Thrice Bound

by Roberta Gellis

  The village Hekate had named was south of Heraclea, in Magnesia. She and Kabeiros set off northwest into a land that was essentially wilderness, except for a few isolated farms. Away from other humans, Hekate changed form to the woman, sighed with relief, and strode forth at a pace the crone could never match. She had no fears of the wilderness. In it she was free to use magic to ward away wild beasts, to keep her warm and protected from the weather, to cook her food, even to lighten the load on the little mule, which was mostly two trusses of hay and grain for its food.

  What was more she didn't fear to expend the power to accomplish even the most trivial things. The blood of the earth under her feet ran more like a wide river than a little stream—and it ran from the northwest, from the mountain the local people called Olympus.

  It was plain from the land that no one went that way. There were game trails here and there but no sign of any hunter, and the only obstacles Hekate found were two rivers she had to cross. In the winter with waters mostly frozen into ice in the mountains, they were easy enough to ford and magic dried clothing and fur so none were chilled.

  In the late afternoon of the second day of travel, Hekate looked ahead into another narrow, arid, empty valley that came to an abrupt end in a sheer cliff.

  *It is here,* Kabeiros said, and sneezed.

  Hekate grinned. The illusion was large, but not quite as good as those of Aietes, and, in any case, illusion was useless against anyone who could sense magic. It flowed thick and rich, so rich that it felt hot rather than comfortingly warm, from whatever was behind the illusion.

  She cast a protection over her little mule and drew extra wards around her in case there was a sting behind the gossamer web that deceived the eyes. Those were wise precautions because she felt a more violent magic run off her shield and saw it flow over and off Kabeiros. For a moment that had all her attention, in case his natural protection wasn't perfect and he should be hurt. The shadow man, who had been walking beside her disappeared, but Hekate didn't know whether that was the effect of the defense of Olympus or a withdrawal because his invulnerability was not a hopeful sign to Kabeiros.

  As she tried to think what to say, the dog showed Kabeiros had not withdrawn too far. He turned his head and said, *Look.* And she did, and saw that the valley was much, much larger than that depicted in the illusion. In fact, she could not see the end of it at all; it must stretch many miles.

  From where she stood, a wide dirt road passed through what were clearly tilled fields, although now they were lying fallow. Dividing the fields far along the road were wooded patches, and beyond the fields to north and south the land rose, at first gently into hilly pasturage and then, at a good distance but where she could still see clearly, more suddenly into high cliffs.

  There was no sign of habitation, but the road was marked with and smelled of manure. Draft animals of some kind came along the road often enough, even in winter, for their soil to remain evident. As she thought "winter," Hekate noticed that the air was much warmer, not summerlike but no colder than late autumn. But it had been full winter, threatening snow, on the other side of the shield/illusion. Kabeiros sneezed again.

  *Magic on magic,* he said. *I've never smelled it so strong.*

  "Well, there's no sense standing here," Hekate said. "I don't see any signs of a welcoming committee, even a hostile one. Maybe they've got the local people so cowed that even if they manage to pass the spell at the entrance, whatever it is, when they see they have actually penetrated the valley of the gods, they retreat to safer ground."

  *We'll know soon enough,* Kabeiros agreed, starting forward, *but for now I think I will keep the man hidden. The mages of Colchis couldn't see my man form, but they couldn't see any of the low magic. Perhaps they can here, and I would prefer to keep secret the fact that I can think like a man.* He hesitated and added bitterly, *Even if that's all I can do like a man.*

  *It will not be so long now,* Hekate soothed. *A few weeks, perhaps, to find my balance and discover what I can offer these mages to try to cure you.*

  They walked along briskly for some time, once passing a very ordinary-looking peasant leading an ox that drew a small two-wheeled cart laden with hay. The peasant looked at Hekate with her dog and her mule, but he said nothing and Hekate let him pass because she didn't know what questions she wanted to ask.

  Soon after that encounter, the tilled fields gave way to a kind of tamed wilderness. There were tall trees rising out of grassy or mossy ground with here and there neat patches of berry-bearing brambles and bushes that she suspected also bore berries or, perhaps, nuts. It was like a park. They were coming close to the city, she thought, the kind of city that didn't want to be too close to the peasants that fed it. Hekate shrugged as she walked. She would have to answer questions at the gate, she assumed, but she would know better what answers to give when she had seen the city.

  They came at last to a wall . . . but there was no city, only the wall, long overgrown. Hekate stopped and stared, and in her mind Kabeiros began to laugh crazily.

  *Dead and gone,* his mind was in chaos. *Long dead and gone.* The crazy laughter echoed again. *While I lived like a dead man in the caves of the dead, the `gods' all died.*

  *Don't be silly,* Hekate snapped. *That illusion at the head of the valley wasn't set before these vines grew.*

  *How do you know? You have illusions that you say will last until the earth moves. Why not these, who called themselves gods?*

  "Because," Hekate said dryly, aloud, having got over her shock, "the wall goes in the wrong direction. Have you ever seen a city wall that did not cross the road? Yes, sometimes a track will go around, but not the main road."

  In fact, a little farther along they found a gate from which the vines had been cleared, invitingly open.

  "It's a temple," Hekate said, looking at the carvings on the gate posts, "and someone still comes here." She stood listening, then asked, "Do you hear any sign of life?"

  *No.* Kabeiros' panic had been conquered. *But there's a fountain still running or a spring of some kind.*

  After a moment of silence, Hekate said, "I . . . I must go in. I am being . . . drawn, no, called, within."

  *Hekate!* he warned, but it was too late.

  She had already passed through the gates and Kabeiros hurried to catch up as she walked along a narrow path. Once it had been much wider; once processions had passed along it, but now brush and creepers were encroaching along the sides. Only the center was clear, but that had been swept free of fallen leaves and blown earth, showing that the path had been laid of white marble.

  Without hesitation Hekate passed under a broad stone lintel and into the temple itself. It was a small, round building. Once the stones might have gleamed pure white, now they were stained and streaked where rain had penetrated the failing roof. Hekate barely noticed. At the center of the temple on a low plinth there was an image. Only by the most careful examination—or an act of faith—could she see a shape: a head, sloping shoulders, long shadows that might mark arms, a sweep of stone into a broader base that could be the skirt of a gown. Her gaze went back to the head, to the long, oval face, an indentation across it that might have been eyes, a slight bulge or perhaps only a lightening of color that marked a high-bridged nose, and below that other shadows that could limn a mouth.

  "Mother?" Hekate breathed.

  She walked around the image and her breath caught. From whatever position she took, she saw the same face. The long eyes under the high brow followed her; what could have been the nose changed shape slightly; but the mouth . . . when she had reached her first position again, she could swear it was smiling.

  "She smiled at me!" Hekate said to Kabeiros. "Thank you, Mother! I will go in hope because You approve."

  Kabeiros looked up at her. She sounded like a little girl, and she waved gaily to the image as they left the temple.

  "If we stay here," Hekate said, turning into the road again, "I will see what I can do about fixing that roof. Not that t
he Mother will care. Her strength doesn't come from Her worshipers, like the strength of a blood-mage from the bodies of his victims. She is the same whether any worship Her or not. The shrine to which my mother took me had no temple at all, only a wooden image that looked a lot like this one, although this is stone. Our Lady stood right out in the open in a forest glade."

  *I don't think worship of the Mother is popular here,* Kabeiros said, his mental tone neutral.

  "Oh, no." Hekate laughed. "I suppose they worship themselves, or each other. You needn't warn me. I won't start to preach. The Mother can look out for Herself. As far and as long as I know Her, She only gives, never takes. She needs nothing from us." Hekate laughed again. "As to what She gives, one needs to be careful in asking; you might get exactly that, which wasn't what you wanted at all."

  They progressed in silence for somewhat less than a quarter candlemark when Kabeiros hesitated, poked his nose down at the ground, and then sniffed under a tall stand of tasseled grass.

  *Wait,* he called. *There's something behind here.*

  Hekate returned and peered over the tall grass. "Could be," she agreed. "There are old trees on each side of this grass stuff and it forms a gentle curve, as if it were once a walk. Shall we go back and look? I have a feeling that we won't find any inns in Olympus. If any part of what was once here is still standing, it might be a good place to sleep."

  She left the mule tethered behind some brush, and they pushed their way through the growth, careful near the road not to damage the grass too much. Just out of sight around a hedge, which had not completely grown together, there was a house. Hekate and Kabeiros stood and stared at it.

  It wasn't white and shining as the temple must once have been. It was of huge gray blocks of granite, seemingly crude but each set so close and finely on the others that no mortar was necessary. Nothing lightened the somber facade, only the granite itself sparkled where the sun touched it and reflected from minute grains of quartz. Two doors of gleaming black wood with matching handpulls of brass stood closed in the center of the building. On either side were three tall windows, tightly shuttered. A tall facade hid all but one central peak of the roof which seemed to be of slate and perhaps had a window or a door.

  That it was an impressive, almost an overwhelming, house was not what held Hekate and Kabeiros gaping. It was all perfect. Amidst the riot of overgrown grounds, the house was clear of vine or weed, even of moss grown on the roof.

  *Stasis?* Hekate asked Kabeiros.

  *Mother knows,* he replied. *This whole place stinks so of magic that it's hard to pick out one spell.*

  *Should I try to break it?*

  Kabeiros hesitated, then said, *Not now. To break a spell so strong and so old might wake some kind of alarm and would surely be considered an aggressive act. Let's find the city first. Who knows, perhaps we can ask permission to use this house . . . if you like it.*

  *I think I do,* Hekate said. *I like how close it is to the Mother's temple, and it doesn't look like decorated pastry. I like the somber look of it. Well, we'll see.*

  So they went on. Almost opposite the hidden house, a small lane led south. The grass on either side of it was cropped smooth and Hekate thought she caught a glimpse of a low, white house farther in. She didn't take that lane, however; it looked too much like the purely residential streets in Ur-Kabos and, like them, probably led nowhere but to more private houses.

  Beyond that there was another overgrown lane to their right; then the main road seemed to fork left. Since the fork seemed wider and better traveled than the road that ran straight on, Hekate and Kabeiros bore to the left and very soon came to a wider and perfectly paved road that went south. Hekate looked at the new road in some dismay. It was, like the path to the temple, of closely fitted blocks of white marble. A few dusty footprints marred the surface, but not a single oval of a hoof, not a heap of manure, nor a straight track of a wheel.

  *I don't think our mule will be welcome here,* Hekate said.

  *I'm not sure I will be welcome here.* Kabeiros sounded dismayed.

  *That problem we can deal with when we meet it,* Hekate said. *You aren't likely to leave a pile of dung anywhere. The mule is. I'll take it back to our house . . . *

  The words "our house" echoed in her mind and she laughed, but Kabeiros had no doubt about which house she meant and they hurriedly retraced their steps. They hobbled the mule behind the hedge, where Kabeiros had found a broken fountain from which some water still flowed.

  After a moment in which she had glanced around the deserted grounds, Hekate said, *I think I'll change my clothes. There isn't any sense in walking into the city wearing stained and dusty travel clothes. That will just cry aloud that we are strangers.*

  The dog backed away from her as if she had threatened him.

  "What's the matter? Do you think it would be more dangerous to—"

  *No. No.* The words were blurred and mumbled as if Kabeiros was having difficulty speaking at all. *I . . . I need to look at the warding from all sides. Do what you like about clothing.*

  He was gone before the last few words came to her mind, running with his tail low, as if some dreadful danger was on his heels. Hekate stood staring after him. She had no particular inclination to look around or send out a testing probe. Kabeiros would never run from danger, specially not from danger to her. If he ran from her it was she who posed the danger to him. But how? Why? And why when she said she would change her clothing?

  While she mused, she got the pack that held her clothing and extracted a light green tunic and a dark and sober gown, decently trimmed with twining vines in silver and light green. Then she removed what she was wearing, including the tall huntsman's boots. Naked, she washed her face, arms, and legs and used some rough sacking to dry herself.

  It occurred to her, while she was rubbing the last drops of water from her legs, that Kabeiros had been more and more distant since they left Heraclea—not less human; he had been alert to every chance and every danger and quick to offer advice, but less close. He no longer walked near enough for her to rest her hand on him as he always had when she wore the form of the crone. He lay on the far side of the fire when they slept instead of lying pressed against her . . . and it was winter; the warmth would have been welcome.

  Could Kabeiros love only the crone because it was she with whom he had spent those months in the caves of the dead? That was ridiculous, she told herself as she drew on the undertunic and then the gown, found a clean place to sit, and laced on sandals. The crone and the woman were the same person—even the maiden was the same person. But he had been in man form when she was with him as the crone. Could that have made a difference?

  She sighed, unable to understand and unwilling just now to spend more time puzzling over the problem. A mental call brought Kabeiros loping around the edge of the house. Hekate then extracted from the bundle a strong leather wallet and put into it some silver and gold.

  After going a small distance along the wide street that had caused them to get rid of the mule, they discovered it was not as devoid of life as the roads they had traveled thus far. Several men and women, plainly but decently dressed, passed them. Two entered a westbound street, also marble paved and wide. Hekate thought of following them, but they were walking slowly, talking, not as if they had errands or other business to do. Several other people came by ones and twos from narrower, but also well-paved side streets.

  Hekate breathed several sighs of relief when no more than a single curious glance was cast at them from anyone. A dog, it seemed, was not a very unusual sight and her clothing would pass. They went by two more side streets on the left and one on the right. Then, at last, their road met another, not only equally wide and equally well-paved, but lined with elegant columns.

  Beyond that crossroad, there seemed to be only one more side lane. After that, the road ran through the same kind of tamed wilderness or parkland they had passed before reaching the deserted temple. To the right, however, the street with columns s
howed more life, and Kabeiros reported he heard the sound of many voices and smelled many people.

  They turned into that street, passed an open grassy area, and then walked into a modestly busy market. Hekate stood with her hand on Kabeiros' head and stared around.

  "Is that a new dog for Lady Artemis?" a woman's voice asked.

  Hekate's hand closed possessively on the ruff of fur on Kabeiros' neck.

  *Say you want Lady Artemis to look at the dog,* Kabeiros urged her sharply.

  Hekate was not willing to go as far as that. "I'm not sure," she said to the woman.

  The woman who had spoken was very tall, her brown hair pulled back into a bun at the nape, and a heavy felted cloak thrust aside so that Hekate could see she wore a simple white garment pinned together on her left shoulder with a brooch and belted at her waist with silver links. The garment left her right shoulder bare. Her expression was severe but not unpleasant.

  "He is a beautiful dog," she said, and then, with a touch of sympathy in her voice, "I can see that you love him. Well, you need not fear to leave him with Lady Artemis. He will be very well cared for."

  "But what if I bring him to her and then realize I cannot bear to be parted from him? Will she be angry with me?"

  "Likely not," the woman said.

  However, Hekate thought she didn't sound very sure and Kabeiros chuckled in the back of her mind.

  *From what I've heard about these `gods,' they don't take kindly to being denied their desires.*

  *Then perhaps we shouldn't use this pretext.*

  *I think we must. This is a quick and easy introduction to one of the great mages, and she is twin sister to Apollo—one of the greatest. Besides, if Lady Artemis is as familar with dogs and as powerful as the daughter of Zeus should be, she won't take me for a dog for long. You can explain our need to her . . . but I think you should be well warded, in case she takes offense at your pretense.*