wasn’t drowning.
Nor was I comforted to find myself in the middle of the Med, with neither land nor ship from horizon to horizon. My legs hadn’t stopped moving, keeping me afloat. Shivering, I moved through the water, looking for a warm current. I passed through one, then turned around to return to it.
“Dagon be exalted!” I saw them at the same time I heard them. Before I could kick away, a wide, flat thing flew at me, covering my head, my arms, imprisoning my movements. I flailed, tried to get free, but I was caught. I cursed as I went under, able to use only my legs to surface again. In the back of my consciousness I heard a chant, “Dagon, Lord of the Sea, we bow to thee.” My brain was refiring the image I’d seen: a canoe carrying four bearded men in dresses. The thing tightened around me, slipping lower, stopping my legs from paddling.
I really was going to drown.
“Dagon, Lord Dagon, we bring—” The rest of it was submerged with my ears. Water burned in my nostrils, familiar briny Mediterranean seawater. How could I have ever known it would be my last—my thought was interrupted as someone yanked my head above water, his hands in my hair, half ripping it from the roots.
“She is beautiful as benefits thee. Take her, Dagon—” The chorus continued as I shrieked, then inhaled, desperately forcing myself to not fight off my pseudorescuers. Some factoid in my military training reminded me that more people drowned while being rescued. Don’t struggle, Chloe. Don’t. I was coughing up water, my eyes streaming, blurring the world around me.
Arms grabbed me as I was going under for the third time. A hand covered my mouth, another voice crooned for me to be quiet and still, they had caught me so that I could be honored. I didn’t want to be honored, I wanted to be free!
It took every ounce of effort not to scream as they pulled my head again, using my hair as a handle. Then they grasped me around the elbows and hefted me into the canoe.
“Ha der-kay-toe glows with the beauty of Lord Dagon’s love,” they sang. The vibrations of landing hard on the wood resonated through my body, knocked the wind out of me, left me motionless for a moment. I couldn’t see because my hair, wet and heavy, covered my face.
“HaDerkato delights the heart of the Lord of Corn.” I coughed up more water, spewing it through the—net?—I was caught in. I was outraged. I was snared in a net? Like a fish? “Dagon, Master of the Sea …” I fought to catch my breath. I twisted within my bonds, then stopped for a moment. Nearly drowning was hard work. I was exhausted.
I sneezed.
“HaDerkato blesses us,” they said. “Lord Dagon embraces her.” Quickly I did a body inventory. Everything seemed to work—arms, legs, torso, neck. Though my head felt disconnected, still I understood the words of the … sailors?
“Dagon, Lord of Corn, this gift we bring to thee… .”
Daybreak had turned the sky blue, with misty clouds above us. Through squinted eyes I saw that I was dumped in the back of the canoe—but it wasn’t really a canoe, it was more like a skiff—and I was lying across a plank in the back, my feet trailing an inch above the water. Strapped as I was in the net, I saw only my legs, the sky, and the odd sandaled foot.
Sandals, dresses on men.
“We implore thee to accept this propitiation.”
My eyes popped open at that.
“She’s waking!” someone shouted.
“Where is her tail?” another male voice asked.
“Get her before she returns!” The net was ripped off, my wrists and ankles tied, despite my silent struggling.
Too much of a battle and I would find myself overboard, definitely drowning. “Don’t look in her eyes,” one of them said. I opened my mouth to scream.
“Silence her before she calls to Dagon,” someone said. They gagged me with salty rags.
“Keep your ears blocked, beware of her gaze!” said another, the chanting to Dagon uninterrupted throughout.
“Why does she have legs?” one of them asked. “As a consort of Dagon, should she not have a flipper, or fins, or a tail?”
A tail? I stopped struggling and trying to gnaw through my gag, I looked around, wincing as the gag tugged at my hair. I saw them, upside down.
Men in dresses, colored and embroidered dresses with sandals. Short hair. Beards. Swords at their sides.
Okay, men in dresses. However, my mental processes didn’t say, “Okay,” they said, “B’seder.” Were they equivalent?
“Dagon, Progenitor of the Fields …”
Who was that? Where was Cheftu, my beloved husband, the reason I was here to begin with? I was here with men in dresses. I sneezed—no mean trick with a gag—then looked up again, bewildered.
The sky was suddenly tinted red; when I looked down at my legs, the water beyond them, it was also red. Then I realized my hair, which was framing everything I saw, was red.
“Dagon, Rapist of the Rivers, creator of the sea-maids …”
> My hair was red?
My world rocked, canted at a definite forty-five-degree angle. My hair was red! Omigod.
A shudder coursed through me as I tried to look at my clothes, at my body. Then I felt them—signs of the twentieth century in this obviously ancient world: the rayon miniskirt drying in the December breeze, the edge of a pushup bra digging into my ribs. Straps around my ankles attached to a ridiculous pair of sandals. The edge of a Day-Glo necklace gleamed spectrally in the morning light.
Around my neck! On my body!
I forced myself to breathe slowly, tried to still the racing of my pulse. I was a redhead with parchment pale skin— again—dressed like a cheap hooker. And only my thoughts were in my brain!
Another Dagon verse. Dagon. Dagon. A king? A god? A priest? I was drawing total blanks. Fear bottled in my throat.
Where was Cheftu?
The skiff began cutting through the water at a fast clip. I get the world’s worst motion sickness on small vessels. Being petrified didn’t help my stomach, either. Dagon’s praises continued, like Muzak. I took a firm grip on my mind.
No Cheftu, and you’re a redhead: the rules have changed. I bit back panic again and reasoned with myself. One, you woke up in the Mediterranean. Literally in the Mediterranean. Then it struck me: They hadn’t been surprised to find me, they’d apparently been looking for me.
“Dagon, Showerer of the Plains, thy—”
Dagon. Dagon. My thoughts derailed as we pulled up to a big ship, complete with sails, oars, and cast of hundreds. More men in dresses. More Dagon verses. I’d been rescued by some type of sailor. An ancient sailor. I was thrown over a man’s shoulder like a catch of tuna, and I bumped against him as he braced himself in the skiff. My head was pounding with all the blood flowing to it. After a few shouts, a rope was thrown down.
“Is haDerkato secure?” one of them asked.
The oaf carrying me patted my thigh and shouted back, “Ken! She is secure, but if she falls, haYam will provide another.”
The muscles beneath my stomach shifted as the man began climbing up the rope hand over hand. “You are a weighty goddess, haDerkato,” he huffed.
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